Eye of the God (10 page)

Abby turned in her swivel chair and saw Alex leaning against the doorway. She grinned and motioned him to have a seat. Alex settled into a leather armchair across from her desk and waited.

Several minutes later Abby hung up the phone. “I'm so sorry,” she said, scribbling her name on a stack of release forms. “I lost track of time.”

“No problem. I'm a little early.”

“Give me three more minutes, and I'll be done.”

“Take your time.”

“You know what,” she said, rubbing a cramp in her hand. “These can wait until tomorrow. Let's get out of here.”

Abby studied her reflection in the bathroom mirror. Dark hair. Dark eyes. A trace of freckles left over from childhood. Her mother's cheekbones. Her father's jaw. Her face clouded at the thought, and she busied herself by smoothing the wrinkles from her slacks.

She had excused herself as soon as they arrived at the restaurant. Alex's early arrival hadn't given her a chance to freshen up. She fluffed her hair, powdered the oily spots on her face, and applied a fresh coat of lip gloss. As Abby fussed over her reflection, it occurred to her that she couldn't remember the last time she was concerned
about how she looked in the presence of a man. The realization brought a little color to her cheeks.

Oh, come on. It's not like this is a real date.

Alex's cell phone beeped, indicating a text message.

When and where,
it read.

Bluefish Grill. Table at the back.
His thumbs flew across the tiny keyboard.

“Did you miss a call?” Abby asked, sliding into her chair.

“No. Just putting my phone on silent. This thing usually rings off the hook.”

Abby looked over her menu. “I've never been here before. What's good?”

“I like the stuffed grouper. But the steaks are great too.”

“Do you come here often?”

“Often enough. I'm a pretty rotten cook, so I go out for something edible most every night.”

The Broker stood at the hostess station and watched Alex and the woman sitting across the table from him. She was beautiful, which wasn't necessary, but it certainly helped. The thief preferred beautiful women. However, he'd been known to seduce women of all shapes and sizes to suit his purposes. The Broker was quite sure that Alex was pleased with her hourglass figure and large brown eyes. Her intellect was an added bonus. Stupid women bored Alex. Yet this time, as always, he would do what was required. And those two even looked good together. It would have been impossible to find a better match, not that they were actually supposed to fall in love. Well, Alex wasn't at least. The Broker was not concerned about her emotional stake in the
relationship. He wanted her to trust Alex, but even more than that, he wanted her to please him.

The Broker scanned the menu with one eye, and Alex's table with the other. A hand-painted Japanese screen blocked the couple's direct view of him. A few feet away, Koi fish swam in an indoor water feature, surrounded by bamboo, which offered him even more coverage.

A strange pulse of excitement ran through him. This was the first time he had spied on Alex. Typically, he just phoned in his orders, wired the money, and met the brothers at the rendezvous point to retrieve the merchandise and make the final payments. Being on location was fascinating. But then again, he'd never agreed to such a price before. This heist was the most important of his career, and he needed to make sure everything went as planned.

“A table for one, sir?” the hostess asked.

“No, thank you. Nothing here interests me.” He handed her the menu and left. The Broker had gotten what he came for, confirmation that Alex was manipulating Dr. Abigail Mitchell.

Isaac waited patiently as his computer scanned the disk he removed from the back of the digital camera. One by one, the pictures he'd taken at the Smithsonian appeared on his screen. He moved them to a file for later use and began working on the scan he'd taken of the magnetic strip on Randy Jacobs's security badge. It took only a few seconds to copy the information and transfer it to a second computer across the room. Then Isaac went to work with a vengeance.

An image of the security card was placed on the screen. Randy's picture was replaced with his own, but everything else remained the same. Isaac inserted the electronic code
on the new magnetic strip and printed the badge. Slightly warm to the touch, it was a perfect copy. He would be able to go anywhere inside the Museum of Natural History that Randy Jacobs could.

Isaac looked at the clock. It was ten past eight, and Alex was waiting. He grabbed a duffel bag from the closet and filled it with an assortment of mechanical gear, the newly copied badge, a small black case, and a grey uniform identical to those worn by Smithsonian security staff.

