McAlister rubbed his elbow and said excitedly, “There’s something I want to show you. Come stand by me, over here in the shadow of this tree.” He put his hands on Lisa’s shoulders and backed her up a few steps.
“You see that design above the middle window on the top floor?”
“You mean that decorative symbol?”
“It’s hard to see when the wind blows because the shadows from the trees drift across it. That’s what I was looking at just before I ran into that guy. It’s why I almost fell over.”
“What it is?”
“That’s Ming Wu’s symbol. It’s the mark Bertram and I found on Ming Wu’s armor and knife that we dug up in Tibet. Ming Wu changed his name and took on the identity of Hai Cai, the man he killed, but he kept his family’s symbol. It’s been passed down through the generations.”
“How can you be sure that’s it?”
“I was staring at it a few days ago in Tibet. I’d know it anywhere.”
“So this is for sure the house. Thomas, you’ve found Ming Wu.” Lisa turned and hugged him tightly.
“There couldn’t be a more positive confirmation than the family ancestral mark on the building where we thought he’d be.”
Lisa stared at the house for a long moment. “Not a light on anywhere. Should we knock?” she joked.
“I don’t think they’d answer, even if they were home.”
“Why do you say that?”
“No garage, a small gated door, and no mail box. Bars on every window, if they’re even windows. No gutters for a thief to climb. That house is not a representation of modern architecture, it’s a fortress.”
Lisa stared at the house for a full minute, then said, “It’s amazing how different a building looks when you know there’s something extremely valuable inside. You’re right. There are even bars on the upper windows, and it looks like there are black blinds in those windows, but there’s no light coming through. Either it’s dark as coal in there or the windows have been bricked over and painted black.”
“I know.”
“How will you ever get inside?”
“Come on, let’s continue walking.” They turned and continued up 62nd. “I haven’t the slightest idea, but we’re going to meet with someone who I think could do it right now. I contacted him from Tibet. He helped me last time I needed to . . . gain access to a building.”
“I hope he’s good, because that house looks like a Federal Reserve Bank building.”
Chapter 40
“It can’t be done.”
“It has to be done!”
Silence.
“Ethan, you once told me you could break into any building that existed.”
“No. I said it was possible to break into any building. A building is a structure with a door, right? All you need to do is dismantle all known security devices, including people, and possess whatever it is that serves as the key. It can be done. What I am saying is that, in this case . . . I can’t do it.” It was obvious to both Thomas and Lisa that it hurt Ethan to say that.
“Why not, Ethan? Specifically, why not?”
McAlister had met Ethan the previous year, after he discovered a riddle describing the location of the Ten Commandments that Moses had carved into the side of a temple. A friend had recommended Ethan, and McAlister had immediately trusted him and the motley gang he’d assembled for a crucial assignment: steal (or more accurately, reclaim) from the National Museum in Washington D.C. the Ten Commandments and the Ark that held them
Ethan’s work had been flawless, even artistic, and McAlister had contacted him to discuss getting into the house at Twelve West 62nd. They met in the back room of a small private club in The Bowery.
“Let me tell you why not. And this isn’t to leave this room.” Ethan glared at Lisa.
She nodded.
“You can trust us. Both of us.” McAlister said.
“When you told me the address, I looked into it. That house is protected by a newer, technology-oriented security firm based in Geneva, Switzerland. It’s called Millennium Services.
“They’re ultra-secret and it’s widely known they’re the best security firm in the world. They consult at the White House and many other ultra-secure government and corporate locations. They employ a lot of devices that fall into a category called biometric security. That means they use handprint, fingerprint, retina scans, handwriting, voice or some other unique identifier. They’re even moving to rapid DNA analysis based on oral swabs.
“These guys are cutting edge. That house probably has two or three reserve power sources, generators, and I wouldn’t be surprised if they also have battery backup, so you simply cannot turn off the power.”
“Doesn’t it make you wonder why all the security at a private residence?” McAlister asked Ethan.
“Yes and no. Don’t be naïve, Thomas. There’s a lot, and I mean a lot, of money in Manhattan. How do you think I stay in business?”
“There’s got to be a way. You once told me that security systems improve, but people stay the same; that means . . . .”
“Let me finish!” Ethan said in a low, angry growl.
McAlister remembered how much Ethan hated to be interrupted. He closed his mouth and nodded.
“When I work, I always want the odds in my favor. I never leave anything to chance. I eliminate all unknown variables. You know that, Thomas, by how easy it seemed for us to get into the National Museum.” Ethan shot a glance at Lisa.
“Well, the security system this house has is far superior to that of any museum. Not only is it more complicated, and more modern, it benefits from the fact that there are only a few people that need to gain access. Museums must contend with hundreds of staff and thousands of visitors. They have to let you get close to their most valuable treasures. That’s the entire point of a museum, to allow proximity. The guy at 12 West 62nd Street doesn’t have to do anything even remotely like that.
“But I’ll tell you why I really can’t do it. It’s not because of the biometrics. Usually I can get around those. The reason I can’t do it--and now I’m revealing the real secret to my success--is because I don’t know anyone at Millennium Services I can bribe to give us the plans.”
