11 Harrowhouse (29 page)

Maren navigated. Using a map Chesser had marked in advance. They kept to major streets, where truck traffic was common early in the morning. By seven forty-five
A.M.
they were on the outskirts of London. They picked up the A-2 and headed south on it at a speed just below the limit. All the way to their predetermined turn-off. After another six miles of regular highway they got off onto a smaller road, and then onto one that hadn't been used in over a year.

There it was. Their destination.

Where would one hide four tons of diamonds? Professional thieves, imitating themselves, would have probably made a get-away to an abandoned warehouse to keep constant watch over the haul. The place Maren, Chesser, and Weaver had selected was more original. It was, in fact, an unhiding place, right out in the open, where it was reasonable to assume no one would think of looking.

An abandoned sand and gravel pit. Which the National Department of Highways had used temporarily while constructing the M-3. It was isolated and very inaccessible. The only road to the pit was about a quarter of a mile long and so overgrown it did not appear to be a road at all. Low-hanging branches and clusters of crowding bushes naturally camouflaged it, and grass had grown up in its tracks. A short distance in, the road was interrupted by a narrow but formidable gully, making the pit even more unapproachable. On a previous day, Chesser and Weaver had brought in some four-inch-thick, twelve-foot-long planks and had laid them across to make a serviceable bridge.

The pit itself was just a gouged-out, gaping hole in the countryside, located five miles southwest of Hindhead, conveniently less than twelve miles from Massey's West Sussex mansion.

On the floor of the open pit were several mounds of crushed rock, of various sorts, including some quartz which, except for size, resembled uncut diamonds. Not quite as transparent, but almost. Also there was a metal shack in the pit, dilapidated and rusted.

Maren got out to direct Chesser and Weaver, who maneuvered the trucks into a nearly tail-to-tail position. The rear gates were released and the hydraulic dumping mechanism put into operation. The diamonds came pouring out and down onto the ground, sliding, clicking against one another. A minor avalanche of twenty million carats, forming what appeared to be merely a pile of worthless, ordinary stones.

The trucks were pulled forward and their engines cut. Chesser and Weaver jumped out, eager to see.

There were many things they could have said at that moment, but nothing was adequate. So they just stood there, all three speechless, shocked numb by their total success. It was difficult for them to accept what they'd done. As Maren had prophesied, they'd made criminal history, pulled off the greatest robbery of all time.

Delighted as she was, Maren couldn't help also feeling a considerable letdown. The concentrated risk, the intense stimulation, was over.

Weaver's thoughts transcended the diamonds. He saw all the black hands that had scratched them from their own earth. And how he could now, finally, pay them back.

Chesser was trying to convince himself that what he was seeing wasn't an illusion. Look at all those fucking diamonds. Repeat. Look at all those fucking diamonds …

Chesser broke the spell by rushing forward and climbing up to sit on the summit of the twelve-billion-dollar heap, assuming what he had always resentfully visualized was Meecham's unique position. He got diamonds in his shoes. He felt them hard and gritty under the cheeks of his ass. It made him lightheaded.

Chesser had heard often enough that one's status in this life depended greatly upon where one sat. At that moment, Chesser was on top.

It was nine
A.M.
The door to the subterranean vault at number 11 performed all its electronically timed intricacies. Its alarms were deactivated, and the door itself swung slowly open.

The plan had called for Watts to make his exit from the vault as soon as possible. He was to take the elevator up to the second floor and then come down the stairs to the main foyer, where he would sit reading the newspaper, as though he'd just arrived. More often than not he got to work early and had to wait for the vault to open before going down to it. So his behavior this day wouldn't be considered unusual. He would merely be running a few minutes behind schedule, and was supposed to set his watch back to explain that.

Because Watts was normally the first one down in the vault each morning, he would discover and report the robbery. They wouldn't suspect him. His loyalty was taken for granted by The System and his consistently mild deportment placed him, so to speak, beneath suspicion. No, they wouldn't suspect Watts. If they considered him at all, they would consider him incapable of such a thing.

