The feature film had already started when I arrived. When my eyes adjusted to the darkness I spotted her at the end of the back row, as arranged. I crouched down and we hugged awkwardly, the fixed armrest, drinks receptacle looped on the end, badly in my way.
“Were you followed?” I asked.
“No, Wark was gone. He probably drove his master home to West Van. I was careful anyway, took a lot of sudden turns without signalling.”
I grinned. “Bet you weren’t too popular with other drivers.”
She smiled back. “True. But at least there’s no way I could have been followed, believe me.”
“What is it you want to show me?” I asked.
She rummaged in her shoulder bag and took out a small brown object. I recognised it immediately.
“Sammy!” I whispered excitedly.
“You mean Samantha,” she replied.
I gave her another hug to shut her up. Sammy was a teddy bear I’d bought her back in our UBC days. We’d been downtown, roaming about aimlessly after one of our ‘recces’ to the warehouse, and I’d found the bear in a corner shop with a ‘Closing Out’ sign in the window. Only about ten centimetres tall, dark brown, with beady little coal black eyes and a blue checkered scarf, Sammy was the best five dollars I’d ever spent. Or so I’d thought at the time. Emma’s eyes had lit up when I gave it to her.
“I kept him,” she said.
I felt myself getting emotional and was glad the place was dark. Swallowing hard, all I could think to say was, “All these years.”
We kissed and were still for a while. Eventually the big, hard armrest, pressing tightly into my side, became too painful and I moved away a little.
“This is the worst seat in the place,” she whispered.
“Let’s move,” I replied, “But don’t forget Sammy.”
“Samantha.”
We went about a third of the way up and shuffled past bony knees and enormous buckets of popcorn to two empty seats in the middle.
“This movie’s actually pretty good,” she said, when we’d settled into the red plush seats.
I hadn’t paid it the slightest attention. “Who’s in it?”
“Reese Witherspoon and Will Smith.”
I immediately lost interest and made a mental note to check the movie listings next time before I chose a cinema. Then I made a wonderful discovery – the middle armrest wasn’t fixed after all, it was hinged. I raised it and pushed it into the space between our seat backs.
“Sounds great,” I lied, “Let’s get close and watch it just like we would at home.”
Happily she agreed with that suggestion. “Good idea,” she said, snuggling up.
“Well, I always was a careful planner.”
She grinned mischievously in the flickering glow of the movie screen.
14.
BRASS NECK
The cell phone woke me first thing the next morning. I fumbled for it on the little bedside table, light from the edges of the curtains still hurting my eyes. I expected it to be Emma, but groaned inwardly when I heard Charlie’s gruff voice instead.
“I need more footage,” he said.
“Get stuffed.” I’m not at my most verbose when sitting up in bed, wiping grit from my eyes and desperately needing a caffeine shot.
“I’ve made you a list,” he persisted, “You won’t be able to get them all at once but several walkabout trips should do it.”
“Charlie, you’re making me regret answering this call.”
“Sorry mate,” he replied, his voice softening a bit, “But I’ve analysed what you took yesterday and I need close-ups of some of the doors. Otherwise I can’t tell what types of lock they have.”
“Didn’t I get them all?” I still couldn’t believe he wanted more.
“Nope. I need a close-up of the security control room door, and also of the hallway video cameras.”
“Why?”
He snorted down the phone line. “Why? Why? Because I need to know their makes and models, that’s why. And I need one of the electronic card readers in the foyer.”
“OK, OK. Will do. Anything else?”
I expected him to say ‘No, that’s enough to be going on with, thanks.’ I should have known better.
“Actually, yes, quite a lot. I don’t have enough general footage yet to understand the layout of the building. I need to draw up detailed diagrams; make my own blueprint in order to plan entrance and egress.”
“Entrance and egress? Sometimes, Charlie, you have a wonderful way with words.”
“Then there’s the garage door. You haven’t even started there yet. You’ll need to get right up close to the equipment that controls it.”
