Since when? my inner voice asked.
After the exchange, Rooney shook her head and spoke in a frightened single-mother voice. “You are never going to get away with this,” she said.
“You are such a pessimist,” I told her. “How do you even make it through the day?”
* * *
6:37 P.M. and Skarda morphed from excited to panicky.
“The second truck,” he said over the cell. “Truck B. It stopped. It was turning into—and then it stopped. It’s parked on the side of the highway. What are we going to do?”
“Wait,” I said.
“Wait? You don’t understand, the truck—okay, okay. The first truck is coming down the road, it’s—okay. I get it. The second truck is waiting for the first truck to get out of the way because the road isn’t wide enough for both of them. The first truck—okay, the first truck has left, and the second truck…” Skarda took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. “The second truck is on its way. Wow. Is this what you meant by complications?”
I didn’t know what to say to the man, so I said nothing.
* * *
7:02 P.M. and Skarda was now downright apoplectic. “Oh no, oh no, oh no,” he kept chanting.
“What?” I said.
“The third truck is early. It’s heading up the road. The second truck—Dyson, the second truck hasn’t left yet.”
“It’s okay.”
“But Dyson?”
I glanced at my watch. If I had calculated correctly—always an iffy proposition—we were seven minutes away from the road. I tapped Rooney on the leg. “Let’s go,” I said.
“Go where?” Skarda wanted to know.
“Not you. You stay put. Watch the road.”
Rooney started the Cherokee, slipped it into gear, and accelerated down Highway 1. She had the look of someone driving to the dentist who already knew she needed a root canal.
“Hey,” I said into the cell. “This is what I meant by complications.”
* * *
7:05 P.M. “Dyson, where are you?” Skarda asked.
“What now?”
“The second truck just left. It just pulled out onto the highway. You should be passing it any second.”
I couldn’t help but breathe a sigh of relief. Along with the three vault guards, an armored truck crew would be hard enough to deal with. Two crews might have been one too many.
You are lucky, my inner voice told me.
Now, if it would only hold for a few more hours.
“We’re almost there,” I said.
“I see you,” Skarda replied.
“Are you ready?”
“Yes.”
“Don’t follow too close, but…”
“I know. Don’t follow too far behind, either.”
* * *
7:10 P.M. and Rooney deftly turned the Cherokee onto the dirt road. I made her halt when we reached the huge tree that Josie and I had spotted when we first found the vault. “Pop the cargo door,” I said, and she did. I jumped out of the car. My muscles ached from the uncomfortable way I had been sitting, yet I tried to ignore the pain. I circled the Cherokee to the back. Jimmy wanted to slide out of the cargo area. I told him to stay put. I rested the AK against the back bumper. Jimmy handed me the bomb. He seemed glad to be rid of it.
Late last night I had cut a hole into the frame of a cell phone, exposing its vibrator. I mounted the cell to a thin wooden board along with two metal screws, four double-A batteries, and half a block of C-4, approximately ten ounces. I ran two thin wires from the cell’s vibrator, connecting one to each of the two screws. I connected the top screw to the batteries using a crocodile clip. I used other crocodile clips to connect the batteries and the bottom screw to the blasting cap that I had inserted into the C-4. Actually, I did that last bit after I nailed the bomb to the base of the tree—I mean, I’m not an idiot—and activated the cell phone.
I had built two bombs. When Skarda asked why, I told him it was in case the first didn’t work. He suggested that if the bombs were identical and the first didn’t explode, the second would be a dud, too. I told him to go away, he was bothering me.
After setting the IED, I locked Jimmy in the cargo area, retrieved my rifle, and squeezed back onto the floor of the Cherokee. I told Rooney to keep driving. I hadn’t seen Skarda, but then, I hadn’t expected to.
* * *
7:13 P.M. The Cherokee reached the unmanned gate. Rooney leaned out the window and punched the password into the keypad. The arm rose, and she drove under it, following the driveway. I took a chance and lifted my head just high enough to see over the dashboard. The armored truck was nowhere in sight, and I presumed it had driven inside the vault.
