Eye of the God

by Ariel Allison

  “I had nothing to do with this,” Alex said.

  Isaac clicked his tongue. “You've gotten bad at lying, Alex. I just wasn't aware you were in the business of betrayal as well.”

  “Betrayal? You're one to talk!”

  “I should have done it sooner.”

  “You always were a terrible shot.”

  “Something I can remedy.” Isaac turned the barrel of his gun an inch to the right. A smile twitched at the corner of his mouth as he pulled the trigger.

  In the split second before a barrage of gunfire riddled him with bullet holes, Abby screamed.

  Isaac Weld fell backward over his chair and then dropped to the floor, already dead. The diamond slid from his hand and landed a mere six inches from where The Broker cowered beneath the table.

  Douglas Mitchell watched his daughter stumble to the floor, but the sight of her blood-stained shirt only held his attention for a moment. He crawled beneath the table and grasped the Hope Diamond with a trembling hand. The weight of the jewel, its curves and facets, felt just as he'd dreamed it would all these years.

  From the corner of his eye he saw Wülf pinned to the floor with arms behind his back. Pandemonium still raged at his periphery. Glass fell. People yelled. Gunsmoke hung acrid in the air. But he cared for nothing except the feeling of the diamond in his palm.

  And then a voice shattered his reverie.

  “I don't believe that belongs to you.”

  He lifted his eyes from the jewel and found Abby kneeling beside him on the floor. Behind her stood at least a dozen armed Interpol officers, guns leveled at him. His fingers wrapped tighter around the necklace, and he jerked back.

  “Yes, it does.”

  “No, it doesn't.” Abby held out her hand, palm up.

  “No.”

  “Give it to me. Please.” Her voice wavered, and her eyes filled with tears. They both understood in that moment that she was asking for more than the diamond, she was asking for something she had never received from him.

  Douglas Mitchell searched the eyes of his daughter and pummeled her with words that had an impact like an atomic bomb in her heart. “There is nothing in this world that is more important to me than this diamond. Nothing. Do you hear?”

  He had said those words, in one form or another, for the last thirty years of her life. Yet she had never heard them come from his mouth. Abby recoiled and rocked back on her heels.

  He looked at the thin trail of blood that dripped from her shoulder. “He shot you?”

  “Apparently, he's a bad shot.”

  “Pity.”

  Dow Heaton, Director of Interpol's Art Theft Division, rushed forward and hit Douglas Mitchell with the butt of his gun. The Broker slumped to the floor. Dow pried open his fingers, nearly cracking his bones with the force, and set the necklace in Abby's limp hand. He could not look her in the eyes. He knew the pain that resided there. Instead, Dow took out his aggression on her father. He jerked the Broker to his feet and cast him toward a group of waiting officers.

  Tears dripped from Abby's chin as her father was dragged away. Douglas Mitchell looked at her over his shoulder, his face contorted in disgust.

  Dow helped Abby to her feet and sat her down at a table. Abby clutched the diamond as though it were the last feeble connection to her father. Dow then turned to Alex, ready to unleash the remainder of his fury.

  “Please,” Alex said with a flinch. “I'm not him.”

  “Maybe not, but you had no problem doing his dirty work.”

  “And I'll regret it for the rest of my life.” Alex bit his lip as he blinked back unfamiliar tears. “But I'm here, okay? I came back. I tried to make it right.”

  “You will never be able to right your wrongs, Mr. Weld.”

  “Let me try.”

  Dow turned and pointed at Abby. “Do you see that girl? She's the closest thing to a daughter I have, and I won't let you hurt her again.”

  “I see her,” Alex said. “I see her more clearly every moment. You can hate me if you want, but you won't chase me away.”

  Abby lifted her tearstained face. “Dow.”

  “Don't worry, I'll get rid of him,” he said.

  “No. Let him stay.”

  “Abby—”

  “Please. We have a lot of unfinished business.”

  Dow shook his head. “You're hurt.”

  “I'll be fine. It's just a nick.”

