by David Gordon
“Elevator,” Joe said, and Juno opened it. They got on and Yelena pressed five.
On five they crossed a small foyer to a large white sliding door, like the elevator, but just one panel. There was a terminal like an ATM beside it. Yelena pressed where the touch screen read, Begin.
“Hello,” a calm female computer voice told them. “Please press your eye to the iris reader.”
From her pack, Yelena took out a small tablet, which had the image of Shatz’s iris on the screen, and pressed it to the camera on the terminal.
“Iris confirmed,” the voice told them. “Please place your hands on the screen as shown.”
Now Yelena removed two plastic sheets that had Shatz’s handprints on them and pressed those against the outlines on the screen.
“Handprints confirmed. Welcome, Dr. Shatz.”
The door opened.
“We’re in the lab,” Joe told the others over the earwig. Phase two was complete.
Phase three was the long one. Yelena crossed the large laboratory to a full-sized door set in the wall—the vault—and began unpacking her equipment. Even with the specialized tools she’d brought, it would take some time for her to cut through the multiple layers of titanium and steel.
Meanwhile, Joe stood watch in the doorway, guarding the empty hall, watching the motionless elevators, and looking over the lab. In most ways it looked like any other laboratory: lots of test tubes and beakers and burners on stainless steel tables, various machines and computers, a rack full of white coats. But there were also shelves, rows and rows of them, full of neatly labeled glass vessels sealed with rubber stoppers. Some held colored liquids, others plants or leaves or bits of wood, powdered spices, or bright seeds. Others held tobacco, dried fruits, even rubber, oil, or various molds. There was a whole row of furs and skins, and one of soils from around the world. There was sweat. There were glands. There was blood.
On the other side were the animals: several rows of little creatures in cages, mostly herds of rats and mice, swarming together in glass tanks, eating and shitting and, he supposed, reproducing as fast as they could. A large cage was full of fluttering pigeons. There were a few monkeys who began to screech and jump when Yelena came in but lost interest when they realized they were not going to get fed.
Off in one corner were a clear plastic wall and door, closing off a sterile space, with more machines and those pieces of equipment where you stuck your hands through the openings in yellow gloves. Zip-up work suits, booties, and caps were stacked beside the door.
Joe imagined Shatz and others in the white coats, adding a drop or dose of one thing to another. And then what? Sniffing it? How did they know what would be good together? And what about the scents that were good only to you, like the menthol smell of Vicks VapoRub melting into the humidifier that his grandmother put by his bed when he was sick, that he could hear sighing all night, and that meant safety and care? Or her cigarettes and hair spray, which meant love? Or the sizzle of dope cooking, which meant relief was on the way? Or how, when you shot the dull blank liquid into your vein, you instantly tasted it, scented it from the inside as it were, as if sense, like memory, surged up from within, not without. As if it were stored there, somewhere in the brain, or strung like beads along the nerves, or resting dormant in blood: dreams, nightmares, pleasure, pain, even love—all waiting for the right drop or mix of drops, the right potion to unlock them, the way these smells were trapped in jars, behind glass, sleeping until they were released into the world, for good or ill.
All in all it took an hour before Yelena, switching between various saws and a small torch, stopped and called Joe over. “Come help,” she said, removing her safety goggles. “This will be heavy.”
Joe pulled out his knife and unfolded the blade. He stuck it in the edge of the large, chest-high section she had cut, and slowly pried it open, moving side to side. When it had eased out enough to grip, they both got their hands on the corners and pulled. Made of dense metals, it felt like a panel of stone, or a rough-hewn tombstone awaiting a name. Finally it fell forward, and they let it drop with a bang, cracking the tile floor. Yelena had cut a small door inside the larger door. Now Joe realized what she was—the way she moved; the way she watched, half wary, half wicked; her expertise in burglary. She was a cat.
“Nice work,” he told her, and stepped through.
