The Faberge Heist

by David Leadbeater

  It would be the greatest heist yet.

  And it still should be. But . . .

  Cara pushed the doubts away. She checked the rearview mirror, catching a glimpse of her own blond hair and perfect face as she checked out Faye and Kushner. Both looked relaxed. But then they would. Faye was their technical expert; she would always remain remote from the robbery and thus never shoulder any of the risk. Kushner was the consummate thief, probably the best in the world. He rarely thought about anything beyond the upcoming job and his own good looks.

  Steele was crammed into the car’s far side, glowering back at her, no doubt clenching his fists. Jax was in the passenger seat. She ignored him as they took their time driving the length of Las Vegas Boulevard.

  “It’s changed a lot since I was last here,” he said, staring out the window.

  Cara agreed but stayed quiet. There were new hotels, new complexes, new shows and new bridges. New roads. Lots of different ways to exfil after the job. A stadium was being built west of Mandalay Bay that, Faye informed them, would be the new home for the Raiders football team. The construction was huge.

  Cara watched all the long-standing hotels and casinos pass by. From Circus Circus at the north, passing Elvis Presley Boulevard, to the Venetian and Treasure Island and her favorite of all: Caesar’s Palace. The fountains of Bellagio were in full swing, using over 1,200 nozzles and 4,500 lights to deliver vast, spectacular light shows every half hour, with some of the water blasting almost 500 feet into the air.

  They passed Planet Hollywood and, new to all of them, an area fronted by The Crystals, an upscale luxury shopping mall. The MGM, the new Hard Rock Café, and then Excalibur—which had been there as long as she could remember, caught her eye before they turned around opposite the Luxor.

  “Drive it again,” Jax said. “I couldn’t take it all in the first time.”

  She was already on it but questioned him anyway. “The Strip won’t affect our getaway.”

  “I know that, but do it. Keep your eyes open.”

  Cara shook her head. His words were bordering on ridiculous, spoken to shut her up so that he could continue to wallow in whatever pit his mind occupied. It didn’t worry her that he was being distant.

  What worried her was that the artistry of the job might be compromised.

  Then, everyone in the car faded away as their target hotel came into view. It was new, nestling slightly behind the MGM Grand, on East Harmon Avenue, but still towering above the Strip and shining its red and gold lights this early on a Thursday. Still, if there was any city in the world that never slept, this was the one.

  All five of them beheld their closest view yet of the target hotel: the Azure. Almost 500 feet tall it had cost over 2.5 billion dollars to build, boasted 2500 rooms, a 70,000-square-foot casino, 250,000 square feet of retail and restaurant space, a spa and fitness facility, a 2000-seat cinema complex, and 100,000 square feet of convention space. It had already been rated as the best hotel in the world by Gogobot and the Condé Nast Traveller gold list. It was also the place Lady Gaga, Tom Cruise, and other celebrities stayed when they visited Vegas.

  All of the above facts had no doubt attracted the man they were targeting.

  Cara found a place to park and waited until they were all together. They walked through the casino, tuning out shouting and laughter and the noise of the machines. They walked the retail and restaurant areas. They ventured as far as they were able without rousing attention. Nothing was different to the blueprints they’d already studied, but it had to be physically checked.

  Satisfied, they left.

  Kushner stared out the car window, looking up toward the top of the hotel. “Soon,” he said with pleasure in his voice. “Very soon.”

  Cara followed his gaze. “Wish I was going up there with you.”

  Faye looked shocked. “Really? You know it’s 500 feet high, right?”

  “Entry is the most skilful part of the job.”

  Kushner nodded. “Agreed. But I have it covered.”

  “And I’ll be there to smash heads just in case.” Steele grinned.

  “Just don’t smash the eggs,” Jax said. “For all our sakes.”

  Cara narrowed her eyes. Their leader sounded desperate. “Is there something you’re not telling us, Jax?”

