by Tim Tigner
The three guards emerged a few seconds later, no doubt having already reported a false alarm. Troy and Emmy began walking toward Kanasis as soon as the Atlas Security Jeep pulled away.
Emmy unlocked the door with Luther’s key and Troy pulled the handle. “It’s still locked,” he said, checking the crack between frame and door for bolts. “Are you sure you turned the key all the way.”
As Emmy said, “I’m sure,” the door yielded to Troy’s tug. “There’s some kind of an electromagnetic lock in place. I’m not sure what that means, but it can’t be good.”
The alarm keypad began to beep and glow yellow. Troy went to work with the handkerchief and spray bottles. “First we give it a cleaning with some good old Windex … then once it’s clean and dry … we give it a thorough misting with bottle number two.”
“What does bottle number two do?” Emmy asked.
“It’s a micro-granulated tacky powder that fluoresces under black light.”
“You don’t say.”
Mid-way through the misting the beeping turned frantic and then flat-lined. The keypad began to flash red. “Sixty-seconds,” Troy said. “Not bad. I was afraid we might only get thirty. Let’s go.”
Troy led her back across the street. They concealed themselves behind a potted azalea bush halfway down the block.
The Atlas men arrived in just three minutes this time, no doubt because they had already been on the road, but they spent much longer inside than they had at Balthazar.
“I can’t wait any longer,” Emmy said. “I have to get back to Luther’s.”
Troy looked at his watch: Quarter to ten. “I’ll call you as soon as I’ve got it and you can run.” He bent his head to kiss her. “Good luck.”
“You too.”
The Atlas men left shortly after Emmy. Now that the time pressure was off, he waited fifteen minutes to be sure they were back at base with their boots off before going back in.
He spent the time mentally rehearsing his next steps in order to maximize their speed. The first key the guard had pressed would show a clean fingerprint under his black light, because it was touched by a clean finger. The second key pressed would display the outline of the first number on it, because the numbers themselves were recessed within the buttons and thus would not transfer powder. The third number in the code would have the second number outlined strongly over a weaker first, and so on.
Troy had practiced the deciphering exercise a hundred times back in his hotel room on a similar keypad. He knew he was safe as long as the code was just four digits in length. Five was still possible, but six was the next likely length after four and that was too much. If it was six or more, or if the guard had used multiple fingers, he was SOL.
Sometimes you just had to roll the dice.
Checking to ensure that he was not being watched, Troy crossed the street and keyed back into Kanasis. Again, the alarm console began its sixty-second countdown. He turned on the black light and bathed the keypad. Given all his practice, he could tell immediately that the guard had pressed the three, four, five and seven once apiece. That would have been fine, except the guard had also pressed the eight, twice.
Sometimes you crapped out.
Chapter 79
Luther’s guests were late, but not late enough. They arrived before Troy called. Emmy could not skip out.
Luther had not told Emmy who was coming for cocktails, but when the two monsters emerged from the black Mercedes S600 she recognized them from Giselle’s descriptions. Orca and Zero—the killer whale and his refrigerator-sized bodyguard.
At Troy’s suggestion, Emmy had unlocked windows at various strategic locations throughout the house in case she ever needed to bolt. As she walked toward the front entrance, she went over the escape routes in her head like a paranoid preparing for a hotel fire. When she reached the door she paused to take a deep breath. Things could be worse; it could be Farkas. Where was that weasel?
She slipped into character and opened the door before the bell’s echo had died. “Good evening, gentlemen. Mister Kanasis is waiting for you in his study, if you’ll please follow me.”
“So you’re Luther’s new girl,” Orca said, giving her a slow inspection from head to toe. “I’d be happy to follow you, dear. What’s your name?”
“Vicky,” she said, turning toward the stairs.
“Vicky as in Victoria, or just Vicky?”
“As in Victoria,” she said, without pausing or looking back.
“I’m glad to hear that. These days, parents have a tendency to be cute—at their kid’s expense. I figure you gotta give a person a choice, you know. After all, what if ya’d wanted to be a lawyer, or run for president.”
