the 13th Hour (36 page)

Dance and his men grabbed Nick and pulled him into the room with them.

Sam dumped his two bags on the floor and extracted a large metal bar with an attached suction cup, which he affixed to the large center case where the weapons were displayed. He affixed a matchbox-sized square box to the right inner leg of the display. The small device generated electromagnetic interference, impeding the case's alarm system.

Dance and his men surrounded the case, watching as Sam set to work, etching a circle in the glass, moving the diamond-tipped bar in a wide arc.

Nick couldn't help laughing as he stared at the $80 million Monet on the wall behind Dance. The single picture of water lilies, even on the black market, could provide them with more wealth than they could imagine, far more than the items in this single case.

Sam continued cutting the glass. Holding the suction cup, he tapped along the etched area and lifted out the large clear circle.

"Dance, you and your men fill those two duffel bags. Use the towels to wrap the items so they don't scratch each other."

"What, no pressure switches under them?" Dance asked.

"Don't be an idiot." Sam looked at him as if he was a child. "What do you think the box I just stuck on the leg does? Its small pulse disables the magnetic pressure switches." He grabbed Nick by the arm and headed down the hall.

"Where are you going?" Dance called out.

"Diamonds," Sam replied.

* * *

S
AM RACED INTO
Shamus's office as if he had been there a thousand times, even though this was his first. He pushed Nick into the corner as he affixed a red-domed box to the center of the desk and switched on the desk lamp. He picked up the Tiffany-style lamp in his gloved hand, spun Nick around, and placed it against his hands, cuffed behind his back. He put it back in place on the leather desk top and spun Nick back around to face him.

"Just in case they need some extra physical evidence at your trial."

"Thanks," Nick said. "Too bad you won't live to see it."

Ignoring Nick's jab, Sam turned, faced the dark walnut wall, and ran the security card over the left corner of the desk. There was a barely perceptible click. He walked up to the wall, placed his hand against it, and gave a gentle push, and the hidden door swung inward on whisper hinges.

"Wait here," Sam said with a laugh, picking up the last domed box. "Not that you'd get past Dance and his men."

"Let me know if you need help with the safe," Nick said, leaning against the desk.

Sam ignored him and stepped over the threshold, affixing the last box to the wall. The small, unfinished room was made of concrete. The three lights hanging from the ceiling lit the two Harris safes.

Sam looked at his watch. They had less than five minutes before the disabled cameras in the parking lot set off an alarm.

He removed his Ray-Bans, tucked them into his pocket, and crouched before the four-foot safe on the right. He grasped the brass flywheel and spun it right, three times around, to clear the pins. On the fourth spin he slowed and stopped at 64, spinning it back around to the left a full turn before halting at 88, then back around right to 0 and finally left to 90.

As if he had done it hundreds of times, Sam grasped the brass handle, turned it with confidence, and pulled open the large steel door.

And as the light poured into the confines of the safe, he saw it sitting there in all of its simple glory. Constructed of Shamus Hennicot's favorite wood, the dark African mahogany was like arboreal gold in its shining luster. The box was two feet by two feet by one foot high, the lid, two inches thick at the almost-imperceptible seam. The interior hinges at the rear were to prevent compromise while each of the three other sides contained a single keyhole. They were not key locks in the traditional sense, but rather three octagonal steel holes, similar to the steel door lock he just breached two minutes earlier.

Sam pulled the octagonal key from his pocket, quickly trying it, but it was too large. He stuffed the key back into his pocket; he'd worry about breaching the wooden case later.

He opened the small drawer on the top left side of the safe and pulled out a large velvet pouch. He quickly untied the pull string, verifying the contents, seeing the explosion of rainbows as the light played off the faceted surfaces of hundreds of large diamonds. He pulled the string tight and stuffed the pouch into his pocket.

And that's when he saw the note, affixed to the interior of the safe door. He couldn't understand how he'd missed it. The five-by-seven sheet of plain white stationery might as well have been a time bomb.

Sam couldn't figure out how it got there, how he had known. He thought he'd felt a presence when he'd come in but had shrugged it off to his raw nerves.

Sam took hold of the box, lifting it out of the safe, surprised at its weight, at least twenty-five pounds. He snatched the note from the safe door and read the single sentence one more time--
Please consider what you're doing, you know where I'll be waiting
--and crumpled it up in anger.

D
ANCE LIFTED OUT
each sword, each dagger, each rapier and saber, inspecting each piece before passing it to Arilio, who wrapped them in separate towels before placing them in the duffel bag. Made of pure gold, the hilt of each sword was a jewel-encrusted masterpiece of sapphires, rubies, and emeralds.

The buyer for the haul was a man of Chinese and Japanese descent, an avid collector who was said to be worth billions. His agent would take delivery at nine o'clock this evening, paying $20 million for the collection, an amount four times more than Dance had told his partners, including Sam Dreyfus. Each thought he'd get one million in cash and all were happy about it--though only Randall and Sam Dreyfus would actually live to collect. And with the diamonds that Dreyfus was getting, Dance's take would be over $20 million: one million for Rukaj and nineteen to enable him to slip out of Byram Hills forever.

He pulled out the three pistols: an 1840 Smith & Wesson, an 1872 Colt Peacemaker, and a 1789 Belatoro. All were custom-made, fully functional, with gold and silver stylings along the stock, engravings around the handle, and religious text and scripture imbued upon the barrel. Dance grabbed a handful of silver-etched bullets, bullets whose owners had ordered them etched with curses, blasphemous imprecations against the victims and their gods, each personalized with the name of the intended target, the enemy it would shoot through the heart.