  He shook his head. “Stop being so friggin’ paranoid.”

  Kushner snorted. “We’re thieves. Paranoia is how we survive.”

  “Not with me, you don’t. Look, we’ve pulled off eight epic heists. We’re the best in the business. Just stick to the plan.”

  “Always do.” Kushner sat back.

  Cara drove between several bus stations for the reminder of the afternoon where they all took turns buying various tickets to Los Angeles for around twenty dollars. The more choice they had the easier it would be, so they covered all of them. It was a tedious job and Kushner didn’t like it, but Jax shut him up. As the sun set, Jax and Steele departed to collect some special explosives they’d had prepared and a set of guns and ammo. This part was always delicate, but they later reported it passed almost without incident. Their suppliers had forgotten what Kushner called “his special glass tool,” but rather than incite a tense incident he couldn’t control, Jax asked Kushner to make one himself. They’d be all right.

  Thursday night rolled around. Tonight was important to their plans in laying the groundwork for Saturday. To pass the time they tuned into a police band radio, listening to the chatter. It was only normal to expect the authorities to have heard something about an upcoming raid. No specifics, but due to all the third parties and go-betweens the gang had to use for materials, it was accepted that chatter would get out. Jax further confused them by dropping clues for other imaginary robberies at other dates but the cops weren’t as clueless as most people wanted them to be.

  All over Vegas, they’d be on alert for something during the next week or so. It was natural. It was expected.

  It had been built into their Plan B.

  Cara readied herself as Faye fired up two of her state-of-the-art computers and proceeded to hack into the local CCTV network. The slim, wiry geek was using a backdoor she’d created four weeks ago. Cara drove the car to one of the Azure’s neighboring high-rises, a place called the Wyndham, which was somewhat shorter, not as grand, and far less security conscious.

  Cara, Jax, Steele and Kushner changed their outer appearances with disguises and new clothes. They added implants to their cheeks and donned sunglasses. They wore long coats. Soon they were inside the Wyndham, heading to the roof. With Faye hacking the CCTV they gained access in no time, waiting just thirty seconds for Kushner to breach the final door using a homemade foil device to fool its safety measures.

  Up on the roof, Faye again neutralized the single CCTV camera which stood on a tall black pole, scanning the area. The building stood just under 400 feet in height, less than the Azure, but they could still see Las Vegas in all its radiant glory spread out before them. From this angle it looked calm, surreal, an oasis of illumination in the desert. Car lights snaked along the Strip, never ending. The names of Caesar’s, the Venetian and Palazzo were radiant beacons. The echoing din of vehicles and humans could be heard as a gentle rumble.

  Cara smoothed her hair as a gust of wind blew it out of place. She was looking upward. “The Azure’s penthouse is dark.”

  “I noticed,” Kushner said. “Faye, check Mr. Singh arrived as expected.”

  “On it. Yeah, the Indian billionaire arrived yesterday.”

  “We’ll keep an eye on it,” Jax said. “Could be any amount of reasons it’s still dark.”

  Cara measured the distance between the Wyndham and the Azure with a special laser. Everything they’d planned remotely matched up.

  “To Saturday then.” Kushner grinned.

  “Gonna break some hearts,” Steele smirked. “And maybe some heads.”

  Cara turned away from him, hiding her resentment. He made her angry. All her young life she’d been a tar
get, the victim of bullies either because she was too slim or skinny, too beautiful or too blond. Steele was nothing but a privileged bully in her opinion, who’d managed to fall on his feet when he’d met Jax in the military.

  “You need to try the gloves,” Jax said.

  Kushner nodded, slipped on the gripper gloves they’d stolen from the Californian tech lab, and used a rope to lower himself over the far side of the building. The risk was lower there, and the technology needed to be checked.

  “Don’t fall, man.” Steele chuckled. “Without you, it’s gonna be a lot harder.”

  Kushner ignored him. Cara leaned over the edge. A new breeze tousled her hair, but she didn’t feel it. She was too engrossed watching Kushner.

