All Gone

by Joel Goldman

  “Okay,” said Cassie. “Let’s try the other tunnel.”

  They backtracked to a Y junction. Jake led the way into the passage on the left. This tunnel was smaller, not quite six feet in diameter, and they both had to hunch over as they walked, bobbing and weaving to avoid the foul sludge dripping from cracks in the brick ceiling.

  “You still think those three guards pulled this off?” Jake said. “I mean, we’re talking about night shift rent-a-cops here, not master criminals. This had to take months to set up and train for.”

  “They got all the training they needed in the military. And they didn’t start working for the library until a month or so ago. By then, the shaft from the tunnel was probably done.”

  “I still don’t see these guys coming up with this caper on their own. My money says somebody hired them and told them how to do it. Plus, the odds are way against their families not having some idea what they were doing.”

  “People only see what they want to see,” Cassie said. “Especially when it’s someone they love.”

  Jake twisted awkwardly to glance back at her. “The voice of experience?”

  “No comment,” she said, keeping her expression blank.

  Jake turned around and let out a shout. “Motherfu….”

  He stumbled backward into Cassie who caught him in a bear hug but she couldn’t stop his momentum from knocking them off their feet.

  “What?” Cassie said.

  They scrambled to their feet, dripping with sewage. Jake pointed at a face staring up at them from the water. “That.”

  Cassie aimed the beam of her flashlight at the face. It was pale. The skin sagged. The eyes were gone. The mouth was toothless. She stepped closer, bent over and picked it up.

  “This?”

  It was a silicon mask that had gotten snagged on a clump of debris. Jake stood beside her, feeling foolish when he saw what she was holding.

  “Are you kidding me,” Jake said.

  “Nope.” She handed it to him. “It’s so lifelike. See the hair in the eyebrows and the veins painted on the skin.”

  “It’d be a killer on Halloween.”

  “More like a thief.” Cassie pulled up a photograph on her phone. “Say hello to Jeremy Bristol-Clarke. The guards didn’t steal the Magna Cartas. The thieves wore masks of the guards’ faces.”

  “Like Mission Impossible masks?”

  “Exactly. All you need is a 3-D printer. Their families had no idea they were planning a robbery because they weren’t.”

  “So what happened to the real..?” Jake said and stopped without finishing the question.

  “I know. Malcolm Bridges is dead. These people don’t leave loose ends.”

  “Not live ones, anyway. You think they left this here to point us in the wrong direction?”

  “Not after they went to so much trouble to pin the robbery on the guards. This is their first mistake and our first break. Mr. Fake Galloway probably fell on his ass and didn’t realize he’d dropped it.”

  “We’re walking upstream so the mask drifted back here.”

  “Which means we’re headed in the right direction.”

  They continued walking against the current, reaching another junction, then another, doubling back and searching every tunnel for telltale handprints. A wireless earpiece lying on the narrow shoulder told them the thieves had passed this way. Soon, they came to another shaft with a ladder leading up to a manhole.

  Cassie said, “Your turn.”

  Jake held the end of his flashlight in his mouth and climbed the ladder. A rust coated padlock was looped through one of two clasps bolted to the edge of the manhole cover. The second loop in the door had been severed with a bolt cutter, leaving a gap big enough for the padlock’s shackle to pass through. The manhole cover was unlocked. Jake dug his heels into the ladder rungs and shoved. The cover loosened. He pushed it aside and poked his head into darkness.

  TWENTY-FOUR

  CASSIE AND JAKE CLIMBED out of the sewer and scanned their surroundings with their flashlights. Fuk the EU was scrawled in red spray paint on a gray brick wall that curved over their heads and formed a large round passageway twice their height in diameter.

  “Great,” Cassie said. “Another tunnel.”

  “But at least it’s not a sewer,” Jake said. “We’re moving up in the world.”

  They were standing on a platform along one side of the tunnel, overlooking a wide trench. Three thick metal rails ran along the bottom in both directions. A yellow and black sign painted on the middle rail warned, Danger. High voltage .

  “It’s the Tube,” Cassie said.

  Jake examined a set of double doors leading off the platform, marked Exit to Street . The handles were chained together and secured with a grimy padlock.

  “This place has been abandoned for a long time,” he said.

  Cassie said, “They’re called ghost stations. A nice spot to pop out of the sewer with a hundred million pounds in stolen treasure.”

  “They could be using the Tube tunnels as another way to get around the city without being seen.” A train approached with a deep rumble. They stepped away from the tracks as the cars sped by in a clattering whoosh of air. “Assuming they could time it well enough to avoid getting flattened.”

  “Wouldn’t put it past them. These guys are good.”

  Cassie ran her light along the wall, revealing another door at the far end of the platform marked Emergency Exit . She tried the door. It was unlocked. They stepped into a spiral stairwell. The steel steps were spotted with patches of rust. Jake craned his head upward.

  “Looks like three or four flights.”