She smiled proudly, behind Joe’s back, but then erased it. “We are in the vault,” she told the others. Phase three was done.
Following the instructions Clarence had given them, they ignored the many drawers and shelves of vials and went directly to a glass cupboard in the back. It contained just four vials, each a small glass tube set in a larger, specially formed plastic case, like a precious jewel in a custom-made gift box. Each of the cases was sealed and numbered on the front. They found the one that matched the long number Joe had copied out on his hand. It was a few ounces of yellow liquid, like a urine sample.
“So that’s what a million dollars looks like,” he said, and handed it to Yelena, who put it in her pack. They left everything else and walked out.
Joe checked the hall, then nodded to Yelena. She spoke into her mic. “We got it. We’re coming out.”
“Clear down here,” Don said.
“Clear,” Juno said.
“All clear here and ready to go when you are,” Clarence said from the car.
As they got back in the elevator, Yelena and Joe couldn’t help finally grinning broadly at each other. Joe put out his hand and they shook. As the doors opened downstairs, he stepped out first, leading the way, and they proceeded back down the hallway toward the entrance hall. Then, as he turned the corner, everything went black.
PART III
26
“Joe … Joe …”
He wasn’t out for very long. As soon as he realized he was alive and on the floor with his wrists bound behind him, his next thought was the law. But, no, he was still in the building, in the lobby, and he could hear Yelena beside him, trying to wake him up.
“Joe!” She kicked him sharply in the butt.
“Okay, I’m up.” He tried to turn his neck. “What happened?”
“Don,” she said.
“How long ago?”
“Maybe a minute. He knocked you out from behind, then had the gun on me. I didn’t get the chance to kill him. Yet.”
“Okay,” he said. “Hang on.”
Joe worked his hands down to his waist and, using the tips of his fingers, eased his knife from his back pocket. He unfolded the blade outward and wriggled back toward her.
“See if you can cut your hands free.” He waited, hearing her wriggle and grunt. His head was throbbing, and it was sore on top, but he didn’t think he was bleeding. Don had done a nice clean job of knocking him out.
Yelena got free and sat up, grabbing his knife and cutting his wrists loose before freeing her own ankles. She gave back the knife and Joe cut the tape from his legs.
He jumped up, got his gun, and checked that it was still loaded. Across the lobby, by the front desk, he could see the three guards still lying there, though they’d moved a bit and one, Tom maybe, was squirming like a worm on a hook.
“Which way?” he asked Yelena.
“Back like we came,” Yelena said, and they ran, yelling into their mics but hearing nothing. Joe jumped over the guards.
“Help!” Tom yelled. “Police!” Barry was rolling back and forth now, trying to work up enough momentum to sit. Lou was snoring.
They ran back down the hall where they had come from and paused at the door. Joe looked at Yelena and she nodded. He turned the knob and pulled it open, and they both went through, rifles ready. That’s when the flashlights shone in their faces. Before they blinded him, however, Joe could just catch a glimpse of Clarence in the escape car, driving away. Then someone opened fire, strafing the building above them. Chipped concrete rained down, and they jumped back inside and shut the door.
Joe and Yelena ran down t
he hall yet again and into the lobby. By now Barry was on his feet, still bound and hooded. He took a few hops and fell over. Lou was still out and Tom had squirmed all the way to the front doors, through which Joe could see cops approaching. It looked to be SWAT, in armor and visors, with headlamps shining and weapons drawn.
“Elevator,” he called to Yelena, and they ran back down the other hall and got in again and pressed five.
“Goddamn that coward Clarence,” Yelena said. “I will kill him, too.”
The elevator opened, and Joe saw from the lit numbers that another elevator was approaching. They hurried back into the lab, this time closing the door behind them. It clicked and a red light turned on above.
“Door locked,” the calm female voice told them. “Security system engaged.”
Joe took a deep breath. They were safe for the moment, behind a fireproof steel door that only Shatz and the other two could open.
