Eye of the God (8 page)

6

A
BBY PULLED THE COVERS OVER HER HEAD AND TRIED TO GO BACK TO
sleep. Sounds of Sunday morning traffic echoed through the walls of her apartment, and despite her best efforts, she could not ignore them. So she lay motionless under the rumpled covers, letting the sleep drain from her body.

Finally, she pulled the blankets down just enough to see a promise of sunrise hug her bedroom window. The clock on her nightstand read 7:30. She had hoped to sleep until at least nine. Abby sat up and tossed her legs over the side of the bed, digging her toes into the thick carpet.

“Coffee,” she mumbled, making her way to the kitchen. “I
really
need coffee.”

She flicked the switch on the coffee pot and poured a great deal of creamer into her empty cup. She was not a coffee purist and had never been able to drink it black. The water began to hiss and bubble as it streamed through the machine. The hot, pungent smell floated through the kitchen.

A few moments later, cup in hand, she pulled an old red blanket around her shoulders and waited for the sun to rise above a small chapel across the street. It was a beckoning of
sorts, one that went unheeded, but one she looked for each morning nonetheless.

Something about the small church comforted her. The warm wooden doors, the stones worn smooth, and the softly chiming bell reminded her of a church on a street corner in Massachusetts that she had entered as a child. Mother had taken her there to kneel before the altar the day her father left them. Her memories of that day were filled with tears and sadness, an ache that drew them into the small chapel. She remembered her bare knees pressing against the smooth wood floor and the feeling of quiet, not just in the church but in her heart as well. She did not know Jesus then, but for the first time she wanted to. Many years had passed since then.

Abby brought the cup of coffee to her lips, parting just enough for a sip of warmth, and waited for her favorite part of every sunrise. The little chapel was plain and unadorned except for two brilliant stained-glass windows, one behind the pulpit and one at the front above the arched wooden doors. Both were circular, and no more than six feet in diameter. The one above the entry was a simple blue sky with a white dove carrying an olive branch in its mouth. The window above the pulpit was a deep crimson, broken only by a cross.

Abby leaned forward, expectantly. Slowly, the burning disk of orange sunlight rose, bathing the chapel in light, and bright beams drifted through the empty church, first illuminating the window of red stained glass, and then drifting to the blue. For a few glorious moments the colors combined, bathing her line of sight in majestic purple.

She watched until it passed, and as the color faded, she felt a pang of loss. The beauty lasted for such a short time, and then once again she sat staring at the cold stones of a church she'd never entered.

Abby sighed and shuffled into the kitchen to refill her coffee cup. On her way back to the sofa she noticed the glaring empty space on the desk where her laptop usually sat. She froze, and her heart began to pound. Her briefcase was missing as well. It always sat next to her chair under the desk.

Oh no! This is bad. This is very bad.

Abby bolted through her apartment, checking all her doors and windows. They were locked from the inside.

Think, think.
She pressed the heel of her hand on her forehead.
Where did you have them last?
Then she closed her eyes and grimaced.

She had forgotten to bring them home from work. She was in such a hurry to leave that she hadn't returned to her office after yesterday's presentation. The sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach doubled when she realized that she had not locked her office door either.

Abby quickly changed into a pair of jeans, old tennis shoes, and a sweatshirt. She twisted her hair into a loose ponytail, grabbed her reading glasses, and bolted from the apartment without applying makeup.

“How could I have been so stupid?” she moaned. Abby threw her billfold into the car, pulled into traffic, and hit the accelerator.

To the casual observer it looked like an average, if not obscenely expensive, digital camera. However, what Isaac saw when he looked through the lens was not just the main gallery of the National Gem and Mineral Collection inside the Smithsonian, but also a series of intersecting infrared beams. Yet the display before him showed not where the beams were, but where they
had been
in the last twenty-four hours. He
saved the image to disk and changed his angle, methodically recording the entire grid of light.

Every exit, camera, security guard, and museum staffer was photographed as he wandered through the gallery, like any other tourist.

He spent the majority of his time in the room housing the Hope Diamond. The ebb and flow of tourists was constant, and he went unnoticed. Tour guides paraded through, telling the story over and over to snap-happy tourists. The diamond was a favorite attraction, so it was easy for Isaac to mill with the crowds, listening intently and taking detailed pictures of every inch of the room.

The glass cylinder encasing the diamond was three inches thick and bulletproof. Inside the case itself, the diamond sat on a rotating column, taking one minute to come full circle. With each rotation, the light bounced off every facet, giving the appearance that it glowed from within. The lighting system itself was a fiber-optic marvel, created by Absolute Action Ltd. of London, the world's most renowned lighting firm. It had taken a team of lighting engineers five months to complete the display in 1997 at a cost of thirteen million dollars to the Smithsonian. Included in the renovations were the new display case and a security vault directly below the jewel that was so heavy the museum floor had to be structurally reinforced.

