The power supply for the security camera system was supplied through two trunks that fed in from two separate locations and circuits. If one was to go down, the redundant backup would kick in without interruption. The camera feeds were hardwired through two-inch steel conduit buried within the slab-and-concrete walls, while the computer network on Sublevel Three that it was all fed into lay comfortably ensconced in the center of the security station.
The system’s mainframe, the computer that recorded and distributed the hundreds of feeds, was protected against power surges and spikes with electrical filters, but through Michael’s experience, he knew of a single weakness. He had become aware of the fault through an installation he had done for a man by the name of Shamus Hennicot back in New York two years earlier.
A massive surge through the video feed, a line that carried a low-voltage current, would enter the video mainframe directly, a route that had no need for a voltage filter as the line was outside the power feed. And the computer’s internal surge protection would activate, temporarily shutting down the system to protect all the data on the mainframe.
All cameras would go down, all monitor feeds would cease. The entire system would have to reboot before eyes were restored.
With a security failure, as was protocol, all activity on all sublevels would halt until the system was back up: The two elevators that accessed the lower levels would be recalled to the main floor, the fire stairs locked tight. If there was a fire, if someone died, the cost of the settlement would be but a fraction of the cost of their exposure to theft.
Michael pushed a small button on the box and two metal spikes protruded. He lined them up over the exposed video wire and drove them in.
Like a tsunami, the massive power surged through the video line and to the main computer, and, while they were not in the security room to verify their success, Michael knew the mainframe was instantly shutting down as he heard both elevators power up and rise past their floor, heard the heavy thud of the deadbolts in the doors to the stairwells.
They had five minutes.
CARMINE RIOS WAS fourth-generation Portuguese, his family having come to Macau when it was a colony of the once-great Portuguese empire, back when they still influenced the world.
He had the command for the night. A night most would call boring, filled with overseeing a team that needed no monitoring: They were focused, hardworking, and without complaint. He stood upon the dais, overseeing the night staff of eighty-six, whose attention was focused upon 481 monitors.
And they all went dark. The central alarm sounded; it wasn’t loud, though its high screech pierced their ears. Not a single member of the team moved, their eyes still upon the monitors, awaiting the images’ return.
As if by instinct, Rios fingered information into the computer tablet in his hands. The mainframe was still active, as was voice communication. A spike had somehow hit the video system’s server.
UPON HEARING THE alarm, the floor captains on Sublevels Four, Five, and Six each picked up the phone, calling central command, reporting nothing unusual, nothing out of order. The main floor was operating normally and would continue operation as if nothing were wrong, though all activity in the rear staging area would stand down until the all-clear was rendered. Nothing was out of the ordinary on the subfloors; all were told to stand by while the situation was corrected.
Within twenty seconds, the lead tech confirmed to Carmine that the video mainframe had been shut down and that it was already rebooting and would take five minutes.
Though each floor had been confirmed secure, though each floor had security protocols in place for such an instance as this, though each was armed and trained in the event of an incident, Carmine picked up his radio and called the head of floor security. His gut was gnawing at him. He’d send a few personnel to make a sweep, the personnel who were trained for situations like this, who were hired out of the military, out of SWAT units, for their expertise in these types of matters. They had the nickname Shuang O, a fitting term that meant double O as in 007. Though they were encouraged to wound, to keep a criminal alive so he or she could be questioned, they would not be held accountable in the event that they killed someone perpetrating a theft in the Venetian.
BUSCH PRIED APART the elevator doors. He reached into the shaft, affixed the three kernmantle ropes to the service ladder that ran the length of the shaft, and let them uncoil into darkness. He checked each line and passed one back to Michael and Jon, who stood behind him. He craned his neck, looking up at the two elevators above, both called home—as in the event of a fire, returning to the main ground floor—when the cameras went out. He glimpsed the red LEDs on a shaft security camera, glad it was dark. He affixed the clip to his line, said a quick prayer to himself, and without a word…
Busch leaped out into space.
CHAPTER 35
THE FORBIDDEN CITY
KC slipped over the wall and landed in a crouch within the shadow of trees. She wiped the wet brown hair out of her face, reached into her pocket, and pulled out the glasses, slipping them on. Up close there was not a chance she would pass for Jenna, but soaking wet, the brown hair of the wig dripping, matted to her face, all filtered through a video camera onto a monitor, it was good enough.
One of the biggest ironies that KC found was that when a woman was not where she should be, when she was walking in a restricted area, a dark street, people immediately assumed she was lost; when a man did the same thing people assumed he was causing trouble. This was a fact that had saved her on more than a few occasions. Right now, with a dull video image, reinforced by the security card, she hoped it would be enough.
KC pulled open the red door and stepped into the small elevator vestibule, the lights at half-power for the night. She moved immediately for the stairs, trailing water behind her as she ran down the three flights. KC pulled out the white ID card, the moment of truth before her as she entered the utilitarian two-door landing.
