by Joel Goldman
Cassie signaled to Sarah to end the call. She’d track Bridges down on her own.
“Thank you, Margaret. If you hear from him, please ask him to give me a ring.” Sarah hung up and looked at Cassie, bewildered. “How could he? Why would he?”
“I’ll ask him when I find him. In the meantime, I need to see the videos recorded by the security cameras in the gallery.”
“They won’t help. As soon as I realized what happened, I ran to have a look at them. When I did, the cameras showed that everything was fine. How could they do that? And how did they get past the motion detectors to even get close to the display cases.”
“It’s easier than it sounds. They hacked into the Library’s network and set up a video loop showing the same scene over and over. The motion detectors were easy. All they had to do was hit them with infrared light and the sensors inside the detectors would burn up. Did the guards say whether they noticed anything unusual?”
“No. That’s when I decided to substitute the fakes until we could sort this out.” Sarah explained how she put the exhibit back together. “Then, I called Sir Robert Howell because he’s the chair of the Magna Carta Trust, and told him everything. He came to the Library and looked at the fakes and decided we should go ahead with the exhibit and hire your company to get the originals back.”
Cassie thought for a moment. “The exhibit has been open for a couple of hours. If the thieves left the video loop running, the guards on the day shift in the security center must have realized something was wrong when they didn’t see anyone in the gallery.”
“I thought of that too. Practically had a panic attack until I went back there just after the exhibit opened and checked the monitors. Everything was back to normal. I could see people from every camera angle. How did they do that?”
“My guess is that they had the loop on a timer so they could be long gone before anyone noticed something was wrong. You were able to put the exhibit back together before the timer went off and the regular feed came back on.”
“But what about the sensors inside the cases. Malcolm Bridges said that it was impossible to break into them.”
“Well, he was wrong. The sensors were probably Piezo electric. They’re porcelain and if the porcelain gets hot enough, the heat kills the sensor. If it were me, I’d use a laser or maybe a cordless soldering iron. Aim it at each sensor.”
“You make it sound so easy.”
“It’s not. One wrong move and the whole thing is blown. Malcolm could have told the thieves everything they needed to know. Why didn’t you notify Ian Thorpe?”
Sarah hesitated, staring at her hands. “I don’t trust him.”
“Why not?”
She rose from her chair and turned her back to Cassie. “He’s not an honorable man.”
“How so?”
Sarah spun around, her eyes aflame, and gripped the back of her desk chair. “The man’s a stalker and a deviant. He pursued me from the first day I was here. I’m married. Happily, so. And even if I weren’t, Thorpe is repulsive. He wouldn’t leave me alone. One day, he cornered me in his office and put his hands on me.”
“What did you do?”
“I pushed him off and went straight to the Executive Director and filed a complaint but Thorpe denied everything and I had no proof so nothing happened except that the Executive Director asked me if it was my time of the month. At least Thorpe’s left me alone ever since.”
Cassie studied her. “This job must mean a lot to you to put up with that.”
“Ask my husband. Michael says he thinks I love it more than I love him and some days, like today…or what today was supposed to have been…I think he’s right. That’s why you’ve got to get the originals back. If you don’t, everything I’ve worked for will be lost. I’ll be lost.”
“Well, we can’t have that, can we? You did a great job putting the exhibit back together but the longer this goes on, the better the chances someone will figure out what you’ve done. We need to make it harder for that to happen.”
“How?”
“Thorpe won’t be happy when he finds out I’m here. He might decide to double-check the security for the exhibit just to cover his ass. So, tonight, we make repairs. I’ll replace the sensors in the motion detectors and inside the display cases. You’ll replace the acrylic sheets covering the Magna Cartas. That’s the most we can control. After that, we’ll hope no one takes too close a look at the documents.”
Sarah raised her eyebrows. “Where are you going to find all that equipment?”
“At your neighborhood Maplin’s. Best electronic stores in London.”
“But the guys in the security center will see us on the video cameras.”
Cassie gave her a sly smile. “If the thieves could hijack the cameras, so can we.”
SEVEN
THE NINE MEMBERS of the Magna Carta Trust sat around a sleek ebony table in the executive conference room on the sixth floor of the British Library, listening in dumbstruck silence as Sir Robert Howell told them about the theft of the Magna Cartas, the ransom note and the forged documents on display. They were a cross-section of the British elite, some living off inherited wealth; some having earned theirs in ways that might cause them to admire the thieves’ brazenness. Two were politicians, acutely attuned to the impact on their futures if the Magna Cartas were lost – or successfully ransomed.
Lord Sommerton, whose ancestors had assured he would never work a day in his life, broke the silence. “We must close the exhibit immediately. I won’t be a party to this grotesque lie.” His normally ruddy face had turned crimson.
Dame Elizabeth Rowland, patted her perfectly coiffed silvery hair. She was a second-generation trustee, replacing her father who had been one of the original members.
