Solomon's Gold

CHAPTER 7

At three in the morning, the tourists walking New York's museum mile on the Upper East Side were long gone. Fifth Avenue was deserted, except for the occasional taxi or rare police car. Across from the Jewish Museum at 92^nd St. and Fifth, Central Park beckoned the unwary into its winter darkness.

It was quiet on the Avenue, a blissful change from the constant sound of traffic during the day. Even so, the endless murmur of the city in the background was a reminder that New York never slept.

The museum wasn't open at three in the morning, but that hadn't kept out a late visitor. In Friedman's office on the fourth floor, a small flashlight cast an intense beam of light on a large safe.

The man holding the light was dressed all in black. A black hood covered his head, giving him an ominous look. He had a crooked nose and narrow eyes and a beard as black as his hood. He looked as though he'd stepped out of a sixteenth century illustration of the devil or one of his disciples.

The safe presented a challenge, even for a man as skilled as he was in the art of opening things that weren't supposed to be opened. It had an electronic keypad, which he'd expected. A red light glowed on the keypad. The keypad was not a problem, but the safe also had a biometric lock, requiring a fingerprint from someone authorized to open it.

The museum housed many artifacts of value, all related in some way or other to Jewish history. There were displays of religious antiquities made of gold and silver. Valuable paintings by well-known masters hung on the walls. An extensive collection of ancient figurines would bring a fortune on the black market. But the intruder wasn't after gold or paintings or figurines.

He was after something worth far more than that.

He glanced about the room. On Friedman's desk was a crystal paperweight, perfect for what he needed. The man went over to the desk and took a small case from his jacket pocket. He opened the case and withdrew a thin, translucent piece of tape. He shone his light on the paperweight, looking for fingerprints. They'd belong to Friedman, who had authorization to open the safe.

He found the distinctive shape of a thumb, carefully placed the tape over it, and lifted the print from the crystal. He took another strip from his case and made an impression of an index finger. One or the other would trigger the lock.

Back at the safe, he withdrew an electronic box about four inches square from his jacket and attached it to the keypad. He pressed a button on the box. A red digital display lit and began flashing through a series of numbers. Within fifteen seconds, the first number of the combination appeared on the screen.

Two minutes later, the thief had the combination. He entered the numbers and the light on the keypad turned green. Then he placed the tape with the thumb impression over the biometric scanner.

The locks on the safe did not release. The light on the keypad turned red again.

He reentered the combination and watched the light return to green. He placed the tape with the index finger impression over the scanner and was rewarded by the sound of steel bars inside the door retracting. He grasped the handle and swung the heavy door open.

Inside were several shelves on top and a large open area on the bottom. The thief ignored gold artifacts and a cash box on one of the shelves. He moved the light until it came to rest on the scroll in its glass case.

"Hold it right there!"

Bright light flashed over the safe. The voice and light startled the hooded figure. He'd been so focused on getting the safe open that he'd failed to hear the approach of the museum guard.

The guard wasn't supposed to be there. It was too bad for him that he was.

"Stand up and turn around, real slow," the guard said. "Don't try anything funny. There's a Glock.45 aimed right at you."

"Okay. No problem, officer."

As he turned, he raised his left arm and held his right hand out in front of him to show that it was empty. The guard gestured with his pistol.

"Put both your hands on top of your head. Now."

The thief triggered a mechanism hidden in his sleeve. A razor-sharp sliver of steel shot out.

The blade struck the guard an inch above his Adam's apple. He made choking noises. Blood spewed from his mouth. The pistol fell from his hand. He clutched at his throat and staggered backward, making desperate gurgling sounds. Then he toppled to the floor. His heels drummed a spastic beat on the hard wood. Then he stopped moving.

Outside the museum, sirens sounded on the deserted Avenue, coming closer.

Triggered the alarm when the first scan failed, the thief thought.

He reached inside the safe, took out the frame with the scroll, and stuffed it in a bag. He ran for his escape route.

By the time the police found the dead guard, the thief was gone.