She swiped it over the reader on the door on the right. There was no pregnant pause, no drama as the door clicked and opened. She walked through the small waiting room, swiped the card again, and opened the door to the white corridor, the bright lights, the white walls straining her eyes. As she stepped forward, it felt as if time fell to a crawl as her left foot moved toward the white floor; despite the white card’s opening the door, she feared its failure in disabling the floor security, awaiting the disabling jolt of electricity that would cripple her, that would not only stop her in her tracks but stop her from ever seeing Michael again.
But as she looked down the corridor, she noticed a red light in the center of the ceiling suddenly turn green, and she understood; it was safe to walk on the floor. She looked straight ahead, fighting the urge to look up at the cameras, and walked purposefully down the long corridor. Thirty seconds gone. She didn’t need to look at her watch; it was as if she could see the march of time behind her own eyes. She arrived at the destination hall, and as she turned toward it, she once again glimpsed the red light that upon approach had turned green as she made a left down the hall. As she walked, she looked behind her to see the main corridor’s ceiling light wink from green back to red and wondered if the current flowing through the floor was enough to kill someone.
She soon arrived at the door to the workshop and storage room. She pulled out the card and swiped it over the reader, the door hissing open before her. She stepped into the room and found it fully lit. To her surprise, the three men sat at the far work table absorbed in the same painting as they’d been earlier in the day. But this time they turned to her.
“Nihao,” one of the men said.
KC nodded in recognition, hoping he would turn back to his work, hoping the illusion would hold, but as good as the disguise might have been, there was no concealing the disparity in height between her and Jenna. KC turned down the short aisle of shelves, looking up and down until she spotted the wooden crate 9296273. Pulling it down, she carried it back and laid it on the workbe
nch. She opened the drawer and pulled out the same screwdriver that Jenna had used. Jamming it in the lid, she pried it off and laid it on the table beside her. She reached in and grabbed the red lacquered box.
And a hand fell upon her shoulder. KC spun around.
“Nĭ shì shuí?” the tall man asked, the confusion in his dark eyes turning to anger. His hand reached up and tore the wig from KC’s head, her blond hair spilling down onto her wet black jacket. The two other men approached
“Nĭ zài zhèlĭ zuò shénme?” the man shouted in KC’s face as she fought to mask her fear.
The older of the two men looked at the open crate and picked up the phone.
“Diàoyòng ĭnquán,” the tall man in front of KC said. He grabbed her by the arm, jammed his hand in her pocket, tore out the white security card, and said in very rough English, “Call security.”
ANNIE LAY UPON the roof, her eyes on her watch, three minutes gone, no word. And the walkie-talkie at her side squawked. “Yi? Where are you?” the man said in Chinese, his voice tired and upset.
“Cafeteria, you want some coffee?”
“Please take a swing by room 4864. One of the egghead historians is having trouble with a woman. Yeah, and bring me back a soda.”
Annie threw the rifle over her shoulder, tucked the walkie-talkie in her pocket, and leaped down from the roof. She was sprinting down the alley when up ahead she caught sight of the guard she had tied up, the one KC wouldn’t let her kill, running for the art and security house.
The guard ran through the pouring rain. With his radio gone, Annie knew he was running to alert the world of their presence. KC was caught and a single guard was going to investigate. A single guard Annie could handle, but if this running man was to alert his superiors to what was happening…
Annie pushed herself, pumping her legs harder than ever before. She pulled her pistol from her shoulder holster. Though she was thankful it was equipped with a silencer, it didn’t matter; she knew she couldn’t make the shot on the run, and couldn’t risk slowing for fear the man would get away. But once they got to the building, once he slowed to go inside…
The man cut through an alley door and Annie briefly lost him, but she rounded the corner to see him slip through the double-wide door into the art and security building.
Annie tore the rifle from her back and ditched it behind the stand of trees, racing for the red door that the man had disappeared through. Raising her pistol, she ripped the door open to see the last crack of light escaping from the closing elevator doors, the elevator pulling the guard down and away from her.
Annie raced down the stairs, holding tight to the pistol in her hand as she ran. In less than fifteen seconds, she arrived at the bottom landing. She tore open the door just as the elevator arrived with a ping. She faced the door, squared herself, and raised the gun, two-handing the grip. And as the doors parted she fired, the silencer reducing the crack of the bullet to a muffled spit. The bullet caught the guard just above his left eye, spraying the rear of the elevator wall with an explosion of blood. Without pause, she leaped into the large cab, knelt over the crumpled body, and took his white security card.
She pulled four climbing cam-nuts from her pocket and turned to the handleless security office door, inserting them in the door seams: two on the left, two on the right. Turning the outer clip, she released the self-expanding devices; inserted in rock fissures, their grip could hold three thousand pounds. But in this case, the outward pressure wedged the door, and as anyone on the inside tried to open it, it would only make the grip that much tighter, sealing it from opening, locking whoever was inside within the command station.
Annie waved the guard’s white card over the reader on the storage-facility door and charged down the hall, never noticing the green light above her head. Running as fast as she could, she turned left down the hall and soon reached her destination.
