Death is Forever

the other.
    Not until the light was spent within the crystals and the stones slept once more did Erin straighten and move away from the camera. Unconsciously she put her hands in the small of her back and stretched, relieving the tension of hours bent over the arrangement of lens and bellows and tripod. She felt exhausted and exhilarated at once, an explorer returning from an undiscovered land, her mind full of new visions and yet hungry for more.
    Reluctantly she turned away from the stones and looked at her watch, wondering if she should set up some fixed-light shots or if her father would arrive soon, bringing with him unanswered questions from a past she didn’t want to discuss. Maybe he would have answers for her future instead, answers she could listen to without feeling angry and betrayed.
    Someone knocked on the door twice. “Baby? It’s me. Open up.”
    “On my way.”
    At first the security locks and latches defeated Erin.
    Then she got the sequence correct and opened the door. Her father stood in the hallway, as tall and handsome as ever, dressed in the charcoal business suit, white shirt, and silk tie that was the male uniform in the world of business and diplomacy.
    “I wouldn’t mind a hug if you wouldn’t,” Windsor said, his mouth smiling and his eyes very serious.
    There was no hesitation before Erin stepped forward and wrapped her arms around her father. He closed his eyes and hugged her in return, lifting her off her feet with the embrace.
    “Hugs don’t bother you anymore, do they?” he asked very softly.
    For an instant, she looked surprised. Then she realized it was true. She no longer panicked at being held by a powerful man.
    “I hadn’t thought about it, but you’re right.”
    “That’s why you’re leaving the arctic, isn’t it? You’re finally over that schleimscheiber Hans. Thank God, baby.”
    Before she could say anything, Windsor released her and stepped back. A woman moved from the shadows, where she had been waiting patiently.
    “Hello, Erin Shane Windsor. I’m Nan Faulkner.”
    Startled, Erin took the blunt, broad hand that was being held out to her. The fingers were as firm as they were dark. Like the woman herself, the handshake was no-nonsense, controlled, and short. The business suit she wore had a narrow skirt and was a darker shade of gray than Windsor’s. She didn’t wear a tie. She was a solid presence, buxom and broad without being fat. A thin black cigarillo smoked in her left hand. The same hand held a black box with a single gauge on the surface and a wand plugged into the side.
    Windsor was the last one through the door. He secured the various locks without a fumble.
    Faulkner took one look at the stones shimmering on the table and said, “Holy Christ.”
    In a controlled rush, she went to the table. She threw her smoking cigarillo in Erin’s half-empty coffee cup, swept open the curtains to take advantage of the falling light, and switched on the black box. In rapid succession she touched the tip of the wand to stone after stone, beginning with the smallest and working her way up to the biggest.
    “Jesus,” she muttered as stone after stone registered in the diamond range of thermal resistance. Then she touched the green stone. It, too, registered in the diamond range. “Sweet. Jesus. Christ.”
    After she touched every stone, Faulkner shut off the machine and pulled a loupe from her coat pocket. She scanned each stone before she turned to Windsor.
    “All but one of the white ones are of the first water, D, O+, River, Finest White, Blanc Exceptionnel, call it what you will,” she said. “They are the most pluperfect bastards I’ve ever had the privilege of seeing.”
    “Shit,” Windsor muttered.
    “The colors might be irradiated,” Faulkner continued, “but I doubt it. Radiation is too easy to pick up on. It’s used to cover flaws or off-colors, but these babies don’t have any problems worth mentioning, much less trying to hide. I’m a betting woman, and I’m betting these are high-ticket fancies.”
    Windsor said something savage beneath his breath. Then, “How bad is it?”
    “Couldn’t be worse. Next to these colored stones, hen’s teeth are as common as sand in the Sahara.”
    “I don’t understand,” Erin said.
    Faulkner set aside all the diamonds except the green one. “Take an average diamond mine. Only twenty percent of what’s found is gem-quality goods. Less than one percent of the gem-quality stones will be