Watts wasn't to pretend excitement or act extremely upset when he reported the robbery. Rather, he was to inform Meecham in his customary understated British manner. If he was nervous, that would be understandable.

That was the plan.

But it was impossible.

Watts had known all along that it was impossible, because whenever he arrived at number 11, early or not, he had to be checked in by Security. No exceptions. Security was even more conscientious about checking in than they were about checking out. Watts had chosen not to reveal that restriction to Chesser and Maren. He felt it was his prerogative not to do so. He reasoned that he was scheduled to die soon anyway. So it wasn't much of a sacrifice, really. When his watch said eight thirty, he removed a small blue capsule from his vest pocket and placed it in his mouth. He had difficulty swallowing it. His throat was dry, wanting to reject it. He managed, though, to get it down.

He'd been told it would be relatively painless and would take twenty minutes to kill him.

That information was correct.

One of the classifiers discovered the dead Watts and notified Meecham. Meecham was astonished and annoyed. He immediately informed Coglin and hoped this incident wouldn't interfere with the important sights that were scheduled for that day.

By the time Meecham arrived down in the vault, Coglin was already there with several of his specialists. Watts's body wasn't covered. It was stretched out on the floor. Meecham tried not to look at it.

“Suicide,” was Coglin's opinion.

“Why the hell didn't he stay home and do it?”

“He was in the vault. When it opened this morning he was already here.”

“Impossible.”

“He must have been in here all night.”

“He was checked out yesterday afternoon, wasn't he?” asked Meecham.

“He was checked out,” replied Coglin, subdued.

“Your section fucked up.” Meecham was very upset. He never swore, except under the most intimate circumstances.

Coglin took the blame with a nod.

Meecham pressed his advantage. “The least you can do now is see this mess is handled discreetly. I assume you can get the police to cooperate?

“Of course.”

“Today of all days,” Meecham continued, “we've got packets to make up.” In his mind he was already appointing the next most senior classifier to fill Watts's position.

“You don't know all of it,” Coglin said.

“What do you mean?”

“The inventory is gone.”

“Please don't be ridiculous.”

Nevertheless, Meecham pulled out one of the drawers of the nearest cabinet, and saw it was empty. He didn't believe it. He pulled out another, and then went from cabinet to cabinet, his hysteria increasing as he saw they were all empty. He rushed up and down the aisles, grabbing drawers open, cursing their emptiness, slamming them shut. Finally he turned his anger on Coglin. “You incompetent son of a bitch.”

Coglin couldn't deny it. He told Meecham, “I personally checked out the electronic log.”

“Like you checked out Watts.”

“All alarm systems were functioning last night, all night, continuously.”

“What does that prove?”

“No one got in through the vault door.”

“I don't give a damn how they got in. It's what they got out that's important. Every carat, the lot. Incredible.”

“The time locks on the vault door are not retractable,” said Coglin, and shook his head sharply as though to clear it.

“The inventory just evaporated, is that it?”

“I don't know how it was done. Not yet.” Coglin glanced over at Watts's body.

“This could ruin The System,” said Meecham, realizing the potential consequences for the first time.

“We'll get the diamonds back,” Coglin said.

“We'd better.” Meecham felt like vomiting. “If word of this gets out the entire industry will panic. We can't mention it to the police.”

“Only the suicide,” promised Coglin. “We've got to act as if nothing has happened.”

“Nothing has happened,”
repeated Meecham. He tugged at his shirtcuffs and smoothed his tie, as though his appearance were important to maintaining the lie.

“It's obviously a professional job,” Coglin thought aloud.

Meecham agreed. He was feeling so desperate he would have agreed had Coglin said it was the work of trained bears.

“That being the fact, we're sure to get them,” said Coglin.

“We have sights today.”

“Cancel them.”

“That's impossible. Whiteman is scheduled in this afternoon. What precisely am I going to tell Whiteman? We don't have diamonds for his packet.”

“Tell him anything but that.”

