Eye of the God (26 page)

Abby popped into her office long enough to check her voice mail and see if there were any emails that needed a
quick reply. She hadn't been there more than two minutes when Peter Trent stuck his head in the door, grinning from ear to ear.

“Where were you yesterday?” he asked.

She tucked her phone between her chin and her shoulder. “At the Rotunda with the event coordinator.”

“I should have called your cell phone.”

“Why? What's up?”

Dr. Trent smiled. “I met with the Board of Regents yesterday to discuss you wearing the Hope Diamond.”

The phone slipped from her grasp, and Abby scrambled to catch it before it fell to the floor. “And?”

“It was a tight vote, but they approved.” He beamed, pleased with himself. “Oh, and your father was a real lifesaver.”

Sudden nausea rose in her throat. “My what?”

“Your dad,” he said casually. “It came down to a tie breaker, and he cast the deciding vote. He wants you to wear the diamond. Isn't that great?”

“Of course,” she said, short of breath. “He's on the board.”

“Yes, he has been for … what … fifteen years?”

“Twenty,” she whispered, her mouth dry and her mind clouded. “The board met yesterday?”

“Yesterday morning. Removing the diamond from its case requires board approval. I tried to get in touch with you all day so I could tell you the great news. Of course, Daniel Wallace will get his boxers in a knot, but it looks as though this little idea of mine is going to work!”

“Great,” she said, her voice small and weak.

“I'll let you get back to work. I know you've got a lot to do.”

Peter Trent left her alone with the crushing knowledge that her father was in town for at least one full day without making any attempt to see her, or even talk to her for that matter. Abby Mitchell sank into her chair but she didn't cry. Instead, she welcomed the rage that consumed her.

“Dow!” DeDe called from their bedroom, her head buried inside the closet.

“Yes, dear.”

“Where are my diamond earrings? I can't find them.” A slight panic pressed beneath her ribs.

“I don't know.”

“What do you mean you don't know? I have to find them.” DeDe crawled farther into the closet, turning over shoe boxes and baskets.

Dow walked into the bedroom and leaned against the doorframe. “DeDe?”

“Abby needs them.” Her voice was frantic as clothes flew over her shoulder. “And I just saw them a couple of days ago. I don't know what I'll do if I've lost them. How could I have been so stupid?”

“DeDe,” he said again, but she ignored him.

“Don't just stand there. Help me look!”

“DeDe!” he snapped. “Will you just turn around for one second?”

She faced her husband, ready to give him a verbal lashing, and saw the long flat velvet box in his hands. “You found them.” She breathed in relief.

“Right where you left them.”

She shook her head. “In the safe?”

He nodded. “In the safe.”

DeDe reached for the box with shaking hands, but he took a step back. “Why don't you let me take care of these?”

She nodded, relieved. “Probably best.”

Isaac grabbed the package from the delivery man and took it immediately to his office. There was no return address, but the postage mark indicated it had been sent Priority International Overnight from Saint-Tropez, France.

He exhaled slowly as he took a letter opener and cut open the seams. Inside was a black leather box containing a new passport with an origin of issue indicating Portugal, a birth certificate, driver's license, and four credit cards, all with unlimited balances. Beneath the papers lay a small device, no larger than a laptop battery. Such devices were hard to come by and cost a king's ransom. A rare smile spread across his face. “Now
that
was worth every penny.”

19

A
BBY STOOD BEFORE THE MIRROR IN HER BEDROOM, SLIGHTLY EMBARRASSED
but also pleasantly surprised at her own reflection. The floor-length black dress had little ornamentation, but given her choice of jewelry for the evening, it hardly needed any. The strapless gown hugged her tightly at the waist where the gauzy fabric then flowed out in almost liquid form as she moved.

She increased her already substantial height by another three inches with a pair of strappy black heels. Abby's hair was swept upward, pinned, and tucked into a series of soft, loopy curls. At the last moment she had decided to invest the time and money to have her makeup done, and the woman at the salon did wonders with a series of creams and powders she didn't know even existed. Her dark brown eyes looked sultry instead of swollen—smoky and playful.

Her cheeks colored slightly as she took in the swath of bare skin across her arms and shoulders. It was hardly inappropriate or overly revealing, yet she couldn't help but feel there was nothing sexier than bare skin.

Abby turned around to see the full effect in the mirror. She pulled at a bare earlobe, feeling somewhat naked without DeDe's earrings.

