Eye of the God (16 page)

“Then I think you'll understand that there are no more sophisticated measures than the ones we have taken at the Smithsonian.”

Daniel flinched as he leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. “What I'm concerned about is the fact that your systems are so renowned. It's like dangling a carrot before an eager thief. And believe me, there are people in this world who can crack your security measures. We don't know if they
will
, but we do know that they
can
.”

Blackman forced a strangled laugh. “You may be a bit too pessimistic, Mr. Wallace. If someone can crack our security measures, then there are more important things than your diamond at risk. We are the primary supplier of vaults for the Federal Reserve, and we service seven bank sites and more than twenty vault doors. I suspect they would be a much greater target.”

“In theory perhaps, but it's not my job to protect the Federal Reserve. I've been given the task of protecting the Hope Diamond. Part of that job is due diligence to ensure that we have all taken the appropriate measures.”

“Our systems aside, it is my understanding that the Smithsonian itself is an impregnable fortress. I don't think you have anything to worry about.”

Abby listened to most of their conversation in silence, but felt that the egos of the two talented men were about to clash. “That is why we are here, gentlemen,” she said. “I believe that if we work together we can cover all of our bases and protect the diamond.”

Her voice had a soothing effect on the men, and they regarded each other quietly. Blackman offered Abby a smile. “I'm sure you're right, Dr. Mitchell. And if you feel the need to discuss matters more thoroughly, you are more that welcome to call me any time. This is the number to my personal line.” He slid his business card across the table to Abby.

She waited until he withdrew his hand before taking it.

Alex rolled his eyes. “Slimeball.”

“Sounds like someone has a crush on your girlfriend.”

“I think you mean my
target,
and she is way too smart for him.”

“I don't know. He sounds like he's got it together.”

“He sounds old. And fat.”

“You sound jealous.”

Alex leveled his gaze at Isaac. “This is work. My
job
is to seduce Abby and get her to trust me. This guy is a putz.”

Isaac shrugged and changed the subject. “Any suggestions on where we go from here? It certainly appears they've covered their bases. A direct heist is out of the question. The infrastructure is too tight.”

“We'll never get it out of that case. And even if the stars lined up just right and we did, we would never get it out of the museum. What do you give our chances now?” Alex asked.

“Bleak at best. Utterly impossible at worst.”

“Think we should back out? That's why we always secure a down payment, in case something like this comes up.”

“I have no intention of quitting. We'll get that diamond,” a confident smile spread across Isaac's face.

“What are you thinking?”

He tapped Alex on the chest. “That seduction is a very powerful thing.”

“We need to talk,” Daniel said. He hailed a cab outside the Diebold offices.

“About what?” Abby asked.

“There's been a breach in security.”

“What?” she gasped. “When?”

“Last night. At the Castle. An intruder gained access to the ITS room with a stolen security card.”

“Did you catch him?”

Daniel stepped back from the curb as a yellow cab pulled to a stop three feet away. He opened the door for Abby and slid in next to her. “No. We lost him on the security grid.”

“Did he take anything?”

“We don't have any way of knowing for sure.”

Abby leaned over the seat and spoke to the driver. “Smithsonian Institution, please.” The cab pulled into the flow of traffic, and she looked back at Daniel; worry etched her face. “What did Trent say?”

“I called him first thing this morning. He wasn't happy,” he paused for a second, looking out the window. “I suggested we cancel the Hope event.”

Abby shook her head. “
Why?”

“It's a major breach of security, Abby, and it happened on my watch.”

“I get that,” she said. “But it happened at The Castle, not the Museum of Natural History.”

“Better safe than sorry.”

Abby pursed her lips and glanced at Daniel from the corners of her eyes. “Let me talk to Dr. Trent.”

“What did you do?” Alex demanded of Isaac.

The conversation between Abby and Wallace was breaking up as they navigated through traffic, but Alex had caught just enough to arouse his suspicions.

“I was gathering information.”

“You almost got caught.”

