Pushing Brilliance

by Tim Tigner

“Mr. Pine’s unit is a corner penthouse overlooking New Hampshire. The one becoming available is 8E, which isn’t a corner unit, but it’s also a one bedroom, and it also looks over New Hampshire.”

  “Could I see it?”

  “I’m afraid it’s occupied.”

  “Maybe just from the doorway?” I asked. Then I added the magic words, “I would be most grateful.”

  What’s the difference between a bribe and a gratuity? Same two parties, same special service, same discreet transfer of cash. But the timing shifts, and timing is everything.

  “I do have some dry cleaning to drop off in 8E.”

  Charles produced a back-in-five-minutes sign and then extracted three hangars’ worth of bagged clothing from a closet behind the counter.

  “I’ll take the stairs,” I said. “It’s a thing.”

  No flicker of whimsy from Charles. Just a respectful, “See you up there.”

  I raced up eight flights of stairs and then a ninth to the roof. Cracking the door, I found the typical bare concrete architecture, with exhaust pipes and vents and a perimeter raised about eighteen inches. Someone had set up lawn chairs, the cheap folding kind you find in beachfront convenience stores. They’d also left a plastic bucket half filled with water that I presumed had once been ice. It was easy to see why. The view was fantastic. The fountain in DuPont circle was visible to the south, and beyond it, the Washington Monument, which would likely forever remind me of Barsukov’s Rocket.

  I tore a six-inch strip of packing tape off the roll using the built-in cutter, and plastered it over the door-latch holes. Then I tore off another to double its strength. Satisfied that it would hold, I eased the door shut, descended to eight, and joined Charles in the hallway before 8E.

  Charles pulled out a Schlage master key.

  I could pick most conventional locks with the paperclips I kept in my back pocket, but that could take time. With this information, breaking in would be cake. He worked the lock and said, “Kindly hold the door while I hang these. By the way, the kitchen is on the right, the bathroom’s on the left, and the living room is straight ahead. The bedroom has the same southwest view.”

  And no alarm panel. I had everything I needed. “It’s beautiful. Thank you so very much.”

  As he relocked 8E, Charles said, “Would you like to fill out an application?”

  I pulled a hundred dollar bill from my wallet. “Let me think about it. I’m not sure about the eighth floor thing. How late will you be here?”

  “Jason relieves me at eight o’clock.”

  I took my time going down the stairs so Charles would see me exit, which I did with a polite nod.

  He reciprocated.

  I took a right on New Hampshire, then a left on R. At the corner of Seventeenth, I entered what Google assured me was the nearest chain hardware store. After a quick survey of the hired help, I approached the youngest of the three employees. A skinny boy in his late teens. He was still losing the fight with acne, but no doubt winning plenty on his Xbox. “Hey Brad, I need a key,” I said, reading his nameplate. “Can you hook me up?”

  “You got it.” Brad spun around and took me to the key machine.

  Before he could ask, I said, “I need an L-style Schlage key, cut to nine on all five positions.”

  He took a minute to mentally process the order, which didn’t follow the default input parameters. “You got the original?”

  “No. I lost it. But it really doesn’t matter since I know the pattern. Nine all the way across, so it will look like a little saw when it’s done, with five tiny teeth. Can you do that? I can show you, if you’d like.”

  “I got it. Just kinda weird.”

  “Thanks. I got some other shopping to do. I’ll be right back.”

  I heard the whir and metallic grind of the key-cutter going to work as I found a rubber O-ring with a quarter-inch hole. By the time I’d picked up a small screwdriver and returned to Brad, he was pulling the Schlage off his machine. He pushed it in and out of a deburring hole a couple of times, and presented it for my approval. “To the nines,” he said with a touch of pride. Then chuckling to himself, he added, “Sounds like something my grandfather used to say, but I don’t think he had this in mind.”

  It was exactly what I had in mind, however. So I thanked him, paid, and left to commit a felony.

  Chapter 56

  Backpacking

  “I WANT TO GO WITH YOU,” Katya said, her eyes twinkling and her hair aglow after the bath.

