The Chase (13 page)

“What could go wrong?”

“Everything.”

“Well, if you’re going to think like that, you’ll never leave the house.”

“There’s a big difference between walking out your front door and breaking into a safe at thirty thousand feet.”

“The difference is that
this
is a bigger rush,” Nick said. “This morning we were in Florida stealing a twenty-million-dollar artifact right under the nose of an ex–White House chief of staff, and now we’re in Washington, D.C., about to sneak onto a plane to Shanghai to break into a safe. What could possibly be better than this? Nothing. And you know it, too, or you wouldn’t have gone into the Navy or joined the FBI or agreed to partner up with me. You’re a thrill junky.”

“Okay, so I’m a thrill junky. That doesn’t mean I have a death wish.”

“We’ll be fine. Help me out by erasing the security camera footage while I gut the backseat, install a trunk release, and drill some holes so we can breathe.”

He’s right, Kate thought. As dangerous and insane as his plan was, it was also daring and incredibly exciting. Hot, even.

“Someone has to be the voice of reason,” she said, knowing even as she said it that it sounded lame.

Alexis Poulet arrived at Dulles Airport at two
A.M.
and was met on the tarmac by a young BlackRhino operative from the D.C. office. The man’s name was Bernbaum. He was an ex–CIA analyst, a desk-riding data cruncher and not an experienced field operative. And he wore his Ivy League education like a spray tan.

He’s soft, Poulet thought. I could kill him with my bare hands with less effort than it would take to wash them. This was an important assessment for Poulet, since she judged everyone by how easy or difficult it would be to kill them.

Bernbaum gave her a warm smile, mistaking her appraisal of his potentially fleeting mortality for a different kind of physical interest in him, and began briefing her as they walked to the terminal from the BlackRhino private jet. A cold breeze redolent of jet exhaust whipped through their hair.

“We’ve been able to verify the news,” Bernbaum said. “The Smithsonian has given the Chinese their Qing Dynasty rooster
back. A businessman named Stanley Fu is delivering it to Shanghai in the morning. That’s his private A380 out there.”

He gestured to a massive airplane parked on an outlying area of the airport. The plane was painted to appear as if an enormous dragon was wrapped around the fuselage and about to devour it whole.

“Nice ride,” she said. “Where is the rooster now?”

“On the plane, along with Fu and his entourage.”

“He’s on the plane now? But you said that he’s not leaving until morning.”

“He owns two five-star hotels in town, but he’d rather stay on his jet while he’s here. That’s how lavish it is. He’s waiting on some toys he bought here to be delivered, and for the arrival of a dozen senior executives from around the country who manage his U.S. real estate holdings. Fu is bringing the executives on board for a big business meeting he’s holding during the flight. The executives will stay overnight in Shanghai and then fly back to the States on commercial flights. First class won’t seem half as nice after riding on Fu’s flying cruise ship.”

Bernbaum knew only that his boss was interested in the rooster. Alexis knew that the rooster had been stolen from her boss, possibly by the two television producers, and that he wanted it back. How Fu and the Chinese government fit into the picture wasn’t of any importance to her. Nor was it important to her that there were possibly two roosters on the plane, one fake and one real. Her mission was clear. Find the real rooster and return it to Carter Grove.

“Mr. Grove is deeply concerned about U.S.–Chinese relations,” Alexis said to Bernbaum. “He feels there should be extra security on the plane, and he would like me to provide that security. How good are you at establishing a solid, verifiable cover in a short period of time?”

“How short?”

“Four hours.”

He smiled. “Next time, give me a challenge.”

At 8:30
A.M.
, the Dodge Charger Daytona with its huge spoiler sped across the tarmac at Dulles and raced up the loading ramp into the rear cargo hold of Stanley Fu’s A380 Superjumbo. A moment later, two black Suburbans pulled up to the front of the plane, parked beside the stairway to the cabin door, and disgorged Fu’s guests.