Ethan glared at them defiantly.
“I don’t know anyone who knows anyone at Millennium. They’re a closed box. You see, there’s no magic, guys. The things you need to be a successful thief are building blueprints, security plans and data on safes and vaults. I could probably get the building blueprints. Typically builders aren’t real high security operations. I could probably find the bill of sale in Visa, MasterCard or Amex’s database for whatever kind of safe they’ve got in there. But I can’t get the security blueprints. And without those I can’t do it. I have no access to Millennium. None.”
“Have you tried to get access to someone at Millennium? I mean, obviously, if you were able to do it at some of the other major security firms . . .”
Ethan interrupted, “Yes. I have tried, as have others in my field. I’m telling you it can’t be done.”
Thomas slumped back in his chair, thoughts of shooting an anti-tank missile at 12 West 62nd Street dancing through his head. He noticed Lisa staring at Ethan, deep in thought.
Thomas wondered if she was attracted to him. He was a dashing international thief with an Irish accent and taste for expensive lightweight wool clothing. Certainly Ethan did okay with the ladies. Thomas felt a twinge of jealousy.
Just as Thomas was wondering if it was hopeless, Ethan said, “I was, however, able to get this.”
He opened his briefcase and pulled out a manila folder.
“What is that?” Thomas sensed a glimmer of hope.
“This was the security RFP for 12 West 62nd Street.”
“What’s an RFP?” Lisa asked.
“RFP stands for request for proposal.”
“Where’d you get it?” Lisa asked.
“I got it from one of the security companies. One where I have contact
s. One that didn’t get the job.”
“Does it tell you much, Ethan?”
“Sure, RFPs tell you a lot. You get the general layout--not the actual blueprint, but depending upon the detail, a very good idea of the layout. RFPs describe all possible entry and exit points. Where the owner wants valuables kept--in other words, where the safe would be. They also tell you how many people will require access on a regular basis.”
“The RFP is a good place to start.” McAlister said as Ethan handed him ten pages that had clearly come out of a fax machine.
“And, unfortunately, a great place to end. There is absolutely nothing in that RFP that can tell us the type of security measures that were implemented. We can see that the owner wanted the safe built into a bookcase in this office on the first floor, and not his bedroom like many clients, but we don’t know what kind of safe it is. We can see there is a caretaker that lives at the residence full time. And from the desired security level ratings you can see that the owner of this house wanted no expense spared--but again, nothing about the actual system.”
Thomas skimmed the RFP. It had been completed electronically, so there was no handwriting. Wherever there was a checkbox to indicate the desired level of security, it was checked high. And later, when the RFP asked if there was any type of modern security the owner did not want, the form indicated all security options were open except motion detection.
As he handed the RFP to Lisa, McAlister said, “So Ethan, you could find nothing in this that you could use to pry the system open?”
“I’ve reviewed it with an open mind, Thomas. But, listen, there are two ways to get inside a potential location. You can either break in, or you can Trojan horse it. Trojan horse means you’re let in under some pretense. You either do the job while you’re in, or after you’re supposed to have left.
“The Trojan horse method is sometimes used when you’re dealing with a low-security museum or when you’re invited to a dinner party. It’s how James Bond gets into most buildings, only in the movies the bad guys always seem to be having parties. In real life, parties with long guest lists are rare.”
Ethan shrugged. “There’s nothing in that RFP that gives me any idea how to break in or how to be let in for a long enough period of time. They don’t have any regularly planned deliveries. There’s just nothing we can leverage.”
The silence was desperate. The clock was ticking. McAlister could not end his search without access. He was thinking about other connections he might have--someone who might know the residence.
Then, out of nowhere, Lisa said, “What about the dog?”
Both Ethan and Thomas turned their heads and simultaneously said, “What?”
“What about the dog? Someone must have to let the dog out? They must have to walk it, right?”
“There’s nothing about a dog,” Ethan said dismissively, scornful of Lisa.
“Right here.” Lisa pointed at the bottom of one of the middle pages. “At the bottom of page five, see, the fax machine cut off half the text. It says ‘Pets?’ you can only see the top of the word Pets, and then something typed. I can only see the top half, actually the top quarter. Hold on a second.”
Lisa turned one of the other pieces of paper over. Can I write on the back of this?” She looked at Ethan.
“Sure.” He was curious in spite of himself.
She layered one page above the other and began creating logical bottom halves for the letters that had been cut off.
Ethan watched as she played around with the bottoms of the characters.
It took her about a minute to finish. “Look!”
There, half on the top paper, half on the bottom, was the word Pekinese.
“Let me see these.” Ethan grabbed the papers and carefully reconnected them on his own. He studied the word Lisa had written.
“Well?” pressed McAlister.
“It looked like a random line of ink, like the date and time transmittal information you usually get at the bottom of a fax that sometimes gets cut off, but I’ll be damned, yes, there is a check in the box for ‘dog.’ Half of it was cut off when this was faxed over, but you’re right. It’s the top half on an X, and the top half of the word Pekinese follows it.”