“It’s Juno I wonder for,” Yelena said as they began rummaging around the lab, knocking stuff over as they searched for something useful. “Do you think the cops got him?”
“I don’t know,” Joe said, as the monkeys jeered. “But doesn’t this response seem like overkill for a perfume robbery?”
Joe could hear the SWAT team banging on the door. SWAT wasn’t sent in first because they were the smartest, but still, they’d figure it out soon enough. What if Shatz was already here, about to be brought up?
Yelena kicked a table over in frustration. “Nothing.”
“Okay,” Joe told her. “Let’s try the roof.”
They went to the emergency exit, and while Yelena held her gun ready, Joe swung it open. The alarm went off, and the red exit light began to flash. Now the lab door was completely sealed, even from Shatz, and the security company would have to come and reset it. It also meant they had burned that bridge behind them. They went out onto the roof, easing the door back to cut the light, dropping into crouches. Darting to the edge and peeking over, they could see police vehicles in the parking lot and sirens turning. Cop flashlights dotted the dark grounds, but most of the activity now seemed centered in front. Joe ran around the perimeter of the building, checking things out, while Yelena watched the door.
“I’m thinking maybe they think they’ve got us trapped, so they’re not hunting on the grounds so much,” Joe said when he got back.
“I’m thinking they are right,” she said. She looked over the edge, then back at him.
“I’ve got one idea,” she told him. “But I don’t think you will like it.”
“Does it get us on the ground alive? Then I like it.”
“That depends. How flexible are you?”
They held hands and jumped. First Joe had yanked out a cable that ran across the roof and then down the side of the building. He wound the end around his waist, and then he and Yelena climbed onto the ledge and jumped, bouncing onto the awning and then sliding down to crash onto some bushes, while the cable jerked free behind them.
“Okay?” Yelena asked him. He was a little scratched up from the bushes.
“So far,” he said, and climbed the next railing.
He took her hand and they jumped. Again they slid, this time hitting an umbrella over a table, which broke their fall but also dropped Joe onto a chair that knocked his already sore head. Yelena, as expected, landed light as a cat.
The third awning didn’t go as smoothly. They jumped just the same, but this time they somehow hit the supporting structure and the awning collapsed, falling sideways and dumping them onto the terrace like a slide. They tumbled out, bumping and cursing, but they were down now, just two stories above the ground. The next jump was bigger, though, and there was no awning to break their fall.
Joe unwound the cable he’d collected and tied one end to the heavy leg of a bolted-in bench. He yanked it tight. Next he wound the cord around his waist and tied the other end to the back of Yelena’s belt.
“Ready?” he asked.
She nodded. He braced himself, foot on the edge, and pulled hard.
“You better not drop me,” she said.
“I won’t,” he told her.
She slid herself carefully over the side. When the slack ran out, Joe pulled back, leaning all his weight into it, letting the cord play out slowly as Yelena dangled, like a spider descending, swaying this way and that, rappelling off the wall and letting herself settle finally on her toes. When Joe felt the cord relax and her weight come off it, he leaned over and peered down. She waved.
Yelena untied the cable from her belt, and Joe used the loosened slack to wriggle his waist free. Then she secured her end to the A/C unit. Joe took his belt off and, sitting on the ledge, cinched it tight around the cable. He grabbed on with both hands and eased himself over.
At first the cord jerked sickeningly as the slack pulled and he dipped. But then it pulled taut and he slid, hanging from the belt and kicking his legs, till Yelena caught him at the bottom. He freed his belt while she cut the cable so it fell back against the dark building, then they ran through the opening they’d made in the fence, where Clarence should have been waiting.
Joe and Yelena ran full speed now, away from the building and into the sleeping neighborhood around it. Soon, they knew, the police would find the cable or open the door and realize that they were running, and then the real hunt would begin. The task now was to cover as much distance as possible before that.
