On a whim he crossed over two lanes of traffic and glanced in his rearview mirror. Sure enough, the silver BMW stayed with him, six cars back.
Alex took the next right, drove down one block, and slipped into a parking garage. He steered his Mercedes into the nearest empty spot and turned off the engine. A digital camera rested in the console, so he grabbed it before slipping from the car. The concrete rail hid him as he jogged into the shadows beside a large support column and waited, camera ready. Within a few seconds the BMW came into sight but didn't pull into the parking garage. Alex let it pass and then zoomed in on the license plate.
He got back in his car and looked at the picture, committing the license plate to memory.
Abby's mind was adrift with ideas floating on a sea of improbability. In just a few days she would host the single most important event in Smithsonian history, and she was about to ask the largest museum in the world to disregard every one of its security measures.
So it was with measured determination that she approached the office of Dr. Peter Trent, curator of the Smithsonian Institution, for their scheduled meeting. Behind his door waited not only the man ultimately in charge of every major decision at the museum but also the one who would prove to be her greatest challenge in getting the diamond out of its case—Daniel Wallace.
Abby stopped outside the door and took a deep breath. Juggling an armload of files, with her free hand she smoothed her skirt and combed her fingers through her hair. When she walked through the doors of Dr. Trent's office, she wanted to give the impression that she was a woman worthy of wearing the Hope Diamond. The fitted black pencil skirt, three-inch heels, and tailored blouse were a perfect blend of professionalism and femininity. And they were a marked departure from her typical conservative attire.
“Come in,” Dr. Trent replied, his voice muffled.
Abby pushed through the door and found Daniel Wallace already seated in one of the antique chairs facing the oversized mahogany desk. Bookshelves that held rare first editions by such famous authors as Charles Dickens, Ernest Hemingway, and John Steinbeck lined two walls. On either side of the door hung original Ansel Adams photographs, matted in white and framed in black. Yet the most striking feature in the room was the large gothic arched window that rose ten feet behind the desk. Peter Trent's office resided inside the main turret of The Castle and, with this place of honor, enjoyed fifteen-foot ceilings, thick hardwood floors, and a stunning Persian rug. The room was approachable but formal, just like its occupant.
The secretary of the Smithsonian Institution was nearing sixty but retained a head of dark brown hair and a certain youthfulness that came with having a job he loved. His eyes were surrounded by deep creases, exaggerated both by smiles and laughter. Many years spent in the field on archeological digs had given him a permanent ruddy complexion. Yet several years ago he traded his khaki digging garb for a herringbone jacket and bifocals.
“Hello, Daniel.” She slid into the chair next to him and crossed her legs.
Daniel's eyes narrowed as they passed from her hair to her heels. He nodded a greeting and returned his glance to the security schematic in his lap.
Peter Trent looked at her over the rim of his glasses and his eyes opened wide in surprise. “Good afternoon, Abby … Dr. Mitchell. You look … well … nice today.”
“Thank you.”
Dr. Trent tapped his fingers lightly on the desk. “I'm sorry for arranging this meeting so late in the day, but there are some things we need to take care of right away. I have a meeting with the Board of Regents soon, and I need to present them with our plan of action.”
“I was working late anyway.” Abby placed her files on his desk and pushed them forward. “I have the information you requested.”
“Ah, yes,” Dr. Trent said. He took the pile and flipped through the pages slowly. “The two of you met with Mr. Blackman?”
Abby nodded. “Yes. The security measures that Diebold has in place are quite impressive.” She turned to Daniel and smiled. “Wouldn't you agree?”
He gave her a sharp look and replied, “Impressive, yes. Perfect, no.”
Dr. Trent glanced over the file in his hand. “What could possibly be lacking? They are the most renowned security firm in the world.”
“Diebold's procedures are solid; I have a problem with the assumptions they've made.”
Abby settled into her chair as Daniel climbed aboard his soapbox.
“I don't understand, Mr. Wallace, please enlighten me,” Dr. Trent said, the faintest air of condescension in his voice.
Daniel stiffened in his chair and sat up straight. “They assume the Hope Diamond can't be stolen. That assumption is always the first, and greatest, mistake made by a target. The reality is that anything can be stolen.”
Peter Trent shook his head. “I don't know that I agree with your assessment. I would agree that most things can be stolen, but not all.”
“I don't mean this as a form of disrespect, Dr. Trent, but most of my career has been spent outside the walls of a museum. There are people today who, if they want it bad enough, could get that diamond out of its case and walk out the front door.”
“I have a deep regard for you, Daniel, which is why I hired you in the first place, but I find that implausible.”
“You hired me to think of the things you couldn't.” Daniel dropped the words carefully, hitting their mark with measured intensity.
Peter Trent leveled his gaze at Daniel. “Mr. Wallace, I am going to make the assumption that you did not just call me stupid.”
“Absolutely not, sir. You are one of the most intelligent people I've ever known. However, I think we both understand that there is a big difference between earning a doctorate and having street smarts. What we need at the moment is a commonsense approach to our security measures. We do not have the luxury of assuming anything.”
