Drawing Dead (37 page)

“I'll keep her company,” Tiger said, as innocent as a felonious schoolgirl.

“You—”

“She's playing, Buddha. Let it go.”

“Boss, I…”

“Let it go, or take your woman back home. Just leave us that address.”

“DAMN! THAT
is one fine-looking tower,” Buddha said. His eyes flicked upward, measuring. “Twenty-one-B, that has to be top floor.”

“Yeah. Probably
half
the floor, too.”

“Doorman,” Tracker said.

“No time to scam our way in,” Cross said, pulling a small aerosol can from inside his jacket and tugging his watch cap down into a ski mask. “Buddha, that uniform better fit you.”

“DOORMAN WON'T
wake up for thirty minutes, minimum,” Cross whispered to Tracker. “And he won't remember anything when he does. You already fuzzed the lobby cameras. Ready?”

Without waiting for an answer, Cross started up the stairs. If there were any more cameras along the way, they'd record only two shadowy figures, climbing.

“It
is
half the floor. But no yellow tape. Now, if Rhino's code reader works…”

The door was zebrawood, with a heavy block of cut crystal set into its center. The lock popped silently.

The two men entered and found themselves facing a solid wall of glass.

“Divides down the middle,” Tracker said quietly, moving to his left.

They each scanned carefully, using blue-light LEDs aimed at the floor.

Cross heard Tracker's tongue-click signal. Followed it back down the hall and over to the left side of the apartment.

“It can't be
that
easy,” the Indian said, pencil-beaming his light over a dull-silver desk. The light tracked a closed laptop, so color-matched to the desk surface that it visually merged into it. Then to a back panel of the same material, constructed of what looked like pullout drawers without knobs, an oval cut into the top of each serving that purpose.

“Arrogance” was all Cross said, stepping to one side and pulling the drawers out, one by one, starting at the bottom.

Tracker followed his lead.

Most of the drawers were empty.

“Here!” Cross hissed.

Tracker pulled open the Velcroed pocket of his field jacket, city-camoed to match the Shark Car's skin. Cross dumped a single handful of triangulated disks into it.

Less than three minutes later, they were in the lobby.

“Not a soul, boss,” Buddha said at the door. “Should we—?”

“Leave him in the trunk for now. The plastic wrap went out when we dumped that body Tiger dropped in before. We'll leave this one under that viaduct we saw coming in. He'll be coming around soon. Should be safe enough—easy to see he isn't carrying anything worth stealing. Keep that uniform on, brother; we'll take care of it when we get back home.”

“THAT'S THEM!”
Tiger said excitedly. “The same ones I saw in that—”

“Rhino?”

“Give me a minute,” the giant said, turning the strangely shaped disks so he could examine one from all directions.

The minute stretched into a half-hour before Rhino spoke again. “I had to risk opening one up, to be sure. But Tiger's instincts were true—these are nothing but key cards. When you pull them apart, they turn into rows of connector plugs. There's no data on them at all. What they're for is to open that access port.”

“Why would he have more than one?” Cross asked. “Are they just backups?”

“I don't think so. There's no way to tell for sure, but my best guess is that each one is for a different channel. That would fit—no one key could actually get into wherever the material is kept, only a tiny slice of it. Storm-proof clouded, for sure.”

“Just like he told us,” Buddha said, as if to defend killing the Lao before he could tell them anything more.

“It's almost four in the morning,” Cross said. None of the crew questioned how a man who never wore a wristwatch was always right about the time. “Might as well finish this part of it.”

“Boss, can So Long stay—”

“I can speak for myself, husband. And I do not wish to stay,” she said, with a quick glance at her Amazon companion.

“Nobody would even
think
about coming back here,” Buddha assured her. “And with Princess and Rhino…”

“I must see it for myself,” his wife said.

“LOOKS EMPTY,”
Cross said, speaking from the backseat. “But if there's a basement, they might have it fixed up like an apartment.”

“You want me to take a—?”

“No,” Cross told Tiger. “Next time we come around the block, we finish this. If the maggots running this darknet operation are in that room, they're not coming out. And if they're not, they're never coming back.”

“How can you be so—?”

“Not now,” he said to silence Tiger. To Buddha he said, “Stop right across from that back door. We know it's steel, but it's not built for what we got. Once it's drilled, a smooth, slow roll to the corner, turn right, and
keep
moving—breaking glass isn't a big trick.”

The Shark Car glided to a stop just past the side door. The back window zipped down. Cross jumped out, dropped to one knee, shouldered a long tube of black metal, and squeezed off a single round. The rocket-launched explosive vaporized the steel door.

So Long watched, without interest.

Cross threw the tube into the backseat and followed right behind. By the time Buddha had taken the corner, the explosion was already reverberating, shattering glass in nearby storefronts. Cross jumped out, another launcher in each hand. He landed lightly, put two more rockets through the now aptly named No-Chance, and caught the Shark Car on foot within fifty yards.

Buddha picked up speed almost imperceptibly and began to float through alleys.

Sirens shrieked, tearing the fabric of the night, sending 911 operators into instant overload. Chicago PD's Command Central ignored the incessant stream of orders from Homeland Security to stand down.