“Standing around filming in the garage could be kinda risky, Charlie.”
“Your problem, mate.”
I groaned, outwardly this time, and told him I’d do my best.
*
I picked up the hated man purse from Charlie’s place and made my way down to the Zheng Building. As I passed through the automatic doors I licked my lips and realised I needed a drink of water. My mouth tasted pasty from drinking too much wine the previous night. Wine, lots of it, had been my consolation for having to say goodnight to Emma a few minutes before the lights went up. I’d have liked to stay longer, indeed a lot longer, but it wasn’t safe and we both knew it. She left the cinema ahead of me and I spent a good ten minutes sitting in a washroom cubicle reading the graffiti on the walls, so that Wark, if he was on the prowl, would be long gone by the time I appeared on the street.
I thought about all the additional filming that Charlie had demanded. He was right, of course; he needed detailed information to do his part of the job properly. Success for all three of us depended on him doing his job properly. On the way to the building I’d stopped off at Starbucks for a double Americano and the caffeine was now sparking my previously somnambulant brain cells. An idea popped into my mind out of nowhere.
I left the man purse in the office and went back down to the foyer to look for Boylan. He was usually around first thing and sure enough I found him near the elevators, stroking his fingers through his long mane of greying hair. He obviously favoured the leonine look.
“Good morning, Mr. Boylan.”
He gave me a blank stare.
“I’m John Robie; I rented an office on the twelfth floor last week.”
I could see him fighting for recollection. “Ah, yes, imports. Diamonds, isn’t it?”
I gave him my humble-but-ambitious look. “In a small, but growing, way, yes.”
“What can I do for you, Mr. Robie?”
I gave a little cough. “Well, actually I have a request. One that you may not get very often.” There was no backing out now.
“What is it?”
I shifted my weight from one foot to the other and tried to look moderately embarrassed. “I’m wondering if you could supply me with a copy of the building’s blueprints?”
His face darkened and I wondered if I’d just made a bad mistake. “It’s just that I’m really pleased with the facilities here, and I’m considering upgrading to a bigger office in the building in the near future.”
Boylan expression immediately relaxed. “Business must be booming, Mr. Robie.”
“Fortunately, yes. That’s why I’ll need a bigger space. The blueprints would help me decide which suite of offices would be best.”
“Suite, eh? Well, we do have some vacancies at the moment. You’re right about this being an unusual request, but I don’t see why not. I’ll have someone bring a copy of the blueprints up to your office later today.”
This was going well, but I didn’t want anyone peering into my empty office. “Thanks, you’re very helpful. I’ll be out seeing clients most of today so perhaps I could pick them up now?”
He nodded. “Sure, no time like the present. I can see why you’re doing so well. Follow me and I’ll get my staff to provide you with a copy.”
Fifteen minutes later I flopped i
nto my office chair and spread the blueprints across the desk. Charlie would be a happy camper tonight.
*
I had a little snooze in the warm, stuffy room and woke up feeling refreshed and relaxed. My request to Boylan had been risky, but it had also effectively probed the building’s most important defences: the human ones. This place was stuffed with video cameras and alarms, but they were only as effective as the staff monitoring them. Boylan was the man in charge of those staff and he set the tone for security in the building. If a tenant could simply ask for blueprints and be given them, this showed that complacency had set in. This boded well for our chances of entering the building successfully.
Of course, there was still the matter of the vault itself. I located it on the blueprints in front of me and it didn’t look very impressive, more like a large storage closet than anything else. Around it there were other rooms that I hadn’t known about before – Charlie had been dead right about the usefulness of blueprints. Then I made an unexpected discovery. To my supreme delight, each room’s name or function was handwritten on the blueprints. I could hardly believe my luck.
I noted a workshop where staff could repair equipment, and a large storage room where unused furniture was housed. These rooms would have easily picked locks and could be used for our own purposes if necessary.