Peter ground his jaws together as he thought about Daniel's comment. The insinuation was thinly veiled with respect. Instead of answering Daniel, he turned to Abby. “What do you think, Dr. Mitchell?”
“Well,” she said, resting a hand on Daniel's arm, “I was in that meeting with Henry Blackman and, to be honest, Dr. Trent, I have to agree with Daniel.”
Daniel flashed a triumphant look at Dr. Trent and leaned back in his chair.
“I do think there are people out there who would like nothing better than to steal the Hope Diamond,” Abby said. “But in all honesty I don't think they would ever succeed.”
Daniel stiffened and watched her with narrowed eyes as she continued.
“The fact remains that Diebold has created a system of groundbreaking measures to protect our diamond. However,” she said, with a disarming smile. “I have so much confidence in Daniel and his abilities that even if I were to wear that diamond during the celebration, he and his team would be more than capable of protecting it.”
“Wear the diamond? Have you lost your mind, Abby?” Daniel perched on the edge of his chair, shaking his head.
“I believe what Abby is saying is that regardless of where the diamond is, you would be up to the task of protecting it,” Dr. Trent added, coming to her aid.
Abby nodded. “Exactly.”
Daniel's temper hovered at the surface.
“And I find the idea fascinating,” said Dr. Trent.
“What idea?”
“Abby wearing the diamond.”
Daniel tilted his head to the side. “Excuse me? Have you lost your mind? We've already had a major breach of security and now you want to take the Hope Diamond out of its case?”
“Gentlemen,” Abby interrupted, her voice soft. “I don't think there's any need for a heated discussion. I was just illustrating my faith in both Diebold and Mr. Wallace.”
Peter Trent nodded slowly. “That may have been your intention, Abby, but I think you may be on to something. I think if you wore the diamond during the celebration it would lend a certain extravagance.”
Somewhere behind his booki
sh glasses, a fire burned in Dr. Trent's eyes.
“I don't follow.”
“I think it could work. I think we should consider having you wear the Hope Diamond.”
“I can't believe I'm actually hearing this.” Daniel shook his head and pressed a thumb into his temple as if trying to suppress a headache.
Dr. Trent grinned. “It's not so unheard of you know. Back in 1995 Michelle Pfeiffer wore the Hope Diamond for a magazine spread in Life magazine. And it's been taken out for an occasional cleaning.”
“I don't know, sir,” Abby said. “This would be—”
“Utterly unexpected.” A grin spread across his face. “You do know it would make us the hottest ticket in Washington?”
She chewed thoughtfully on her bottom lip. “If it's donations you want, I could almost guarantee that pulling a stunt like that would get you all the donations you need.”
“Yes, yes. You're right.” He nodded vehemently. “I think we should do it. When I meet with the Board of Regents I will propose that you wear the Hope Diamond.”
“Wait a minute!” Daniel stammered. “You can't be serious. Two minutes ago I told you the diamond isn't safe in its own case and now you want to let her wear it? That's the most absurd thing I've ever heard!”
“I'm sorry to offend your sensibilities, Mr. Wallace, but I hardly care what you think.”
“Given the fact that I know more about security than anyone in the tri-state area, I think you may want to consider what I have to say.”
“I find that ironic coming from the man who just presided over the largest security breach in Smithsonian history.”
Daniel pressed his lips into a thin line. “That illustrates my point. We don't know who has an interest in the diamond, and we can't give them a chance.”
“If anyone has an interest. We don't have any reason to believe that the diamond is in any danger whatsoever. This entire conversation is pure speculation.”
Daniel took a deep breath and then uttered his words carefully, as though speaking to a child. “I can guarantee you that there are parties who would love to get their hands on it. They're just waiting for the right opportunity. I don't want to provide them with one.”
“What you are saying, Mr. Wallace, is that those criminals are smarter than you.”
“I did not say that.”
“Your words imply that you believe it.”
“Ridiculous!”
“Then why don't you prove it to me? If you are truly as good at your job as you suggest, then you can prevent another security breach and keep the Hope Diamond safe while it hangs around Abby's neck.”
Daniel clenched his jaw as he stared at Dr. Trent. “You don't think I'm up for the challenge?”
“You said it yourself, Mr. Wallace.”
“I can do it.”
“Then show me.”
Daniel stood, his face flushed with anger. “I don't like being challenged, Dr. Trent.”
“And I don't like being insulted. So why don't you do your job, and I'll do mine.”
“I'm trying, sir.”
“Then stop worrying about policy and start worrying about keeping dirty little hands off my diamond.”
“Guys, I think this is getting out of hand,” Abby said. She stood and placed a hand on Daniel's shoulder.
“I appreciate you wanting to be the peacemaker, Abby, but I've made my decision. I want you to wear the diamond during the fund-raiser. It will be the highlight of your presentation.”
“I do believe it would be dramatic,” she said. Daniel tensed under her hand. “But I also think it would be risky.”
