Sapphire

by Sophie Lark

  The driver of the delivery van cracked his door and stumbled out. He took one look at the other car, then bolted off down the street, weaving from side to side. Even in his shocked state, Black thought the man looked drunk. That was probably why he was running away. But he had abandoned his van, so Black was sure he would be able to track him down easily enough.

  At the moment, he was much more concerned about Lex.

  “Lex,” he said again. “Are you hurt?”

  It was a stupid question. He could see the blood. But this time, Lex responded.

  “No,” she said, “I’m alright. I’m fine.”

  “I’ll call an ambulance,” Black said.

  “No!” she said, quickly. “No need to do that. Really, I’m alright.”

  “We’d better go to the hospital just to be sure,” Black said. “We’ll have to call a cab either way. The car’s not fit to drive.”

  He touched her cheek softly, relieved she was alright.

  He began to pick the shattered glass out of her hair. Large shards had caught there, glimmering in the dark strands.

  But then he stopped.

  He held up a piece of glass between his thumb and index finger. He turned it back and forth in the light from the street lamps.

  It was much too regularly cut for a piece of broken glass. And the way that it sparkled and gleamed…

  He was holding a diamond in his hand. A stone as large as a 5p piece. There were many more, stuck in her hair and scattered over the seat and floorboards of the car.

  “Lex…” he said, his voice shaking.

  She looked at him, her large blue eyes wide and bright. Her face was more beautiful than he’d ever seen it in the stark light from the street lamps, with the dark blood against the pale skin.

  “I’m sorry, Byron,” she said.

  She reached behind her and pulled the door handle open, slipping out the passenger side.

  Black stared stupidly after her, not understanding what was happening. As he watched, Lex kicked off her high-heeled shoes, lifted the long hem of her dress, and began sprinting off down the street.

  He tried to open his own door, but the metal had caved in from the impact with the van. He had to clamber over the stick shift, no easy task for a man his size.

  He crawled out Lex’s door at last, dazed and stumbling. By the time he ran after her, she had already turned down one of the alleyways and disappeared.

  2

  Alex Moore

  Venice

  There is no beast, no rush of fire, like woman so untamed. She calmly goes her way where even panthers would be shamed.

  Aristophanes

  Two Years Later

  Lex walked through the galleries of the Doge’s Palace, as she had done twice a week for the past month. Today she was wearing her brown wig, the one cut in a bob, and a pair of glasses. With her corduroy skirt and sensible flat shoes, she thought she looked a bit like Velma from Scooby Doo.

  She walked slowly through the chamber of the Great Council, stopping to look at the paintings of all the ancient Doges, though of course she’d seen them many times by now. She paused the appropriate amount of time at each one. She kept her head still, as if she were looking at the center of each painting, though in actuality her eyes were scanning back and forth behind her glasses, checking the placement of sensors, and watching the movement of the guards at the four corners of the room.

  She took careful note of any time they changed their usual positions, or when one absented himself to use the toilet, or to sneak a cigarette outside. This happened only rarely. They were better trained than the average museum guard, and especially on alert at the moment because of the special exhibition.

  She did love the art in this room—genuinely. Not so much the portraits of the stuffy Doges, or the scrolls of their achievements, but certainty the hectic and complex Tintoretto’s Paradise, which some said was the largest oil painting in the world. She also liked the elaborate gold-leafed woodwork all around the walls and ceiling, from the glory days of Venice. When it was the most prosperous city in Europe.

  The crowds were thicker than usual, thanks to the glass display cases in the middle of the room. A collection of Russian artifacts, on loan from the State Museum. They would be here only three weeks longer.

  Lex didn’t get too close to those, though she’d examined them from afar. That area was under constant surveillance from the cameras mounted on the ceiling.

  The prime piece, the Romanov Cross, was kept in the very center case, mounted alone on its dais.

  A stunning pendant, as large as the palm of your hand. Carved from gold, covered over with huge freshwater pearls, and one blood-red ruby. A fitting color, considering the fate of the Romanovs.

  It had belonged to Alexandra Feodorovna, so some people called it “The Cross of the Last Empress.” But it had been sewn into the bodice of Princess Maria’s dress when the family were all executed in the basement of the Ipatiev House. It was thought at first that the jewelry sewn into the girls’ dresses prevented them from dying, as the metal and gems stopped some of the bullets. Indeed, you could see the place on the back of the cross where one bullet had lodged. However, it only prolonged their misery. There was no “lost princess Anastasia”’ they had all been killed in the end.

  It was a tragic story. One that might make a person think the cross had a curse on it. But that would be a person more superstitious than Lex. She loved the cross as much for its history as its beauty. And as for its value…well, you could hardly put a number on it.

  She did allow herself one glance at the cross as she exited the room.

  It glowed beneath the brilliant lights.

  She could feel it calling to her.

  She took her lunch in the cafe on the ground floor, eating her tomato bisque at one of the outdoor tables. She smiled just a little when she saw that Francesco was loitering over his own sandwich, waiting for her.

