by Al Ruksenas
“Our gem and mineral collection is one of the most significant in the whole world.” Carruthers said matter of factly. “We have fifteen thousand gems, and more than thirty‐thousand meterorites in the collection.”
Laura listened while noticing that the elaborate exhibit area had no windows to the outside.
They walked slowly along the displays as the curator dotingly pointed out particular exhibits. “We have the Bismarck Sapphire there. It’s one of the world’s largest at ninety‐eight and a half carats. Then, The Napoleon Diamond Necklace given to his queen on the birth of their son. Together, that necklace has a total of two hundred seventy‐five carats. The Hooker Emerald Brooch is a gorgeous piece at seventy‐five carats,” he said as he pointed. “It was from the belt buckle of a Turkish Sultan.”
“You know this?”
“Of course,” Carruthers sniffed.
Laura smiled. She was drawn into the dazzling, alluring displays and momentarily let her mind drift from her purpose by her friend’s enthused elucidations, even though tag lines accompanied each exhibit.
“…the Smithsonian Canary Diamond, a beautiful amber hue radiating from a white diamond encrusted ring.”
They turned a corner along the displays. “The hall is laid out in a rectangular. It guides the flow of visitors. We have several million people coming through here every year.”
Laura figured they were now walking along an outside wall of the building. “Aren’t there any windows around here?”
“They’re at different levels. Some exhibits are between floors. This place is so cavernous, you can’t count the number of floors by windows.”
“I see,” she replied thoughtfully.
“Over there,” he continued, “is Napoleon’s jeweled crown for Empress Marie Louise. Early eighteen‐hundreds. It has nine‐hundred fifty diamonds set in elaborate Persian turquoise. Next, the Star of Bombay—a stunning one hundred eighty‐two carat sapphire from the actress Mary Pickford of early Hollywood. Then, of course, there is the Star of Asia Sapphire. It’s the largest in the world at three hundred thirty carats.”
“That’s very interesting, Al. But you know, no matter how many carats other gems might have, diamonds still have some magic draw.”
“Well. I guess that depends,” Carruthers started.
“For example,” Laura interposed. “What about there?” She pointed. “Those diamond earrings.”
“Well. They are not the largest,” Carruthers replied.
“But they’re here on display.”
“Yes. They’re here on display,” he said. “They are historically significant. They belonged to Marie Antoinette, the last, doomed Queen of France, consumed by the French Revolution. The story is that those earrings were taken from her when she was arrested. The royal family was trying to escape the revolutionary mob.”
“Is that so?” Laura pondered as she peered at the tear dropped shapes lying on blue velvet and emanating dancing brilliance from within. “I’m doing some lectures on the French Revolution in my seminar.”
“Then you can appreciate these,” Carruthers said.
“Some researchers say the French Crown Jewels caused the bankruptcy of France and led to the French Revolution.” Her gaze was still fixed on the earrings.
“That could well be,” Carruthers replied. “You know, other jewels like rubies, sapphires, and emeralds were all the rage before cutters learned to bring out the brilliance in diamonds. That’s why diamond adornments in earlier portraits of nobles look dark.”
“I know,” Laura replied. “The early cuts were minimal. They were called adamantine cuts—after a metal that didn’t even exist.”
Carruthers looked at her in admiration.
“It was a storied metal that was supposed to have mystical powers.”
“I’m impressed.”
“European royalty awoke to the brilliance of diamonds when cutters began to improve their methods. Kings started competing for diamonds and outdoing each other in about the Eighteenth Century.”
“They did,” Carruthers agreed. “And France lost, because the last French kings, particularly Louis the Sixteenth, raided the national treasury to buy and parade diamonds at the expense of his commoners and their well‐being. That’s why we have so much of the French Royal Collection in our displays. The revolutionaries appropriated the royal jewels and ended up selling them throughout Europe.”
“And now they’re here,” Laura mused.
“And now they’re here. Historical artifacts in ‘the nation’s attic’.”
“But diamonds are still the queen of jewels. A girl’s best friend.”
“Yes, they are. And the few diamond cartels want to keep it that way. Actually just one, but I won’t mention their name. They’re big contributors to the museum, you know.”
“Of course.”
“Of course. They have the world monopoly. Diamonds are so plentiful they could be just another stone. But the cartel strictly controls their flow into the market. They own most of the diamond mines.”
“So I heard,” Laura said. “Actually, I’m writing a book on how diamonds came to be so prized among royalty—and how they shaped cataclysmic events. Louis the Sixteenth went into such a frenzy of buying for royal display—to mask his inadequacies—that he finally triggered the French Revolution, like you were saying.”
“Will you autograph a copy for me?”
