The heist kindle, p.21
The Heist Kindle, page 21
“Right,” I reply. “And it’s your job to make sure Montgomery and his men remain on standby until they’re called. We can’t afford for that idiot to go cowboy on us. Again.”
“I’ll be honest, that’s a real concern,” Astra says. “Which begs the question, why in the hell did you invite him to this little soiree we’re having anyway?”
I grimace. “I guess it’s playing politics. If this goes right, everybody gets a win and everybody’s going to be happy.”
Astra laughs softly. “And you say you don’t know how to play the game.”
I roll my eyes. “I hate that I have to. But that’s life.”
“How are we going to stop him though?” Mo asks. “I mean, he does outrank us—”
“True. But this is our op,” I say. “If they try to move early, shoot them in the leg.”
Mo’s eyes widen. “Are you serious? I can’t tell if you’re serious.”
I flash her a grin. “Use whatever means you have to. This is our op he’s been invited in on, so command runs through me. He doesn’t outrank you out there.”
“If this clown is as big of a problem as it sounds like he is, I’d suggest you make sure you film everything that happens out there. Keep a camera on him at all times. I’ve found that recording people has a way of settling them down,” Carmichael offers.
Astra gives me a look and nods then turns back to Carmichael. “That’s a fantastic idea.”
He chuckles. “If there’s one thing I’ve learned in this life, it’s to cover your ass. No matter what, it’s always critical to cover your ass.”
“That’s smart. Really smart,” I say. “Mo, that’s your job. Make sure you’ve got a camera on Montgomery at all times. And make sure he knows you’re filming him.”
“Copy that,” she replies.
“Rick, Nina,” I call out. “Talk to me.”
“We’re going to be posted up in the ops room here at Titan,” Rick says. “We’ll be monitoring the shipment from the point of pickup to the end of this.”
“There’s nothing we can do to keep them from jamming the onboard comms and computers inside the trucks. If they know what freek—sorry, frequency—you’re operating on, they’ll own you. And judging by how smoothly the last transport job went, they’re going to own you,” Nina says. “But Rick and I outfitted this transport with some gadgets of our own that they’ll never see. When their tech guy collapses your electronics, ours will still be running. Your transport will still have comms and navigation systems. There will be a five-second delay as it switches over, but that’s negligible.”
“And what happens if they’re able to pick up the freek your equipment’s working on?” Carmichael asks.
Rick scoffs. “Good luck with that. What Nina and I put together is a system that’s not static. It’s dynamic. It’ll be like trying to hit a moving target.”
“It’s also heavily encrypted. If they are somehow able to lock onto the freek we’re using, they’ll have to get through several firewalls that are heavily encrypted,” Nina adds. “As good as their tech guy is, that will take time. And with how quickly this should all come together, they simply won’t have the time to do it.”
“If your program is as good as you say, why don’t we just run your system from the jump?” one of Carmichael’s guys chimes in. “It seems to me that preventing this robbery from going down would be preferable to engaging in a combat situation.”
“We want this crew to lean into this heist. We want them fully engaged before we spring our trap,” I reply. “Our primary goal is to apprehend them. If anything is off, and that includes the security measures on your transports, it will signal to them that something’s up and they will pull out. If they do that, we’re not going to get another crack at them. This is our last, best shot to get them off the streets and into a cell where they belong.”
The man who asked the question nods. “Copy that.”
I turn to Carmichael. “Major. What do you have for us?”
He turns to the map of the city that’s pinned to the board he set up for this briefing. Pulling a telescoping pointer out of his pocket, he extends it and taps four red dots on the map.
“I’m going to be monitoring the situation with your techs from our ops room here, but I’ve identified four possible choke points along our route,” he says. “When the truck picks up at the museum, it will head straight for the highway. We’re not picking up any other cargo but are taking that load straight to the airport, where it will be offloaded and put on a secure plane which will take it to the next city. We were only hired to get it from the museum to the airport.”
I look at the locations he’s identified then look at the entire route, which he’s laid out in red marker for us to follow. Each of the spots he’s picked out is somewhat isolated, narrow, and doesn’t offer a transport much room to maneuver if they come under fire.
“I think that’s a good assessment, Major. I agree with you,” I say. “I want you to put three of your troops at each of the four locations. But they will be there in an observational and support role only. They are not to engage unless they’re given the green light by me. Are we clear?”
“Crystal.”
“Excellent,” I say.
“Not to be that guy, but are we sure this crew you’re chasing is even going to show up? I mean, how can you say for sure they’re after this load?” asks another of Carmichael’s men.
“I can’t say for sure. There are unfortunately no guarantees in this line of work other than bad guys are going to do bad things,” I reply. “This crew, though, has a penchant for the dramatic. They thrive on the adrenaline rush of pulling big jobs with a flourish. They’re bold. Brazen. And this is the sort of job we believe will appeal to them. Greatly.”
“The fact that two Faberge Eggs have a combined value of more than forty-five million dollars makes it seem more likely than not that they will probably be coming for them,” Astra adds, drawing whistles and murmurs from the group.
