Payback

30

Dean heard Rockman grumbling in the background as he climbed in through the second-story window of the bank.

“They’re just taking forever with that food,” said Rockman, referring to the guards outside the bank, who had to check the tray and bring it inside to the other guards. “The last two nights they went right in. Now they have to taste it? What gives?”

Dean smiled to himself. The runner — and the rest of the Art Room — tended to get testy when events didn’t precisely match their preconceived script.

Karr waved at him from the inside doorway, pointing to an infrared beam of light running across the threshold. The light was easily visible with their glasses; they’d decided to let the system alone, since it could be easily avoided.

Dean turned back to the window, lowering it carefully so that he didn’t jostle the device Karr had used to defeat the alarm. Then he placed a satellite transmitter on the sill, making sure it was oriented toward the clear sky. The transmitter — it had been designed to look like a small personal satellite FM radio receiver — would pick up signals from the booster they would place downstairs, allowing the Art Room to communicate directly with them if they were both in the vault. In the event they had to leave it behind for some reason, the Art Room could send a signal to fry its circuitry, and they’d pick it up the next day.

“Transmitter’s good here,” Rockman told him.

“Good,” said Dean. He checked the replacement envelopes in his backpack before cinching it back up, then moved across the room.

“Finally,” said Rockman. “They’re bringing the food inside.”

Karr was waiting for Dean by the stairwell, once again pointing out the beam of ordinarily invisible light. Once Dean acknowledged it, the other op tapped his watch. They had agreed before going in that if the guards weren’t sleeping by 11:40, they would use the blowpipe. They had ten minutes to go.

Dean took the weapon from his belt and loaded it. About the size of a .22-caliber air gun, the blowpipe had a highly accurate scope integrated into the housing; the weapon had no kick and could be held at just about any angle without harming its accuracy.

“Guard One is drinking,” said Rockman, watching them through the bank’s own video system. As soon as the other guard had left, Rockman had begun feeding the command post a tape they had made from the feeds the two previous nights. “Saying something. Guard Two thinks it’s amusing. He’s opening his bottle. Should be out any second.”

Dean followed Karr down the staircase, moving as quietly as he could, each step, each breath, deliberate.

“Guard Two is getting up!” hissed Rockman. “He didn’t drink yet. Don’t let him see you.”

No kidding, thought Dean, pushing back against the wall and raising the blowpipe so it was ready.

“Going back,” hissed Rockman. “All right — taking a slug, another slug. Sitting down. Any second now. Bingo. You’re clear! You’re clear!”

“You ever think of doing baseball play-by-play?” Karr asked as he raced across the lobby.