Before leaving the apartment, he sent a text message.

Men s room in 30 minutes

Alex's phone vibrated just as he flipped open the notepad. He moved it to his lap and glanced at the text as if he were adjusting his napkin.

“So,” he said, swallowing a bite of filet mignon. “I'm assuming that Jean-Baptiste Tavernier survived the shipwreck?”

“He did.”

“Is that where the legend of the curse started then, with him?”

“Not officially, no. That concept grew over the course of many hundreds of years, although Tavernier certainly played his part in advancing the notion.”

Alex took a sip of wine and dabbed the corners of his mouth with the black linen napkin. “You really like this stuff, don't you?” he asked.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, I've been watching you. It's like you've got the whole thing memorized. You must really love this story.”

“You've been watching me?” she asked, a playful note in her voice.

Alex laughed. “Aside from the
obvious
reasons, I couldn't help but see that you really know your stuff.”

“I did my doctoral work on the Hope Diamond. You spend all those years researching and writing, it better stay with you.”

“Impressive. A Ph.D. at what … “ he paused, not wanting to assume her age.

“Thirty. Two years ago.”

“I must say
Dr
. Mitchell. You are one fascinating woman.” Alex forced his eyes away from her and redirected them to the notepad on the table. He paused, gathering his thoughts. “So, this curse, help me understand it. Did something tragic happen to everyone who owned the diamond?”

“Well,” she said. “This is where staunch proponents of the diamond's curse run into trouble. If you take a quick glance at history, it certainly seems that its owners all suffered something terrible, but when you dig into the confirmed facts, you find that it often skips a generation or two.”

“So where did the idea of the curse come from?”

“Good question and one that's hard to answer. In reality it comes partly from legend, partly from religious belief, partly from superstition, and partly from the famous jeweler Pierre Cartier.” Abby slowly worked on her fish while she told Alex the story. “What you have to understand is that the diamond originated in India, a country steeped in Hindu mysticism. Everything means something in Hinduism. And diamonds are no exception. Even the color of a diamond has meaning.”

“For instance?”

“Well, each color is associated with a different Hindu god. White diamonds belong to Varuna, god of the sea; yellow diamonds to Shakra, goddess of learning; and
blue
diamonds are associated with Yama, the god of death. So right from the start Mir Jumla connected the huge
blue diamond with death, and he passed that idea on to Tavernier.”

Alex scribbled furiously on his legal pad as he tried to keep up with Abby.

“As a matter of fact,” she continued. “The mystical quality of diamonds was so ingrained in Hindu culture that archeologists have found Sanskrit texts, which describe the belief that any diamond that had spots, crow's feet, lines, cracks, or blue color should be avoided because they were a source of sorrow.”

“So how do you separate fact from fiction? Because it seems that a lot of the people who came in contact with the diamond really have led tragic lives.”

“Ah, therein lies the rub. There actually is a great deal of truth in the legends surrounding the diamond. It has to go back to what we know for sure. There are large gaps in the diamond's history that no one can verify with any certainty. But what we
can
confirm is that Tavernier bought the diamond, in Golconda, India, and that he held onto it longer than he did any other jewel he owned. The question we have to ask ourselves is
why
,” Abby said.

“Interesting. Why not sell it immediately and make a profit?”

“Exactly.”

“Any ideas?” Alex asked.

“A few. Maybe he couldn't find a buyer, but I doubt that. Tavernier dealt with the upper echelon of European aristocracy. They would have gobbled up the diamond immediately had he put it on the market. Maybe it wasn't safe to sell the stone so soon after purchase because technically it shouldn't have been offered to him in the first place. Yet that doesn't seem likely either. The Indian sultan would have no means of knowing what stones Tavernier possessed or when he sold them.”

“So what's your theory then?”

“I think he kept it for himself because he loved the stone, had grown deeply attached to it, and didn't part with it until it would have been financially ludicrous not to.”