  I was thrilled, but stunned. “Why? It’s just a phone call. I can put Rita’s call on speaker, and you can listen in on your cell phone. Same as being there, but risk free.”

  Katya put her hands on her hips. “Do you have any idea what this past week has been like for me?”

  That wasn’t the comeback I was expecting, and I had no idea where she was going with it. “I’ve got a pretty good idea.”

  “No, you don’t. Not really. You’re a professional, a trained spy with years in the field. You live in a world where breaking into a building or out of a jail holds as much weight as a trip to the supermarket. For you, putting a bullet through a brain or crossing a border with false papers is the equivalent of ordering brunch.”

  “So?”

  “So I’m a twenty-eight-year-old with a PhD in mathematics from Moscow State University. My world is ethereal. I deal with probability theory and predictive computations and confused students. You and I live on the same planet, but our work lives have less in common than fish with fowl.”

  “I don’t follow. I mean, I hear what you’re saying, but I don’t see what it has to do with your joining me for a felony B&E. Kinda seems you’re making my point for me?”

  Katya picked her mug of tea off the kitchenette counter and took a sip. Then another. “Everyone wants to visit Paris once in their lives,” she said, tilting her head to the right and staring into her own mind. “Women, at least, all seem to have that common dream. But we differ on how. The vast majority opt for a tour bus trip. They want safe hotels, familiar food, and guides who speak their language. They want to hit all the must-see sights, without fail. They’re willing to settle for a guaranteed B-minus experience, because it’s predictable. The tourism industry has evolved to cater to them — the multitudes, the risk-averse.” She met my eyes and I saw fire within.

  “Then there are the backpackers. A paper map in their pocket and a few euros in their shoe. They figure things out on the fly, and enjoy an unscripted experience. They’re the only people who have a shot at experiencing the real Paris, and that’s only because they’re willing to risk an F in order to earn an A. You follow?”

  “Sure.”

  “I’m a backpacker, Achilles. I want to live. I want to suck up every second I can of this strange new world of yours, because I know that I’ll never see it again. Soon, I’ll be back in my ivory tower. And that’s fine. I love it there. But while I’m here in your world, I want to live it. I’m not one to settle for a guaranteed B-minus in life.”

  Looking at her standing there making her case, I was overcome by the desire to walk over and crush her body to mine, kiss her like she was the last remaining source of oxygen in the universe. I wanted to run my hands up and down her slim back and through the tangles of her hair. I wanted to pick her up and take her to my bed and forget all about men in black suits and assistant district attorneys. But I was a grieving brother, and a gentleman, so I said, “As you wish.”

  Her mouth formed a funny smile, not unlike that famous must-see painting in Paris. “Thank you.”

  “But you’re going to have to earn it. I’m climbing to the roof, and entering the building from there. You’ll need to find another way to get past the concierge.”

  “What about a fire escape?”

  “Building doesn’t have one.”

  “Huh. Well, what was your Plan B? You had one, right? Back when you had me make the call to Chris’s assistant?”

  “That was in case there was an alarm. I w
as going to have you call her back from Chris’s door and tell her you have a key, but forgot the alarm code, and now you’ll be stuck dealing with the police if she doesn’t give it to you in the next forty seconds.”

  Katya smiled like an eager backpacker as she pictured that scene. “But how were you going to get me to the door in the first place?”

  “Charm, deceit, or subterfuge. I’d have thought of something on the fly.”

  Katya raised a fist. “So that’s what I’ll do. You ready to go?”

  I took off my leather jacket, transferring my hardware store purchases to the back pocket of my jeans. “Now I’m ready. Don’t you need time to plan?”

  “Backpacker, remember? I’ll think of something.”

  Chapter 57

  Greasy Ladders

  I EXITED Chris Pine’s stairwell, winded and sweaty, ten minutes after Katya accepted my challenge. She was already there, waiting in the corridor, looking fresh as a daisy and somewhat pleased with herself.

  “You have a key?” she asked.