“If we close it now, that will only draw attention, which is the last thing we want.”
“No,” Alexander Crossley, MP and Chairman of the Foreign Affairs committee, said, “No. The last thing we want is for the original Magna Cartas to be destroyed.”
Sir Philip Blackburn, a self-described ‘country squire’ who owned most of Dorset and Hampshire counties, shook his head. “A hundred million pounds. That’s… outrageous!”
Lord Sommerton pounded his fist on the table. “I won’t pay. I refuse to be blackmailed. Let Scotland Yard track these bastards down and put them away.”
“We must take the thieves at their word concerning the police and pay the ransom,” insisted Crossley. “It’s our sworn duty to protect those documents.”
“Perhaps you have a few extra million in the bank…” Sommerton began, but stopped when Lady Liliane Tresch interrupted.
Lady Tresch was a striking woman with dark hair and darker eyes against alabaster skin. She was in her first term as a trustee and had made her fortune in real estate and the stock market. At fifty, she was the youngest trustee and had the self-confidence and presence to command any room she was in.
“Mr. Crossley is correct about our sworn duty. However, we must not, under any circumstance, pay a ransom.”
“Of course, we’ll do everything possible to avoid paying the ransom,” Sir Robert said, “but you can’t seriously suggest that we not pay it if that’s the only way to assure the safe return of the Magna Cartas.”
“I am most assuredly serious. The moment we pay that ransom, we set a precedent that will haunt us forever. How much will the next thief demand? Five-hundred million pounds? A billion? There will be no end to it.”
“And what do you think the thieves will do if we refuse to pay?”
Lady Tresch folded her hands on the table. “Nothing, except return the Magna Cartas unharmed. Oh, they’ll make a show of threatening us but in the end, they’ll call in an anonymous tip telling us where to find them.”
“Why on earth would they do such a thing,” Lord Summerton asked, “after going to the trouble of stealing them?”
“Because once we refuse to pay, they’re worthless. No collector in the world would take t
he chance of being caught with them. Pay them, and we’ll rue the day. Patience, gentlemen. Patience is our greatest weapon.”
“I quite agree with Lady Tresch that it would be most unfortunate to pay the ransom,” Sir Robert said. “However, I am not willing to risk the documents that embody our heritage on the chance that thieves this bold will lose their nerve. They might destroy the Magna Cartas out of spite if we refuse to pay.”
“Then what do you propose?” Lady Tresch asked.
“We do as the thieves instructed and leave Scotland Yard out of it. We prepare to pay the ransom as a last resort. We have five days to make that decision. If we decide to pay, we’ll be ready. In the meantime, I’ve engaged a firm that is quite expert in these matters to recover the Magna Cartas, one I know to be highly effective from personal experience.”
“What firm is that?” Crossley asked.
“I’d rather not say, if you don’t mind. The fewer that know…”
His strategy didn’t work on Lady Tresch. “The fewer can ask questions, such as why we weren’t consulted on that decision,” she said, fixing her penetrating eyes on his.
He met her gaze. “In five days, the Magna Cartas may be reduced to shreds. There was no time to waste. As Chairman of the Trust, I take full responsibility.”
“But only one ninth of the financial risk,” Lady Tresch said. “Perhaps if you had addressed my concerns about the security of the exhibit at the outset, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”
The other Trustees knew not to get involved in a clash between Sir Robert and Lady Tresch. They sat silently as she went on, her voice like ice. “I told you that Ian Thorpe was incompetent, and that Titan Security Solutions would cut corners if we didn’t stay on top of them. And you said I was… what was it?... an imperious nag.”
Sir Robert surveyed the hostile faces around the table. He went to the window, stroking his mustache to collect himself before he spoke.
“It serves no purpose to fight old battles now. The important question is how to proceed. We must be prepared for any eventuality. The thieves may well have benefited from inside information so we’ve been advised to say nothing to Ian Thorpe or Titan. And I remind all of you that not one word leaves this room.”
“I assure you we shall revisit old battles when this is over,” Lady Tresh said, keeping her eyes locked on Sir Robert. “Now, if we must have the ransom money ready in case your people fail, that’s eleven point one million pounds each. Assuming we can all contribute our share, even those of us that have experienced recent reversals.”
Sir Robert flinched. He’d been victimized by a money manager’s fraud and forced to go public when he filed suit to recover damages. “I’m quite up to the task as are we all.”
The Trustees turned toward Lord Sommerton. “Is this what we’ve come to, then? Surrendering to the demands of common thieves?”
“Give over, Harold,” said the Right Honourable David Asquith. At 77, he was the elder statesman of the Trust. “Sell one of your yachts and stump up.”
Sommerton started to respond but changed his mind, and moved off to join Sir Robert by the window.
“Your people had better come through.”
