“This just in: the hacker Cobalt has claimed responsibility for the attack in conjunction with the terrorist group the Boom Boys. Cobalt states, and this quotation has been modified for the air, ‘[Expletive] judges and [expletive] need to wake the [expletive] up. They’re the corruption that is the [expletive] system.’”
Pretty sure they’re already awake to that fact, Helen mused.
She let out a sigh and put her car into Park. She wouldn’t be going anywhere for a while.
40 Days, 14 Hours
Helen spent hours in her dismal sleep-locker hideout preparing for her first robbery.
She used latex to cover her fingerprints and practiced with a variety of disguises: a long black wig and a few dabs of adhesive to create the awkwardly stretched look of someone with too much plastic surgery; a short red wig and too much makeup; glasses, age makeup, and a wig with gray hair in a bun.
She decided to go with a much older look every time. It was easier to disguise herself as older than younger. Plus, when the robberies were connected and they looked at all of her pictures together, they would be more likely to think she actually was older.
Hopefully, it would be a long time before that happened. If she acted natural and drew no attention to herself, she couldn’t see any reason for them to pick her out of any security footage of the parties. Also, she planned to pick up items in their bedrooms and studies, and she thought it was unlikely that they would have cameras there.
She had also decided to rent different types of cars from different rental agencies all over the city, and tape fake license plates on them. She would choose targets in different areas. Everything to keep law enforcement from connecting any dots. Everything to keep attention away from where she and Mandy lived. She would even target a couple of wealthy houses nearer her own area, just to throw them off.
As she put on her low, age-appropriate heels, her hands and legs trembled. Yet she didn’t feel particularly nervous yet. She frowned at her hands and held them out in front of her to inspect. She didn’t see much movement. The tremors were more felt than seen.
She frowned. A new symptom. It brought a lance of fear into her chest.
It would only get worse from here.
Helen finished gathering her things and set out around seven that evening.
Riding in the rented self-driving Tesla was an unexpected luxury. She couldn’t hear the engine or any outside noises, and the black leather interior was as comfortable as her own loveseat. She’d thought that a self-driving car would make her nervous, but her Tesla, with the personality of an older gentleman and named Christopher, was a ridiculously cautious driver. It made her impatient instead.
Helen directed Christopher to pass by the Soons’ mansion a few times to gauge when the arrivals were thickest. When she saw six cars in line at the drop-off point, she pulled in behind them.
She checked her makeup in the mirror. It startled her again to see herself aged twenty-five years. She wouldn’t live long enough to look like this, and from an entirely shallow point of view, she couldn’t decide if that was a good thing or a bad thing. She didn’t like looking old.
The one thing she’d preserved was her perfectly shaped eyebrows—her one point of vanity.
She tried the trick she’d learned in her thirties: glancing quickly at herself as if the form in the mirror were a stranger. It let her see herself more accurately and more favorably. The method served her this time as well: seen through a stranger’s eyes, the elder Helen had a certain elegance.
She straightened her new diamond necklace, which was her one genuine piece of jewelry for the night. She hoped it was flashy enough to distract the guests from the faux diamonds on her hands and wrists. Older women wore just as many diamonds as the young, but they didn’t bare their arms, so as her car pulled forward, she put her age-appropriate dress jacket on over her designer dress.
Her turn came, and her car opened its door for her. She clutched her knock-off designer bag—risky, but she couldn’t afford a real bag, even at the consignment store—and got out into the humidity and heat. It was time to put on the charm, despite her twisting stomach and choked breath.
Her one advantage was having attended hundreds of similar events as a nonprofit employee. She had watched the wealthy mingle and converse enough that she knew how to join in.
As her car set off to park itself, she went up the walkway and closed in on a young man who was unaccompanied—someone young enough to be her disguised self’s son, with a cowlick in the front of his sandy hair. She smiled broadly as she took his elbow. “My goodness, I haven’t seen you in forever,” she said. “How is your work going?”
“Oh,” he said, embarrassed. He did a double-take as he strove to remember her name, then gave up. “It’s going well. We’ve acquired another firm this year, so we’ve just about doubled in size.”
“Wonderful,” Helen purred. “Has your title changed?”
“No, still vice president,” he said with a smile.
By now they’d come to the gatekeeper, an unsmiling man in a black suit holding the guest list. The one Helen had to get past or this was over before it had begun.
Helen projected her voice toward the gatekeeper as she spoke with maternal affection to the young man whose elbow she held. “Son, I am so proud of you and how far you’ve come.” She squeezed his arm affectionately.
The gatekeeper nodded at Helen’s compatriot. “Mr. English.” He nodded politely at Helen. He must be assuming that she was either Mr. English’s mother or his guest.
Mr. English glanced at Helen in bemusement, then surely realized that he was about to let slip that he still didn’t know who she was. He quickly smoothed over the moment. “Let’s get you inside and out of this sticky air, shall we?”
“Oh, yes, let’s,” Helen said with a grateful smile. “My hair will fall.” She patted at it as she’d seen older women do before.