  “In a manner of speaking.” I emptied my back pocket. “A bump key to be precise.” I slipped the O-ring around Brad’s handiwork and slid it back to the base. Then I inserted the key into the lock. “I’m going to put a tiny amount of torque on the key, barely enough to turn it. Now when I hit the back of the key like this...” I gave it a few straight-on whacks with the handle of the screwdriver. “The teeth bump the lower set of pins. If I get it right, the lower pins hit the upper pins like pool balls, creating a gap between the cylinder and the housing for a split-second, thereby allowing the cylinder to rotate if there’s tension on it.” The key turned after half a dozen bumps.

  Katya grinned like a little girl on her birthday. “What’s that rubber ring for?”

  “It puts the teeth in the right place to bump the keys. Without it, I’d need to reposition the key every time. Still works, but it’s much slower. Why don’t you get your phone ready to call Emma? Just in case Chris had an alarm put in.”

  She did.

  I opened the door.

  The ringing started almost immediately.

  It wasn’t like any alarm countdown I’d ever heard. This was more like a digital ring tone, one of the preset options on a modern home phone. Which, of course, was exactly what it was.

  Katya stepped out of my way, noting, “Rita’s early.”

  I ran toward the source of the noise, which emanated from a wireless home phone system on the counter between the kitchen and the living room. Katya locked the door behind us as I picked up the handset and hit the speaker button. “Hello.”

  “Is this Chris?” The voice was a late-twenties Caucasian female with a British accent. Katya and I exchanged fancy-that glances at the ironic coincidence.

  “Yes, who’s this?”

  “My name’s Rita. A colleague of yours referred me. I’ve got a proposition for you.”

  Intriguing start. Professional and self-assured. “What kind of proposition?”

  “Not the type you’d expect, I assure you. I understand that you’re doing well at Kenzie. You’re working hard and it’s paying off, but of course the future has yet to be written. As you’re well aware, ninety percent of your class will slip off the greasy ladder before reaching the partnership rung, despite their Ivy League graduate degrees, herculean work-ethics, and killer instincts.”

  “That’s probably right. It’s a high-risk, high-reward business.”

  “What would you say if I told you that I can eliminate the high-risk component, that I can virtually guarantee that you’ll make partner? That’s my proposition. Are you interested?”

  “Am I interested in making partner? Of course. But your proposal doesn’t strike me as credible.”

  “Of course it doesn’t. If it did, then it wouldn’t be extraordinary. And it is extraordinary, Chris, I assure you. But no doubt my assurances aren’t enough — so I’d like to prove it to you.”

  “Prove it? How can you prove what’s going to happen years from now?”

  “Meet me this Friday at the Hay Adams and I’ll show you.”

  “How do I know this isn’t some kind of a scam or swindle?”

  “It’s the Hay Adams, Chris, not a dark alley. And I’m not asking you to show up with a bag of gold bricks. But you can’t mention this to anybody, and you do need to come alone. This is a very exclusive offer.”

  I paused for a sufficient interval. “What time?”

  “Eight o’clock at the bar. It’s appropriately named Off the Record.”

  “Okay.”

  “And Chris?”

  “Yes.”

  “This is a one-time offer. If you’re not there for any reason, you’ll never hear from me again. Then someone else gets the offer, and you’ll be left alone on the greasy ladder.”

  Chapter 58

  Naked

  I LOOKED ACROSS Chris’s kitchen counter at Katya. “See if you can find a spare key. I’m going to program Chris’s phone to forward to my cell, in case Rita calls back.”

  Katya didn’t even have to move to find the key. She opened the drawer before her and there it was, in an organizer that also held an assortment of business cards and office supplies. “Why do we want a key? You need it to lock the door?”

  “The bump key would suffice, but this will make it easier to return if required. Tell the concierge you’re a guest with a key and there’s not much he can do to contradict you, not with Chris in Hong Kong.”

  “You’re big on contingency planning.”

  “I run into a lot of contingencies.”