The buzzer rang, announcing Alex's arrival. Abby took a deep breath, grabbed her purse from the bed, and went to let him in, her heels clapping on the bare wood floors. She pulled the door open; her smile stretched ear to ear.

Alex gazed at her with mouth open, but said nothing.

“Well, hello to you too,” she said.

“You look … I mean … wow.”

She pulled him into the apartment. In his hand he held a single white rose.

“For me?” she asked.

“I missed you,” he whispered, pulling her into his arms and nuzzling her ear.

Abby ran a finger across Alex's cheek and pulled his face to hers. She kissed him, melting into the warmth of his lips.

He pulled back, blue eyes ablaze. “What was that for?”

“It's been three days.”

Isaac lay flat on the roof as he watched the crowd of people stream into the Smithsonian's National Museum of Natural History. The Rotunda began filling up half an hour earlier as those Washington socialites unconcerned with arriving fashionably late trickled in. Below him, security guards checked each guest against the invitation list before they entered.

Night had fallen over the city an hour earlier, and as soon as the sun set, Isaac pulled his Mercedes into
the parking garage at Union Station on the east end of the National Mall near the Capitol Building. Then he took the Metro to the Smithsonian Station, emerging on Constitution Avenue.

An observer outside the museum would have noticed nothing unusual about the well-dressed businessman in suit and tie who carried a briefcase.

Isaac had chosen his point of entry weeks earlier, after studying aerial photographs of the entire perimeter. On the rear left corner of the museum grounds nestled a grove of thick oak trees near the building. He passed by the clump of trees, stepped off the sidewalk, and disappeared into the shadows. From there, he scaled a fifty-foot oak tree like a cat. In less than thirty seconds he sat comfortably in the highest branches.

Isaac pressed the briefcase against a branch and rolled the combination dial. A dull thud shook the tree as metal anchors jutted from the case and attached to the limb. The lid flipped open, swung down, and created a small work table.

He stripped off his jacket and white button-down dress shirt to reveal a long-sleeved black tee. Pulling a mask over his head, Isaac completed the ensemble with a pair of black gloves. Undetectable from below, he hid in the shadows of the tree.

With deft hands Isaac removed a small compound bow from the case and adjusted its pieces until fully assembled.

Darkness fought for dominance with the floodlights that lit up the building at regular intervals. Yet Isaac was not worried about the ground floor. His eyes were focused on the roof and the security camera less than thirty feet from his location. It rotated slowly, anchored in place to
the northeast corner. The old oak tree where he perched hovered over the building by a good ten feet, and from his vantage point he could look down on the security camera.

Only two items remained in the briefcase: a black tool belt containing mechanical equipment and a grappling hook with thirty feet of climbing rope. He strapped the belt to his waist and set the hook in the compound bow.

Isaac crawled along the branch, inching as close to the building as he could without bending the tree limb. He straddled the branch with his knees, raised the bow, and aimed not at the stone ledge jutting out from the museum's roof, but farther in at a row of atrium windows. Steadying himself on the branch, he took a deep breath, placed the crosshairs on his target, and pulled the trigger.

Thwap.
The grappling hook launched through the air. No sooner had Isaac pulled the trigger than he knew he had missed the target. Profanity spit from his lips. The grappling hook landed with a metallic clang, not on the ridge atop the atrium windows, but on the main roof line, just two feet above the security camera.

If he were to cross hand over hand as he intended, he would dangle in full view of the camera. Isaac exhaled through clenched teeth, considering his only viable option: a tightrope walk across thirty feet of open air.

Abby placed a hand on Alex's arm as he escorted her up the front steps of the Smithsonian and into the Rotunda. In the hours since she had left work, her staff had transformed the space. Thirty-five tables covered with white tablecloths were scattered beneath the domed ceiling,
each surrounded by ten chairs draped in alternating red and gold slipcovers. In the center of each table sat a floral arrangement of palm frond and Indian paintbrush. Paper lanterns hung from the balconies and glowed with yellow light. The lighting firm hired by the Smithsonian had placed dozens of low-wattage floodlights throughout the Rotunda, creating a subtle display of shadow and light, giving the ornate gothic room the appearance of a dimly lit cave. It was not hard to imagine that a jewel such as the Hope Diamond could be found in these surroundings. And in the middle of the room stood the massive African elephant, appearing as though he waited at the beck and call of an Indian sultan.

Abby took in the enormity of the room, delighted with her handiwork.

Alex pulled her to his side and whispered, “You did this?”