The Inside Job (23 page)

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

Day Two

Mission: Everything but the gold (because we already have it—haha, SRS)

In theory, everyone got an hour of sleep between day one and day two of Operation Vengeance for Annabelle. In reality, I think only Annabelle herself slept. I know Walter, Ben, and I tossed around before finally giving up and heading back to the kitchen, where Beatrix was already reading her equipment. She had the earliest call time—at eight forty-five in the morning. She and Otter had to be at the helicopter tour pad.

“Need any help?” I asked her.

“Nope,” Beatrix said cheerily. “What about you guys? Want me to double-check the comms before I leave?”

“Nah, they'll be fine,” I assured her.

“Take some pictures for me?” Clatterbuck said glumly as he made his way down the hall. He walked up to the espresso machine and prodded at it for a second, and then he grabbed a juice out of the fridge instead. Beatrix promised to take photos, but Clatterbuck still looked a little sad that, while Otter and Beatrix went on the helicopter ride he'd wanted, he, Walter, Ben, and Kennedy would be hiring a boat to retrieve the twenty million in gold we'd dumped into the Rhône.

Unless, of course, SRS realized the gold was missing. In theory, they wouldn't—after all, the back door to the truck hadn't been opened, and the vault was armed. They'd have to be inspecting the roof of the truck to notice anything was amiss, and I suspected the chances were better that they'd merely parked the truck in a facility overnight, with the idea that they'd bring it all back to the bank after they caught us mid-heist.

If we were wrong, I was about to be in a lot of trouble though—because I was the only member of the team who'd actually be
in
the bank. I'd have a comm on to communicate with the others, of course, but no one was running mission control. It was just me this time.

It felt both supercool and superterrifying. I hadn't felt so anxious since I broke into The League headquarters earlier in the summer, looking for my parents, back before I realized who the real good guys were.

Beatrix and Otter left, and after a quick hug, Kennedy bounded off with everyone else, leaving me to take the bus to the bank, which felt extremely un-spylike but gave me some time to settle. To focus. To relax.

Tense spies make mistakes. And at this point, there was no room for mistakes.

I exited the bus and walked across the street, and then I started on the steps to the bank. If I'd gotten my timing right, Hastings should've been arriving at any moment.

There. He was on his way up the steps, wearing a designer suit that had grown too tight on him. He looked clammy, and he fidgeted. He looked
tense
. I gradually made my way toward him so that we wound up at the top of the steps together.

“Mr. Hastings,” I said politely as we pushed into the same cubby of the bank's massive revolving door.

“Mr. . . . uh . . . Hale,” Hastings said. He looked gleeful, and it was hard to not reach up and smack the grin off his face. In his mind, I was about to get captured by SRS, and he seemed positively
thrilled
about it. Or, I supposed, positively thrilled about the payday my capture would result in. “Where's everyone else?” he asked.

“They're in place—no, don't look! SRS could have someone here. You never can be too careful,” I said, making my eyes big and wary.

“Ah, right. Well. I suppose I'll see you at the loading dock, then?” he whispered as we entered the lobby.

“One o'clock,” I said, and winked for good measure. Hastings scurried away while I headed toward the main counter. I smiled at the banker there. “I'd like to open a safe deposit box, please,” I said in smooth French.

The banker swept me through the process and, after I handed over a fake check, passed me the key to a safe deposit box. I nodded and made my way down to the room, passing through two security officers on the way, each of whom needed to see my key to let me through. The safe deposit vault was, like the rest of the bank, beautiful and ornate. The boxes themselves were copper-gold colored, and the ceiling was painted pale burgundy. There were cameras, one in each corner, and I knew SRS was tapping into them. I wandered around the room, looking at the boxes—casing them, as far as SRS could tell—before finally stopping at box 713. I opened it with my new key, carefully dropped in a small package with holes punched along the top, and then left.

Twelve fifty-three.

“Beatrix, you guys in place?” I asked quietly through the side of my mouth.

“Almost, Hale!” she shouted—she had to shout to be heard over the noise of the helicopter. I was grateful when she muted her comm and the noise of the chopper vanished.

