Eye of the God (42 page)

The drive took less than thirty minutes. Thurman Arnold parked illegally at the corner of Pennsylvania and Constitution.

Frank Waldrup gave him an uneasy glance as they climbed from the car. “This is the Department of Justice.”

“I'm an attorney,” Thurman shrugged, leading the way up the steps.

Upon entry they were met by a security guard. “Names please,” he ordered.

“Thurman Arnold and Frank Waldrup.”

The guard quickly checked a manifest at the security desk and waved them on.

“Good. He called it in,” Thurman said with a relieved sigh.

“Who called what in?” Frank asked.

“John.”

“Oh. John. Of course.” Frank rolled his eyes in defeat.

Thurman led him to a bank of elevators and pushed the button for the fifth floor. It rose with a slight hum. The door opened with a ding, and they marched down the thickly carpeted hall, Frank trailing behind, looking somewhat mystified.

Thurman stopped before a heavy wooden door and double-checked the nameplate on the wall to make sure they were in the right place.

“My word!” Frank Waldrup exclaimed, stumbling backwards. “You can't be serious?”

“About what?”

“When you were on the phone, I didn't … you were talking to someone named John. I didn't realize it was
John Edgar Hoover
!”

“Well, who else would it have been, you fool? This is important.” Thurman turned the knob and pushed the heavy door open.

“J. Edgar Hoover. As in Director of the F.B.I. The Federal Bureau of Investigation!” he hissed. “You can't just walk straight into his office.”

Irritated, Thurman scowled at Frank. “Were you with me in Evalyn's house when I made that call, Frank?”

“Yes.”

“And were you with me just now when the security guards checked the manifest and waved us through?”

“Yes.”

“Well, both of those things are clear indicators that we have permission to be here. Now if you don't mind, I'm exhausted, and I want to go home and get some sleep.”

Thurman Arnold placed the shoebox full of jewels into the safe of J. Edgar Hoover for safekeeping. “Such a pity, really,” he said. “She was an absurd woman at times, but she didn't deserve many of the cards that life dealt her.”

36

A
BBY LED ALEX INTO THE COCKTAIL BAR ON TOP OF TABLE MOUNTAIN.
No sooner had they passed through the door than she pushed him into a corner to avoid the stampede of people that raced through the room.

Alex saw several things happen at once, and yet he could not process any of them. Sitting at a table on the other side of the bar with the Broker, was his brother, Isaac. The Hope Diamond dangled from his hand, light refracting a series of small rainbows off the blue facets. Even as his brother and the Broker stared at the diamond, a swarm of people ran toward them with guns drawn.

Isaac jumped to his feet, clenched the necklace in one hand, and pulled a pistol from his coat pocket with the other. He scanned the room in an effort to find an escape route.

It was only when Alex saw Dow move purposefully from behind the bar, Interpol badge hanging from his neck and a Glock nine-millimeter held firmly in his hands, that he understood what was happening. He turned to Abby, both impressed and bewildered.

“You did this?”

She offered him a pained smile. “It sucks to be used, doesn't it?”

Though a small army of Interpol agents descended on Isaac, he saw only one face in the crowd, that of his brother—a man who ought to be dead.

“You traitor,” Isaac hissed, his words shaky and full of rage.

“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.