According to the blueprint Brand had stolen for me, the vault had only one bandit trap. The truck would enter through the garage door and wait. The outside garage door would close and the interior door would open. The truck would proceed into the center of the vault, where it would be unloaded and then loaded again. We would be facing the truck when we went through the gray metal employee door. The closed-circuit TV monitors and communications equipment would be arrayed against the wall to our right as we entered and manned by one guard. Cafeteria-style tables should be arranged along the near and far walls to our left. There was a platform built for a guard to stand on where he could observe the tables. There were also more cameras inside than outside—apparently Mesabi Security had a greater fear of theft by their employees then they had of an outside attack. The third guard didn’t have a designated spot. I was guessing he probably wandered around the huge room or possibly kept a close eye on the armored truck crews.
When I reviewed the blueprints, it seemed to me that three guards were not nearly enough. I wondered if the people who had built the vault thought that its location alone, so far off the beaten path, would be enough to protect it or if they had adopted that theory over a period of time. They must have had a guard stationed in the gatehouse when the place was originally constructed—why else build it? It was entirely possible, of course, that Mesabi was scamming both its clients and insurance company, showing them a well-staffed vault in order to gain business and guarantee coverage and then trimming bodies when they weren’t looking. After all, it was a down economy, and a large workforce cut into profits.
I told the woman to park close to the employee entrance. When she shut off the car I said, “The money is insured, Ms. Rooney.”
“I know.”
“This can be a story you’ll tell your children and your grandchildren or it can be a story that someone else tells your children and grandchildren. You decide.”
She looked down at me. Her eyes were cold. Her voice was colder. “You’re a sonuvabitch.”
I came thisclose to calling it off. Screw Bullert, screw ’em all. But Jill, her lovely face, her warm smile—promises were made, some I spoke out loud, others that I had kept to myself …
“Everyone ready?” I didn’t wait for a reply. “Okay.”
* * *
7:15 P.M. Rooney left the Jeep Cherokee. She moved to the metal employee door and punched a code into the keypad next to it. She waited a moment, her hand gripping the door handle. There was a click loud enough to be heard inside the Cherokee. I opened my door just as Rooney opened hers. She hesitated just long enough for me to cover the distance between the SUV and her. I grabbed the edge of the door, flung it open, and pushed Rooney inside, pushed her harder than I probably should have. She stumbled and fell to her knees. I stood over her sighting down the barrel of the AK-47, sweeping it from one guard to the next.
“This is a stickup,” I shouted. “Don’t anyone move.”
The words sounded so damn silly to me that I nearly laughed. No one else seemed to feel that way, though, especially the armored truck crew directly in front of me, standing next to their vehicle, drinking coffee from cardboard cups. They stared as if someone had kicked in the bathroom door, their expressions a mixture of anger and embarrassment.
Dan
iel, Roy, and Jimmy quickly filed in behind me. They were also wearing masks, gloves, and Kevlar and carrying the AKs Brand supplied, although Roy had his own. Roy went right and Jimmy went left. Roy leveled his rifle at the guard manning the TV monitors while Jimmy pointed his at the guard standing on top of the platform overlooking the cafeteria tables. There were several piles of cash on top of the tables, some of them neat and others not so much. A bank employee stood next to each.
“Raise your hands,” Roy shouted. Jimmy yelled the same thing. The bank employees did what they were told. The vault guards already had their hands up, and I could only hope that no one noticed it but me. One of the armored truck crew let his hand fall dangerously close to his sidearm.
“I have a machine gun and a bulletproof vest,” I shouted at him. “What do you have?”
His hands went up.
Daniel stepped behind me. “A little help,” I told him. He went first to the armored truck crew and then the vault guards, disarming each one by one while Jimmy and I kept them covered. When he finished and stepped back, I reached down, took Rooney by the arm, and helped her to her feet. “Sorry,” I muttered. She didn’t reply. “Everyone over there.” I gave Rooney a shove toward the far wall. Daniel, Jimmy, and I herded the rest of the building’s occupants behind her. Jimmy took his position on the platform above the tables and watched them intently, the butt of his rifle pressed against his shoulder.
