“The locksmith’s drill made a mess of it but I still learned a lot.”
I looked at the old door to my safe deposit box sitting on Charlie’s workbench. It lay in several different pieces, the inside faceplate unscrewed and the brass deadbolt completely removed.
“We got a lucky break with the faceplates on the Zheng boxes being this old plastic sort,” Charlie continued, “It makes breaking them open a lot easier.”
I nodded. “Just as well. The one thing I learned from watching him drill open my box is that it takes far too long. We’d only be able to do two or three boxes in an entire night.”
“And, as soon as we started drilling, it would probably set off vibration detectors anyway,” Charlie agreed. “They’re built into the walls, so there’s nothing we can do about those.”
“And picking is out, as we don’t know any other three-letter combinations apart from mine. So how do we force them open?”
“Let me explain,” Charlie began in his best lecturing tone. “They don’t make it easy. The doors are housed so snugly in their casings that you couldn’t even get a strip of thin plastic in the edge, never mind a screwdriver or a crowbar. So prising them open isn’t an option. The only way in is through the keyhole.”
I’d had a long, stressful day and he was beginning to sound like a character from Alice in Wonderland.
“Come on Charlie, get to the point.”
He shrugged. “OK, here’s how we do it. I’ve made a special tool – several of them in fact, as you said – that will pull the doors directly outward with enough cumulative force to bend the deadbolts and wrench them out of their steel casings.”
“Show me.” I rubbed my eyes wearily. This was crucial stuff, but I needed to get home and have a good long sleep.
“Here’s my masterpiece.” He reached under the bench and produced what looked like a small vise. “As I said, the plastic faceplate that keeps the deadbolt in place is a lot easier to break than tempered steel. Once we insert this pin through the keyhole and start applying pressure it won’t take much to crack the faceplate. We keep applying pressure and, by my calculations, we only need to bend the deadbolt about forty-five degrees at most before the faceplate breaks. Once that happens, the whole length of the deadbolt is exposed and we just keep cranking until it pulls completely out of the slot in the door jamb.”
“Thereby opening the door.”
“Exactly. Not as elegant as you usually like, but effective.”
“You’ve tried it out on the old door, I assume?”
“What do you think? I’ve done it over and over again. These deadbolts can be ordered from specialty stores. I’ve bent them until I nearly pulled a muscle in my hand. This device works, Mike.”
I wasn’t quite convinced. “The pin looks the most vulnerable.”
“You’re right, it’s as strong as I can make it but it still broke a few times. That’s why I’ve made some extras.” He reached down again and produced two more of the door-clamp devices.
I grinned. “Charlie, there’s an easier way.”
“What like?”
“Just bring extra pins, rather than the whole shebang.”
He looked flabbergasted. “Hadn’t thought of that. I can make them so that they’re detachable.”
“Charles, if you’ll pardon the pun, I think you’ve cracked it.”
“Thanks, I’m pleased with it myself.”
“Just make plenty more pins though, right?”
He gave me a pretend salute. “Will do. Not now though. It’s time for my medicine.”
I groaned inwardly. Charlie’s ‘medicine’ was the cheapest lager he could find in the local liquor store, sometimes served warm as he, not infrequently, forgot to put the six-pack in the fridge. I usually left at this point, but tonight would be different. I still had to break the news to him about Emma’s hands-on participation in the heist. I wasn’t looking forward to it.
“OK mate, let’s down a few,” I replied, with as much heartiness as I could muster.
Back in the kitchen I readied myself for battle. Charlie sat at his chipped Formica table, perfectly quiet apart from the occasional loud slurp of tepid beer, almost as if he was waiting for me to begin.
“Emma wants in,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady. “Wants to take part on the night. I agreed.”
There; I’d finally broached it. It was a distinctly dodgy moment. As soon as I said the words he froze on the spot, lager can held aloft, as if he’d turned into a statue. I prepared for an eruption.
After what seemed forever he put the lager down gently. “Expect me to rant and rave now, do you? Well, I won’t. We need a third person. Always have. Unfortunately, it’s got to be her.”
My jaw had almost hit the floor.
“But she’d better not fuck up,” he added.
“How come?” I asked. I had to figure this revelation out.
Charlie shrugged. “We only get one chance at this; we can’t go back for second helpings. A third person means thirty-three per cent more loot. With her in, everything I grab I get to keep.”
And that was that. All my worries about it had been for nothing.
*
The 99 B-Line bus duly pulled up at Broadway and Willow and I felt stiffness in my legs as I stepped off. My body was weary but my mind was buzzing, synapses firing with ideas, and I knew I wouldn’t sleep if I went up the hill home. Instead, I strolled to the end of the block, went down Laurel and crossed the land bridge to the car-free quietness of Charleson Park and the Seawall at sunset.
The cerulean water of False Creek gently swashed in front of me; Science World lay to my right and Granville Island to my left. I took the latter path, embracing the old, or at least what is old by Vancouver standards, in preference to the new and gaudy.