Twelve fifty-five.

Step 1: Simple handoff

I crossed back over to the opposite end of the lobby and sat down on a wood bench, fidgeting and trying to look like I was waiting for a parent to finish some manner of banking business. This bench was one of the few places in the bank that the cameras
didn't
have a great view of—it was in the background of peripheral shots, but nothing was aimed right at it since I was pretty far from the vaults and the bankers.

The revolving doors swung open; in walked three kids wearing black. Or rather, two wearing black, and one wearing dark gray. Aria Stoneman, Jeffery Alabaster, and Archimedes St. Claire (who was the one in a gray T-shirt looking very wary of the entire thing). Aria strode toward me, gave me a passive look, and then sat down on the adjacent bench.

“The jester sleeps in the nest,” Archimedes said in a hushed voice.

“Huh?” I asked.

“It's code! Shouldn't you use code or something?” Archimedes said, laughing and elbowing Jeffery.

Jeffery said, “Yeah, you're a spy, aren't you?”

Here was the thing: I told Aria—who told the other two—the truth about everything. Who I was—my first name, anyway. Who SRS was. Who The League was. I even told them why we'd broken into the country club that day. I
didn't do it to be kind of inclusive or awesome or anything. I did it because it was a totally crazy story no one would believe anyway, and yet also was the story most likely to get them to help us.

Except honestly? I think Aria believed me. Which was dangerous but sort of pleasing anyhow.

I slid the safe deposit key across the wooden bench swiftly, almost imperceptibly. Aria caught it with her palm.

“It's box seven thirteen,” I said.

Aria slipped the key into her peacoat pocket and tossed her hair over her shoulder. “All right. One oh five. Right? Still one oh five?”

“Exactly,” I said.

Jeffery and Archimedes were still shoving each other—they clearly didn't believe this was anything more than a higher stakes golf cart chase. But Aria . . . Aria looked determined. Sort of scared, but determined.

“You don't need to worry. Nothing will happen,” I assured her.

She looked at me and grinned. “Nothing? Some adventure this is, Hale. And by the way, next time we talk, remind me to tell you a funny story about the
real
Kessel brothers.”

I smiled. “Deal. Well—hoods and hats on, gentlemen,” I said to the boys. Their chuckling faded away; Archimedes pulled up the hood of his jacket, and Jeffery pulled out a beanie that said ROWING IS LIFE.

One o'clock.

“Let's go, boys,” Aria said smartly, and rose. She walked straight toward the safe deposit boxes, boot heels clacking across the marble floor.

Beatrix's voice appeared in my ear. “They're all set?” she asked.

“Yeah.”

“They seem cool. Maybe when we're done, we could all hang out!” she suggested.

“When we're done in Switzerland?”

“No, when we've, like . . . you know. Destroyed SRS and everything. We'll have a lot of free time. We could have a sleepover!” Beatrix said. I wanted to laugh out loud, but I managed to keep my voice down; I heard Otter scoffing through Beatrix's headset.

“He's not invited,” I told Beatrix, and she snickered.

Step 2: Get an eye on everything

I rose and walked over to the guard at the front door.

“Excuse me, sir? I'm . . . Well. I'm lost,” I said, taking a gulping breath.

“Oh! Oh no!” he said. “Your
maman
! Here, go here, we will her find!” he said with a French accent. He turned and waved his arms at another guard, who was standing at a broad desk, staring at a number of computer screens—the camera feeds. “Go see
mon copain
, Frederick! He will you help!”

I nodded bravely and trotted over to Frederick. The guards radioed about the situation while I was on my way between them; when I arrived at Frederick's desk, he had a piece of chocolate for me and gestured for me to stand just off to his left—where I had a perfect view of the cameras. One oh five—and I could see Aria and her friends in the safe deposit room. I could see Hastings moving the cash from the vault to the loading dock, where an armored car we'd arranged waited. I felt bad for the driver—would he still get paid even though the whole thing was just a ruse?

“Can you describe your mother to me, son?” Frederick the guard interrupted my thoughts kindly.

“Oh, yes. She's tall with dark hair and a straight nose. Her name is Teresa. Teresa Quaddlebaum.”