She waved the card over the reader and ripped open the door, her gun hand raised, her finger wrapping around the trigger. Reacting as she saw the guard named Yi spin around, reaching for his sidearm, she shot him in the throat, throwing him back in a heap on the floor.
She turned the gun on the first of the three white-coated men, but before she could pull the trigger, KC knocked her arm up in the air.
“No! Enough death,” KC yelled.
“They will follow us and kill us,” Annie snapped. “Do you not grasp the world you play in?”
KC walked over to the tall man who had taken her card and snatched it out of his hand, tucking it in her pocket.
“They are intellectuals, not soldiers, not killers,” KC said as she walked to each of the three museum workers and took their security cards. She finally turned back to Annie. “Give me the card.”
“What card?”
“The one you used to get down here. You killed someone for it. Was it a guard?”
Annie reluctantly held it up.
“So when they find his body without his security card, they’ll track you, they’ll know where you are.”
KC took the card.
“Shŏujĭ?” Annie yelled at the tall man, jamming her gun in his face. He pulled out his cell phone and handed it to her. She stared at the other two men, who quickly handed over theirs. She dropped the phones to the floor and stomped them into pieces.
KC ripped the handset on the desk phone out of the base, quickly following suit on the phone on the far desk.
Then she took Annie’s security card, along with the dead guard’s and those of the three museum workers, and laid them on the workbench. She reached into the drawer, drew out a pair of large scissors, and cut the first card in half to reveal a small circuit board. She quickly cut the other three and tossed them in the garbage.
She grabbed the red lacquered box off the table and tucked it in the bag at her side, then looked up at Annie. “We’ve got to go.”
“We can’t let them follow us.” Annie waved her gun at the three men.
KC pointed at the sign on the door. “Don’t worry, they won’t unless they’re itching to get a shock.” KC pointed a finger at Annie. “You better keep up with me or you’ll be tasting that electricity.”
KC yanked open the door, checked the hall, and they took off.
As the door closed, the tallest museum worker ran to his desk, reached into the drawer, pulled out a 9mm pistol, and checked the clip. He reached back into the drawer and pulled out a second gun, tossing it to the older man.
ANNIE AND KC were running side by side, charging down the hall, when they heard the door open behind them and saw the two men in white coats come charging out, guns in hand, screaming.
“How the hell are they following us? I thought this floor—”
“It’s disabled by my card, they’re riding our clearance. Move it. If we can get down the corridor far enough before they leave the hall—”
Annie understood and ran harder. KC looked ahead; she could see the red light in the corridor ceiling and prayed there was no delay in the switchover before their feet turned the corner.
Behind them the taller man was much faster; he was gaining while the shorter, older man was already heaving, falling back.
“Go!” KC shouted as they turned down the corridor, running for their lives. Chancing a glimpse over her shoulder, KC could see only the tall man round the corner.
She couldn’t see the green light in the hall ceiling they just left turn red; she didn’t need to.
AS THE OLDER man watched the woman round the corner, his colleague right behind them, he regretted being ruled by his emotions, regretted thinking he was somehow invincible and could catch the thieves. He knew what was coming. If he could only push himself just a bit harder, if he could leap before the current surged, before the light turned red…
But then, without warning, as his racing right foot touched the floor, it exploded in a hail of sparks, and lightning from the floor coiled up his leg, enfolding his body. His muscles seized, spasming with the flow of current as
it took over his nervous system, dragging his body to the floor, where he convulsed, his bladder releasing, his jaw snapping closed on his tongue. And by the time the current finally ceased, he had already blacked out.
KC AND ANNIE ran for their lives down the central corridor, the tall man five paces back, gun in hand.
And he fired the gun, the bullet hitting the wall to KC’s right, the man’s aim erratic with his pumping arms.
KC reached into her pocket, drawing out the security card. There was nowhere to turn, no more hallways to duck into.
The man slowed his pace, raising both hands, gripping the gun, and began firing. The bullets skidded off the floor, off the wall. He kept firing, and the women knew it wouldn’t be long before his erratic aim got lucky.
The door to the vestibule was just ahead.
They wouldn’t make it. If they had one more second.
“Jump!” KC screamed.
As they both leaped in air, KC snapped the card in two. She could see the green light above wink out, replaced with red.
The arcing sound of electricity sounded like a beast scratching the air, growling as it tore down its prey. The man in the white coat fell where he stood, his body shaking uncontrollably upon the floor. His gun hand slapped the floor with convulsions and the gun skittered away.
KC’s and Annie’s momentum threw them against the door; it burst open, both of them tumbling into the small vestibule.
The sound of fists hammering on metal diverted their attention from the thrill of their survival. With no time to recover, they rolled to their feet to see the chucks in the security office door seams nearly loosened by the thunderous pounding from the guards within.
They charged up the stairs, exploding out of the door into the pouring rain. Annie ran to the bushes and snagged her rifle.
The Thieves of Legend Page 25