“This crew is, like you, former military, and has been operating for more than a decade. They aren’t getting any younger, so we think this might be one of the last heists they’ll try to pull. This might be their big finale,” I state. “This could be their walking away money. And with just five of them left in the crew, that would be one hell of a payday. Combined with what they’ve netted from their other heists, these guys can live out their days in luxury and style.”
“Sounds like we got into the wrong line of work,” one of Carmichael’s men cracks, drawing laughter from the rest of the group.
Carmichael smiles. “Yeah, it sounds good until you realize you’re going to have Chief Wilder and her team on your ass if you do switch careers,” he says. “I’ve done my homework on these agents and am not afraid to say I’m more afraid of them than I am my own wife.”
That draws more laughter and applause from the group. The dark cloud of tension that was descending over us lifts slightly, which I’m glad for. Staying loose and easy is always good before an op. Especially when the potential for violence is as high as it is right now. But I feel like I need to give them one more word of caution before we head out and things happen that can’t be taken back.
“Listen, I know the Major has already given you a briefing before this one, and I just feel the need to reiterate that this could be dangerous. This crew does not hesitate to pull the trigger. They’re ruthless. And even though we’re positioning you in secondary support roles, I can’t guarantee that you won’t get caught up in the action. I have no way to predict how this fight will unfold,” I tell them earnestly. “It’s imperative you know that by going out there tonight, there is a possibility you’re not coming back. This crew has already murdered two transport guards, an FBI agent, and one of their own crew they thought we had a hook in—which, we didn’t, by the way. Like I said, though, they’re ruthless, and they will not hesitate to put somebody down. So, let me just say once again, you don’t have to be out there. You can walk away right now with no hard feelings and no judgment. Personally, I’d feel better if none of you were out there. But I understand this is, in part, Major Carmichael’s show, so here we are. But if you want to walk, now is the time, guys.”
The loading bay falls silent, and every single one of Carmichael’s men remains where they are, still as statues, completely unflinching. None of them are even looking around, as if waiting for somebody to step out, giving them an excuse to do so. Instead, they all stand at attention, staring straight forward, nothing but a grim resolve on all their faces. Not a one of them steps out. I turn to Carmichael and nod.
“You have good people here, Major,” I reply.
He nods. “The very best.”
“I will do everything in my power to make sure every single one of them comes home.”
“I know you will.”
I take one last look around the loading bay. We’ve had to put this plan together on the fly, and I know it’s not the best. There are too many flaws and holes that Rayburn can exploit. But the window we’ve had to put this op together was short. We had no time, so it’s the best we can do right now. For what it is, I think it’s as solid a plan as we could have hoped for. Now, we just have to hope we get a little bit of luck and things break our way for a change.
And we have to hope this really is Rayburn’s target.
As we put this op together, I had the nagging thought that we’re putting all this time and effort into something that’s not going to pan out. Part of me fears Rayburn is manipulating us—that he wants us to think he’s going to go for the bold and brazen job instead of a smaller, easier one that might not net him tens of millions but will still pull in a decent chunk of change. With Rayburn knowing we’re on to him, I fear he might have given us a head fake back at the deli, getting us to look one way while he goes the other. With as much heat as we’re putting on him, I’m afraid he might pull back and focus on one of the other plans he’s got in the pipeline.
But the die has been cast. I’ve pushed all my chips to the center on this one, and I’m going to have to live with the consequences if this all goes sideways. If it does, and this is a spectacular failure that blows up in my face, I know Montgomery will be beating the drum of my failures. I’d have so much egg on my face that I’m not sure my career would ever fully recover. I’m risking a lot on this op, and the personal stakes have never felt higher.
I swallow hard and lick my lips, doing my best to quell the wild churning in my belly. It’s too late to call this thing off. I just have to roll the dice and hope it doesn’t come up snake eyes on me.
“All right,” I say. “Let’s saddle up, people.”
Outpost Alpha, Fairmount District; Philadelphia, PA
Sitting atop a hill that once housed British defensive works during the Revolutionary War, the Philadelphia Museum of Art overlooks much of the Lower North district. I’m parked in a dark alley along the segment of the route that transitions from Fairmount onto an open and isolated stretch of road that runs south toward the highway that will take the transport to the airport. This is one of the choke points that Carmichael had identified on his map.
The clock on the dashboard of the SUV says it’s just past midnight. The crew should be loading up the armored transports and prepping to get on the road now. The route from the museum to the airport is a bit circuitous, since Carmichael always wants to avoid his transports getting bottlenecked on city streets. He wants his trucks in perpetual motion since a transport that’s not moving is an easy target. Because of that, it will take his truck roughly thirty-five to forty minutes to reach the airport.
When Rayburn’s crew descends, it’s going to happen fast, and we all need to be on our toes. I blot my damp palms on my pants and blow out a long breath. The muscles in my shoulders are tensed so tight, they’re almost painful; and if the knots in my stomach pull any tighter, I might scream in agony. Sitting behind the wheel of my SUV, alone in the dark, with nothing to do but think, isn’t doing me any favors. All I can focus on is the myriad of ways this can go wrong. I was so busy prepping this op that I never once stopped to consider whether I should have in the first place.