“I’ll be delighted. As soon as I finish. You know, publish or perish.”
“I know. But yours is a labor of love,” he added. “It’ll be good.”
“Thanks. You’re sweet. I could use the encouragement.”
They had completed their stroll around the exhibit hall and found themselves in the atrium again, standing before a crowd of visitors filing into a smaller gallery centered in front of the u‐shaped Gem Hall.
“And that, as you know, is the Hope Diamond Exhibit. It’s probably the most famous diamond in the world. Not so much that it’s the largest blue diamond known, but its history. The Gallery is named after Harry Winston, the jeweler who donated the Hope to the Smithsonian in Nineteen fifty‐eight.”
“Yes, I know,” Laura said as she tried to gaze inside past the crowd of visitors. “Maybe you can show me after hours. It seems like such a rush of people.”
“It always is.”
“You have the key, don’t you? You can come anytime.”
“Well, yes, but it’s a little more complicated. There’s the security and alarms.
And there’s also a little advertised fact about the Hope exhibit. It’s in that tall rectangular enclosure of glass. It’s three inches thick. The display is actually a specially designed safe. The diamond rests on an oval pedestal and the vault rotates every minute or so to give the viewers surrounding the display a good look. And you can see there are guards in the gallery.”
“Okay, I’m with you so far,” she said as she shifted the weight of her body, crossed her arms and leaned slightly to one side to get a better view past several people.
“Well,” Carruthers continued in a softer voice and tilting his head towards hers, “After hours the display is lowered into a chamber under the floor. It disappears.”
“Oh, I see.” She tried visualizing the procedure. “So it’s on a floor beneath us.”
“Yes.”
“And I presume that floor has windows.”
“Yes. But the chamber is isolated”’
“Can we go there?”
“Well…no,” he said.
“I mean the floor below us, not the chamber,” Laura persisted.
“Oh, sure, we can do that, but it’s just offices and work rooms. I know you couldn’t have heard any screaming there. The only people around at night are security guards and the night shift cleaning crew.”
He led the way to a stairwell. They descended a floor and came upon two pedestals with a red velvet rope blocking their way. A plaque stating “Restricted Area Employees Only” hung from the rope. Th
e curator pushed a pedestal aside and continued along the
marbled hall lined with several doors.
“What’s past there?”
“Offices, work rooms, storage of artifacts not on display.”
“Can we go through?”
“I would hesitate. You know there’s a lot of construction going on. New exhibits, painting, remodeling. The union is very picky. Even if I try to open a door, they claim we’re taking work away from them.”
Laura smiled. “Oh, right! I’ve heard that before. It’s a little empire over here.”
“No, you should see them! The union people are very protective of their turf. I don’t want any complaints filed.”
“What about that big door there?” she asked pointing ahead. “It has no handle.”
“That’s the door leading to the chamber where the Hope Diamond is lowered after hours. It’s right under the exhibit. Entrance is with a key card. Two, actually. Simultaneously.”
“Oh, just like triggering a nuclear launch?” she said admiringly.
“What do you know about nuclear launches?”
“I saw it in the movies.”
“Oh? Well the Hope is priceless, you know.”
He turned to head back towards the stairway. “You know, the gem exhibit and particularly the Hope Diamond gallery were very special projects,” the curator explained. “More than thirteen‐million was poured into the Hope Diamond exhibit alone. Victor Sherwyck, the presidential adviser, was a major catalyst for the enhancements. He helped raise a lot of the money. You remember the Knowltons from last night? They donated a bundle. Sherwyck, also acted as an adviser to the board in the union contracts. This is a pet project of his.”
They started up the stairs.
“The Hope Diamond is a magnet for tourists. In fact the east and west wings of the natural history museum were constructed in the early nineteen‐sixties. I think it was to accommodate the increased visitations to the museum.”
“For the Hope Diamond?” Laura ventured as they alighted the stairs.
“I’d like to think it was for a lot of interesting things,” Carruthers said. “About a third of our new items on display were acquired after Nineteen fifty‐eight. But I’m sure the diamond was a focal point. Construction of the wings started soon after we got it that year.”
They reached the top of the stairs and drifted once more to the gallery displaying the Hope Diamond.
“The display seems such a draw,” Laura observed.
“It is a dazzling diamond. The world’s largest blue at forty‐five and a half carats,” Carruthers said in his expository tone. “The setting is surrounded by sixteen white diamonds, and it’s suspended from a platinum chain that has another forty‐six diamonds in it. The pendant is the same as when we received it.”
“How is it blue?”
“There are traces of boron in it. That’s what gives it the color. And interestingly enough, it radiates red phosphorescence under ultra violet light.”