  She had eaten there many times before she ever spoke to him, letting him notice her in her plain clothes, with her gift shop employee badge resting in full view on top of her purse.

  “Guilia!” he said, switching tables so he could sit across from her.

  “Ciao Francesco,” she said. “Come stai?”

  She deliberately used the more informal address, as if they had been friends a long time.

  “I’m good,” he said, in his rapid Italian, “just a little tired.”

  “Have you been working nights?”

  “No,” he said, shaking his head, “I wish. Night shift pays more. But they only keep six guards on after closing. I’m not senior enough to take that shift.”

  “Oh,” Lex said, “I’m surprised they don’t have more, with the special exhibit.”

  “Me too,” Francesco said. “I thought it would mean more shifts for all of us. No luck, though.”

  “We’ve certainly been busy in the gift shop,” Lex said.

  “I looked for you there the other day,” Francesco said. “I didn’t see you.”

  Shit.

  Lex kept her face calm.

  “They make me do inventory in the back,” she said smoothly. “It’s so boring.”

  “So’s my job,” said Francesco. He launched into a long complaint about his boss, who was always taking cigarette breaks but never letting Francesco have any.

  Lex nodded and smiled, listening for any tidbits of information that might be of use to her.

  When he finished, Francesco glanced at his watch and said, “Guarda! I’m going to be late.”

  He fumbled for the wrapper from his sandwich, knocking it to the ground and picking it up again.

  “See you tomorrow, I hope,” he said.

  “Lo spero,” Lex said pleasantly.

  Once he was gone, she gathered up her own trash and disposed of it. Then she tucked her fake employee badge away in her purse and prepared to go back inside.

  Of course, she didn’t actually work in the gift shop. If Francesco asked any of the othe
r girls about Guilia, they’d have no idea who he was talking about. But she was betting that he wouldn’t ask. He wouldn’t want to bother Guilia during work hours, or risk getting her in trouble. And she made it so convenient for him to find her at the cafe.

  Francesco usually patrolled the Doge’s apartments, one of the least interesting parts of the museum. Lex had only been in there once or twice, to scope it out. The areas that most intrigued her were lower down.

  She headed down the stairs to the Armoury. Now here was an exciting place, full of the dangers of bygone generations. The walls were hung with dozens of swords, spears, crossbows, muskets, maces, and axes. Below that, she saw the more cunning and ruthless inventions of the Venetians.

  Lex felt a particular thrill of foreboding from the “box of the devil,” a case designed to entice a thief to open it, upon which they would be pelted with the bullets of a four-barreled gun that fired the instant the lid was lifted.

  Of near equal interest were the many instruments of torture, including a collar of nails, iron screws for crushing hands, and poisoned keys that pricked the victim’s fingers when they tried to turn the lock.

  But the most useful feature of the Armoury was that only some of the displays, mostly those containing actual weapons, were kept locked and censored. If you so much as jiggled an axe, an alarm would sound. Other parts of the room, however, had no supervision at all. For instance, the chest that had once contained the garrison’s musket balls—all and sundry were welcome to lift the lid to look inside.

  It was only a small chest, maybe a foot high, a foot wide, and three feet long.

  Lex thought it would suit her purpose.

  She left the Armoury, heading to the nearest bathroom to wait until closing time.

  3

  Luca Diotallevi

  Venice

  The truth is, I've never fooled anyone. I've let men sometimes fool themselves.

  Marilyn Monroe

  Luca swam through the dark water of the canal. Above him, he could faintly see the reflected light of the street lamps and the occasional marquee of a hotel. He could feel the current when a gondola passed by overhead, and the rare, but more turbulent, wake of a speedboat.

  It was absolutely filthy water, thick and murky and almost impossible to see though. Full of trash—sunken bicycles, liquor bottles, and god knew what else. He had a small headlamp, which he made sure to keep pointed down so it wouldn’t be spotted from above.

  Now and then, he could hear the shifts and groans of the buildings themselves. All of Venice was slowly sinking into the sea—ancient brick and boards, soaked in brackish water for five hundred years, built and rebuilt upon over and over. It could collapse at any time. But tonight probably wouldn’t be the night.

  Luca kicked his flippered feet, making for the Bridge of Sighs. Though it was too far overhead to see, he knew this canal well enough that he could tell from the bases of the buildings when he passed underneath its stone arch. At last he came to the grate he’d been searching for. Using an underwater welding torch, he cut through the bars.

  This created enough light and sound that someone looking down from above could have spotted him. But tonight was the football match, Venezia vs their rival Calcio Padova. He knew most everyone would be watching. Actually, it pained him to miss it himself. But sacrifices must be made from time to time.

  Luca cut a hole through the bars large enough to slip through. Now he was swimming through complete darkness, but he could use his headlamp at its highest setting without fear of witnesses. He slipped his way through the dark stone tube, glad he had never suffered from claustrophobia.

  At last he came up to the top of the cistern. He had to use his torch again, just briefly, to cut through the thick rime of rust keeping the metal covering in place. He listened carefully before he did this, hoping no one was currently walking overhead. Once he had breached the seal, he pushed up the heavy lid.