Isaac circled his prey like a hungry animal. The diamond taunted him from within, forbidden, impossible. The challenge was intoxicating.

Harsh beams of sunlight fell across Alex's face, burning red behind his eyelids. He squinted into the glare and rolled over in search of his previous night's companion.
Empty sheets met his eager grasp, and he sat up to discover he was alone. Alex didn't bother searching the small penthouse. Her purse and the trail of clothes she'd left on his bedroom floor were gone. An uneasy sigh escaped his lips. He had planned on making her breakfast … and asking her name.

Abby's office sat tucked away on the second floor of the Smithsonian Institution Building, a short distance away from the Museum of Natural History. The red sandstone edifice, constructed in an early Gothic motif, complete with turrets, spires, and arched windows, was appropriately dubbed The Castle. Although it held the main visitor center for the Institution and had a number of maps and displays, The Castle's main function was to house administrative offices and security operations.

Abby made it to the office in record time. At eight o'clock she charged through the employee entrance and jogged to the elevator. As soon as the doors slid open on the next floor she rushed to her office. The door was slightly cracked, and she pushed it gently, allowing it to swing open. The lights were off, and the room appeared empty. Abby hit the switch, locked the door, and went straight for her computer. It was sitting on the desk, exactly where she'd left it, scrolling through pictures on her screensaver.

The cursor blinked rhythmically in an open Word document, the last paragraph of which read:

Jean-Baptiste Tavernier built a lucrative career on the sale of precious stones he acquired in Asia. An accomplished and shrewd businessman, it was in his best interest to resell his acquisitions as soon as he returned to Europe. Records indicate that is exactly what he did, with one exception: the 112-carat blue diamond purchased from Mir Jumla.

For reasons he did not record, Jean-Baptiste Tavernier kept the great blue diamond in his possession for fifteen years. It was the largest and rarest diamond he had ever owned, and ultimately, the one that profited him the most. In 1668, it was purchased by King Louis XIV for the astounding sum of 400,000 livres, or the equivalent of 3.6 million dollars in today's currency…

Abby saved the document and went to her control panel. She hastily typed in her password and pulled up a list of recently used programs. Nothing out of the ordinary. She was not fully satisfied, however, and ran
KeyLogger
, a program that showed every keystroke made within the last seventy-two hours.

She had only intended to stay at the office long enough to make sure that her computer and briefcase had gone untouched. But as soon as her mind was put at ease, the piles of paper on her desk drew her attention. Almost three hours later, she was still engrossed in a stack of release forms. The abrasive buzzing of the telephone startled her. Abby glanced at it, but didn't answer.

Her answering machine picked up on the fourth ring, “Hi, you've reached the office of Dr. Abigail Mitchell. I'm out of the office at the moment, but if you leave your name and number I'll get back with you.”

“Hi Dr. Mitchell … I mean Abby. This is Alex Weld from
National Geographic
—”

She turned and stared at the recording light on her machine and debated whether to pick up.

“I was calling to see if I could set up a time to finish that interview we started. Just let me know when is best for you. My number is—”

She hesitated for just a moment and then grabbed the receiver, “Hello?”

“Hey, I didn't think you would be in the office today.”

“I really shouldn't be.”

“Do you usually come in on your days off?”

Abby looked at the program running on her computer. “No, I just forgot something yesterday, and I swung by to pick it up.”

“So can I cash that rain check you gave me last night? I cracked open my computer this morning only to find that I hardly got any information out of you.”

“Sorry about that. My fault.”

“Don't apologize. The company was great.”

Abby smiled and dug her iPhone from the briefcase. “But to answer your question, I'd be more than happy to pencil something in. Let me see what I've got available.” She opened her calendar and groaned. “I have nothing during the day for the next two weeks. How pathetic is that?”

“Popular lady.”

“No. Just overwhelmed. It's that celebration I'm planning for the Hope Diamond.”

“Surely it can't be that bad?”

“You have no idea.”

“Well, would it be too presumptuous of me to ask if we could meet at night? Maybe for dinner again?” Alex asked.

Abby detected a note of hopefulness in his voice and couldn't help but grin. “I think that will work.”

“Good,” Alex said. “How does tomorrow night sound?”

“Perfect. Why don't you come by my office around five?”

“It's a date then … I mean, like a work date … thing.”

“Sounds good. I'll see you then.” Abby laughed and hung up the phone.

Her spirits were a great deal lighter as she stacked the papers neatly on her desk and tucked the laptop into her briefcase. She left the office and locked the door behind her.