As Dance handed the last pistol to Arilio, he realized that Shannon's description of what he had just put into the bag was spot-on. The exact count of swords, daggers, guns. Shannon had even mentioned the diamonds. It was as if he had found a shopping list and recited it from memory.

Sam and Nick emerged from the hallway into the open area by the now empty case. With Nick's hands behind his back, Sam pushed him along while carrying an awkward box under his other arm.

"Put the bags in the trunk of my car and hurry back," Dance said to Arilio and Randall.

He stared at Sam and the mahogany box under his arm, thought a moment . . . "And you know what?" Dance turned and looked at Nick. "Take this guy, lock him in the back of my car with Shannon, tell Brinehart to keep an eye on him."

Arilio threw the two bags over his shoulder while Randall took Nick by the arm and disappeared out the brushed-steel doorway.

Finally alone, Dance stepped closer to Sam. "What's in the box?"

"Here you go," Sam said, handing him the large pouch of diamonds.

Dance pulled open the black velvet satchel and looked at the pile of diamonds, more than he had ever seen in all of his years. He poured a small pile into the palm of his hand, flicking them about with his forefinger. They were even larger than he had expected, two, three, four, and five carat. Perfect clarity. He and Sam had underestimated the haul from the safe. With what looked to be over two hundred such stones, he was thinking they more than doubled their estimate of $22 million.

"I think we'll be making a bit more than you had thought," Dance marveled.

"I didn't realize there would be that many," Sam said.

"You never mentioned anything about a box either," Dance said with a smile as he looked up at Sam, though his eyes said something different. "Now that I think about, Shannon did mention something about a box."

"It's mine," Sam said.

"What is it?" Dance asked as he poured the diamonds back into the pouch that he held tightly in his left hand. "You're not trying to take an uneven share, are you, Sam?"

Sam stared at him with nervous eyes.

"Sam . . . ?"

"It's Hennicot's--"

"--this is all Hennicot's." Dance interrupted as he waved his hand around at the room.

"It was in the safe. It's trade secrets, papers, and things."

"Do you mind?" Dance pointed at the box.

Sam couldn't help being intimidated by Dance. He had been from the start, but was even more so now after seeing him gun down his own partner in cold blood. He reluctantly handed Dance the box.

"Heavy," Dance said in surprise, needing two hands to hold it. "Too heavy for a couple pieces of paper. What is it really? Gold, more diamonds?"

"No, nothing of the sort."

"Well, I want half of whatever is in here." Dance lifted the box. "We won't split it with the others, but I want my half."

"We've got to go," Sam said, looking at his watch. "We've only got four minutes."

"When you tell me what's in the box," Dance said, positioning himself between Sam and the exit.

Sam remained silent, figuratively boxed into a corner. His eyes darted about, his brow growing moist. "Look, I'll give you my share of everything, the diamonds, the antiques."

And it was the worst thing Sam could have said, his words confirming the value of what he held.

"You're choosing box number one over everything we just took?" Dance said in shock.

Sam nodded.

"I don't want your share," Dance said. "You earned it. I just want to make sure no one is trying to screw me out of a few extra dollars."

"I'm not trying to screw you."

"Are you working with your brother?"

"What?" Sam said in shock.

"Is he picking you up, you going to try and run out on me?"

"Yeah right, I would steal all the info on everything down here
from him
and then call him for a ride."

"Let me see your cell phone." Dance held out his hand.

"You know, you're getting paranoid," Sam said as he took his phone out of his pocket and handed it to him.

"Not paranoid, just cautious. I don't want you calling him to pick you up somewhere."

"You're being ridiculous."

"Why don't you open the box and show me what's inside? Then we can see how ridiculous I am."

"I can't."

"Why?"

"I don't have the keys here. Look," Sam said, pleading, "It's worthless."

"To everyone but you and Hennicot." Dance laid the box on a side table, turning it about, looking at the three keyholes. "An awful lot of odd locks for something of so little value."

Sam stood there playing mental chess with Dance.

"Why don't you just tell me the truth?" Dance said as he pulled out his gun, holding it at his side.

"If I'm dead, you'll never get this box open. And understand something," Sam said with growing confidence. "If I'm dead, you won't know how to erase the backup security system that recorded your face."

Dance raised his pistol. "What the hell did you do?"

"Let me show you something." Sam led Dance to the steel vault door and motioned him to step into the small area at the base of the stairs.

"Look up," Sam said as Dance stepped into the small foyer.

Dance looked at the wall, at the fleur-de-lis wallpaper on it. He tilted his head up at the crown molding in the corner of the ceiling and, with a jump in his heart, he saw it. It was small, looking like a seam in the wallpaper where it met the molding, but there was no mistaking the minuscule lens.

"The camera is pointed right at the top of the stairs. It's not on any plan. It goes to a security file in Hennicot's attorneys' office, but this lone camera, its digital video file is encrypted. The code to view it or destroy it is only known by Hennicot, my brother, and myself. A pretty good idea, a safeguard against an inside job. All Hennicot's attorney has to do is forward it to Hennicot, Paul, or me and we can open it for all the world's viewing pleasure. They'll see your face and Arilio's and Randall's."

"And yours," Dance said concealing his emotions as he pointed his gun at Sam.

"Actually, just Quinn's. I knew the camera was there, so I just kept my face out of range when it kicked on."