  He was down in the dungeons of the Doge’s Palace. This was where they had tortured political and religious dissidents, once upon a time. The darker side of Venetian history.

  He knew the guards patrolled this area as much as the rest of the museum, so he wasted no time in stashing his scuba gear. By bagging up his stuff and hanging it from a line, he could pin the line beneath the lid of the cistern, suspending his gear down into the pipe for when he needed it next.

  He pulled on his balaclava, above the tight-fitting dark clothes he had worn beneath his scuba suit. His feet he left bare, because he hadn’t wanted to carry shoes, and it helped him walk more quietly.

  Ready for the next phase of his operation, Luca padded behind the nearest pillar and waited.

  Sure enough, within ten minutes a guard walked through the room, making his rounds. He was an older man, bored and unobservant. Luca could have disabled him easily. But he didn’t like to use violence. It was brutish, and it lacked finesse. Plus, it introduced uncertainty into the plan. Better to maintain control of all variables by staying silent and unseen.

  Once the guard passed into the adjoining room, Luca walked toward the Armoury. There too he paused, hiding in a dark corner of the room, behind a suit of armor. The guards’ rounds were irregular, impossible to time, but there tended to be at least a six to twelve-minute break between each sweep. So the safest option was to wait for a guard to pass before moving to the next area of the museum.

  Seven minutes later, a different guard made his check of the Armoury. His look was cursory at best. He hurried away, probably to sneak out his phone to check the score on the game.

  As soon as he left, Luca was about to move. Before he could take a step, he heard a creaking sound.

  Instantly, he ducked behind the armor once more. He watched and waited.

  The hair stood up on the back of his neck as the lid of a small chest lifted up of its own accord. Luca didn’t believe in ghosts or haunting, but if any place was haunted, it would be the lower level of this building.

  He almost crawled out of his skin as a thin white arm shot up to grasp the edge of the chest.

  A woman unfolded herself. It was like an optical illusion, watching an entire human person pull themselves out of that tiny chest. Granted, she was quite a small person, as slim and flexible as a gymnast.

  She moved in utter silence, very like a ghost. She was dressed all in black, with her hair and face covered, only her eyes looking out. Luca only knew for certain it was a woman because of her figure. Though she was so slender, there was nothing boyish about her.

  He was intrigued by this little thief. He supposed it gave her an advantage to be able to hide in so many places. She might even be able to slip through the bars of a prison cell.

  However, she would never be able to overpower a guard, or a fellow thief. She must be crafty—used to subterfuge instead of force.

  She presented a very inconvenient complication.

  He ought to cancel his job. That’s what he usually did when something went wrong. You could always steal another day, but you could never take back getting caught.

  But he was so curious. He wanted to see her plan for himself.

  So, when she walked out of the Armoury, Luca followed her, silent as a shadow.

  He expected her to head directly to the upper levels where the more valuable exhibits were housed. Instead, she turned toward a more distant part of the museum. She walked down a hidden staircase to the utility room, swiftly picking the lock on the door. In five minutes, she had located the correct electrical panel and cut the video feed.

  “How in the fuck…” Luca muttered to himself.

  How had she known that the video feed was unprotected and unmonitored? And how she had known where to intercept it?

  Of course, he knew all those things, but that’s because he’d gotten the museum schematics, at great personal difficulty. As far as he knew, he’d stolen the only complete set in all of Venice.

  He was impressed with her thoroughness. Most thieves would have just stolen what they wan
ted, trusting a mask and gloves to protect them from identification. This woman had gone the extra mile to make sure there would be no video record. She didn’t want to be seen by anyone.

  But Luca was seeing her.

  Now, at last, she headed for the upper levels. She went straight toward the spot he expected: the chamber of the Great Council. With the cameras no longer operational, the only thing between her and the Russian artifacts were the security guards. And the case itself.

  During the night, the security guards walked their routes through the museum. None stood permanently in the chamber like during the daytime.

  They tended to patrol the chamber more often than the Armoury—two of the guards passed through about every four minutes, on average.

  However, as the little thief crept past the main security room—with Luca close behind her—she peeped inside, spotting both those guards engrossed in a portable television playing the football match.

  Luca couldn’t see for certain, but he thought the girl smirked beneath her mask.

  He couldn’t believe how silently she moved through the dark museum. He had always prided himself on his own stealth, but he was certain, in part thanks to her minute size, that this girl would best him in sneaking around.

  He thought he could feel her excitement as she entered the chamber room itself. Starlight filtered down to the tiled floor from the skylights above. The solemn portraits seemed to watch as she approached the displays.

  He was highly curious to see how she would handle the case. He knew it had been outfitted with a magnetic field alarm, to sense any motion across its plane, like a hand reaching inside, and also any vibration, like someone tampering with the lock.

  The little thief paused next to the case, examining the field alarms carefully. She took a device out of her pocket. Luca had never seen anything like it. It seemed to be an aluminum buffer, calibrated to the specific sensors on the case containing the Romanov Cross. He was sure she must have made it herself, or else had it commissioned for this job.