She was glad she had him to cling to as she entered the mansion. Otherwise, her trembling hands might have been visible. Worse yet, she might have stumbled in her new heels.
Mr. English graciously escorted her to the drinks table for a cup of coffee and guided her to a chair, then excused himself. That was fine with Helen.
She surveyed the space. This room alone could have occupied an entire floor of Helen’s building. It was impeccably furnished in genuine wood and marble, with hand-painted frescoes. A part of her ached to live surrounded by such beauty.
She was pleased to see that there were a significant number of older people present, which helped her blend in. She had expected that, first because it was a fiftieth wedding anniversary, but also because she had noticed in the past that high-class events always had a range of ages present.
Helen let about an hour pass as she mingled and chatted with various people. She’d picked the right time to come in, as over a hundred other people were already present—enough for her to remain thoroughly anonymous. When she approached a group, she always greeted someone as if she already knew them, which guaranteed her a certain degree of acceptance.
The only awkward moment was when her arm muscles unexpectedly weakened and she dropped her wine glass. But servants rushed to clean it up and the moment was forgotten.
The conversation surprised her with its charm. These were people who’d taken pains to learn the art of small talk and the old-fashioned sort of social networking—that done in person. And because they accepted her immediately as one of them, based on first impressions alone, they were welcoming and polite.
However, the conversation was as light and unfulfilling as the puff pastries. One lady talked about her recent six weeks in Prague and the shocking lack of fresh produce there; another lady bragged that her six-year-old grandson had already been promised entrance to an elite high school; a couple had undertaken the renovation of a French chateau, and vintage marble recovered from undersea Venice was essential, of course…
She didn’t think she could take much more of this Ent
itled chatter. Her face hurt from all the fake smiling.
She finished a bacon-wrapped shrimp and looked around again. It was time to pretend to look for the powder room.
She picked a doorway at random and went down a hallway. The sudden quiet and smaller scale of the hallways and rooms conveyed that this was a private area.
Two hallways in, the third door on the left opened onto an expansive and deeply carpeted private library. Now this was an ostentatious display of wealth. There was no reason to own paper books other than to show them off. She stepped in cautiously, but she knew she was alone, if only because the lights were off. The only light came in through the gaps in the heavy curtains on the windows opposite the door.
On that side of the room, between the windows, a small display case held several antique revolvers. They looked small enough to slip into her bag. Perfect.
As she crossed the room deeper into the darkness, her heart pounded so loudly she feared she wouldn’t be able to hear anyone who might come in after her. But probably it would be all right if the nice old lady were a little deaf.
She stepped across the thick carpet toward the cases as she glanced up and around.
She caught a glimpse of movement in the heights of the farthest corner. Her heart staggered. There was something in the shadows. A small red light flicked on and something electronic slipped out of the corner.
The lights in the library came on, and Helen blinked with her hand up to shield her eyes.
It was a drone, oval in shape and painted white.
“We’re so sorry to be rude.” The voice that emitted from the drone was feminine. “The security system is programmed to permit only the homeowners and immediate family members in this area.”
Helen had not seen this coming at all. She had never seen a drone like this. Utterly taken aback, she hesitated. What were the odds that this thing was recording her, that some security guy was watching her on video right now?
“I’m so sorry,” she said, staying in character. “I just really wanted to take a look at those revolvers over there. They’re so lovely. Do you think Mr. and Mrs. Soon would mind?”
“We can’t permit that,” the drone replied, its tone more firm. “Would you mind returning to the public areas of the house now, please?”
Helen decided to press her luck.
“I’ll be happy to go in just a minute. I just want to take a closer look.” She took several confident steps toward the revolvers.
“Our next action will be unpleasant, and we hate to be ungracious hosts. Please step out of the room now.”
Now Helen was far too curious to give up. She took three more steps while she watched the drone over her shoulder.
The color black washed over the drone, and with a series of clicks, three turrets rattled out from the casing. The unmistakable sound of guns preparing to fire struck Helen like physical blows.
The drone spoke again, its voice now loud, masculine, and threatening. “By the laws of this state, homeowners possess the right to use lethal force to protect their property. This right extends to drone and robot agents of the estate. We will not warn you again. Retreat or be shot.”
Helen’s heart stopped for a moment and then thudded back into action. “Well, that is just rude!” She managed to sound haughty. As she shuffled out, she even managed to shake her fist at it. “I will have a word with the Soons, I promise you that!” she called back, while also hoping to high hell that it wouldn’t shoot her for back-talk.
She wondered whether it would escort her back to the party, maybe announce her transgression to the Soons. As she hurried back down the hallway, it emerged from the library behind her and kept pace with her as she moved. Terror kept her moving quickly.
Back at the first hallway, it stopped and watched her go.
As soon as she got out of its sight, she stopped and leaned against a wall, drawing in a deep, shuddering breath.
It occurred to her that if she looked low-class, she might have been shot on sight.