I’d expected to go straight home and crash out after I’d left Charlie’s place, and sleep off the upset that would undoubtedly arise after I told Charlie about Emma’s decision to take part in the heist – and my decision to back her. This walk along the Seawall was almost a pilgrimage of gratitude for his unexpected assent.
I still had the deeper stress of almost two months of covert research – espionage really – at the Zheng Building. The novelty of dressing up and going downtown every weekday had long since worn off. What had kept me going was the search for more pieces of the puzzle and the ongoing satisfaction of slotting each one into place as we developed solutions. As well as forming the overall plan, I’d done most of the problem solving, with Charlie’s inventive, geeky genius on one hand and Emma’s encouragement, and financial backing, on the other.
I walked the concrete path, cyclists rolling past me on my left, and went over the heist in my mind. By now I was as well prepared as I’d ever be. I had a stack of notebooks, sketches and diagrams. I had each and every aspect of the heist figured out, planned for, tooled up and sequenced. All the prep was done.
Research could only take me so far. I was at the same point now as I had been on the scaffolding of the Orthodox church downtown ten years ago. So far I hadn’t done very much that was criminal, beyond pretending to be someone I wasn’t. From here on, that changed.
The next steps involved illegal activities that would get me into serious trouble if I was caught. I still had to decipher the garage door code, from which Charlie would make a remote control to open it. That had to be done on site, and I dare not get caught doing it. More worrying, I still hadn’t got footage of the vault combination. The video image had to be taken from directly overhead, looking down over Jeff D.’s shoulder as he turned the dial. In other words, a precision job. In theory it should be straightforward enough, but in practice would it work out? Reflecting on the mess I’d initially made of the man purse camerawork, I wasn’t confident.
The more I thought about it, the more I realised I needed Charlie’s help to set things up inside the building before the heist itself. Somehow or other I had to smuggle him in and out again. I crossed a boardwalk section
of the Seawall, noting a small sailboat close into shore on my right. There was peacefulness about this place that helped me think. I came up with an idea and filed it away.
Then there was the timing. Labour Day was less than two weeks away. Lots of people went away for the long weekend, the downtown business area was quiet, and it was the closing weekend of the PNE Fair at Hastings and Renfrew. Unusually, there was also a massive fireworks display in English Bay, expected to attract up to four hundred thousand people, on the evening of Saturday 30th. This made it the optimum date for the heist. To make it happen then I would have to move fast.
*
When I entered the Zheng Building the following morning, Boylan was waiting for me. I’d just said a cheery good morning to ‘Roger G.’ and received his usual guttural grunt in reply. As soon as I turned away from him I spotted Boylan in the foyer ahead of me, hands clasped behind his back, staring in my direction. He seemed to have been keeping a beady eye on who was coming in. I couldn’t explain how I knew that it was me he was after, but I would have sworn my life on it.
Something tightened and hardened in my chest; the fear inside me coagulating into stone. There was something in Boylan’s tight-lipped expression that told me I wouldn’t easily bluff my way out of this one. Mentally, I switched into damage limitation mode.
He stood where he was, between me and the elevators, which meant I had to approach him. I walked towards him at slower than usual pace, feeling as if my legs were about to collapse from under me. When I was close enough to see the glint of his wire glasses I gave him what was supposed to be a casual nod.
“Morning, Mr. Boylan.”
He hadn’t moved since I’d spotted him and by now his lips were so compressed they had almost disappeared. His hands came from behind his back and I saw that he was holding a buff manila folder. He rocked slightly on the balls of his feet.
“Mr. Robie. Just the person I want to talk to.”
Talk to. Not ‘see’. I wondered about the significance of that, if any.
I knew better than to pretend I was in a hurry and try to brush past him. That would immediately make things worse – I had visions of him calling security. I had to try to talk my way out of this.
“What can I do for you?” I asked. Despite the churning fear inside me, I was getting some control back now. I was pleased to hear my voice sound neutral, almost relaxed, a little puzzled. Just the way it should be.
“During our routine screening,” Boylan continued, holding up the folder, “Something came up.”
“Really? To do with me? I thought that was all settled ages ago.” I was being deliberately ambiguous. If it was only one thing in the background checks, it might not be disastrous after all.
“Sometimes these things take time. The information you gave us doesn’t check out.”
I opened my mouth and tried to look seriously baffled. “Anything in particular?”
“You say you have retail stores?” He opened the folder. “A small chain called ‘Bejeweled’? We couldn’t find any such franchise.”
“Well . . . I can explain that,” I began, then trailed off. It was okay now to be flustered; this would be an embarrassing question for any bona fide tenant.
“We can discuss this in your office if you like, Mr. Robie.”
“No, no need for that.” Now I really was flustered. I frantically tried to think like a businessman. “It’s very simple really. I had to close down that chain. You know how it is; there was a silent partner I had to get rid of – that sort of thing.”
Boylan looked as if he had no idea how it was at all. Frowning, he said, “Mr. Robie, I’m afraid we couldn’t find any diamond business registered in your name.”
Wham! This was the big one. Everything depended on the answer I came up with now. And I only had a split second to concoct it.