Emmy knew she should remain silent, but could not resist the tempting barb. “I’m so glad you approve, Orca.”
“Cute and feisty too. I bet Luther keeps you around for more than the normal couple months. Still, when he does let you go, stop by Lisa’s Place if you want to make some real money. Ask for James, that’s my Christian name.”
Emmy did not so much as turn to acknowledge the offer. She just knocked on the arched double doors to Luther’s office and announced, “Your guests have arrived.”
Orca pushed past her without waiting for a response. As he walked in with Zero following the requisite four paces behind, Luther rose from his armchair and said, “So glad you were able to come, my friend. Please, have a seat. We have a lot to talk about. A lot to talk about.”
Emmy heard two-hundred-and-fifty-million dollars’ worth of excitement in Luther’s voice, so she made the split-second decision to advance rather than retreat. Walking to the corner bar she asked, “May I pour you gentlemen a drink?”
“Don’t worry about it, Vicky. I’ll pour the Scotch,” Luther said. “You just make sure the door is closed. We don’t want to be disturbed. Feel free to go out or to bed if you wish. We won’t be needing you anymore this evening.”
Emmy nodded and left without comment. This was it. Her chance to foil an evil act worth a quarter-billion-dollars. She stepped to the side of the study doors and perked her ears. She could hear muffled voices, but the thick oak garbled individual words. Thinking fast, she ran down the hall to snatch a glass from the bathroom. While pulling it from the gilded holder, however, an even better idea popped into her head.
The ceiling of the closet off Luther’s study had a trapdoor accessing an unfinished portion of the attic. She had peeked up there her first day on the job while searching for a safe. What’s more the closet door was louvered. She would be able to see and hear everything Luther and Orca said—if she could get inside.
She had to hurry.
Emmy raced down the hall and up the attic stairs. She yanked the chain that switched on the bare bulb and wove her way through the piles of dusty boxes. The finished part of the attic ended where the angle of the roof brought it close to the floor. She ducked under the low beams and found herself disoriented in a dark jungle of wooden rafters and blown fiberglass insulation.
Maybe she should have stuck with the glass.
Emmy worked her way in what she thought was the direction of the study, stepping rafter-to-rafter, ducking beams and avoiding nails. She had hoped that boisterous voices would guide her, but heard only the wind whistling through the tiles above. While glancing back toward the light of the finished section, trying to orient herself and judge distance, a familiar rat scurried over her foot. Emmy reared back in shock and punctured her scalp on the tip of an exposed roofing nail. She let out an involuntary scream before slapping her own hand over her mouth. Now she had to add a tetanus shot to her to-do list. With her luck she would survive all the trauma of the Kanasis investigation only to succumb to lockjaw. Then she wouldn’t be able to kiss the very man she was fighting for.
Emmy continued her quest for what seemed like hours even though she knew it was barely minutes. It was maddening, knowing that she might miss the big payoff by seconds. Her skin began to itch from some kind of allergic
reaction. She finally found the trapdoor on the far side of a ventilation duct. She brushed the insulation back from the edges so no telltale crumbs would drop inside and hauled it open.
The voices drifting up from below were muffled. Distinct, but indecipherable. “In for a penny, in for a pound,” she whispered, and lowered herself through the hole. She dropped to the ground knowing that the shelving would serve as an escape ladder.
Once inside the closet, she pressed her ear to the door and tried to peer through the slats.
“… kill the president?” Emmy recognized Orca’s voice.
“Fifty-million dollars. Not a penny less.” Luther replied.
“That’s a bit steep, don’t you think? I mean, I got friends who would give it a try for ten and would throw in the Pope for free.”
“Enough of this,” Luther said. “I see that our guest has finally joined us.”
Emmy strained to see who else had joined the meeting, but the slats in the door were too narrowly spaced. She was attempting to widen the angle with her pinkie when the door flew open beneath her fingers. Two gorilla-paws reached in, grabbed her beneath the armpits, and hoisted her off the ground as though she were weightless.