“And what gives it the curse?”
Carruthers broke into a mirthful laugh. “Come now!”
“But that’s what draws the crowd, isn’t it?” Laura asserted. “Look, it’s in a gallery all by itself with people three deep waiting to see it up close.”
“I must confess, Laura, that myth is a definite lure. But any bad luck to its owners was just coincidence.”
“Marie Antoinette owned it once, and she lost her head.”
“True,” Carruthers agreed. “The Blue was part of the French Royal Treasury and the Queen may have worn it. But, as you said yourself, Royal hunger for diamonds in general helped precipitate the Revolution, not the blue diamond itself.”
“How do you know?”
“Well,” Carruthers smiled. “No one really knows.”
“So, you like to let the mystery linger?”
Alvin Carruthers kept smiling.
“To bring in the crowds.”
“Now, now, Laura. This is a museum, not a circus.”
Laura smiled back.
“Anyway, I hope your concern is satisfied.”
“I suppose,” she replied tentatively.
“As long as I’m here, my dear, I’ll ask around. Especially the shift supervisors. And I’ll see what the police have to say about those men Chris shot.”
“Thank you,” she replied more assuredly. “I have to get back. I have a lecture this afternoon.”
“I’ll walk you to the elevator.” He put his arm around her and escorted her down the hall. “You look lovely as ever,” he said. “And don’t worry; I’m sure everything is fine.”
She smiled thanks.
When Laura entered the elevator, the curator blew her a kiss as the doors closed between them.
Inside stood a security guard who was repeatedly pushing a button, as if spurring the elevator to go faster. She stood next to him facing the door. Behind them was a man in workman’s overalls.
“One please,” she requested.
The guard looked at her with a blank stare, turned his head toward the panel and pushed the button.
She noticed the back of his neck. “I’m sorry, sir,” she said spontaneously. “There’s a blue smear on your neck. It might stain your collar.”
The man quickly rubbed his left hand behind his ear, turned and glared at her. She looked back in sudden anxiety for support from the workman behind her. He was glaring too.
The door opened and Laura Mitchell hurried out.
Chapter 14
The huge, gray cargo carrier appeared out of a late morning mist in its final approach to Ramstein Air Base after an eight hour flight. Colonel Caine and Colonel Jones stayed aboard while the flight crew was rotated and the extended range Globemaster was replenished with nearly 36,000 gallons of fuel. Even though the plane was in the center of a major military air base, its 150,000 pounds of sophisticated and secret cargo was nevertheless closely guarded. Several hours later the four oversize turbofan engines lifted the Globemaster nimbly into the air for its final leg to Israel.
By mid‐evening the two American officers were in the port city of Haifa in the sparsely furnished offices of General Itzhak Lovy of the Mossad—the Israeli intelligence and special operations service. Lovy operated out of a nondescript stucco building in the harbor area overlooking the Mediterranean Sea. Caine and Jones saw it as an obvious front; a convenient listening post in the midst of the port where the U.S. Sixth Fleet docked on a regular basis.
General Lovy paced back and forth in front of the two Americans and stroked his reddish curly hair with a lit cigarette between his fingers. His hawk‐like, sun‐sculptured face seemed locked in intensity. General Lovy was not sure of the exact nature of the American mission, because the abrupt and urgent request for assistance from Washington had not come through the usual channels. But his professional pride did not permit him to appear too curious.
Colonel Caine looked past the General through a large window and watched the brilliant sea reflecting golden, shimmering streamers from the setting sun. He glanced at his watch, then turned to Colonel Jones.
“We will be underway shortly, gentlemen,” General Lovy said, reading Caine’s glance at his fellow commando. After a thoughtful pause, General Lovy asked in spite of his apparent nonchalance: “Could it be that your mission is tied to the death of General Starr?”
Their quizzical look answered General Lovy’s question.
“I’m sorry. I presumed you were aware,” the Israeli intelligence officer said.
“General Benjamin Starr was found dead on a trail. It was late yesterday by your time.”
“We were enroute here,” Colonel Jones said evenly. “Minimal communications.”
“Of course,” General Lovy replied, less certain now, of his conclusions about the nature of their mission.
“As we understand from our sources, General Starr’s death has not been officially announced as of this time.”—he paused—“There is an investigation underway. It appears th
ere are some oddities involved.”
The American officers looked at him expectantly, but said nothing.
“Yes. Witnesses in the area described a runaway horse with a strange hidebound saddle.
It terrified the General’s mount, which fell and crushed him. No one knows where the horse came from and no one could locate it afterwards.”
“Where did you hear this?” Caine asked.
“As I said, Colonel—our sources,” General Lovy answered matter of factly.