“And your name?”

“Walter Quaddlebaum,” I said placidly. “She's here somewhere, I'm sure of it.”

I really was. Frederick nodded and turned to his phone to make a few calls, so I focused on the cameras. Everyone was in place, just waiting for the cue.

“Good afternoon, friends of the Central Bank of Switzerland. Will a Mrs. Teresa Quaddlebaum please meet your son, Walter, at the security desk? Thank you.” Frederick said—first in English, then in French, then in German.

“That's it—go, Beatrix,” I said quietly.

“Yes!” Beatrix cheered. A moment passed, and suddenly I could hear the faint hum of a helicopter outside, hovering
over the building, where Beatrix could access the bank's network without actually setting foot inside the bank.

An alarm sounded—small but bright enough to annoy patrons without terrifying them. The guards, however, went wide-eyed and stood up straighter at their stations.

“They know you're in,” I muttered.

“Got it, got it, almost there,” Beatrix answered, still sounding gleeful. Frederick's walkie-talkie suddenly burst to life; on the cameras I saw men and women in dress shirts pounding away at computers, trying to sort out how someone had cracked their network.

“The roof? How are they on the roof?” Frederick said in response to someone on the walkie-talkie. He spun around to face me. “Stay here, son. We'll get this sorted out. Teresa Quaddlebaum, right?”

“Right.”

And Frederick dashed off. I kept an eye on the monitors—

Step 3: Fake League agents fake rob the safe deposit boxes

Aria and her friends were in the safe deposit room, running their fingers across boxes, looking frantic, just as I'd asked them to. I looked up, saw that it wasn't just the guards running. Five or six adults in street clothing were moving faster than necessary—SRS agents in disguise.
They flew to the safe deposit box vault, looks of glee on their faces, certain they'd caught us in the act.

I watched on the monitor as they burst through the vault door, winced as they grabbed Jeffery's arm and spun him around. There was shouting, shoving, and Jeffery's ROWING IS LIFE beanie fell off. Aria held up her single safe deposit key to prove she belonged there. SRS agents talked into comms, shook their heads, I could read their lips—
It isn't them.
They shrugged over and over.

Then Aria plucked something she'd removed from safe deposit box 713, and the agents jumped back. It was a baby iguana—just like Aria said she wanted back at the country club. The agents went all wide-eyed again, a combination of confused and horrified. Archimedes and Jeffery laughed so loud that I thought I could hear traces of it all the way from the lobby; Aria, meanwhile, cuddled the iguana to her chest. I wondered what she'd name it.

Step 4: Hastings does a lot of heavy lifting for no reason

I looked back at the camera with Hastings—he had the money into the truck now and was standing impatiently outside the back. The driver was nearby, spinning the keys on his finger, waiting for the go-ahead from Hastings, who was waiting for me or someone else from The League. We were never coming, of course, and
unfortunately, SRS would get to keep their cash. It was satisfying, though, to see Hastings panting and sweating from all the money pushing.

“Money is transferring now, Hale,” Beatrix said.

“Perfect. Where's it going?” I asked.

“Everywhere. I transferred it to accounts all over the world. Though a considerable amount went to that space camp Ben was talking about—”

Otter cursed in the background.

“And I sent some to a rhino reservation and had them name a baby rhino after you, Agent Otter!” Beatrix said cheerfully.

Otter cursed even louder.

“SRS won't be able to track who got the money?” I asked.

“Nope—Hastings was the one keeping track. And as of right . . .
now
, I've deleted his entire history from the bank. His files, his log-ins, everything. Markus Hastings no longer exists as an employee of the Central Bank of Switzerland, which means his accounts no longer exist.”

I looked at Hastings in the camera and then frowned. “Good, because . . . I think he's about to rob them.”

“Huh?”

“The armored car guard is lying there unconscious, and Hastings is getting in the driver's seat. He's taking the money!”

“Guess he wants two private islands. Wow. What a jerk—can't he be loyal to
anyone
?” Beatrix said. “Anyway, Otter and I are leaving, Hale. You're good? On your way out the door?”