“Perhaps. I can't deny that. But it would be groundbreaking as well.”
“It would definitely qualify as groundbreaking.”
“Do you think you can pull it off, Dr. Mitchell?”
“Pull it off?”
“Wear the diamond, I mean. Do you think you could do that?”
Abby laughed. “I think every woman on this planet has dreamed about wearing that diamond at one time or another.”
“Then we're done here,” Dr. Trent said. “The two of you make whatever preparations you need to in order to secure this event. I will take this to the Board of Regents. You have my full support.”
Scowling, Daniel Wallace left Dr. Trent's office and returned to the security terminus. He had gone into the meeting insisting on higher security for the diamond, and left with it utterly exposed. And somewhere in the middle was Dr. Abigail Mitchell.
Daniel took a seat before the computer consoles, lost in thought.
“I'm guessing the meeting didn't go well,” Marshall said.
“That would be an understatement.”
“What happened?”
Daniel pulled his pen from his coat pocket and clicked. “The diamond is coming out of the vault during the fundraiser.”
“What?”
“Abby Mitchell is going to wear it while she delivers her speech.”
“That's ludicrous! Whose idea was that?”
Daniel looked at Marshall sharply. “That,” he said, “is a great question.”
Dr. Trent had certainly insisted on the idea, but as he recalled the conversation, it was Abby who had thrown the idea out there in the first place, casually. Perhaps too casually.
Something occurred to Daniel as he mentally reviewed the meeting. “Marshall. Did you ever track down a visual on that intruder?”
“Yeah, why?”
“Get it up on the screen.” He stared at the security feed from the Hope Diamond display.
“I have a hunch, and I just want to confirm it.”
15
“CAN I SEE YOU TONIGHT?” ALEX ASKED.
Abby pressed the iPhone to her ear and propped her bare feet on the desk. “I'd like to,” she said, “but I can't. I need to work late. Plus I need to get a good night's sleep tonight. Someone has been keeping me up late.”
“I was hoping you could help me pick out a tux for this shindig on Saturday.”
“Are you going for classic or edgy?”
“What do you think?”
“Classic would be my suggestion.”
“Classic it is then.”
“In that case, you probably want Bethesda Tailors. They have the best selection.”
“Thanks. Sure you can't come?”
“Positive.” She murmured good-bye and hung up.
Abby looked out the window and studied the lights of a city brimming with life. For a moment her thoughts drifted to the families gathered together, and she suddenly felt alone. She was tempted to call Alex and say she'd changed her mind, but she resisted. Instead, she pulled a stack of release forms from her desk and set them on her lap. She went through them one by one, signing her name, pen scratching against paper in the stillness.
Halfway through her signature, her hand paused, as she tried to unravel the emotional knot in her stomach. This entire event—the planning, the extravagance, and now the manipulation—went against her character. How did she get here?
Abby finished signing her name and then dropped her feet to the floor. She stuffed the remaining paperwork, along with her laptop, inside her briefcase and slipped on her heels. She left The Castle, drawn by a familiar urge.
“My wife's gonna kill me,” Blake Marshall said, looking at the clock. “I'm already an hour late.”
Daniel paced behind him and glanced at the clock. It crept toward nine o'clock. “Just bring up a still shot of the intruder's face, and you can go. I'll do the rest.”
Marshall drummed his fingers on the keyboard, and within seconds a picture appeared on the main screen. “It took me a while to track him because he intersected with at least three guards that night. But I managed to follow him through the building, and he never actually scanned the stolen card on his way out. He went down the stairwell and walked out with a group.”
“Clever.”
“Perhaps, but not a perfect crime,” Marshall said. “We got this picture of him.”
Daniel stared at the grainy surveillance photo. “Good job. Get on home. I'll handle this.”
“Are you sure?”
“Listen, man, a job like this can eat your marriage. Trust me. You don't want that to happen.”
“Thanks,” Marshall said. “See you in the morning?”
Daniel never took his eyes from the screen. “I'll be here.”
It wasn't often in this job that Daniel Wallace got to use the full range of capabilities he honed during his years in the Navy, but as he scanned the intruder's face, he knew that most of them would come into play now.
He studied the intruder: 5'11", 190 pounds, athletic, confident, dangerous. Daniel knew the man had done this before, knew he would do it again. A career thief most likely.
But who is this guy, and how do I find him?
Alex pushed through the door to his apartment and found Isaac on his couch. His brother had propped his feet on the coffee table, and he gnawed on the end of a lit cigar.
“About time you got back,” Isaac said.
“What are you doing here?”
Isaac puffed the cigar, cheeks hollow. “Waiting.”
“I don't recall asking you to.”
“You didn't have to. It's my job.”
“Put that thing out.”
Isaac took another drag, smoke curling from the corners of his mouth. He crushed the cigar onto the top of the glass coffee table.
“Where's the girl?”
“At work,” Alex said. “Why?”
Isaac stood and crossed the room. “You like her,” he accused.
Alex pushed past his brother and pulled a glass tumbler from the bar. “I like my job.”
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