A Beautiful Heist (21 page)

I intercepted the call intended for the elevator company with my iPhone. This was a little coup that came courtesy of Gladys and her fabulous ability to tap into the telephone network and redirect certain calls.

I answered the call. “HR Elevators. Twenty-four-hour service. How can I help you?” I used the automaton tone that answering services typically employ. I listened as the security guy at Starlight Casino reported the problem. I told him we’d have someone out there right away. I figured this bought me at least thirty minutes.

I crouched on top of the elevator and connected my rappelling harness, moving quickly but carefully. I silently descended the elevator shaft after squeezing past the car. It didn’t take me long, largely because I knew there were no security cameras in the elevator shaft—one reason I’d selected this particular route. I was in full flow of the job. My breathing was fast and regular and my focus was supercharged.

When I reached the bottom of the shaft, I pulled out my perfect little folding titanium crowbar that would take care of my next task—levering open the doors. I checked to make sure my anti-CCTV sweeper was still functioning.

I slipped it into the joint and inched the doors open, bit by bit, feeling the strain in my shoulders and forearms. I licked my lip and tasted the sweat that was there, partly from labor, partly from nerves.

When I made a small crack, I pulled out my fiber-optic bendy wire to check the corridor outside. I flicked it on and ...

Nothing
. It wasn’t working. What the hell? I’d just used it a couple of days ago and it had been fine then. Maybe the battery needed jiggling. I twisted open the compartment. Inside was a small, rolled-up piece of paper. No battery. I stared in bewilderment. Then, I pulled out the tiny paper roll, unfurled it, and read:
Needed a battery for my heated eyelash curler, so sorry! Love, Brooke.

No. This was not happening.

I flashed back to Brooke, sitting on my bed, holding the fiber-optic wire. She must have done this then. How could I have been so stupid?

A terrifying thought then occurred to me. Panicking, I checked all my other pieces of equipment....

No, they were all fine. But still—
my bendy wire.
I didn’t have any spare batteries for it. How was I going to do the job now? I considered aborting. Instantly, all the reasons why I couldn’t abort crammed into my head. Okay, I could do this. The wire was good, but not a crucial part of my kit, right?

Think, Cat.
I needed to know that this hallway was clear—that was the main reason for the scope. So, I could go old school. That meant first, listening. Guards weren’t usually as silent as thieves. They had no need to be. Even if a guard was standing still, he would eventually shift, or cough, or something. I stilled myself to utter silence and listened.

Nothing.

Next, I let my head peek through the very bottom of the gap, just enough for one eye to be exposed, doing a visual check of the corridor.

Clear.

Now I moved fast. I prized the doors open the rest of the way and crawled out of the shaft. A long, shiny hallway stretched in front of me, dimly lit. A series of plain steel doors punctuated the concrete walls. It didn’t matter that they were unlabeled because I knew the exact one I was looking for. I’d memorized the blueprint.

I crept cautiously and quickly down the hallway until I reached the vault room door. Access to this room was controlled by a magnetic key card lock. I made swift work of this using a magnetic dummy card and just the right touch. The door’s seal released with a hiss and slid open.

My heart did a triple beat of excitement: another step closer. Now that the door was open I saw a great web of laser beams. There are many ways of bypassing such a thing. Acrobatics come to mind. Target-shooting the emitting mechanism on the far wall is another option. Tonight, I was going to skip those theatrics in favor of simply punching in the disabling code, courtesy of the security file from York. Cheating? Maybe. But all’s fair in love and war. And burglary.

I punched in the series of six numbers. I held my breath; the sweat on the back of my neck was cold. And then, the lasers flickered and turned off. I exhaled.

I needed to be swift. This was a risky stage—if people in the security room felt so inclined, they could pull up the current status of the vault on their computers. But I knew, from the security file, that rarely happened. I knew they were highly reliant on their automated systems. And this area was checked as part of a scheduled sweep of the system every twenty-seven minutes. I checked my watch. Twenty-three minutes away.

The room was dark with only a scattering of recessed lights shining down from the ceiling. The marble floor tiles made a black-and-white checkerboard. In the silence, my breathing roared in my ears. The walls were lined with rows of steel compartments—security boxes. Each box contained its own lock and electronic security system. In the schematics there’d been mention made of many artifacts and Romanov treasures contained within the vault room. These guys had really gone to town when they looted the Winter Palace.

But I didn’t want any of that. I turned my attention to the huge round vault door on the far wall surrounded by a massive, riveted ring. It led into an inner chamber: the Bagreef Vault. The hairs on my arms rose up. I took a deep breath.
Here we go.

I swapped my leather gloves for the pair from the lab. I put my hand on the biometric sensor pad that resided in the wall beside the vault door. Now, there are painless, noninvasive biometrics that measure things like fingerprints and iris scans. And then there’s the kind of biometrics these guys employ.

With a snap, a needle popped up to pierce my finger and take a fresh blood sample. Instead of my skin, of course, the needle punctured the small pocket that was built into the glove. In this pocket was a reservoir of artificial blood—blood whose DNA perfectly matched Gorlovich’s.

I held my breath as the computer analyzed the blood sample and my brain crowded with doubt about whether this would work. My heart was racing and my muscles were taut, ready to enact a very quick escape if this failed.

Jack watched the man stroll across the blue-carpeted control room directly toward him. He steeled himself for the torrent of lies that would soon be exiting his own mouth.

“You are Jack Barlow?” said the craggy-faced head of security. He wore a tie and shirtsleeves.