Fu could have cared less about the guests. Fu was in the cargo hold, watching the removal of the car’s battery and seeing that the car was properly strapped onto a metal pallet. He flew with his cars all the time, but this was different. This was a new toy.

Alexis made her way up the cargo ramp to where Fu was standing. She was wearing a crisp, businesslike pantsuit that fit her like neoprene. The Smithsonian’s official P
ROTECTION
S
ERVICES
patch was on the left breast pocket of the jacket. Her hair was pulled back at the nape of her neck.

“I’m Alexis Poulet with the Smithsonian’s Office of Protection Services,” she said to Fu. “The Smithsonian would like to extend its good wishes to you, and offer whatever assistance you might need in providing safe passage for the rooster.”

“I appreciate the gesture,” Fu said in perfect English, “but I can assure you it is unnecessary for you to accompany the rooster. The rooster is already secure in a safe in the cargo hold of my plane.”

“Yes, but it’s not yet on Chinese soil. The Smithsonian wants to be absolutely certain that the rooster arrives in its rightful home safely after so many years on distant shores. I’d like to travel with you today and accompany the rooster to its final destination,
wherever that might be in China. Before you decide, though, I strongly suggest you contact the Smithsonian on your own to confirm my identity.”

“Is there a credible threat to the rooster?”

“No, none at all, but we’d feel terrible if something happened and endangered the relations between our countries. Wouldn’t you?”

“Very well, it’s the Smithsonian’s money to waste,” Fu said. “Assuming your story checks out, you’re welcome on board as my guest as long as you don’t interfere with the business being conducted.”

“Thank you,” she said. “I can assure you that I will be invisible.”

“My staff will see to your luggage and your seat.” He nodded curtly at her and continued on to the front of the plane.

She watched him go. He was in good shape and had martial arts training. It might take five minutes of vigorous exercise to kill him if she ever had to, but it would be fun.

Nick and Kate had climbed into the Charger’s trunk at dawn. She’d gone in first, squeezing into the back where the trunk narrowed against the tops of the wheel wells. Then Nick got in and lay down on his side, facing the taillights. In order for them both to fit in the trunk, she had to put one arm under her head and press tightly against Nick’s back, her other arm draped around his waist. He pulled the trunk lid closed and they were alone together in pitch-darkness.

They’d hidden the two cases containing the safecracking rig and the rooster in the compartment they’d created under the backseat. They’d discarded the stuffing and foam in a Dunkin’ Donuts dumpster.

“I’ve slept in some uncomfortable places,” Kate said, “but this is right up there for first place.”

“It’s not so bad,” Nick said. “It’s not freezing cold, and it’s not raining.”

And he fell asleep.

Kate dozed on and off, and awoke for good when the first mechanics arrived in the garage. She was braced for the moment when the trunk would be opened and they’d be revealed. She even had her story ready. They were innocent tourists who’d been kidnapped and forced into the trunk. Then, at the first opportunity, she’d run like hell for the door.

She heard muffled talking, then after a while the driver’s side door opened and closed, the engine cranked over, and the car was rolling. The ride was relatively smooth until the car raced up the ramp to the cargo hold and Kate and Nick were tipped at an angle. More muffled talking. She heard the hood creak open, and after some time it was slammed shut. Obviously, the ground crew was securing the car for the flight.

Kate heard the men leaving and then the hum of the A380’s ramp closing, sealing the cargo hold. Nick didn’t stir.

“Are you awake?” Kate whispered.

“Hard to sleep with this thing rumbling up a ramp at a forty-five-degree angle.”

“These are the worst seats I’ve ever had on a flight. I’m making the airline reservations on our next trip.”

“That’s a deal,” Nick said.

A few minutes later, the plane taxied down the runway and lifted off. When it reached altitude, Nick cautiously opened the trunk and peeked out, scanning the area with a small Maglite.

“Looks like we’re alone,” he said, pushing the trunk the rest of the way open.

“Great. Now if you could just get me out of here. I’m not sure I can uncurl myself without help.”