  Clad in black, moving with arms and legs outspread, he used only the gloves to stick to a large window on the outside of the hotel. His boots were made of thick, rubber pads and, if he put both feet on the glass, they gave reasonable grip, but the only thing keeping him from falling 400 feet to the sidewalk were the new gloves.

  They held on to the flat pane firmly. Kushner turned sideways but refrained from performing the full Spiderman routine by turning upside down. Cara watched, drinking in the sounds of the city as the warm night air clung to her. She could smell cooked meat too, which probably meant there was a restaurant below her. Far away, the sound of sirens split the night.

  She found herself half-hoping the gloves would fail. Without the gloves the plan was dead. Kushner would be okay—he was still attached to the roof by a rope—but with the new aberration in Jax’s temperament and character, she wasn’t sure she wanted the job to go ahead.

  “Happy with this pair,” Kushner reported back. “I’ll check out the second.”

  As he worked, Cara caught Jax staring at her. She glared back, hoping he’d sense her uneasiness. If he did, he gave no outward sign.

  Jax contacted Faye. “Anything on the police band?”

  “Not really. I guess they know we could be listening. There’s an increased presence. All the hotels have beefed up security. Anyone with valuables has been checked out and checked again.”

  “Including Mr. Singh,” Cara said.

  “Singh won’t know what hit him,” Steele said. “And neither will his security. I, for one, can’t wait for Saturday night in Vegas.”

  As the big enforcer moved to the edge of the roof, watching Kushner, Cara found herself several feet back with Jax. She couldn’t hold back any longer.

  “Are you still with us, Jax?”

  He turned angry eyes on her. “What the hell do you mean?”

  “I think you know. Something isn’t right with you, it hasn’t been right for months now. I know you’d never compromise us by wearing a wire. I know you’re the driving force behind this crew. But Jax . . . you aren’t yourself.”

  Jax used his right hand to scrape the stubble that covered his scalp. He looked down, signaling nerves. All she wanted him to do was to look her in the eyes.

  “I’m stressed, yes. But you can search me if you like. I’m no snitch. My personal life got way complicated recently.”

  She knew next to nothing about his personal life. It was how they rolled, better for them and the crew in general. Her own life was an enigma to all of them.

  “I won’t ask you to explain, Jax, but is it gonna affect this job?”

  Jax managed to meet her eyes. “No,” he said. “This job has to run smoothly. It has to.”

  Cara nodded. “That sounds pretty desperate. If you need money . . .”

  “It’s not money.”

  “We’ve had a good run, Jax. The best. We took down Dubai in the middle of that horse race. We raided the Covent Garden depository in the middle of the Olympics, a theft that’s still never been reported. There’s no team on this planet as good as us.” She smiled. “And now we’re here. Friggin’ Vegas. The biggest of them all. We need you on your A-game.”

  Jax regarded her, and she saw some of the struggle in his face. It was clear that something was affecting him, and also clear he needed to talk about it. “My head’s on straight,” he said. “You should know that.”

  “You’re not the man I signed up with. Back then, you were charismatic, thoughtful, as fast as lightning and cleverer than all of us. You’ve always had a violent background, Jax, but you never resorted to it.”

  “Life changes.” Jax turned away. “It gets hard. Things happen that you never even see coming.”

  Cara didn’t look at him, just continued staring over the impressive, bright cityscape. Out there, dreams were made. Lives were broken. Fortunes were won and lost on the roll of a ball, a card or a machine. Chance was king, pretty much like real life. It was the most desirable adult playground in the world.

  “Well, something’s not right. And it’s not going to get me arrested. You hear me? If I see you falling apart, I’m outta here.”

  “You won’t get arrested, Cara. That much is certain.”

  He was usually shrewd. The pointers she was getting from him now didn’t add up. He seemed almost lost. Desperate.

  What the hell was going on?