She’d not had time to recover before a tall, imposing man wearing a black suit and a stoic expression appeared from around the corner. “Ma’am, I apologize for the sentry. The Soons have a number of valuable items to protect. I’m sure you understand.”
“Of course.” Helen tried to laugh, but then she decided to give in to her true feelings. “I’m sorry, but that was awful. I’m terrified. I think I might faint.”
He quickly stepped forward and let Helen take his firmly muscled arm. “Let me take you to a sitting room. Ms.…”
“English,” she filled in. She immediately wished she hadn’t, but she wasn’t able to think of anything else to say fast enough.
“Ms. English.” He led her down the hallway. “Do you need medical assistance?”
“No, that’s all right,” she said, though still genuinely breathless. “I think some hot tea might be all I need.”
“I’ll see to it, ma’am.”
He took her into a private sitting room and escorted her to an overstuffed divan. “I’ll be right back.”
She put out a hand to stop him. “There won’t be any more of those awful—sentry things, will there?”
“No, ma’am, I’ll tell them to stand down from these rooms. I don’t think you’re the sort of threat that the Soons are worried about.” He startled her by casting her a wink and a grin on his way out.
She wanted to laugh. If only he knew about the small arsenal of weapons in her knockoff designer purse.
Even as she caught her breath, she looked around for something to steal. Her gaze lit on three possibilities: a glass vase on the tea table, a bronze sculpture on a pedestal in the corner, and a china plate on a stand on the low bookshelf on the back wall. All were beautiful items, and all were small enough to put into her purse. But what were they worth?
If only she had ever been able to afford objets d’art… or bothered to take an interest in things she would never be able to have for herself… She had no idea what was valuable enough to make this trip worthwhile.
There was a knock on the open door and she nearly jumped out of her skin for the third time in ten minutes as another unfamiliar figure presented itself.
“Excuse me, ma’am. You requested tea?”
“Yes, please.”
The man who entered was not one of the caterers from the party. Most likely a butler or cook from the private staff. He placed a tray with a full tea service on the tea table. “Do you need anything else, ma’am?”
“No, thank you.”
“Very well, ma’am.” He stepped away as soundlessly as he had appeared.
She waited a moment to be sure he was gone, then got up with a racing heart and picked up the glass vase. It was the only thing that wasn’t on some sort of stand which would make its absence conspicuous. It was a small, heavy vase, pretty, with flowers in the design. She wrapped it in the cloth napkin from the tea tray, and she tucked the bundle into her purse.
As she left the room, she remembered the drone’s slick transformation from helpful to menacing, and she shuddered. It was a metaphor for this high-class world—lovely and pleasant just as long as you belonged… vicious to everyone and everything else.
She’d had enough of pretending she belonged. It made her sick to see the kind of luxury these lucky few enjoyed. And why? What made them deserve it while others didn’t?
Helen took a few wrong turns and finally found a restroom to use.
Afterward, she had just caught the sound of the party again and was heading that way when Mr. Suit stepped out of a hallway directly in front of her. This time, he wore a scowl that struck a bolt of anxiety into Helen’s chest. She knew instantly that he knew.
“I apologize, ma’am, but an item has gone missing from the sitting room. I’ll need to check your bag.”
It was stupid for Helen to argue with him, but she couldn’t think of another option. Her voice went high in outrage and panic. “That’s ridiculous. Are you accusing me of something?”<
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“I just need to check your bag, ma’am. I’m very sorry.” His tone was firm.
Helen’s mouth opened, but nothing came out. Her mind cast about for something else to try but came up blank.
Then something angry surged in her. It took over her helpless mind and body and forced out the words, “Fine. I’ll just show you everything that’s in here, shall I?” That anger turned to a nearby table, emptied her purse, picked up the Taser from the pile of items, and shot the man.
He dropped instantly. He writhed and bucked on the floor while veins popped out on his neck.
Helen dropped the Taser, shoved everything else into her bag, snatched it up, and backed away from the convulsing security guard.
Jesus Christ.
This was not supposed to happen.
40 Days, 5 Hours
Helen only knew of one exit, and it was back through the party.
She ran to the doors of the ballroom, then casually strolled through them. It took such a long time to cross the vast space toward the exit. She knew a Taser didn’t keep a person down for more than maybe a minute. She knew already that she didn’t have time to wait for her car to come around.
In her desperate need to think of a solution right now, her mind creaked to a halt. The angry part of her that had taken over a moment ago disappeared, like a hit and run. Thanks a lot, she fumed.
She needed to run for her very life, but she was forced to walk at a slow, deliberate pace while the enemy surely closed in behind her, and she dared not even look behind her.
Her gaze lit upon someone’s purse and shawl laying unattended on a table, and suddenly she knew what to do.
It took only seconds to swap purses, dumping the contents of her own purse into the other one. She wrapped the shawl around her hair and down over her dress as she walked on, not looking back. At another table, someone had left eyeglasses while they went to dance. She had them on before she pushed open the door. As she went through, she added a hobble to her walk and stooped her shoulders.
The Robin Hood Thief Page 7