“I know what you mean. I can’t feel my legs from the knees down.” Nick raised a leg and stretched it straight. He maneuvered himself over the edge of the trunk and hung there for a couple beats. “This seemed like a good idea yesterday. Right now I’m not so sure.” He rolled the rest of his body out of the trunk, went down to the metal pallet with a
thunk
, and lay there spreadeagle for a moment.

“Are you okay?” Kate asked.

“I’m old.” He stood and looked in at Kate. “Wrap your arms around my neck, and I’ll haul you out.”

“My arms don’t work.”

“Okay, then swing your legs over the side and I’ll pull you up.”

“My legs aren’t working either.”

“Is anything working?”

“Yes. My bladder’s working. I need a bathroom.”

“Honey, I don’t know if there’s a bathroom in the cargo hold.”

“Are you kidding me? This is a long trip.”

“I don’t have a problem with these things. I just need a jelly jar.”

“I can’t use a jelly jar!”

“Don’t panic. We’ll get you out of the trunk and we’ll look around.”

Nick got Kate’s legs over the edge of the trunk, grabbed her under the arms, and tugged. Kate came out with a grunt, her legs buckled under, and the two of them went down to the metal pallet with Kate sprawled on top of Nick.

“I always had you pegged for a woman who would want the top,” Nick said.

“This was a stupid idea.”

“I’m starting to like it … a lot.”

“I can tell.”

“It’s not what you think,” Nick said. “You’re lying on my flashlight.”

“Sure,” Kate said. “I knew that.” She rolled onto her back and moved her arms and legs around. “Some feeling is returning.” She got to her hands and knees and stood. She took her own flashlight out of her pocket and flicked the beam around the windowless cargo hold. She checked out Fu’s Rolls-Royce Phantom, a thirty-one-foot jetboat, and two rows of the aluminum containers known as unit load devices curved to fit snugly against the contours of either side of the large hold. Three of the ULDs held luggage and whatever else Fu had picked up on his trip. The fourth ULD held the safe.

A narrow space between the two sets of ULDs was just wide enough for a person to squeeze through and get to the access door on the far wall. Kate knew from studying the A380 floor plan that the door led to the landing gear compartment and, beyond that, to the rest of the lower level of the plane.

“Sixteen hours and counting,” Nick said. “This is practically a vacation.”

“Easy for you to say.”

Kate went off to find a restroom, and Nick went to the Charger. He opened the passenger door, tipped the front seat forward, and lifted the seat cushion on the rear bench seat, exposing the two silver cases hidden inside, plus a coiled power cord with jumper cables on one end.

When Kate returned, Nick had the door to one of the ULDs open, revealing a dark gray safe about the size of a small refrigerator. Kate shined her light on the safe, and the silver combination dial gleamed.

“Hello, gorgeous,” Nick said.

He opened the case he’d gotten from Gelman, and Kate thought the device inside looked like a dismantled robot arm. The pincer-fingered “hand,” the cylindrical armature, the cables, the suction cups, and the servomotor were all neatly placed in formfitting foam cutouts.

Nick set his flashlight on top of the safe and began to carefully assemble the pieces of the rig, which snapped together and were tightened with bolts he could turn with his fingers. The robotlike arm of the rig was surrounded by a skeletal sleeve that supported it and protected the delicate pincers at the end. Nick screwed suction cups to the front of the sleeve that encircled the pincers.

“Fu trusts this safe to guard items that he holds dear. He and that box share a big secret, the combination, something he won’t share with anybody else. We can use that knowledge to improve our odds of cracking the combination.”

“I thought the machine you’re putting together is supposed to do that.”

“Oh, it definitely will.” Nick attached the robotic arm to a small tripod and extended the telescoping legs beneath it so the rig was level with the combination dial. “The safecracking software will try every possible combination, using those pincers to spin the dial and sensors to detect the subtle click whenever a tumbler slips into position. It could take two minutes or two days. You never know.”