  “Speaking of the concierge, how are you going to explain your presence when you leave, seeing as you came in through the roof? Or are you planning to go out that way too?”

  “Charles got off at eight. Jason’s working now. He won’t know that I didn’t come in earlier. You planning to tell me how you got past Charles?”

  “A woman has her secrets.”

  Jason barely looked up from the monitor behind his counter as we passed. Perhaps the Washington Wizards were playing. I hadn’t been following the playoffs. When we were out on the street, Katya asked, “What’s next?”

  “I’ve got to call Kilpatrick right away. While I’m on the phone, would you mind checking into flights to San Francisco? There’s nothing for us to do here before Friday evening.”

  “San Francisco? Isn’t that risky?”

  “There’s no sense in looking around anyplace that isn’t risky. Would you rather hang back here?”

  “Do I have to explain the whole tour bus and backpack thing again?”

  “No ma’am.”

  “Good. I’ll look into our flight options.”

  Back in our suite, I scrolled through my recent calls and redialed Kilpatrick’s number.

  “I’d almost given up on you,” Kilpatrick said by way of greeting. “Then I saw the now familiar Blocked message on my caller ID screen. That’s quite some service you’re using.”

  “How’d it go with your boss?” I asked.

  “It was an interesting conversation. A lesson in risk management from a master politician. She’s keen to avoid the hit she’ll take from a prison escape, and she has no desire to become the FBI’s scapegoat. But she’s been at this too long not to have learned that getting caught in the cover-up is usually worse than getting caught in the crime. So even after spreading the potential blame by consulting with Senator Collins — who apparently knows your reputation from your CIA days — she’s still not going to go for it without assurances.”

  Here it comes. “What kind of assurances.”

  “Well, that’s just it, isn’t it? There’s nothing you can say. There’s only what you can do.”

  “And what can I do?”

  “It’s come to our attention that your father kept his money offshore.”

  “You noticed that, huh?”

  “We did. You’ve got to bring it all back, and you’ve got to put it all on the line. The DA is setting your bail at ten
million dollars, cash. Have it wired to the account posted on our website by close of business Friday, and you’ve got bail. Fail to do so, and the jailbreak story goes out first thing Saturday morning, along with a warrant for your arrest and a global BOLO.”

  “First thing Saturday morning,” I repeated. “When nobody’s watching the news.”

  “Like I said, she’s a master politician. But that’s going to be working in your favor, now.”

  “How so?”

  “She’s instructed Flurry and me to support you in any way we can. She recognizes that the stronger the case for your innocence, the more likely you are to show.”

  “And the more interaction we have, the easier it will be for you to track me down if I don’t.”

  “Again, master politician. But that’s not all there is to it. She rounded your bail back to ten million even, from the $10.2 million I’d proposed. I wanted everything you had left from your inheritance, less your attorney’s retainer, but the DA didn’t want your investigation to suffer from a lack of funding.”

  “That was considerate of her,” I said. And I meant it. “You’ll get the ten million Friday.”

  As I pushed the button that ended the call, I felt a big gorilla climb off my back, only to become aware that I still had a whole ark on my shoulders. I’d never been into money, but ten million dollars did provide a security blanket of sorts. Now I was practically naked and feeling an unexpected breeze. A very cool breeze. I was facing a formidable opposing force, a ticking clock, and life behind bars — but I had yet to figure out why.

  Chapter 59

  Bad Stats

  WITH TEN MILLION DOLLARS now on the line, I closed my eyes and took a deep calming breath. When Dix was putting me through the worst of my training, when I was neck-deep in the slog and sucking wind with a world of hurt ahead, he would have me focus on momentum rather than position.

  I tried that now.

  Just a few days ago, I’d been locked up under Grissel’s thumb and slugging it out in the shower. Now I had eleven days of freedom ahead of me, several solid leads behind me, and a remarkable woman by my side. I rolled my shoulders and threw a dozen rapid jabs into the air, like a boxer headed for the ring. With the blood flowing, I used my right palm to push my chin up to the left until my neck cracked. Bastards didn’t have a chance.