  “I don't think this is the time—”

  Abby held up her hand. “Now is the only time.”

  Dow wavered for a moment and then relented. “Are you sure?”

  She nodded and held the necklace out for him. “Would you take this? The sight of it makes me sick.”

  Abby motioned toward the empty seat across the table. “Sit down, Alex.”

  “Your shoulder—”

  “Is not nearly as bad as your head—”

  “You really should have it looked at.”

  “I'll be fine. I owe you an explanation.”

  “No,” Alex said. “You don't owe me anything.”

  “I did this.” She looked at the aftermath of the cocktail bar. “I've known for years that my father wanted to get his hands on the Hope Diamond. I've known about his connection to the Collectors, and I've known that he would eventually try and use me to get the stone. It was inevitable. You were just a pawn.”

  Alex gnawed on his bottom lip. “When the game is over, the pawn and the king go back in the same box.” He couldn't look at her. He tried to lift his eyes, but they were paralyzed, locked on his hands that lay across the top of the table. “I'm sorry,” he finally whispered.

  Her voice was gentle. She beckoned him to look at her. “You weren't the first person to use me, Alex. My father has been doing it for years.”

  He braved a quick glance and found not condemnation as he expected, just sadness. “It was wrong. For both of us.”

  “I was trying to give him the opportunity to be the dad I've always needed him to be, trying to give him the chance to choose me. It's hard to admit that he never will.”

  “I helped him do this.”

  “No, Alex. He made his choice long before he met you.”

  “I'm sorry,” he said again, unable to find words that mattered.

  “Abby,” Dow said as he stood behind her, hand on her shoulder. “I have to take Mr. Weld into custody now.”

  Abby nodded and gave Alex her own apologetic look. “I'm sorry. There was nothing I could do. They told me your sentence may be lightened for your cooperation at the end, but I can't get you out of this.”

  “It's not your job to rescue me.” Alex stood and looked Dow squarely in the eye. He held his wrists together and lifted them up so Dow could easily place him under arrest.

  For Abby's sake Dow hid his gleeful smile. He clasped the handcuffs on Alex's wrists with such force that they dug into the younger man's skin, causing it to pucker and turn pink.

  Alex fought his own smile. “I don't suppose I have any chance of a plea bargain?”

  “There's nothing you could offer me that would come close to satisfying the debt you owe, Mr. Weld.”

  “I wouldn't be so certain of that.” Alex let the words hang in the air, enjoying the sudden looks of interest from both Abby and Dow.

  “Speak quickly, Mr. Weld. Time is running out.”

  “Would my freedom be worth names, addresses, and phone numbers of all five Collectors, as well as detailed lists of every piece of art my brother and I have stolen for them in the last ten years, including locations of those art pieces today?”

  Dow shook his head. “I don't believe you.”

  “Do you really think I would put myself in such a precarious situation that I don't know who I'm working for? Let's just say that I'm a great deal smarter than my brother ever gave me credit for, and I've been keeping detailed records for quite some time.”

  “You're a good liar, Mr. Weld.”

  “I have proof.”

  “I want to see
it.”

  “I want your promise that the information I give you will buy my freedom.”

  “I can't let you loose in the art world again.”

  Alex looked at Abby for some time and then said, “I've lost my taste for theft.”

  Dow considered for a moment, deep in thought. He popped the knuckles on his left hand. “If you have the information you claim, I may be able to get clearance.”

  “You're the Director of Interpol's Art Theft Division, Mr. Heaton. I doubt you need clearance from anyone.”

  Dow shrugged. “Fair enough.”

  “Then put it in writing. Right now. That if the information I give you is what I claim, you'll plea bargain me out of this.”

  Getting the Hope Diamond back was a major victory in their fight against the Collectors, but the offer of their identity and the whereabouts of every major work of art stolen in the last ten years, was a temptation that even Dow Heaton could not resist. He grabbed a sheet of paper from the bar and scratched out his plea deal. “You have these men and women as your witnesses, Mr. Weld, that if your information is what you claim, you can have your freedom. You will have immunity from prosecution from all your past crimes.”