  Jax turned away as Kushner reappeared, slipping over the top of the building. Cara saw the best thief in the world give both pairs of gloves the all clear.

  “We’re ready then,” Jax said. “A bit more planning tomorrow and then it’s game on for Saturday.”

  For the first time in their eight heist history, Cara felt nervous.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Mr. Singh was a collector. He was born in Kathmandu more than sixty years ago, the son of a bookseller that catered to tourists in the popular travelers’ neighborhood of Thamel. Singh had considered himself poor until he saw how some of his friends lived, how they sometimes fought for scraps in the street and got arrested for stealing. Singh spent his days at school or in the shop, tucked in a corner and reading. He attributed his every success to the books he’d read; they had opened his eyes to the world. But he attributed his shrewdness to the travelers he met; the men and women that dropped by the dingy shop and talked freely to the small boy, giving him life tips whether he wanted them or not.

  Growing up sitting on the ledge of a square, grime-laden window that looked over tourist-ridden Kathmandu, reading until the sun set. These were his best childhood memories. His parents had been aloof; they provided but showed him no love. When Singh got the chance, he moved to India and started trading.

  Businesses followed, making the young man a wise adult. Before he was twenty-two he’d tried his hand at fourteen different business models. Eleven fell flat on their faces but that didn’t deter Singh. To him, it meant three worked. That kept him going. Building off failures he started another fourteen and three of those worked. They were small, they didn’t bring in much profit, but they kept him in lodgings, food and clothes.

  Barely.

  The age of twenty-five flew by and then thirty approached. Singh felt energized, despite struggling every day. He was working for himself, hardly finding time to sleep, remaining a loner because he didn’t have free time to socialize. He owned market stalls and warehouses, a small shop and an even smaller bookstore. He avoided the eyes of the criminal fraternities because he was so low-key. They couldn’t make money off him. He considered himself a wheeler-dealer, able to buy a box of broken watches and sell them at a profit to a watchmaker, who would do all the hard work of mending them.

  At the age of thirty-five, he had been in business for twenty years.

  It was then that he started to see some profit, mostly from storage units and warehouses he had procured through the years. They didn’t need much maintenance. People simply rented the spaces, using them for whatever they liked. Singh turned eight spaces into sixteen and then forty. Singh gave the people more of what they wanted.

  A month before his fortieth birthday, Singh had the idea of not just finding and renting units but building them. From that point on he never looked back. Units became stores and buildings and more. His empire grew unt
il he couldn’t see either end of it. It outgrew him. He was fifty when he sold everything for an estimated 1.2 billion dollars.

  Singh had lived lavishly ever since. The old drive was tempered. He decided to live a little, to take pleasure in everything that he’d missed whilst building an empire. He took time to find out what he liked in this world, the things that moved him. In the end, the real jewels he found harked back to his childhood.

  What fascinated him were mystery stories. And objects surrounded by mystery. He loved relics and old artifacts that couldn’t be explained. He delved into their histories, rediscovering the love of reading. He traveled the world to seek them out, to sit and stare at beautiful, mysterious vestiges of the past. Eight years ago, he learned about the Fabergé eggs.

  The first egg was crafted for Tsar Alexander III in 1885. Known as the Hen egg it was built on a foundation of gold. Its shell split to reveal a matte yellow-gold yolk, which opened to reveal a multi-colored golden hen which also opened. The hen itself comprised a diamond replica of the imperial crown upon which hung a priceless red ruby. The egg was received with wonder. Fabergé was appointed “goldsmith by special appointment to the imperial crown” and given carte blanche to design all future imperial Easter eggs. They became more elaborate, intricate and ornate.

  Singh loved the story of the eggs. They were a genuine manmade treasure, a legacy designed by a man for a queen that would live forever. They weren’t made or given for profit, there was no ulterior motive. The story of the eggs enchanted him.

  So much so that he didn’t leave his mansion for three weeks.