“Yes.” Jack pulled out his badge again, inwardly cringing. He hoped the man had a poor memory for names; he did not want to be memorable here.

“My staff tells me you have questions.”

Jack nodded. “I’m involved in the investigation about the recent attempted theft.”

There was a pause, during which Jack sweated it out. He was completely bullshitting on this. He had no definite knowledge about an attempted theft, had no idea if that’s what Nicole had actually been investigating, but he was banking on the fact that people were always trying to break into casinos.

“Recent?” the supervisor bristled. “That investigation was months ago, and your people were already through here poking about. Why are you here asking questions about that now?”

Damn, thought Jack. This guy was not going to make this easy. Which, Jack supposed, was probably what made him good at his job, and head of security. “Yes, well,” Jack said, “we’ve reopened that case in connection with some others.”

The man’s eyes tightened as he scrutinized Jack. After several seconds of this Jack was on the verge of pulling out.

“All right, fine,” the man said slowly. “The attempted theft was in our inner layer of vaults. Come with me, I’ll pull up the data. We can see what’s going on in there right now.”

Jack followed as the head of security strode through to another, smaller room, filled with computers and CCTV screens. Jack felt a lightening in the tension centered at the base of his skull. This was good. He could get the information, and then get out of there.

When they entered the room Jack knew that his relief had been premature. Sitting in front of one of the computer screens was Nicole.

“Jack? What are you doing here?”

“Nicole. I—”
Shit.
Now he was going to have to come up with an explanation, and one that wouldn’t contradict what he just told Mr. Friendly here. “—was just investigating a case.”

“Oh?” Her brows knitted together in confusion. “I didn’t know your department was involved.” She shrugged and turned back to the computer screen. “Fine. I was just about to take a look at the inner vault. We can do that together, and you can catch me up to speed on what you know.”

“Great,” he said faintly. This was flatly not going to work. She would be asking questions that required detailed knowledge of the case, so it wouldn’t take long before it was obvious that Jack was bluffing. It was time to abort this. But he couldn’t leave Nicole in there with the head of security. If they talked or compared notes in any way it could become just as obvious that Jack had been full of shit.

“Nicole, actually, since you’re here, there’s something I need to brief you on. An unrelated case that my department wants to consult yours on.”

“Oh? Okay, then.”

Jack glanced at the head of security apologetically. “Sorry, it needs to be confidential.” He looked at Nicole. “Would you come with me a moment?”

Her face clouded with puzzlement but she obliged and allowed Jack to lead her out. Just what, exactly, Jack was going to tell her once they were out of the control room he had no clue. But it would have to be something to get her right out of the casino with him. He’d have to bring her in on another case, tell her he needed her expertise, something like that.

“I hope this is important, Jack, I have a lot of work to do,” Nicole said, irritation in her voice.

“It is, Nicole. Very important.”

 

The biometric sensor, containing my sample of fake blood, suddenly flashed green. The vault door unlocked with a loud
chunk
and began to open.
Ah, beloved tech lab, how could I have doubted you?

I shivered with delight as the heavy steel door swung smoothly open on an automatic hinge. Dead center of the vault, on display in a clear glass case, was the Fabergé Egg. The Aurora. The only lighting in there was from the pinprick halogen lights within the display case; they set the jeweled Egg sparkling.

“Okay, Gladys,” I said quietly, “I’m going in.” There would be no signal within the vault itself. I’d be on my own.

“Good luck, dear,” came the warm, crinkly voice.

I stepped through into the vault. The air in there was stale and silent, like a tomb.

The final obstacle was a touch pad for entering an intricate series of codes embedded in the base. Once again, I pulled up the codes from York Security on my iPhone and meticulously entered them. The case glided open like an unfolding piece of glass origami.

I reached out and picked up the heavy, bejeweled Egg. At last, I was holding the Fabergé in my hands. I was dazzled by its beauty. The metalwork was so intricate and the jewels and pearls were flawless. It was obviously the pinnacle of the jeweler’s art. It was as heavy as a melon, and the sharp scrolls of metalwork pressed through my gloves into my fingertips.

As I turned the Egg in my hands I found myself suffused with a feeling of well-being. It was like the feeling that comes sometimes upon awakening, when you know that something good happened yesterday but you’re not quite awake enough to remember. I shook my head slightly. I must have been imagining things. Perhaps the low level of oxygen in the vault was getting to me; I was surprised the effect the piece was having. I’d held plenty of beautiful jewels in my day, but this seemed different. Could this be what I’d been waiting for all this time? An image of Penny glimmered in my mind.

I suppose it was that slight distraction—that infinitesimal loss of focus—that caused me to make my error.

I tucked the Fabergé into my black nylon bag and reached forward to gently close the glass case. But I did it without recalibrating the alarm.

Sirens screamed. The vault went into immediate lockdown. Lights on every wall flared and the enormous round door flung shut with a deafening thud; my ears throbbed with the pressure of being sealed inside.

Oh God. What had I done?

The next thing I saw was gas spilling out, smokelike, from a vent near the floor.
Kolokol-1.
My mouth went bone dry.

My instinct was to flee from the gas but I had nowhere to go. My eyes swung wildly to the only exit: the enormous vault door, locked tight. Surely guards were descending right then into the vault room outside. They’d simply wait until enough time had elapsed to have rendered me unconscious—
or worse
—and then they’d come in.

Panic surged through my bones. I had to get out. I experienced an irrational hope that time might rewind, that I could go back and do that moment over again and do it differently. I struggled to keep from flying apart. Why did I take this job? A mistake. My gut twisted. I was going to live to regret it . . . if I lived, that was.