EIGHT
IAN THORPE’S SECRETARY, EDNA NORRIS, was chatting on the phone while scrolling through Facebook posts on her computer when Cassie walked past her desk and reached for the handle on the closed door to his office.
Edna, a plump, middle-aged woman, dropped her phone and came around her desk. “Who are you? Do you have an appointment with Mr. Thorpe?”
“No.”
“Well, you can’t just barge in here like that.”
Cassie opened the door. “Apparently, I can.”
Edna followed her into Thorpe’s office.
“I’m so sorry, Mr. Thorpe. She doesn’t have an appointment and she won’t tell me who she is. Should I call security?”
“I am security, Edna,” Thorpe said. He surveyed her figure from head to toe and waved his hand at Edna, shooing her back to her desk. “I think I can handle Miss…?”
“My name is Cassie Ireland.”
Edna retreated and Cassie closed the door behind her. Thorpe rose from his desk chair. He was half a head shorter than Cassie. His face was full - his thick neck and thicker body borne of muscle gone to fat. His cauliflower ears and mashed nose spoke to long ago fights while the spider web of red veins spreading across his cheeks testified to his continuing decline. An odor of stale cigars surrounded him like an invisible cloud. Cassie put him in his mid-fifties, silently betting against him seeing his mid-sixties.
His office was twice the size of Sarah St. James.’ It was furnished with a large, mahogany desk with a matching credenza behind it, a pair of guest chairs and a lumpy sofa. A window looked out on the brick plaza in front of the Library.
Thorpe gestured to the guest chairs in front of his desk. “What can I do for you, Ms. Ireland?
“Cooperate.” Cassie ignored his invitation to sit and handed him a business card.
He lowered himself into his chair, examined her card and frowned. “With what?”
“My company, Global Security, has been hired to audit the Library’s security.”
He narrowed his eyes. “On whose authority? I’ve heard nothing about this.”
“The trustees of the Magna Carta trust.”
“Rubbish. Sir Robert and that bunch have no such authority.”
“The trustees are responsible for the preservation of all four remaining originals of the Magna Carta and have generously underwritten the Unification exhibit. That’s all the authority they need.”
Thorpe planted his hands on the desk. “What possible reason would the trustees have for an audit? We’ve been over our security with them a dozen times since the Magna Carta exhibit was scheduled. Nothing has changed.”
“And that’s exactly why I’m here. As you well know, complacency is the biggest threat to security.”
“We’ll see about that. I’m going to call Sir Robert and get to the bottom of this.”
“Please do because I need to get started.”
Thorpe picked up his phone and punched in Sir Robert’s number. Cassie could only hear Thorpe’s side of the conversation but it was enough to confirm that Sir Robert was in control.
“Very well, sir. Yes. Complete cooperation. Of course. Thank you, sir.” He ended the call and looked at Cassie, his jaw clenched. “What do you need from me?”
“I’d like to start with the personnel files for the security guards and a schedule of the shifts they work.”
“The personnel records are confidential and…”
“And,” Cassie said with a smile, “you’re going to give them to me, aren’t you, Mr. Thorpe? Unless you want to call Sir Robert back and ask him to define cooperation.”
“That won’t be necessary. You’ll find everything on our network.” He scribbled a note and handed it to her. “You can use these login credentials.”
“Thank you. What’s your background, Mr. Thorpe?”
“Twenty years in the army. MPs. Last nine years here in security. Director for the last three.”
“Do you hire and train all of the guards yourself?”
“I do. They’re generally military veterans like me. Most reliable men I know. And they can handle themselves if there’s trouble.” Thorpe caught himself. “Not that we’ve had any trouble since I’ve been in charge.”
“Good to know. I have to start somewhere with the personnel records. Who was on duty last night?”
“Colin Saunders and Paulie Reed were assigned to the operations center to monitor the video cameras. Joseph Okafor and Stuart Davies were on exterior patrol. Poor blokes, it was a miserable rain. Tom Galloway, Lloyd Pugh and Jeremy Bristol-Clarke were walking the halls.”
“Any reason to question the reliability of any of them?”
“None. Every man is first rate.”
Cassie zeroed in on the guards assigned to patrol the interior
of the library. They would have been the most likely to notice something unusual and they would have had the best opportunity to either help the thieves or pull the job themselves, especially if Thorpe lent a helping hand.
“Tell me about the last three, the ones walking the halls.”
“Army vets, every one. Jeremy Bristol-Clarke was a communications and IT specialist. Lloyd Pugh put helicopters back together after they’d been shot to pieces. And Tom Galloway survived three tours with a bomb disposal unit in Afghanistan.”
Cassie had doubted whether any of the security guards could have possessed the necessary skills to carry out such a sophisticated theft. But these men were soldiers, fully capable of hijacking the Library’s security cameras, defeating the alarms, and breaking into the display cases.
“How long have they worked for you?”
“I brought them on about a year ago.”