So they ran, turning down streets to avoid streetlamps and hiding behind bushes or in driveways to avoid cars. About five blocks from the lab, they saw a cop car roll by with its searchlights on, and they dived into the gutter to hide behind a parked car. Finally they passed a driveway that had what Joe wanted.
“Wait,” he called in a loud whisper. “Over here.” He ran back to where the old Lincoln was parked, white with rust along the bottom. “Keep an eye out,” he told Yelena, and then, covering his rifle with his ski mask, he busted open the small triangular side window. He reached through, straining, and after a couple of tries, he lifted the door lock button. He slid in and opened the passenger door for her. Then he got his knife out and jammed it hard into the ignition. He turned, hoping the battery wasn’t dead in this old heap. The engine sputtered, then roared to life. With the lights off, he put the car in reverse and backed out, then sped a few blocks more before turning the headlights on and reverting to normal speed. Ten minutes later they were back on the highway, heading toward New York City.
“Where to?” he asked.
“I don’t know,” she told him. She lit a cigarette. “You got any friends to hide us?”
“Not at the moment,” he admitted.
She blew smoke out. “I do. In Brighton Beach.”
“Sounds good,” Joe said. “Just do me a favor. Open the window if you’re going to smoke. And put your goddamn seat belt on.”
27
Don and Juno torched the van in a vacant lot in the South Bronx. Juno hated to see all that beautiful equipment, especially his stealth drone, going up in smoke. But there was a lot about this job he was starting to hate, including his new partner, Don.
Juno hadn’t planned on the double-cross. He was sitting in the van, his control center. Everything was going off like clockwork, like a goddamn Swiss watch. Joe and Yelena had just reported that the perfume was in hand, and Juno was all smiles. He liked her. What’s not to like about a chick who can pole dance and crack safes? He was waiting for them to exit and for Clarence to report that they were driving away, at which point Juno would close up shop and drive the van to meet them. Then everything went silent. Juno waited. He checked in and no one answered but Clarence, who was still standing by. He kept waiting, while a couple of more excruciating minutes dragged themselves by like hours. Then the van door opened and he almost jumped out of his skin. It was Don.
“Holy fuck, man, you scared the shit out of me.”
“I’ve got the perfume,” he said, scrambling in. “Let’s go.”
“What do you mean? Wher
e are the others? You’re supposed to be with Clarence.”
“The plan went wrong. We have to move,” Don said, sitting in the passenger seat.
“But don’t you think—”
Don pointed the rifle at him. Juno was unarmed. “What I think, mate, is you have two options: rich or dead. Which is it?”
Juno shrugged. “Rich is better.”
“Agreed. Now turn the security system back on.”
“But …” Juno was going to protest, but there was no point, he realized. He did it. In seconds the police and the security company would be alerted. In minutes probably there’d be cops. There was no turning back.
“Now drive,” Don said, and Juno drove.
Don directed him into the South Bronx somewhere. This was all foreign territory to Juno. He was Brooklyn born and raised. A smart, nerdy kid, he had learned to live by his wits. Don’t rat. Never burn a friend. But he’d also learned that survival came before everything else. It was a dog-eat-dog world. And anyway, since when were these folks his friends?
By the time they got to the lot, Don had started to relax, at least enough to put the rifle up. He didn’t trust Juno. He didn’t even care for blacks generally—not in a racist way; he just didn’t trust them. Then again he didn’t trust anyone. But he didn’t need to. He knew Juno was bright. Juno would see that there was no turning back now. They were together, cut off from the others. Clarence would happily kill them both if he could but would put the job first and make a deal. Joe and Yelena were busted or dead. Juno’s only way out was to stick with Don now. So he would.
Don had Juno park and then get into the nondescript Toyota Corolla he’d left discreetly parked on the sidewalk. He got the C-4 he had stashed in the trunk and quickly rigged the van. They took off as the van exploded, burning up all the evidence and melting Juno’s toys.