I was surprised by how quiet everyone was. There was none of the screaming you often hear in TV robberies, none of the threats and warnings, although one woman was weeping uncontrollably while another offered comfort, and I knew it was a sound that would stay with me for some time to come.
I turned my attention to the guard sitting in front of the monitors. Roy had disarmed him and was now giving him a good look at the AK as if he had done this sort of thing before.
“You know he must have hit a silent alarm,” Roy said.
“I know. Where’s our friend?”
Roy gestured toward the monitors. Looking from one to another I was able to follow Skarda’s progress as he drove an ATV along the outside of the fence, circling the vault until he reached the area near the abandoned road Roy and I had found earlier. He hopped off the vehicle and started cutting a hole in the fence large enough to drive through.
I went to my watch. 7:19 P.M. I pulled the phone out of my pocket and dialed the number of the cell I had fastened to the tree. The cell was set to vibrate. The vibrator sent a low-amp charge through the wires that was boosted by the double-A batteries. It provided enough energy to trigger the blasting cap that set off the C-4. I heard the explosion through the walls of the vault, and in my mind’s eye I could picture the huge tree falling across the dirt road, effectively blocking all motorized traffic.
A moment later I forced the guard to join the others at the cafeteria tables. I asked Roy to remain where he was.
“I don’t expect trouble,” I said. “Keep an eye on the monitors just the same. Let me know once our friend cuts through.”
Daniel was standing between the captives and me. His head swiveled from one to the other, although he seemed most interested in what I was doing. I gestured for him to join me. We moved around the armored truck. The back door was open. Inside were two thick canvas bags big enough to hold a hockey player’s equipment. Daniel hopped inside the truck and tried to lift a bag by the handle. He managed it, but it required both hands and a grunt.
“Damn thing must weigh eighty pounds,” he said.
“I certainly hope so.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“A bill weighs about one gram. There are four hundred and fifty-four grams in a pound. Obviously, the heavier the bags, the more cash they contain.”
“Let’s hope they’re not all ones and fives.”
“Or nickels and quarters from the casino’s slot machines. Leave the bags for now. Come with me.”
If Daniel disliked the way I ordered him about, he didn’t show it. Instead, he followed me from the truck to the cafeteria tables. A bag identical to the two in the armored truck sat open near the platform. I turned to our prisoners. They were standing in a line against the wall. We hadn’t put them in a line; it just worked out that way.
“Which one of you is Jer?” I asked. A middle-aged man reluctantly stepped forward. “Are you Jer?” He nodded. I pointed at the woman standing next to him. “Ms. Rooney.” She stepped forward. “Both of you come here.”
The couple moved across the vault. They were not happy to be singled out. I handed the bag to Jer.
“Fill it up,” I told him.
“You’re never going to get away with this,” Jer said.
“So I’ve been told.”
Jer and Rooney moved to the head of the first row of cafeteria tables, set the bag on top, and started filling it with the piles of cash, pulling the bag along the tables as they went. Jimmy kept turning his head to watch, and I had to warn him—twice—to remember where we were and what we were doing. After finishing with the first row of tables, Jer and Rooney carried the bag to the second row—it took both of them.
Roy called to me from the monitors. “The fence is down.”
Jer and Rooney finished packing the bag with cash. I told them to seal it and carry the bag to the employee door—I didn’t want to bother with the bandit trap. It took a lot of effort; Rooney’s end sagged more than Jer’s.
“Where is he?” I called.
“He’s at the door,” Roy answered.
“Okay. You and your friend grab the bags off the truck and bring them here.” Roy and Daniel did what I asked, carrying the money bags over their shoulders like they were sacks of cement. Roy muttered something under his breath that I didn’t hear. Whatever it was didn’t seem to faze Daniel one bit.
I told Jer to open the door.
“The alarm will sound,” he said.
“I think we’re past worrying about that.”