  “In my wallet is a flash drive. On it you will find everything you're looking for.”

  “Get it,” Dow ordered an assistant.

  The small drive was quickly inserted into an Interpol laptop. Names and numbers flashed onto the screen, and it took all of Dow's self-control not to stumble backward.

  “I told you the information would be worth my freedom,” Alex said. “You'll notice the second file contains pictures. I believe they will come in particularly handy during prosecution.”

  37

  AFTER BEING PATCHED UP, ABBY SLIPPED FROM THE COCKTAIL BAR AND jogged toward the cable car. It was a relief to escape the noise and activity inside and breathe the fresh air. She never once looked back as she began the long descent to the bottom of Table Mountain.

  The tram rocked almost imperceptibly in the breeze. It physically hurt to look out on the breathtaking view of mountains and blue water and contrast it with the darkness in her heart. The pain of her father's rejection stabbed her again, and Abby slid down the wall of the cable car. No tears came. There were none left. Instead, an unfamiliar calm embraced her.

  She sat alone, the voice of her father echoing through her mind. Her greatest fear had been confirmed. The man who gave her life could care less if she lived or died. It was a devastating blow, but not in the way she expected. Abby always assumed it was how he felt, but she thought the confirmation would destroy her. Yes, it hurt, but she would go on with her life.

  She closed her eyes and pulled her knees to her chest. Two images battled in her mind: the ruthless, cold, uncaring look on her father's face, and the solid, welcoming form of the stone chapel that sat outside her apartment. It beckoned her heart even now.

  Alex turned to the window just as Abby stepped into the cable car. He wanted to call after her, to beg her to stop, but knew his words would be wasted. She couldn't hear him.

  “Let her go.” Dow rested a hand on Alex's shoulder as he moved toward the door.

  “Could you?”

  Dow paused, his expression conflicted. “I suppose not.”

  “Then please let me make it right.”

  “Don't you think she's been through enough?” Dow wavered, unsure, as he read the ardor on Alex's face.

  “More than enough. But I have to do this.”

  Dow shifted and pulled an iPhone from his back pocket. He handed it to Alex. “You'll need this.”

  Alex gave Dow a curious look.

  “How did you think we were tracking the diamond? It was a tight race, but we managed to get here before the Broker.”

  Alex took the phone and shook his head. “I really underestimated that woman.”

  “Don't make the same mistake again.”

  Alex rested a final glance on his brother, now covered with a white sheet, before hurrying toward a cable car. He would deal with those emotions later.

  Candles flickered in Camps Bay Tabernacle; the church was empty. Abby stood in the doorway, her heart engaged in a tug of war. Tears slipped down her cheeks, and she wanted to run away, as she always did, and not surrender to the pull from within the church.

  I'm tired of running.

  Finally, Abby stepped across the threshold. A quiet love permeated the room and released the chains around her heart. Her father's cruel words, Alex's plea for forgiveness, Dow's gentle encouragement, all fell by the wayside as she approached the rough wooden altar and sank to her knees. Only one other time had she found herself in such a position, and now, as then, her knees pressed into the wood floor.

  Her voice sounded weak and timid to her ears as she whispered in the empty sanctuary. “I'm tired of hating him.” And then she sobbed. It was an act of cleansing that prepared her heart for a conversation she had feared for years.

  She rocked back and forth, her words louder and stronger as she cried out her heart before the altar.

  “I've been running for so long … and all the while you were trying to show me … that you were here waiting to give me what he couldn't—”

  Of all the places that Abby could have gone, this was the one that Alex least expected. He felt like an intruder as he stood just outside the church. He did not want to eavesdrop, yet he was compelled by the intensity in her words. Alex Weld had no history with God, had given Him little thought in his thirty-five years. Yet as he listened to Abby weep, his heart was troubled.