My eyes returned to the vault. I now had its exact measurements but that didn’t seem to help much. I needed to know more about its security features and, in particular, how the lock mechanism worked. Who had access to the key and where was it kept? It was time to find out.
*
I stashed the blueprints in my briefcase and went back down to the foyer. When the elevator doors opened I looked around and spotted Boylan talking to another tenant. I sidled up and gave him a nod and a smile as I passed, pleased that he’d seen me leave the building, in conformity with what I’d told him earlier.
After such a productive morning I gave myself the rest of the day off. I spent several hours wandering around downtown, enjoyed a long lunch in a mid-price Indian restaurant that served a mean beef curry, and took in a Matt Damon action movie at the Scotiabank Theatre on Burrard. After Earl Grey tea and a scone in Murchie’s it was time to go back to work.
I entered the Zheng Building at six thirty and stayed in my office until a quarter to seven, then took the elevator down to -2. There was no-one else around, which suited me perfectly. Inside the vault I fiddled around with my safe deposit box until I heard the elevator doors open at five to seven. A couple of minutes later the overnight security guard, who wore an identity badge with the name ‘Jeff D.’ on it, entered the vault.
“Closing time sir.” He sounded like a bartender calling for last orders, but looked more like a night club bouncer, muscles bulging under his short-sleeved khaki shirt.
“Thanks. I’m just finishing up.” I locked my safe deposit box and picked up my briefcase. “Wouldn’t want to get locked in here overnight.”
“Wouldn’t be very pleasant, that’s for sure.”
“Not for a claustrophobic guy like me,” I replied, as I exited the vault. I wanted to get him talking. “And I’d be sure to set off some alarm or other.”
His mouth compressed in a thin grin, but he didn’t say anything. I watched as he swung the vault door closed and picked up a huge key, about as long as my arm from fingertip to elbow. He inserted it into the door and then noticed me hanging around behind him. I had to get the first word in.
“I’m fascinated by locks and keys,” I said.
He didn’t say a word, just kept looking at me. My heart was racing.
“In fact, I collect antique keys. And that’s the biggest key I’ve ever seen.”
“Size matters,” he replied, continuing to stare at me, his hand still on the key. He certainly wasn’t a conversational genius.
“Must be hard carrying it around,” I ventured.
“It’s like this,” he began, as if a tiny infant had just asked him to explain something supremely simple, “With a key this long you can’t just tote it around in your pocket, can you? Here, take a look.” He pulled the key out of the door and showed it to me.
“See this bit here?”
I nodded, relieved that he’d finally started talking.
“It’s called the stamp, this bit at the end that operates the internal tumblers. Watch.”
He twisted it and it came off the long cylindrical stem. “This is the only bit I need to carry around. The business end as you might say. You know, the male bit.” He grinned at me inanely, as if he’d just cracked the world’s dirtiest joke.
“So you don’t need to carry that long pipe bit around at all?” I encouraged.
“Nope, it stays in there all the time, in a lockbox.” He jabbed a thumb at the storage room to the left of the vault. “It’s all very convenient.”
He put the key back together, inserted it in the door and turned it with both hands. I didn’t hear anything; the sound of the internal tumblers must have been muffled by the thickness of the steel. Then he rotated the big wheel in the middle of the door about one hundred and eighty degrees clockwise. This was silent too.
“Anchor bolts,” he said, unasked, “Eight stainless steel rods.”
“Pretty thick ones?”
“Ten centimetres each,” he replied proudly, as if he’d built them himself, “Three on the left, three on the right, and one each top and bottom.”
“Fascinating,” I said. Now that the floodgates had opened I decided to push my luck a bit farther. “Well, I’ll hold the elevator for you while you finish up.”
“Thanks,” he replied, looking dubious. “Won’t take a sec.”
He withdrew the key and walked over to the storage room, opening it with a key from a large bunch attached to his pants. I took a few quiet steps closer and heard him open a lockbox and put the key inside.
