Dance Of Death

Beck stationed the two extra security guards outside the doors, then shut and locked them.

"Everyone please stand back," he said. "Mr. Kaplan, will this do?"

"Splendid," said Kaplan with a broad smile, his whole mood seeming to change.

"Where do you want to sit?"

Kaplan pointed to a seat in a corner, between two windows. "That would be perfect."

"Set yourself up."

The jeweler busied himself laying out all his tools again, spreading the velvet. Then he looked up. "The stone, please?"

Beck laid the box next to him, unlocked it with the key, and raised the lid. The gemstone lay inside, nestled in its velvet.

Kaplan reached in, plucked it out with the four-prong, and called for a Grobet double lens. Using this device, he peered at the diamond, first looking at it through one lens, then the other, then both at once. As he held it, light struck the gemstone, and the walls of the room were suddenly freckled with dots of intense ci

Several minutes passed in absolute silence. Smithback realized he was holding his breath. At length, Kaplan slowly laid the diamond down on the velvet, swiveled the Grobet lenses from his eyes, and bestowed a beaming smile on the waiting audience.

"Ah, yes," he said, "how wonderful it is. Natural light makes all the difference in the world. This is it, gentlemen. Without the slightest doubt, this is Lucifer's Heart." He placed it back down on the velvet pad.

There was a relieved exhalation, as if everybody else in the room had been holding their breaths along with Smithback.

Kaplan waved his hand. "Mr. Beck? You may put it away. With the four-prong, if you please."

"Thank the Lord," said the CEO, turning to Collopy and grasping his hand.

"Thank the Lord is right," Collopy replied, shaking the hand while dabbing at his forehead with a handkerchief. "I had a bad moment back there."

Meanwhile, Beck, his face unreadable but still dark, had reached over with the four-prong to pick up the gem. At the same time, Kaplan rose from his chair and bumped into him. "I beg your pardon!"

It happened so fast that Smithback realized what he'd seen only after the fact. Suddenly, Kaplan had the gem in one hand and Beck's gun in the other, pointed at Beck. He fired it almost in Beck's face, just turning the barrel enough so the bullets went past and buried themselves in the wall. He fired three times in rapid succession, the incredibly loud reports plunging the room into terror and confusion as everyone dropped to the floor, Beck included.

And then he was gone, out the supposedly locked door.

Beck was up in a flash. "Get him! Stop him!"

As he picked himself up from the floor, ears ringing, Smithback could see through the double doors the two security guards sprawled on the floor scrambling back to their feet and taking off down the hall, fumbling with their guns.

"He's got the gem!" Collopy cried, struggling to his feet. "He's got Lucifer's Heart! My God, get him! Do something!"

Beck had his radio out. "Security Command? This is Samuel Beck. Lock down the building! Lock it down! I don't want anyone going out-anything going out-no garbage, no mail, no people, nothing! You hear me? Shut off the elevators, lock the stairwells. I want a full security alert and all security perso

He turned to the rest of them. "And none of you, none of you, are to leave this room without my permission."

Two exhausting and trying hours later, Smithback found himself in a line with what seemed like a thousand employees of Affiliated Transglobal Insurance. The line snaked interminably around the interior lobby of the building, coiling three times about the elevator banks. On the far side of the lobby, he could see employees trundling carts piled with mail and packages, ru

As Smithback approached the head of the line, he could hear a hubbub of voices raised in argument, from a large group of people shunted to one side who had refused to allow themselves to be X-rayed. Outside were fire trucks, their lights flashing; police cars; and the inevitable gaggle of press. As each person in line was thoroughly searched and then put through the X-ray machine, finally emerging into the gray January afternoon, there would be scattered applause and a burst of camera flashes.

Smithback tried to control his sweating. As the minutes crawled by, his nervousness had only grown worse. For the thousandth time, he cursed himself for agreeing to this. He had already been searched twice, including a revolting body-cavity search. At least the others in the executive boardroom had been subjected to the same kind of search, Collopy insisting on it for himself and the rest, including the officers of Affiliated Transglobal Insurance and even Beck. Meanwhile, Collopy-almost beside himself with agitation-had been doing all he could to convince Smithback to keep mum, not to publish anything. Oh, God, if they only knew…

Why, oh why, had he ever agreed to this?

Only ten more people in line ahead of him now. They were putting the people, one at a time, into what looked like a narrow telephone booth, with no fewer than four technicians examining various CRT screens affixed to it. Someone in front of him was listening to a transistor radio with everyone else crowding around-amazing how news got out-and it appeared the real Kaplan had been released unharmed in front of his brownstone a half hour ago and was now being questioned by the police. Nobody yet knew who the fake Kaplan was.

Just two more people to go. Smithback tried to swallow but found that he couldn't. His stomach churned with fear. This was the worst part. The very worst of all.

And now it was his turn. Two technicians stood him on a mat with the usual yellow footprints and searched him yet again, just a little too thoroughly for comfort. They examined his temporary building pass and his press credentials. They had him open his mouth and searched it with a tongue depressor. Then they opened the door of the booth and put him inside.

"Don't move. Keep your arms at your side. Look at the target on the wall…" The directions rolled out with rapid efficiency.

There was a short hum. Through the safety glass, Smithback could see the technicians poring over the results. Finally, one nodded.

A technician on the other side opened the door, placed a firm hand on Smithback's arm, and drew him out. "You're free to go," he said, pointing to the building exit.

As he gestured, the technician brushed briefly against Smithback's side.

Smithback turned and walked the ten feet to the revolving door- the longest ten feet of his life.

Outside, he zipped up his coat, ran the gauntlet of flashbulbs, ignored the shouted questions, pushed through the crowd, and walked stiffly up Avenue of the Americas. At 56th Street, he hailed a cab, slid into the back. He gave the driver the address of his apartment, waited until the cab had moved out into traffic, turned and glanced searchingly out the rear window for a full five minutes.

Only then did he dare settle into his seat, reach into his coat pocket. There, nestled safely in the bottom, he could feel the hard, cold outline of Lucifer's Heart.