  “This is too much,” he whispered, pressing his forehead against the doorframe. Alex closed his eyes, unable to escape the vision of his brother, covered by the white sheet. Isaac was dead, and for what? Money? Everything he knew, everything he had strived for, suddenly felt so wrong.

  “Alex?” He jerked and saw Abby standing in the doorway. “What are you doing here?”

  He tried to answer but choked on his own tears.

  She stepped closer, only inches away now, her eyes boring into him.

  “I followed you,” he said, holding up Dow's iPhone. “I just … I just wanted to make it right. But the truth is I don't know how.”

  Abby listened to him, and then wiped a tear off his cheek. “I used you, too, Alex. To get what I wanted. We're no different.”

  “Don't.” He pulled her to his chest and buried his face in her neck. “You're nothing like me. I'm a liar and a thief!”

  They held on to one another in the doorway of the small church in Cape Town, South Africa, two lost and lonely souls trying to make sense of the chaos in their lives. And they wept together.

  “Please don't be angry with me,” Alex cried. “I wasn't trying to intrude. I just—” His voice trailed off. “I just want to be with you, Abby. I don't want to lose you. Whatever we're doing with our lives, I want to do it together.”

  She pulled away and held him at arm's length. “There's something I need to do first.”

  “What?”

  Abby pulled the ring off her finger and held it up for Alex to see. “For the longest time I imagined this to be a symbol of my father's love, because it was all I had. But now I see it for what it is, a bribe, and a stolen one at that.”

  Alex winced as she continued.

  “I need to return it to its rightful owner.”

  “Then let me come with you. No one knows better than I where to return it.”

  “I can't do that, Alex. This is something that I need to do.”

  “Listen.” He gripped her shoulders. “I'm involved in this, whether you like it or not. I have amends to make as well.”

  38

  DANIEL WALLACE BURST THROUGH THE DOOR OF PETER TRENT'S OFFICE just as his secretary gave him the day's mail. On top of the stack was a package marked Priority Overnight Delivery, postmarked Cape Town, South Africa.

  “We've got her, sir! My connection at the State Department tracked her leaving D.C. She arrived in Paris two days ago.”
<
br />   Peter furrowed his brow and pulled a letter opener from his desk drawer. He tore into the package as Daniel continued.

  “We can have Paris police pick her up.” Daniel finally realized that Dr. Trent was not paying attention.

  “Sir? Did you hear me? We found Dr. Mitchell.”

  “What?” Peter looked up, eyes large, blood draining from his face.

  “I said, we found Abby Mitchell. In Paris.” And then Daniel saw just what had captured Dr. Trent's attention. His jaw fell open. “I don't believe it!”

  “I don't think Dr. Mitchell's whereabouts is a concern any longer.” Peter Trent dug into the box and pulled out the Hope Diamond.

  Epilogue

  DR. ABIGAIL MITCHELL WRAPPED THE TRENCH COAT AROUND HER WAIST and slid into the black government sedan outside the U.S. Embassy in Dublin, Ireland. For the first time in many years, she did not feel the oppressive weight of the Hope Diamond over her shoulders. She bathed Dow, DeDe, and Alex in a radiant smile.

  “You ready?” Dow asked.

  “Yes.”

  “It was a brilliant touch, Abby,” DeDe said. “Returning the diamond to the Smithsonian the way it originally arrived, in a plain brown box sent by regular mail. Peter Trent could never have expected that.”

  “I'm sad to say the poor man never expected any of it.”

  “Will you be returning to the Smithsonian, my dear?” Dow asked.

  “No,” she said with a grin. “My work there is done.”

  Dow nodded, an eager light in his eyes. “You know, I'd love to put you to work.”

  “I'm sure you would.”

  “Is that a yes then?”

  “Was that a job offer?”

  “Of course.”

  Abby gave Dow a peck on the cheek. “Let me think about it.”

  “Take all the time you want.”

  Abby locked her seatbelt. “Shall we go then?”

  “Just give the driver the address.” Dow pulled Abby into a hug. “Call us when you get back to the States.” He and DeDe slipped from the car and left her alone with Alex.