Stone cold series boxset.., p.21
Stone Cold Series Boxset 3, page 21
part #7 of Stone Cold Series
"Okay, I see where you're going," said Melody. "So all the devices essentially use the same cabling, but they are cordoned off at the switch."
"Exactly. That leads me to the second layer in the security design," said Reg. "The private network. We have the public network with all the WIFI and media stuff, then we need a secure network for the CCTV and alarm sensors, which are all fed to the security control room."
"Where is the security control room?" asked Melody.
"At basement level." Reg lifted the ground floor set of drawings and circled the security room on the basement level with a well-bitten fingernail.
"So that's where they control the alarms?" asked Melody.
"Yep," replied Reg, "the alarms, the sensors, the cameras, you name it, if it's security based it'll be controlled from in there."
"So you think our thieves will hit the control room?"
"I don't see that they have any other option. There's not many people that could get through the layers of security from the public network, so it'd be easier for them to take control of the control room, probably quicker too."
"Not many?" asked Melody. "So it is possible then?"
"Oh, it's possible. But there's only one man I know that could do that without triggering the alarms."
"One man?" asked Melody.
"Me," said Reg with a smile. "But I'm not going to be the one that robs the Natural History Museum."
"How are you feeling?" asked Fingers.
Lola raised her head a little and sighed.
"Like I just saw the love of my life shot in the face, and was then threatened with death or prison."
"What did the Bond Brothers say about Mad Bob and Cannon Bill exactly?"
Lola sensed he was trying to take her mind off the Dynamite incident.
"Do you want the long version or the short version?"
"Short first," said Fingers.
"I told them we don't know who the bloke was-"
"Which we don't."
"Right, he just came out of nowhere. I told them he must have been homeless or something," said Lola.
"Okay and they believed you?"
"I don't know, but it's true. We don't who he was."
"And what about the other diamond?"
"They still want it. They said that they'd decide what happens to us once they have it, and see how well the job goes."
"And what about the bloke?" asked Fingers. "Are they going after him?"
"They won't stop until they find him, Fingers."
"Do you think he'll come?"
"I told him where to find us, but I doubt it. I mean, would you?"
"How much did you offer him?" asked Fingers.
"We didn't talk about money. Somehow, I think he's not the type to be motivated by cash. I think he has other issues."
"You think? Lola, he set fire to Mad Bob's face. How else would you explain that?"
"Anyway," said Lola, "I doubt he'll come. I'm glad he was there, and that he stepped in, but-"
Her thoughts trailed off to Dynamite.
Fingers was silent for a while, choosing to take the dirty plates and cups to the tiny kitchenette at one end of the little houseboat. He returned to the small living area and hovered over Lola.
"Where did you get all this lot from?" he asked, as he ran his hands across the rolls of paper stood upended against the wall of the houseboat.
Lola glanced back from the window above her then saw Fingers was referring to the rolls of technical drawings. "I borrowed them," she said distractedly. She returned her attention to the huge sheet of paper spread across the small dining table. She held a magnifying glass over the paper and traced the tiny lines that represented the security network.
"Have you come up with a plan yet?" asked Fingers. "Time is running out you know."
"So why don't you help?" said Lola. "I'm here tracing networks and security, and you're sat there waiting for a diamond to fall out of the sky."
"Tracing networks?" said Fingers. "Don't be silly. I've done all that. It's easy, even easier than that soppy old bloke's house."
"Easier?" said Lola. "This is going to be bloody dangerous. I do not want you thinking it's easy and relaxing; I want you to be worried. In fact, I want you to think one hundred percent of the time about how bloody hard this is going to be."
"Alright, alright," said Fingers. "Get me close, connect a laptop to the internal network and I'm away. From there, I'll need about ten minutes."
"Ten minutes?"
"Yep, I told you, it's easier than you think. Just because there's a bloody great diamond inside, doesn't mean to say that it's any more secure than anywhere else," said Fingers. "In fact, it's not the digital security I'd be worried about. I'd have said the physical security is a bit trickier."
Lola nodded.
"I agree. There's five guards there at any one time, and another God knows how many close by."
"Apparently there are a few paintings on the walls that are worth an absolute mint," said Fingers.
"Not to mention the antique vases and statuettes," said Lola.
"Are we going to be taking anything else? You know make the trip worthwhile?" asked Fingers.
"No," said Lola. "Absolutely not. We get the diamond and we get out."
"Not even a nice little something to hang over the fireplace?"
Lola gave him a severe look. "I'm not doing this for money, Fingers," she said. "I'm doing this for Dynamite."
"And your freedom," Fingers reminded her.