Jer opened the door and the tocsin went off—it sounded like one of those high-pitched horns the National Weather Center uses to warn people about tornadoes. Rooney covered her ears, so she probably didn’t hear me when I said, “We’re having some fun now, aren’t we?”
I shouted at Jer, “We’ll be leaving now. If this or any other door opens before we’re gone, I’ll assume it’s because you’re trying to stop us, in which case I’ll spray the place with machine-gun fire. It’s not your job to catch us. Let the cops do it. Understand?” He nodded. “Tell the others.”
I shooed Jer back against the wall but kept Rooney near me as Roy and Daniel carried the heavy sacks of cash out the door and loaded them onto the ATV. When they finished I waved Jimmy off the platform and through the door. Once he was outside, I spoke into Rooney’s ear.
“I’m sorry about all this, I really am. I didn’t know what else to do.” Her nod told me that she heard. “For the record, I think you’re much prettier as a brunette than a blonde. Although…”
“Yeah?”
“I’d pay real money to see you in the short skirt and high heels you wore when you got me away from the sheriff’s deputy.”
“Luck,” she said.
* * *
7:27 P.M. I insisted that Skarda drive slowly. I told the boys we had plenty of time, although they didn’t seem to believe me. I was just as anxious as they were, yet the cautionary admonishment of my high school baseball coach kept echoing in my head—“Hurry, but don’t rush”—although he was speaking about something else entirely.
We circled the building and headed for the hole Skarda had cut in the fence. Jimmy wanted to remove his mask. I told him to wait until we reached the creek. Roy walked backward, sweeping the open ground with his assault rifle, covering our rear like he had been trained. I used the cell to contact Josie. She answered in the middle of the first ring.
“Are you there?” I asked.
“Yes.”
“We’re on our way.”
She wanted to say more, yet I
ended the call before she could. It was no time for chitchat. We reached the hole in the fence and maneuvered the ATV through it and down the abandoned road. The vehicle hopped and skipped across the uneven terrain, and a couple of times I thought the money bags would slide off the back. Finally we approached the pontoon boat. The bow was up against the shore; the seat cushions had been removed, and all of the lockers were open. Three women, a brunette, redhead, and blonde, stood waiting for us at the bow all dressed in swimsuits—Josie in a one-piece and Claire and Liz in bikinis—and my inner voice said, Minnesota girls, don’t you just love them?
We drove the ATV to the water’s edge. Jimmy and Skarda hopped onto the pontoon. Daniel and I grabbed the sacks of money and heaved them aboard while Roy covered the trail. Jimmy and Skarda dragged the sacks into the center of the pontoon. They opened the bags and, with help from the girls, stashed the cash in the lockers. “Oh my God, look at all of this,” Claire said. She was the only person who spoke.
I boarded the pontoon, went to the wheel, and started the engine. I called to Roy. He jumped onto the boat and stood at the bow while continuing to watch the trail. Skarda and Daniel pushed us off the shore and hopped on. I maneuvered the pontoon around and headed up the narrow channel toward Pike Bay and sprawling Lake Vermilion beyond. The Bandits finished storing away the money, closed the lockers, and returned the cushions to their proper places by the time we reached the mouth of the channel.
Another glance at the watch. 7:41 P.M. If we were lucky, the cops hadn’t even arrived at the vault yet.
I stripped off the mask, gloves, and Kevlar vest and tossed them overboard along with the AK-47. Jimmy and Daniel did the same, adding the now empty money bags. Roy wanted to keep his weapon.
“We’ll need it when we go to free Jill,” he said. I told him I had it covered. He didn’t believe me. Daniel snatched the rifle from Roy’s grasp and flung it into the lake. Roy wanted to fight Daniel over that. Daniel wouldn’t let him. He moved to the stern of the pontoon and sat on the back wall just above the motor while the others tried to calm down Roy.
I had expected the Bandits to be more excited by what we had just accomplished, yet Roy’s outburst made it clear to me why they weren’t. They hadn’t just become rich off a daring raid on a remote vault. All they did was steal the ransom money they needed to buy back their wife, their sister, their cousin, their friend. They were still afraid.
The Last Kind Word Page 25