“Of course you couldn’t, Boylan. If you must know,” – I put a dose of huffiness into my voice – “The silent partner I mentioned is my ex-wife. All my new companies are in unnamed trust ownership. That way she can’t come after me for even more of my assets. Do I really have to spell it out?”
I watched his face intently and thought he turned slightly pale. He probably didn’t like discussing personal affairs like this. His eyes never left me, but he seemed to be thinking hard. Finally he said, “Ah, I’m not a businessman myself, but I see how that would work. You place company ownership into a trust. Anyone looking for ownership only sees the name of the trust, there’s no way to find out who the beneficiary is.”
“You’ve got it.” I put on a pleased expression, as if he was finally catching up. “All she can see is the registered agent and the name of the trust. I’m effectively invisible.”
Boylan nodded. “Right, I’m glad we went over that.”
Now it was time for me to go on the offensive. “Frankly Boylan, I’m shocked that your . . . er . . . researchers couldn’t figure out such a simple thing. It must happen all the time.”
He frowned. “You understand that we have to be careful who we let into this building?”
“Of course. But please get your facts right before making needless accusations.”
“So you’re still active in the diamond trade then, are you?”
“Certainly. Why else would I be here?”
“Then there shouldn’t be a problem.” He snapped the folder shut. “I’m afraid you’ll still have to refile your application though, this time with two references from established dealers. Will that be a problem?”
“No, not at all.”
“Good. I’ll send the documents up to your office presently. Good day, Mr. Robie.”
He disappeared down the hallway. I walked into an empty elevator and pressed the button for the twelfth floor, trying to keep my body from shaking. This business was taking a heavy toll on me. I closed my eyes and pressed my sticky forehead against the steel door, treasuring the few seconds of solitude before it opened again.
It had been another close call and I’d been lucky to fend it off. They were becoming more frequent, and that told me my time here was severely limited.
One more confirmation that the heist had to be soon.
*
I sat on my bed, my back pressed against the wall. It was past midnight and I’d switched off the lights and pulled the curtains back from the window. For the last half hour I’d been staring at the stars.
I’d gone over the recent close calls and analysed them as best I could. In the end, I just didn’t have enough information to know if they were on to me or not. The Zheng encounter had been bizarre. For one terrifying moment I’d been sure that he knew very well that I was standing behind the door, a few steps away from him. Had he been toying with me, playing with me like a cat plays with its prey? It certainly fitted his character.
If Zheng was on to me, I was pretty sure that Boylan wasn’t. His backtracking had seemed genuine enough. But all that meant was that Zheng might be keeping him in the dark while sending him to me for another cat and mouse display. For all I knew, Zheng might have been watching the encounter via a security camera.
Net result: even if I was simply being paranoid, I was still attracting too much attention to myself. That was worry number one.
My other concerns were more personal. I looked around my tiny apartment, that I was already a month’s rent behind on. For the last decade I’d been a penniless nonentity, a sad sack content to wallow in mediocrity. Emma’s return to my life had changed all that. I felt reborn. I had purpose. I had skills that no-one else possessed; ability to do the seemingly impossible. If all went as planned my life would be transformed.
So much change in so little time. What would I become? Could I handle it?
Even with so much else going on, in my quieter moments I was still haunted by two things. They both centred on Emma and, no matter how often I forced them out of my mind, telling myself that resolving them was best left until later, they kept reappearing.
My unwelcome ghosts from Hei
st-mass past.
Emma’s mysterious name change was one of them. I ran it over and over in my head, but it made no more sense than it ever had. Then there was the biggie, the elephant in the room, her betrayal on the warehouse rooftop. She still hadn’t told me the truth about that, not the whole truth anyway. There had to be more to it.
I needed to be careful not to let these things eat away at me. This wasn’t the time to insist on having it out with her; that could come later. And it would come later, it had to. Until then, the challenge for me was to continue to trust her. I’d found I could do that, most of the time anyway.
I didn’t just need her money; I needed her support. I needed her to give me confidence in myself. Despite being proud of my unusual talents, I didn’t really feel like a master burglar. But I’d have to feel exactly like that if I was going to pull this off. Anything less and the odds would be too heavily stacked against us. Even at the top of my game, if something went wrong I’d be lucky to get us out of the building before the cops arrived.
Assuming I could keep it all together, then I reckoned our chances were pretty good. Zheng’s corrupt business empire would come tumbling down around him, Emma would be free and secure. I’d get the girl and the money.
Better still, the yearning deep inside me, the desire that had been driving me crazy for the last ten years, ever since I’d crash-landed onto a museum warehouse floor, would at last be fulfilled.
20.
TRIAL RUN
I paced up and down the thin office carpet, anxiously waiting for a knock on the door. Every couple of minutes I checked my watch. The minutes seemed to be crawling and flying at the same time. It was already past nine thirty and I’d been here since eight. If he didn’t arrive soon, I’d go nuts. If he did arrive, I’d strangle him.
And if he got caught, it would be the police knocking on my door.
More minutes ticked by. I checked the time again. Nine forty-five. I’d definitely kill him when he got here.
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