Isaac's lip twitched as he faced his younger brother. All the warmth drained from his voice. “I can assure you that I most certainly did not.”

“They know you were there.”

“Someone. They know that
someone
was there.”

“Well, apparently, it's got them up in arms. What were you thinking?”

“I was doing my job.”

He stuck a finger in Isaac's face. “You were reckless.”

Isaac grabbed him by the wrist and twisted his hand away. “Watch it. I know what I'm doing.”

Alex took a step back. “Don't think I won't walk.”

Isaac just laughed. “Sure.”

Alex grabbed his jacket and walked toward the door. “Apparently, you don't know me that well,” he said over his shoulder. “I don't need this. One more stunt like that and I'm gone.”

DeDe sat before her easel, paintbrush in one hand, pallet in the other. She swept the brush across her canvas, swirling the ruddy color of burnt umber into what was now an angry red sky. To the untrained eye it was a perfect copy of Edvard Munch's
The Scream:
the deformed face with hands on its cheeks, mouth open in a scream, messy sunset sky, brackish water swirling beneath a bridge and drifting off toward the horizon. Simple. Ugly. Worth untold millions.

Yet all DeDe saw were the imperfections, the blurred lines on the wooden railing, the robe that was more gray than brown, the too long chin.

“They're getting better,” Dow said as he stood over her shoulder. He nodded at the corner of the room where a stack of discarded canvases were piled, each bearing an attempt to reproduce the painting.

“Hmmm,” she murmured, noncommittally.

“Well, that's your problem.”

“What?” She looked at her husband and brushed a wiry curl from her cheek.

“You're not concentrating.”

DeDe waved her paintbrush in the air randomly. “This whole thing is bothering me.”

“But you've been doing this for years.”

“Not the painting.” She tossed her pallet on the floor. “Abby. And her father. It just doesn't seem right, you
know? I realize you put a lot of faith in that girl, but I think this is a lot to expect of her.”

Dow rested an arm across his wife's shoulder. “The girl is tough,” he said. “And we both learned a long time ago that she doesn't do anything she doesn't want to do.”

“I know. It's just that her father isn't … safe.”

“How'd it go?” Marshall asked as soon as Daniel returned to the main security terminus at The Castle.

He shrugged and loosened his tie. “Not well.”

Marshall turned and studied his boss with a questioning glance. “What did he say?”

“I told Dr. Trent we need to cancel the event.”

“Because of one security breach?”

“One is enough.”

Marshall shook his head. “But we have no suspect, no missing information, and no proof. All we know for sure is that Randy Jacobs accessed the basement last night at one o'clock.”

“Randy Jacobs was in Mexico.”

“Can we prove that definitively?”

Daniel squinted his narrow brown eyes and shook his head.

“So what are we going to do about it?”

“Nothing … for now.”

“How do we find out what information he took?”

Daniel leaned back in his chair and pulled the pen from his coat pocket. “I think I've got an idea.”

11

A
BBY SWUNG OPEN THE DOOR TO HER APARTMENT AND LONGINGLY
eyed the worn leather couch. Her jacket, keys, and laptop landed on a side table, and she went straight to the bedroom to change. The heavy, starched pant suit was swapped for a faded pair of jeans, one size too big, and an old Boston College sweatshirt that most likely would not survive another washing. Her outfit was completed with a pair of hideous blue-and-orange toe socks. Before heading for the living room, she caught up her hair in a loose ponytail.

Abby threw herself onto the couch and sank into the worn cushions. The old red blanket beneath her head made for a lumpy pillow. On the far wall hung a photograph collection of old churches, mostly in sepia tones, but a few in black and white. Captivating her with the beauty of stone and spire and cross, she had taken the photos on her travels. Yet she had never found the courage to set foot in any of them.

Weariness settled over her, and she buried her face in the blanket, eager to forget the chaos that surrounded her at work. But now that she was home, the stillness was even
more disturbing than ringing phones, instant messages, and endless interruptions at the office. She resolved the situation by throwing her windows open and letting in the cool breeze and sounds of traffic below.