Zero carried her over to the suite of chairs where Luther and Orca were sitting and held her out like a cat. Unwilling to look Luther in the eye, she looked down and saw that her toes were a good two feet off the ground.
“Miss Green,” Luther said. “My little pixie. So glad you could join us.”
They knew her real name, Emmy thought, still trying to comprehend the sudden twist of fate.
Orca stood and did a full circle around her and Zero.
She felt like a slave being appraised at auction.
“I’m a bit concerned,” he said to Luther. “She’s so tiny. I don’t think it’s going to fit.”
Emmy tried to wriggle free as Orca unzipped his pants, but she was wrestling with iron. For the moment at least, it was up to Troy to save her. She thought of the horror story Giselle had relayed, and prayed that he would hurry.
Chapter 80
The tempo of Troy’s heart increased with the alarm’s warning beep as the implications of a six-digit security code sank in. He could attempt to read the keys and hope to get lucky, but he had another avenue to try first. He had used a mnemonic device to make a few likely codes available for quick mental access. Converted to numbers, LAWYER had two 9s, MEMORY two 7s, and another likely candidate the two 8s the Atlas guard had pressed. Troy keyed in L-U-T-H-E-R, 5-8-8-4-3-7, and the beeping stopped.
Troy heard the waterfall before the elevator doors opened and he smiled. He knew why Luther chose to keep it working even at night. Regardless of the reason, the cascade was beautiful. It shimmered like a silver veil in the dim light filtering through the far window. Troy was not there for the aesthetics, however; he had come for the ledger and ampoules on the other side.
He removed his backpack and withdrew a camping lantern that he had cloaked on one side. He angled it so that no light would shine toward the window and turned it on. The moment he did, the macaw began to rustle in its sheet-covered cage. Troy felt similarly excited. It was time for the moment of truth.
Standing where Luther had stood, Troy pulled up his right sleeve and plunged his hand into the waterfall just as Luther had done. As spray misted his face, he explored the slate backing beneath with his hand. No matter where he pressed, nothing happened.
Feeling around more carefully, Troy thought he detected the outline of what could be a button, but it would not depress. He began to worry that the waterfall was on some kind of a timer, that it could not be opened when the office was closed. What a shame it would be to have come this far yet be able to go no further. “Not a chance,” he mumbled. One way or the other, he was moving that mountain.
Returning to his backpack, Troy pulled out a portable DVD player and booted up the video of Luther opening the safe. During the second playing, he realized that he had fallen for a classic magician’s trick. He had focused on the hand that appeared to be working all the magic, the hand reaching through the waterfall. He had failed to pay any attention to Luther’s left hand, which rested on the structure’s rocky left edge.
Troy set the player down and then mimicked Luther’s moves with both hands. He felt the rock hinge in a quarter inch beneath his left hand, but still got nowhere with the button beneath his right.
Again he watched the video.
This time he figured it out on the first pass. The bird. A three-point trigger. Very clever indeed.
Troy removed the sheet from the macaw’s cage and opened the door. The bird climbed down to the doorway, but went no further.
Troy walked over to the waterfall and reached for the buttons. The bird did not move. “Fly, bird, fly.” He pointed to the perch atop the falls.
The bird just scratched his beak and began to preen.
Again Troy watched the tape. Luther made no special movements that Troy could detect. He must have said something, but the recording had no sound and his back was to the camera. Troy had never owned a bird. What was the avian equivalent of fetch? How did you get a bird to help you open a safe? How did you bring Mohammad to the mountain?
And then he had it.
Reassuming his stance, Troy said, “Open Sesame.”
The bird flew.
The water stopped.
The slate backing slid aside.
Troy wiped his right hand off on his jeans and then rubbed both hands together vigorously before attempting to work the combination. Fourteen, ninety-two, seventeen, seventy-six, sixty-four. He got it open on the first try. Studying a digital magnification of the video, Troy had not been entirely certain of the numbers he thought he saw Luther dialing until he recognized the pattern. 1492, 1776, (19)64: three great dates in American history, the last being the year of Luther’s birth.