McAlister said, “This is good news, right, Ethan? I mean, they’ve got to let the thing out every once in a while. They’ve got to walk it, right?”
Ethan held up his hands. “Just hold on, let’s see what else we can find out. It’s certainly not bad news. Lisa, how old is the caretaker?”
Lisa shuffled through the papers. “Hold on. I know he’s old, I saw his age here somewhere.” She flipped back a few pages. “He’s eighty-five.”
“I doubt he’s doing the dog walking.” Ethan said. “That means he has a service. And that is good news.”
Thomas sensed hope. “This RFP doesn’t mention anything about a service.”
“No, but there could be another line below this one that also got cut off. I’m going to have to contact my friend and have him refax this page. Actually, I’ll have him refax all the pages and indicate where the bottoms are. We may have missed more data as well.”
Ethan began pacing. McAlister could tell this was changing Ethan’s opinion about doing the job.
“I’ll set someone up outside the house. The RFP indicates that the owner of the house is not there often. But the caretaker is always there. So, we need to find out if the dog stays the whole time, or goes with the owner when he leaves. My gut tells me he stays. A caretaker means there’s no need to put the dog in a kennel. But we’ll find out through a little surveillance. I’ll bet they have a dog walking service, and if they do we can probably get in. I’ll have one of my guys call around.”
“We don’t have much time, Ethan.” McAlister warned.
“We’ll watch and see what happens this afternoon. If there’s a walker, we’ll find out where he works, and when he’s due back. It’ll likely be morning. Most dogs are walked in the morning and then again in the afternoon or evening. If we’re lucky, you’ll be walking a Pekinese tomorrow morning, Thomas.”
“Me?”
“Yes, I’ll be entering the home. Your friend the specialist, Bertram, I’ll take him in with me. He’ll identify the book, if it’s there.”
McAlister nodded. “Makes sense.”
Ethan picked up the phone. “I’ll call my surveillance guy now. I recommend you figure out what a dog walker wears and go buy it.”
McAlister exchanged glances with Lisa, then said to Ethan, “Okay, we’ll see you back here this evening. If there is a dog walker, we go in tomorrow morning.”
“Yes, and brief Bertram. Tell him to wear black pants and shirt, but nothing too conspicuous. Nothing he couldn’t walk down the street in.”
“Got it.” McAlister’s pulse was racing. This was the beginning. He could feel it. With Ethan on board, he knew they could do it. But two big questions remained: if they got in, how would they get out? And, would the book even be there?
Chapter 41
“I’ll give you $20 to get a good long look underneath that skirt.”
DJ turned, curious to see the man who was propositioning the cute tourist in the miniskirt. The man thrust out a hundred-dollar bill so the girl could see that he really did have the money. The girl paused, considering the offer. DJ walked on, never knowing if a deal had been struck.
On his left, a woman wearing a bright-white engagement ring was getting out of a taxi with her fiancé. When she opened her travel wallet to pay the cab fare, DJ saw a tampon stuffed down inside the large pouch that held her paper money. DJ looked away, knowing he was probably the only other person in the world except for the fiancé who knew she had her period.
He listened to two women clicking along briskly in high heels.
“I know what his fucking problem is. He doesn’t want to pay overtime. But he knows that I’m the only one who knows how to run the reports and he knows the only time I have to do it is on the weekend. He can’t have his c
ake and fucking eat it too.”
“Maybe there’ll be another reorganization and you’ll get a new manager.”
“Ha! Do you know any of the managers in my department? The asshole I’ve got now is the best of the worst.”
DJ smirked. Some problems were universal.
If you asked the average person what they’d observed after a ten-minute walk south down Avenue of the Americas, they might be able to recall ten, maybe twenty specific details. Few if any would be able to remember the faces, clothes and actions of the hundreds of people they passed.
Most people go from one place to the next with very little memory of the trip. During rote, routine activity like walking or driving, the average person begins to think about whatever problems he or she is dealing with at the time. Like when her period will end, or what an asshole her boss is, or if twenty dollars was enough compensation for flashing a complete stranger.
DJ, having no personal life, and little need for more money, had no tertiary problems. Ever since he’d been berated and demoted by the President of the United States, he had possessed a singular focus: the destruction of Thomas McAlister’s life and career.
He didn’t want to kill McAllister, though he’d dreamed of it and often found solace in simply contemplating it. He wanted McAllister to suffer. He wanted McAlister to feel shame, to be ridiculed, and to experience the feeling of public and private inadequacy. To accomplish his goal, he needed to take what McAllister wanted most. In this case it would be extra sweet, because taking the Blue Beryl would cause suffering to McAllister and his mentor, Taylor.
DJ believed with all his heart that having Elmo on the inside, posing as Bertram, was the key to victory.
Following McAlister south on the Avenue of the Americas, DJ was immersed in the present. If asked, he would be able to recall thousands of details and observances his mind had catalogued in the last fifteen minutes.
Disguised as a tourist, he was walking fifty feet behind and across from Elmo, Thomas McAlister, and the thief named Ethan that McAllister had hired.
Book of Cures (A Thomas McAlister Adventure 2) Page 17