“How long do you estimate it will take to get the inventory back?”

“A couple of days, no more than a week,” said Coglin with what he hoped sounded like total confidence.

Meecham reconsidered. “I suppose we could postpone the sights. Not cancel, just postpone. I'll use the excuse that Sir Harold is critically ill, or something.”

“I'll have to stall Whiteman, of course, keep him occupied.”

“That shouldn't be difficult.”

“Evidently, you know Whiteman,” Meecham said.

Coglin nodded. He knew Meecham too, he thought.

“I'll get cables off to the others,” said Meecham, “rescheduling their appointments.”

“Good idea.”

Meecham created a smile. “My apologies,” he said.

“For what?” asked Coglin, knowing but wanting to make Meecham say it.

“Security has always done an excellent job. I'm sure this wasn't caused by any lack of efficiency on your section's part.” He, of course, didn't mean it, but needed Coglin's help now more than ever. Everything depended on Security getting the diamonds back.

“You were in shock,” said Coglin. “I still am,” he added generously.

Meecham took out a handkerchief and wiped his hands dry. “Keep me posted,” he requested. “And when you apprehend whoever did this I want them appropriately punished. Severely.” Thus, having obliquely assigned the extreme penalty to those who had disrupted The System and caused him such personal anguish, Meecham composed his mask of unconcern and left the vault.

Coglin remained there with his specialists.

He ordered a thorough search of Watts. They stripped the body completely and placed the contents of Watts's pockets neatly on the floor. Included were the small, crushed-up ball of electrician's tape and the fish line. Coglin realized the incongruity of those two items but, as yet, did not know their significance.

He gave the vault a perfunctory examination and found nothing out of place. He opened the cabinet which contained larger stones. Intact. That they hadn't been stolen, he suspected, was in some way significant.

He briefed his men and put them to work. First, all cabinets against walls were moved from their places. Coglin was doubtful that anything could cut through the armored skin of the room, but it was a possibility that had to be eliminated. Meanwhile, one of the men called Coglin's attention to the velour inner lining of an empty drawer. A strong side light revealed a pattern of strokes on the nap of the fabric. Evidently something had been swept back and forth across it.

Coglin kept that in mind. He went to the far end of the vault and studied the entire length of that wall. It was perfectly sheer. Except for the two electrical outlets. Coglin ordered the face-plates of the outlets removed.

Within a half hour, Coglin had it figured out. The roof, the fence, the gutter drain, the replaced bricks, the two-hundred and forty-volt electrical conduit. He had to admire someone's courage and, even more, someone's ingenuity. He was still convinced that he was up against some very sophisticated professionals. He'd get to them. He counted on the dependable imperfection of the criminal mind, its compulsion to boast and confide within its own element. For that very reason, Coglin had developed a good scattering of bad characters as informants. While waiting for one of them to bring him a lead, he would investigate Watts. It was regrettable that he hadn't had Watts under surveillance. That would have made it easier.

Coglin didn't report his progress to Meecham. He decided to let Meecham sweat it out. Long ago Coglin had learned that handicaps frequently offer opportunities.

CHAPTER 19

T
HE NIGHT
after the robbery, Chesser, Maren, and Weaver found some lighthearted release in the verbal replay of their adventure. Most amusing, and mutually reassuring, were admissions that beneath surface displays of calm and bravery had been some very human feelings ranging from fear to terror to near panic. Only Maren wouldn't admit it. However, she did laughingly remember that she and Chesser, in their anxiety, had forgotten to carry their guns. And after all that practice. Weaver said he hadn't forgotten his, had carried it under his Marylebone coveralls, stuck into his belt, where it had caused his groin considerable discomfort.

At this time they hadn't yet learned of Watts's death and they wouldn't know about it for some time to come. Chesser was tempted to call Watts, just to find out how things had gone. Not because he was worried that Watts's early-morning act hadn't been believed. What Chesser really wanted to hear from Watts was how Meecham had taken it. Chesser happily imagined Meecham having an immediate nervous breakdown, a total collapse.