I’d been so convinced the Faberge Eggs were going to be Rayburn’s target that I never stopped to consider anything else. But now, sitting here in the dark with nothing but my thoughts and neuroses to keep me company, I’m certainly considering it. The vision of Astra and Mo sitting there with Montgomery and Saunders waiting for a call to move in that never comes fills my mind and sends a rippling wave of fear rolling through me.
I know that I stand to lose more than I gain with this op. If it goes bad, who knows what will happen? Maybe I’ll lose my command. Maybe they’ll suspend and eventually fire me. The number of people who support me within the Bureau pales in comparison to the number of people who want to see me taken down a few pegs—or rather, a few dozen pegs. And that’s because I don’t play politics, kiss ass, or otherwise ingratiate myself nearly as well as people like Montgomery. I know that’s my fault. But I never developed the taste for it other people have.
Of course, I want to ascend the ranks within the Bureau. I want to make and leave my mark. When my days of kicking in doors and taking down bad guys are over, I want to leave a legacy for others to follow. To emulate. But I’ve never acquired the skill for glad-handing and ass-kissing that seems required to do it. Instead, I’ve been blessed with the ability to rub people the wrong way, get on their nerves, and ruffle the hell out of feathers wherever I go. And because of that, people are waiting and watching, ready to pounce on my every misstep. It’s maddening really. Too many people are more worried about climbing the ladder and playing politics than about doing the job. It makes me sick.
Brushing my hair back behind my ears, I sigh and try to banish all those thoughts from my mind. I close my eyes and count to ten. Nothing seems to be working, though, as my shoulders are still rock-hard and my heart is beating fast and hard, like I’ve just run a sprint. Needing a distraction, I grab my comm on our secure channel and key it open.
“Outpost Alpha, checking in. All clear here,” I say into the mic. “All outposts check in.”
All the outposts check in, but nobody reports seeing any suspicious activity, which only fuels the doubts and second-guessing already going on inside of me.
“Truck is loaded, and we are en route,” Lucas’s voice says through my earpiece.
I key open the mic. “Okay, folks, we are live. Keep your heads on a swivel out there and be careful,” I say. “Report in with any activity.”
I don’t like having all our troops spread out like we are, but there wasn’t much of a choice. Not having a clear idea where Rayburn is going to hit—if he hits at all—we have to cover as much of the transport’s route as we can. And since our resources aren’t infinite, that means spreading ourselves out and hoping we can all collapse on the battle zone quickly.
Ten minutes go by with no word from anybody. No activity. No contact. No nothing. And in that silence, the ice-cold fingers of doubt grab hold of my heart and squeeze so hard, it nearly steals the breath from my lungs. My knuckles are white, and my fingers pulse with pain as I grip the steering wheel so tight, I’m half-convinced I’m going to tear it off the steering column. I force my hands open, but I’m wound so tight that when the comm crackles to life, it makes me jump in my seat, and my startled heart thumps even harder inside me.
“I’ve got contact. It’s aerial,” Rick’s voice comes through. “They’ve got a drone up, and if I have to guess, it’s got an electronics array attached to it to jam the signals to the transport.”
“Stand by and prepare to switch to the backup systems,” I reply into the mic.
I let out a long breath of relief as my hands tremble on the wheel. The doubt that had been gripping me eases, and I take a moment, focusing on my breath as I calm myself down. I was right. Thank God I was right. Now I need to focus and get my head on straight. It’s game time.
“Rick, what is the location of the transport?” I ask.
“They’re approaching your position,” he replies. “The transport should be passing you in three to four minutes.”
“Titan’s systems in the transport are down. The transport is now dark,” Nina reports. “Switching to backup systems.”
I lick my suddenly dry lips and swallow hard as my heart beats a staccato rhythm in my chest that’s part relief that I’m right and part anxiousness about the coming fight. Knowing they’ve just knocked out the company’s comm and navigation systems can only mean they’re about to attack. They wouldn’t cut the power only to let the transport rumble on. No, ready or not, the fight is here.
“Contact,” Rick reports. “We have two SUVs approaching from the rear. They’re closing fast.”
“All units, converge on my location,” I call into the mic. “Collapse on my location now!”
From my spot at the mouth of the alley, I have a good view of the road in front of me. To my right, I see the glow of headlights coming up the small rise. The transport will crest the hill and blow by me in a matter of seconds. Whatever is going to happen is practically going to happen right in front of me. I turn on the engine and draw in a long, slow breath then let it out again, silently counting to ten and trying to find my balance.
The transport crests the rise and starts on the downslope, but I keep my eyes on the hill. It doesn’t take long for me to see the glow of the headlights cast by the vehicles in pursuit. I key the comm.
“Lucas, be ready; you’ve got bogeys inbound,” I say. “They’re coming. They’re approaching from behind and will be on you in seconds.”
“Copy that.”
The transport draws closer to my position, and several blinking lights about thirty feet above it draws my attention.
