Eye of the God

by Ariel Allison

  “I doubt it. Who would be in the basement at nearly one o'clock in the morning?”

  “Run a check for me,” Daniel ordered. He pulled a pen from his coat pocket and clicked it with his thumb.

  Blake Marshall glanced nervously at the blinking light and shook his head. He changed the video feed on the screen before him to basement footage and ran a security check on the motion sensors. “Well, I'll be,” he muttered. “Someone is in the basement.”

  Daniel glanced at the clock. “When did the cleaning crew finish?”

  “They coded out at midnight, and shift change isn't for another ten minutes.”

  “The entire basement requires security clearance. Run the pass codes and tell me who just scanned their card.”

  Marshall's fingers flew over the keyboard. “Looks like Randy Jacobs's, sir. He ran his card two minutes ago.”

  A copy of Randy Jacobs's security badge appeared on the screen before them, looking just slightly less tired and overweight than he did in person. Daniel looked at it suspiciously for a moment and then unlocked a drawer beneath his desk.

  “Where is he now?” he asked, rummaging through the contents.

  “Let's see,” Marshall said, dragging and dropping information with his mouse. “He came in the ground-level employee entrance and took the service elevator to the basement. As far as I can tell he's in the Server Room now.”

  “What do you mean as far as you can tell?”

  “We have motion detectors in there but no cameras. Cards are required to enter a room, but not to exit. I can verify that he went in, but I don't know if he's still there.”

  “Why don't we have video feed in that room?”

  “It's just information technology. No need, sir.”

  “What do you mean no need? Someone is down there right now, and I need to know who it is?”

  Marshall frowned. “Randy Jacobs, sir?”

  “That's not possible. Randy Jacobs left for Mexico this morning, and according to procedure, left his security badge with me at the end of his shift last night.” Daniel held up the security badge that was displayed on the monitor before them.

  The copied badge easily gained Isaac access through the employee entrance and into the bowels of The Castle. The maze of corridors was empty as he traveled beneath the near-deserted building. Had he run into anyone, it would not have mattered. Not only did he have the proper clearance, but he wore the gray uniform of a Smithsonian guard. Although his initial breach of security had gone off smoothly, Isaac knew he had no time to relax.

  His footsteps echoed on the sterile concrete floor as he walked through the information technology storage room. Dozens of fluorescent lights flickered above the sea of computer processors. Row after row of stainless steel shelving held hundreds of black boxes, each sprouting wires, cables, and plugs. The room hummed with the whirring of computers and the rush of air-conditioning. In a colossal effort to keep the machinery from overheating, the temperature inside the room was easily twenty degrees colder than in the hallway.

  Isaac pulled a small flat black box from inside his uniform and made his way down the center aisle, stopping occasionally to check the numbered rows. Fifteen rows in, he turned left and knelt before a processor halfway up the shelf. It was labeled: Museum of Natural History, Floor Two, Janet Annenberg Hooker Hall of Gems.

  Daniel Wallace had spent the majority of his career working security management as a naval officer assigned to the State Department. After retiring from the Navy at the age of thirty-eight, he took a job as head of the Smithsonian Office of Protection and was charged with the oversight of security for all Smithsonian facilities. Twenty years of wiretapping, terrorist surveillance, and special operations had piqued his appetite for adventure, and he was pleasantly surprised with the level of intensity in this government position. So it was with keen anticipation that he leaned over Marshall's shoulder and attempted to discover the identity of the stranger on his turf.

  “Which security team is closest to the Server Room?” Daniel asked, running a finger over the master list of teams on duty.

  “That would be Security One. They're on the first floor, but on the other side of the wing.”

  “Send them to check it out. Now.”

  Marshall tapped into the security communications system. “Control to Security One.”

  A few seconds later came the reply. “Security One.”

  “We have a disturbance in the Server Room. How close are you?”

  “Less than five minutes away.”

  “Check it out and report back.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Isaac's black box contained a flash drive, a small keypad, and a six-inch video display. He pulled a smaller black pouch from his pocket that held a razor blade, a pair of wire strippers, plastic ties, and black electrical tape. He used the razor blade to cut the tie binding the mass of wires coming from the processor and let them dangle until he located a thick black cable that ran to the input plug. He stripped the plastic casing, exposing raw copper wire beneath. Isaac spliced the recorder to the exposed input wire and began typing on the small keypad. He inserted the flash drive into the recorder, pulled up the needed information on the video display, and recorded two years' worth of video surveillance. It only took three minutes. Then Isaac covered the exposed section with electrical tape and bound the loose wires with a plastic tie, just like he found it. Pleased with his work, Isaac slid the black box inside his uniform, turned off the lights, and left the room.

  “There, sir.” Marshall pointed at the closed-circuit screen as it showed someone leaving the Server Room.

  “Zoom in,” Daniel directed.

  “It's just one of us,” Marshall said, looking at the gray uniform.

  Daniel let out a disgusted snort. “If it were one of us, Marshall, he would have his own security badge and wouldn't have used Jacobs's. Now please do me a favor and zoom in on his face.”