  “I’ll lead. You follow,” Cassie said.

  They started to climb, around and around the central post, the steel joints creaking under their feet.

  “If the guards didn’t steal the Magna Cartas, who did?” Jake said.

  “Professionals hired by someone with serious resources. There are plenty of people with enough money to finance this kind of operation.”

  “Sure. But how many of them would want to? I mean what’s the point? Some rich guy wants to hang them in a secret room where he’d be the only one to ever see them?”

  “You’d be surprised how much stolen art is hanging on walls like that” Cassie said. “Or, it could be someone that thinks the cost of the operation is worth it if they can collect the ransom and live long enough to spend it.”

  “Bad odds. Too many variables. Worse than playing against a stacked deck.”

  Cassie stopped and turned around toward Jake with a sly grin. “I thought you liked long odds.”

  Jake smiled in return. “Depends on what’s at stake. Are mine getting any better?”

  She shrugged. “Maybe.”

  “And if we find these guys and get the Magna Cartas back before we run out of time on Friday?”

  “Could be your lucky day.”

  “You really know how to make a man feel good about being covered in shit.”

  “It looks good on you,” Cassie said and continued to climb.

  They reached a small landing at the top of the stairs and pushed through an exit door into the cold, fresh air. They stood for a moment, winded and dripping sewage, outside a red brick building inlaid with white bricks that spelled York Road Station. It was surrounded by a chain link fence. Cassie walked toward the fence and turned around, studying the building.

  “What are you looking for?”

  “Security cameras. Maybe we can get a look at our guys.”

  “And we know at least one of them wasn’t wearing his mask.”

  She took a quick tour of the station’s exterior. Walking back toward him, she shook her head. “No cameras.”

  Jake peered through the chain link fence at a used car dealership next door. “Hey, there are three cameras over there.”

  Cassie joined him. “And it looks like one of them has a direct view of the door we came out of. Gunnar should be able to hack into the footage the nig
ht of the robbery. It’ll be dark, but we might get lucky.”

  She called Gunnar and told him what they needed. Then, they climbed over the fence.

  “Hey, we’re in luck,” Jake said. “There’s a cab.” He stepped into the street and waved. The driver slowed alongside him then sped past. “What in the hell? Why didn’t he stop?”

  “Maybe because we’re covered in shit,” Cassie said.

  “How about dinner,” Jake said when the driver dropped Cassie at her hotel.

  “I’d like that. Give me a couple of hours to get the sewer out of my hair.”

  TWENTY-FIVE

  JAKE CAUGHT HIS BREATH when he saw Cassie in the hotel lobby. She was wearing a simple body-skimming, off the shoulder black dress that highlighted the glow in her ebony skin. She’d pulled her hair back, laying bare her long, graceful neck. He wanted to fold her in his arms and kiss her until they both forgot about dinner.

  She walked toward him, her eyes twinkling as if she knew exactly what he was thinking. “Hungry?”

  “Famished.”

  “What are you in the mood for?”

  He tilted his head. “I’m afraid it’s not on the menu.”

  “With an arched eyebrow,” she said, “Don’t be so sure. You haven’t seen what’s for dessert. I made a reservation at Hutong. The dim sum is incredible.”

  The restaurant was on the thirty-third floor of the Shard, a 95-story skyscraper. They were seated in a quiet corner overlooking the Thames, the city spreading out beneath them. A Chinese lantern cast a soft reddish glow across their table.

  “We’re supposed to get the ransom instructions on Friday which leaves us three days to figure this thing out,” Jake said after the server took the order. “So, where do we go from here.”

  Cassie sighed. “Depends on whether Gunnar finds something on the videos from the car dealership. Right now, that’s our best lead. But, you know what?”

  “What?”

  “Let’s just enjoy dinner for now. I have a feeling this will be our last quiet meal for a while.”

  If this was the new Cassie, Jake was all in. “Works for me.”

  The food was decadent. The two bottles of Piedmont Barolo were excellent. They fell into easy conversation about food and music and funny stories from their travels, which only got funnier as they drank more wine.

  “I realized that I’d picked up the wrong bag, and started looking around for whoever picked up mine,” said Jake. “Then I saw this woman… a tiny little white-haired lady… with the identical bag. So, I went up to her and tried to explain what happened. But I don’t speak Croatian and she doesn’t speak English, so I’m doing my best pantomime…” He mimed holding up a carry-on bag, pointing to it and another imaginary bag beside Cassie with exaggerated gestures, then pretending to swap them. “But she gets the idea that I’m trying to steal her bag. So, she reaches into her purse and pulls out a can of mace. I duck and she sprays and hits the customs agent full in the face.”

  Cassie laughed. “You totally made up that story, didn’t you?”

  “Does it matter? It’s a great story.”

  “It would be even better if it were true.”

  “Ah, well, if you can’t trust a professional gambler, who can you trust?”

  “That is the question, isn’t it?” she said.