I hurried to the elevator and pressed the button. Thankfully, the doors opened instantly. I pressed my hand against the edge of one door to keep it from closing and looked back into the room. The guard was locking the storage closet.
He flicked off the lights, entered the elevator and we went up to the ground floor together.
I stood to one side and slightly behind him so as to get a good look. His hands were empty. He was wearing black pants and a short-sleeved shirt. There were only so many pockets: two in his pants at the front and two at the back; and two small breast-pockets in his shirt.
My hunch was confirmed. I would have bet my last dollar that he had no giant key stamp anywhere on his person.
15.
PROBING MISSIONS
“Good morning, Andy.” I gave the garage entrance security guard my friendliest smile. Over the last few days I’d made a point of exchanging a few words with him every morning and also when I left in the afternoon or evening. ‘Andrew S.’ was the opposite of ‘Jeff D.’. For a start, Andy was a lot older, flabby faced and paunchy, with swarthy skin. I guessed he was of Portuguese or Spanish ethnicity, and this was confirmed the third or fourth time we chatted when he told me that his real first name was ‘Ernesto’.
I never had to say much to get Andy talking. I’d already found out that, while he was technically a member of the security team, for the last seven years he’d done little else than perform the duties of a garage attendant. He spent his working hours in a small, glass-walled cubicle just inside the garage door, the sort of occupation that would have driven me crazy. His responsibilities seemed to be limited to raising the yellow entrance bar for tenants to drive into or out of their parking spaces, and keeping an eye on the video monitors as tenants carded through the doors from the underground garage to the main building itself.
“Morning, Mr. Robie.” Andy always had a big, welcoming grin.
“How are you today, Andy? I had a very interesting dish last night.” I knew Andy liked food and I’d Googled Portuguese dishes.
“Oh yeah, what’s that?”
I gave him my best puzzle
d look. “It was Portuguese, I think. Bit like lasagne but made with fish. ‘Baklava’ or something.”
Andy gave a big snorting laugh. “You mean bacalhau, boss. Cod pie. I grew up eating it. My mama’s favourite; mine too. She had a million ways to cook it.”
I was doing well here. Andy was associating me positively with his mama. Time to get to the point.
“I’ve been wondering about something Andy. You know how there’s two doors in to the building from the garage?”
“Yeah, what about it?”
“Well, the main one is swipe card entry. Is the other one the same?” I knew already that it wasn’t.
Andy shook his head. “Nope, that one’s locked; needs a regular key. But tenants aren’t s‘posed to use it. No video surveillance at that one.”
It was an ‘aha’ moment. No video surveillance at that one. I tried to look enlightened and bored at the same time.
“Ah, that explains it. I’ll use the main door then, of course. Thanks Andy.”
“No problem boss.”
I eased my car past the glass cubicle and parked in stall 1207. Using Emma’s cash and another false identity created by Charlie, I’d checked the small ads in the Province and bought the most inconspicuous car I could find, a four-year-old Toyota Corolla in the very common light brown colour the dealers call ‘Desert Sand’. Reliable, boring and popular – there must be thousands of similar Corollas in the Metro Vancouver area – it would attract zero attention.
I swiped into the building, ignoring the other door with the normal lock, in case Andy was watching me. Inside, a short corridor, cluttered with big green garbage bags and flattened cardboard boxes stacked against the wall, led to another door that opened into the plush hallway near the elevators.
My mind was buzzing with possibilities. Tenants had to use the swipe card door to enter the building from the garage, which meant leaving an electronic record of one’s comings and goings, just like one did at the front entrance. In addition, there were video cameras along the corridor and in the elevator hallway that recorded one’s movements visually. But . . . if Charlie could fabricate a key to the other door from the garage into the building, our entrance would leave no electronic trail. Neither would there be any video footage of the area from the locked door to the hallway door.
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