  The closed-circuit TV kept track of the stranger as he navigated the basement labyrinth. “I'm trying to get a close-up, sir, but he's got a cap on and keeps his head down.”

  “He's a pro. Follow him. And alert all security teams. I want to know who this guy is.”

  Marshall pressed his earpiece and spoke into the communications system. “Control to all security teams. We have a level one breach.”

  Isaac headed for the service elevator, his window of opportunity shrinking with every second. He rounded a corner and saw the double steel doors before him. He swiped the security card through the scanner and waited for the elevator to descend from the floor above. The doors opened with a ping, and Isaac stepped inside.

  “Okay, he's in the elevator now,” Marshall said. “We've got him. That elevator only goes back to ground level.”

  “Get him on the cameras,” Daniel demanded. He leaned over the back of Marshall's chair and stared at the screen expectantly.

  Marshall pounded his keyboard, directing the screens before him to register video feed from the service elevator on the ground floor. Five seconds later the doors slid open, revealing an empty elevator.

  “What happened? Where'd he go?”

  “I don't know, sir. We both saw him get in.”

  “Well he obviously isn't there now,” Daniel shouted. “Find him!”

  “I'm trying, sir, but he disappeared off the grid.”

  “Okay, okay,” Daniel said, clicking his pen with increasing intensity. “He can't exit the building without using that card. Let me know when he scans it again.”

  It took little effort for Isaac to raise the panel in the ceiling of the elevator and pull himself onto the roof as it rose. Just as the plans had shown, the service elevator only went to the ground floor, but the shaft above ran all the way to the second to allow room for maintenance. He steadied his balance as the elevator came to a stop, and then swung on to the metal service ladder. He scampered up the rungs and scanned his card on the security console next to a steel door. The moment he slipped through, he bolt
ed across the hall and into the stairwell.

  “There!” shouted Marshall. “He used it. Looks like he's on the second floor outside the elevator maintenance shaft.”

  “Clever,” Daniel hissed. “Get him on the screens now!”

  “There's no one there,” Marshall said, frantically searching the area around the maintenance shaft.

  “Pull back. Show me everyone within three hundred feet of that door.”

  Marshall's fingers raced over the keyboard, as he utilized both motion sensors and video cameras to find three security guards in the vicinity. All three guards were of similar height and build. All were male, and all freely showed their faces to the security cameras as they patrolled the halls.

  Daniel pressed his earpiece and leaned into the console. “Control to security three, second floor.” Both men stared at the screens as all three guards stopped. “Stop all security personnel on sight and apprehend Randy Jacobs.”

  Due to fire codes the stairwell remained unlocked at all times. Isaac ran down one flight of stairs and then leaped over the rail, dropping ten feet to the floor below. He emerged on the first floor, near the employee entrance just as two guards were headed toward the exit.

  “Heading home?” one guard asked as he heard Isaac approach from behind.

  “Yeah. Long shift.”

  The guard pulled his security badge and swiped it through the console. He swung open the door leading to the employee parking lot and motioned to Isaac. “After you.”

  Isaac stepped through. “Thanks, man. Have a great night.”

  “You, too.”

  “We've lost him, Mr. Wallace.”

  “How could we lose him? We just had three guys on the screen!”

  “I know, sir, but they've all been crossed checked. The three on screen were Brian Petak, James Chavez, and Jason Randolph. We've lost our suspect.”

  “Control to all security teams. We've had a level one breach. Lockdown will commence in three seconds. No one goes in or out.” He punched a code in the main terminal, locking all windows and exterior doors.

  “But, sir, we're in the middle of a shift change.”

  Daniel closed his eyes and shook his head. “Yes, we are, and he knows it.” He stepped back and regarded the screens before him. “We've got the footage. We can find him.”

  “Footage, yes. Real time feed, no. He could be out of the building by now.”

  Daniel stuck the pen in his mouth and gnawed on the end. “We'll find him.”

  “We don't even know if he took anything, sir.”

  “He took something. He was in my building with a stolen ID, and he didn't come here to play hide-and-seek.”

  Marshall turned his attention from the closed circuit TVs for the first time since the motion detector went off and looked at Daniel. “What do you think he was doing down there?”

  “Gathering information.”

  “On what?”

  “That's what I want you to find out. What do we keep on those servers?”

  Marshall pulled up a security grid of the building and located the room where the motion detectors had gone off. “That room is ITS three. It's where we store all the video footage from the security cameras. How could that information possibly be important to anyone but Smithsonian staff?”

  “I don't know yet, but we're going to find out. Can you tell me what he accessed while he was in there?”

  “No, sir. I'm not showing that any of the video feed was interrupted. If there had been a disconnect we could have traced it. But if he just tapped into the source without disrupting the flow, there's no way to know what he accessed.”

  Daniel Wallace settled into his chair. “I want to know what he was after. This is going to hit the fan tomorrow.” He tapped the pen on the console and then stuck it back in his mouth.

  10

  DR. PETER TRENT WAS TEMPTED NOT TO ANSWER THE PHONE. HE SAT at the antique wooden table in his kitchen, stirring a fifth spoonful of sugar into his coffee.

  Senator Baker, no doubt, calling to harass me about the event again. I swear that woman could strip the paint off a barn door with her barbed-wire tongue.