  They walked back to her hotel and crossed the lobby to the bank of elevators. Cassie pressed the call button, then abruptly turned to face him.

  “I didn’t ask you to come to London, you know.”

  “I know.”

  “And I would have sent you home right away if I could have.”

  “I know.”

  She took a breath, then her words came out in a rush. “But you’ve been a big help and I’m glad you’re here.”

  He gazed at her. “Me, too.”

  The elevator door slid open. They stood there, wordless, eyes searching each other. When the door began to close, Cassie grabbed him by the shoulders and hauled him into the elevator, planting her lips firmly on his. They kissed furiously as the doors shut and the car started to move, then stumbled out onto the sixth floor, barely pausing for breath. They made their way toward her room. She fumbled with her key card. The door swung open. They crashed against the wall, desperately tugging at each other’s clothes.

  Her purse tumbled to the floor, the contents spilling at their feet. Cassie pulled away, as if the dropped purse had awakened her from a trance.

  Her back stiffened. “This was a bad idea. I’m sorry, I can’t.”

  “I know you think it’s risky to get too attached because of what happened to Gabriel…”

  “But you don’t know what it feels like to lose someone, do you?”

  He held her gaze. “No. All I know is how I feel about you and I have a pretty good idea of how you feel about me.”

  She walked past him into her suite, hugging herself, then turned around. “I wish it was that simple.”

  Jake stayed where he was. “I can’t make it simpler but I’ll make it easier. You know how I feel. That’s not going to change but from here on out, I’ll keep things strictly business. If the day comes when you’re ready for something more, you’ll know where to find me.”

  Cassie looked at him, shook her head, then smiled. “You’re…” Her phone beeped with a text. She studied the message. “Gunnar just emailed the footage from the camera in the used car lot.”

  Jake followed her to the desk where she’d set up her laptop. She downloaded the video and pressed the play button. The images were grainy but good enough. The door from the station opened and three figures emerged, one carrying a duffle bag on his shoulder. When they climbed the chain link fence, a street light illuminated their faces. Jake recognized masks of Lloyd Pugh and Tom Galloway. Cassie froze the frame and zeroed in on the man carrying the duffle bag. He wasn’t wearing a mask. She enlarged his image until his features were clear.

  “Who is that?”

  “A dead man,” Cassie said. “It’s Gabriel.”

  TWENTY-SIX

  “THAT’S IMPOSSIBLE,” JAKE SAID.

  Cassie closed her eyes for a moment. “Except that it isn’t.”

  She walked to the window. Jake stood next to her, his hand on the small of her back.

  “Are you certain it’s him?”

  She turned around. “You don’t forget the face of someone you...” She looked away.

  “Loved.”

  “I was so stupid.” He put his hands on her arms. She stepped past him and grabbed a small pillow off the sofa, clutching it to her chest. “I should be happy that he’s alive. I should be excited because if we find him, we find the Magna Cartas. But all I can think about is why didn’t he tell me. You don’t do that to someone you love. Damn him.” She flung the pillow across the room. “Damn him.”

  “Why were you so sure he was dead?”

  Cassie sat on the edge of the bed, hands planted on her thighs. Her heart was racing. She took several calming breaths.

  “We were in Bosnia. It was so cold Gabriel said it was the next ice age. A Romanian fence named Costin Petrescu was going to put our client’s Modigliani painting in a black-market art auction. It was a routine recovery until he and his crew showed up. We got away but they chased us to a clearing in a field where our chopper was waiting. Our car blew a tire. We had to run the last hundred yards. Gabriel was shooting at them to cover me while I climbed in with the painting but…he…” She stopped and cleared her throat. “I was leaning halfway out of the chopper to grab his hand and pull him aboard when Petrescu shot him in the back. I couldn’t leave him. I started to jump out but Prometheus stopped me and ordered the pilot to take off. Then, Petrescu kicked Gabriel and shot him again.”

  “Why was Prometheus there?”

  “He’d told us to break off our relationship or he’d get rid of both of us. We said okay but we stayed together figuring we could keep it a secret. He found out while we were on the mission and was so angry he came to fire us i
n person. But, as it turned out, he didn’t have to.”

  “I’m surprised Prometheus didn’t send in a team to rescue Gabriel or at least recover his body.”

  “He had a backup team standing by. They got there five minutes after we took off but it was too late. I’ll never forget the look on his face when he told me Gabriel was dead. It was like he’d lost a son. As soon as we landed, I went back to find Petrescu and waited until he was alone.”

  “What did you do?”

  “I shot him in the heart. He fell on the floor. Then I kicked him and put another round in his head. It was wrong. I knew it then and I know it now. I killed him. And, for what? So, I can see him in my nightmares for the rest of my life?”

  “Why did you keep working for Prometheus?”

  “It was the only way I could keep my sanity. Keep doing what I’d been doing. One step and one day at a time. He should have told me. He should have told me.”