The massive black door surely weighed more than he did, but the hinges were balanced so perfectly that it moved with little effort. The view that the swinging door revealed was identical to the one on the tape. They were in time.
Troy pulled the titanium binder off the black velvet shelf and flipped it open. Jeffrey Randal/Lionel Esposito, $1,000,000, June 16, 2005. Wendell Branson/Gregory Harris & Paul Culleton, $3,000,000, July 2, 2005. Archibald Martin/Wendy Caffrey, $1,000,000, July 26, 2005. He ran his finger down the list until he came to Isaac Goldfarb/Emerald Green, $1,000,000, November 27, 2007. That confirmed it. A warm pulsing glow suffused his body from head to toe. This was the end of the journey, the payoff for all the risk, the damning evidence for which he had traded the memories of his wife and daughter.
Flipping the page with sweaty hands, he found another familiar name three entries down. Russell Rankin/Charles Simms, $1,000,000, February 15, 2008. Charles Simms was the FBI Agent who had witnessed Russell Rankin claiming the lives of his wife and daughter and robbing him of his ability to operate. Charles was the forth victim of that wealthy drunk. Troy and Emmy had decided that they would take whatever evidence they found to Agent Simms, retired or not. “We’ve done it, Emmy,” He said.
With a heart that was at once victorious and sad, Troy tucked the ledger into his backpack. Turning back to the safe, he crouched and used the circular key on Luther’s ring to unlock the refrigerator. Opening it, he found just one item: the metal box he knew to house ruby-red vials. Peering inside, Troy found the box divided into a twelve-by-twelve grid, one-hundred-forty-four chambers. About half of them were empty. So many stolen memories. Troy pulled one of the remaining vials out and held it to the light. “Liquid amnesia.”
Troy considered the option of smashing the whole lot then and there on the rocks of the waterfall, but realized that this would be destroying evidence, evidence that he would need. Besides, for all he knew, Luther had gallons of the potion stored away in some underground bunker. Deciding that the sensible move was to take them all, he pocketed the ampoule in his hand and slipped the box into his backpack.
As he
secured the box, another thought struck him and Troy pulled the binder back out. Flipping it open to the last page with entries, he found a surprise. Instead of seeing the name of the president or one of the major party nominees, he found a list of nine names he did not recognize following the contractor’s. Arranged in alphabetical order, he read, “Alverado, Brewer, Goldstein, Lincoln, Reynolds, Secada, Stoffer, Stevenson, and Thompson.”
The dollar amount also knocked him for a loop. Instead of the two-hundred-fifty he had expected, the ledger listed five-hundred-fifty million.
He was still staring at the enormous number when another thought hit him and he reread the names. A few struck bells this time through and he found himself supplying their first names as well. “Anthony Secada, Daniel Stoffer, Charles Thompson.” Some of them were completely unfamiliar, but then he would not recognize any name from the last seven years. He counted them again to be sure. Nine. “The Supreme Court Justices,” he said aloud.
“That’s right,” a familiar voice boomed behind him.
Troy whirled about to find Farkas glaring at him over a shifty smile. First Troy focused on the beaming, metallic eyes, and then his eyes drifted down to the instrument in his nemesis’s hand. Before he could react further, a crackling sound broke the silence and a burst of blinding pain invaded his chest, turning his world white before it faded to black.
Chapter 81
“Put that away, you’re scaring the girl,” Luther said.
“But I like it when they’re all aquiver,” Orca replied, rubbing his rising manhood between his fingers.
“I need her.”
Orca rolled his eyes. “Wait your turn. There will probably be something left.”
“For the job. I need her for the job.”
Orca rolled his eyes, stopped rubbing, and asked, “How so?”
“It’s a surprise.”
“She looks surprised enough already. But hey, now that you mention it, I’ve got a surprise for you, too. You owe me nine-hundred grand on top of the twenty-six mil.”