  The phone stopped ringing, and Peter sighed in relief. He unfolded the Washington Times and opened it to the Arts section. Just as he reached for his cup, the phone rang again, and he tipped over his coffee, soaking the paper with the dark French roast.

  “Peter Trent,” he snapped into the receiver, shaking coffee off his paper.

  “Daniel Wallace, sir. Sorry to call you so early.”

  Peter looked at the clock. Six-thirty. “Early, indeed. How can I help you?”

  There was a long pause on the other end. “Sir, we've had a level one security breach at The Castle.”

  “When?” Peter dropped into his chair.

  “Early this morning, sir.”

  “What happened?”

  “An unidentified man snuck into the basement using a stolen security badge.”

  Peter rubbed a hand across his forehead. “Was anything stolen? Accessed?”

  “Not that we can verify, sir. We suspect he tapped into our surveillance storage system, but we don't know for sure.”

  “Did you at least retrieve the stolen security badge?”

  “I use the term stolen loosely. Somehow he managed to obtain a badge used by one of our guards on vacation.”

  “But all security personnel are required to hand in their access cards when they take leave.”

  “True.”

  “Did you not have the card of this officer?” Dr. Trent rose from his chair and paced across the kitchen floor.

  “That's just it, Dr. Trent. I did have the card. As soon as we detected the intruder and verified the card scan I retrieved it from my desk. I was looking at it while he was in the building.”

  “Then how did this intruder manage to get his hands on a security badge? Much less the very one you had in your possession.”

  “That has yet to be determined, sir.”

  “When he's questioned by police I want them to find out.”

  Daniel cleared his throat. “That's just it, sir, we didn't apprehend him.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “He got away. Just before we put the building on lockdown.”

  Peter pinched the bridge of his nose and squeezed his eyes shut. “Just how exactly do you presume I will explain this to the Board of Regents?”

  Silence on the other end. And then a faint clicking sound.

  “What is that?”

  “What is what, sir?”

  “That clicking?”

  “Oh. My pen, sir.”

  “Well, stop it!”

  Daniel cleared his throat, and Peter knew he was working up the courage to say something else.

  “Daniel, please don't tell me there's more bad news.”

  “No more news, sir, it's just that—”

  “What?!”

  “I think we should reconsider the Hope Diamond celebration this weekend.”

  The face of Senator Elizabeth Baker loomed in Peter's mind—her expectations and her threats. She had made it perfectly clear on more than one occasion that this event was high on her priority list. “Daniel,” he said, “I don't think we need to be rash.”

  “This was a major security breach.”

  Peter Trent closed his eyes and exhaled slowly. “I understand. We'll discuss this later.”

  “But—”

  “Good-bye, Daniel.”

  “Dr. Trent—”

  “Listen, Daniel,” he snapped. “You are one of the most hard-working employees I have. No one doubts your devotion. But we have no reason to believe the breach is connected to the event.”

  “You think I'm overreacting? I have security footage! Ask Blake Marshall. He was with me in the security terminus.”

  Dr. Trent clenched his fist. “We can talk about this when I come into the office. But for now, everything will move forward as planned.”

  Abby took a seat at the round mahogany
conference table and set her purse on the floor. Daniel Wallace and Henry Blackman, vice president of Diebold, Inc., were already seated and engrossed in small talk.

  “Sorry I'm late, gentlemen,” she said. “Things are a little crazy around my office these days.”

  Abby gave the conference room a cursory look while she pulled files from her briefcase. The conference room was on the eighth floor of the Tower Building in downtown Washington, D.C., and looked out on the bustling activity of afternoon traffic. The clean, sparse room held nothing but the mahogany table, eight leather chairs, and two black-and-white photographs of famous architect Aldo Rossi's buildings. Efficient, just like the company it represented.

  As usual, Daniel Wallace wore a three-piece suit, polished dress shoes, and the perpetual crew cut of a former military officer who hadn't quite adjusted to civilian life.

  “You look tired, Daniel,” she said.

  “Late night.”

  “You shouldn't work so much.”

  Daniel opened his mouth to reply, but turned away and cleared his throat instead.

  Abby glanced between the two men seated at the large polished table and tried to order her thoughts. “Thank you for taking the time to meet with us, Mr. Blackman,” she finally said, offering her hand and a pleasant smile.

  Henry Blackman drifted somewhere in his mid-fifties and waged a losing battle against baldness. “The pleasure is all mine, Dr. Mitchell. It's nice to finally meet you in person” he said. Blackman took her hand and held it for just a little longer than she was comfortable with.

  “This is our head of security, Daniel Wallace.” Abby pulled her hand free and motioned toward him. “He's assisting me on this project to ensure that the Hope Diamond is fully secure for our upcoming gala.”

  Daniel leaned forward. “As you know, Mr. Blackman, we have a major event coming up, and we need your full assurance that the Hope Diamond will be secure.”

  Blackman offered a toothy grin. “To the best of my knowledge, the Smithsonian has never reported an attempt to steal the diamond. When we engineered the current security systems in 1997, we made even the possibility of theft obsolete.”