The night of the gala broke clear and calm. The steps leading to the large white marbled building which housed the Palm City Metropolitan Museum of Art were filled to the brim with photographers and press. The central section of the tall stairs was blocked off by thick velvet ropes, guarded by uniformed Ark Security guards. The building itself was tall and stately with eight large marble columns supporting a tall peaked roof in similar design to the Parthenon of Ancient Greece. Long thick banners of red burgundy hung from the roof between the columns advertising the opening of the Mongolian exhibition.
A long line of limousines stretched along the street in front of the building. The well dressed guests of the gala made their way up the stairs to the tall doors, pausing along the way to pose for photographs. An air of excitement and anticipation filled the night. An air of mystery was added as each guest was masked, leading to much speculation among those gathered as to the identity of the guests of the prestigious affair. Some were rather obvious, such as the rather stout round figure of the president of the largest bank in the city and his young blond trophy wife, who was decked in furs despite the warmth of the evening; others were less recognizable such as the tall dark haired man in the Armani tux exiting the limo at the bottom of the stairs. Despite the black half mask which hid half of his face it was obvious that he was very handsome. He smiled for the cameras, displaying a row of even white teeth, before turning and reaching a hand back toward the open door of the limo. A slim, manicured hand slipped into his larger one and a woman emerged. The cameras flashed a blinding bombardment of light as the man tucked his companion's hand possessively in the crook of his arm.
She was a vision. Long dark tousled curls settled lightly against flawless porcelain skin; her strapless satin midnight blue glow hugged her slender curves to her waist before flaring gently to her feet which were clad in a pair of delicate silver heeled sandals. Dark eyes shone from behind a delicate mask which had the appearance of fine silver dipped lace. She smiled demurely at the cameras as she gathered her skirt in her free hand and allowed her companion to lead her up the stairs.
"So much for slipping in unnoticed." She murmured with an ironic smirk.
Her companion smiled warmly at her, his blue eyes filled with soft admiration. "I have it on good authority that it would have been impossible for them to miss beauty such as yours." His grin widened as she blushed prettily.
Orwell turned her focus back to the stairs before her as she fought to cool the blush. What was it about this man that he was able to affect her so easily? They reached the top of the stairs without issue. Davis handed his invitation to the attendant at the doorway and lead her inside.
Soft music flowed from the open archways leading to the main gallery of the museum, providing a nice counter balance to the murmur of voices. Orwell paused in the doorway as she admired the elegant beauty of the room. Large globed lanterns washed the room in a soft soothing glow, mirroring the soft light of the moon which shone through the large sky light in the center of the dome overhead. Red and gold silk hangings streamed artfully from the center of the high ceiling to the second store balcony and then gracefully to the floor along the edges of the room, providing the impression of a large tent. A small group of musicians wove a haunting melody a stage set off to the side of the open area beneath the sky light.
A collection of large glass display cases were scattered strategically throughout the room, each displaying a different piece of the mysterious collection. One in particular seemed to be drawing attention, a long well lit case sat on top a wide pillar of white marble off to the side of the open area; inside it a beautifully carved sword gleamed above its matching golden sheath. Orwell paused beside a case containing a set of beautifully carved armor as Davis released her hand and reached out to collect a pair of champagne flutes from a passing server. He turned and handed her one, raising his own slightly in a toast.
"To a successful evening."
Orwell inclined her head slightly in acknowledgement and took a sip of the golden liquid. It was of fine quality, like everything else in the room. It seemed as if the Ark Corporation was pulling out all the stops on this one. She moved easily through the milling crowd, pausing before the display case housing the sword. It was beautiful. Four feet of fine crafted polished iron with a simple well worn hilt of polished gold the color of fresh butter. The sheath was a master piece in itself. Scenes of past battles and victories won by the infamous emperor Genghis Khan were intricately carved into the gold from top to bottom. A true work of art, a sword worthy of a ruler.
Her dark eyes shifted to the security features of the case. It seemed well protected. Sensors lined the inside of the case from top to bottom. The sword itself sat within a cradle on top of an artfully disguised pressure sensor plate. Her research had revealed an added safety feature set into the base of the case. If disturbed by an unauthorized person or threatened by fire, the entire case would sink automatically into a steel vault set deep beneath the foundation of the building. Once it was within the vault, only a special code held by the head of the museum would release it.
Orwell took a small sip from the glass in her hand for show as she turned to her companion. She paused as her eyes settled on his features, half hidden by the dark mask. The portion of his face which was exposed was calm, but his eyes revealed turmoil churning beneath the surface. She touched his arm gently and a shiver ran through her as the fathomless dark eyes turned and met hers. She felt as if all her defenses had been stripped away and her very soul lay bare. Davis blinked and turned his head quickly, his eyes shut tightly as his jaw clenched. When he turned to face her once more, the eyes behind the mask were a warm familiar blue. His eyes conveyed remorse as he gently placed a hand at the small of her back and led her away from the case to a tall table in the corner of the room.
Before he could speak, a fanfare came from the direction of the musicians. The guests turned to face in their direction as a lithe aristocratic figure moved to take the stage. Orwell stiffened slightly and shifted slightly behind her companion as her eyes settled on the man. She felt her companion's questioning eyes on her and she forced herself to relax. Davis had read her blog and knew some of Fleming's dark dealings, but some secrets were better left unrevealed. She turned and smiled at him. He returned her smile, though the concern was still evident in his blue eyes. They turned back toward the stage as Fleming began to speak.
"Welcome, my honored friends, to the unveiling of the Khan Collection." the smooth voice announced. He paused to allow for the applause, motioning for quiet after a moment. "It is a great honor for our fair city to play host to such a magnificent collection. I also consider it a great honor for the Ark Corporation to be entrusted with its safety while it resides in Palm City. I thank you for your support and hope that you will all make a large donation to help tonight's worthy cause, Metropolitan Museum of Art. Of which I would like to present the first check made out in the sum of one hundred thousand dollars." He handed the check to the museum administrator with a smile, pausing briefly for a photo before raising a hand for quiet as the applause increased. "This night is one for fun, amusement and the admiration of treasures until now hidden from the public eye. So eat, drink and enjoy yourselves and as no one seems to be taking advantage of our magnificent musicians, I would like to officially open the dance floor if I might select a partner." The crowd chuckled as he waved a hand with a dramatic flair worthy of a stage actor. His dark eyes panned the crowd and then he moved smoothly to its edge and extended his hand.
Orwell stared at the hand before her, frozen for a heart beat before she plastered a smile on her face and handed her champagne flute to Davis. It took every ounce of her will power not to flinch as she accepted Fleming's hand and allowed him to lead her out to the middle of the floor.