Lola subconsciously rubbed the tag on her wrist. It weighed on her as if it were made of lead and hanging around her neck. "If we're caught doing this, Fingers-"
"I know, I know. We'll be fed to the wolves."
"We have a chance though, right?" she asked.
"Of pulling this off?" replied Fingers. "Yeah. Look, if you can get me access to the internal network, I'll need a few minutes to crack the security, and then I'll open the whole thing up. Once I've done that, I'll have access to the security console. The only question is how big the window is for you to get in and out."
"Don't worry. I have an idea about that."
"Sounds ominous."
"What's the minimum window you can give me?" asked Lola.
"Honestly?" said Fingers. "How's zero?"
"I won't know until I'm in."
Footsteps on the boardwalk above caught their attention. They saw the boots of their mystery saviour walking slowly along the length of the boat through the narrow portholes. The door opened with a slight creak, and two thuds of heavy boots resonated through the boat’s wooden floor.
"I'm in," said the man. "Where and when?"
Lola felt a wash of relief run through her, but kept her eyes on her work. "I'd greet you, but you haven't told us your name yet," she said, without looking up.
Fingers edged away from the man and tucked himself into the corner of the sofa and against the wall behind him.
"Is this your boat?" asked the man.
"Does it matter?" Lola replied.
"Depends, doesn't it?" he said, as he stepped into the dining area. He seemed to loom over the room. His presence almost cast a shadow, though the grey sky outside cast little in the form of daylight.
Lola's eyes followed his until they felt like they would roll around in her head. She leaned back in her seat to get a better view of him and folded her arms.
"Depends on what?" she asked.
"Well, if you're planning to rob the Natural History Museum using a house boat that doesn't belong to you, the plan poses an element of risk that we don't need."
"It’s mine," said Fingers. "It's where I live."
The man nodded, and eyed the kitchen mess.
"We?" Lola asked the man. "So you're now including yourself in this, are you?"
"You asked for my help," he said. "I came."
Lola remained silent. She studied his gestures and expressions, a skill Dynamite had taught her, to learn what really goes on inside someone's mind. The man had no tell signs.
"Harvey," he said suddenly.
"Harvey?" Lola repeated.
"Harvey Stone."
Lola repeated the name over and over in her mind. She was sure she hadn't heard it before, but it was strong name, a reliable name.
"It is Fingers' boat," said Lola. "We're safe here."
"Are you being watched?" asked Harvey.
"By who?"
"The brothers," said Harvey. "I'm pretty sure they'll have eyes on you, and will be waiting for me to arrive."
"So?" said Lola.
"So, I won't stay long," said Harvey. He turned to leave. "I just came to tell you I'm in. Tell me where and when." He paused. "You do still want my help?"
Lola's lips clamped the tip of her tongue in thought.
She nodded.
"Tomorrow afternoon. Five o'clock. Meet us at the junction of Denmark Hill and Daneville Road."
He nodded in reply, pushed the door open, and took a step outside.
"Harvey," said Lola, just as he ducked his head. He turned to face her. "Thanks."
He gave her a thoughtful look, nodded once, then left.
Fingers watched Harvey's boots walk back past the houseboat. He waited until Harvey was out of sight before speaking. "You really think he'll help us?"
"Gut feeling?" asked Lola. "Yes, I do."
"Why?" asked Fingers. "Why would someone get involved in something like this? And how can we trust him?"
"I don't know Fingers, but if we can deliver the diamond and him, I think we might just get out of this alive."
A narrow footpath ran alongside the canal so Harvey took it, preferring the peace and tranquillity of the waterway to the honking of horns and perpetual rumble of engines and traffic on the main roads. Two women pushed babies in prams. A cyclist rode by, and a jogger ran lightly past him. How normal people’s lives were, thought Harvey. Most people had complications, of course. He knew that; he wasn't naive. But the complications of everyday people were usually along the lines of earning rent money, paying bills, fighting over custody of a child, or maybe, going to a workplace they hate every day and spending the smallest amount of time at home with loved ones before going to bed, only to do it all again the next day.
Harvey knew he was lucky not to be bogged down by such complications. But normality still appealed to him somehow. In the factory, he could have just stayed out of the girl's troubles. He could have just ignored the two men as they crept across the factory floor. He hadn't even needed to kill them. But it was who he was. Something had taken over him.
Killing was what he was good at.
Harvey took a seat on a bench while thoughts rolled around his mind. The bench looked like the type of place that the local authorities had installed so that families could sit and feed the ducks. Instead, it had turned out to be a place where local kids could sit and get high without the prying eyes of parents.
The two women with prams walked past, deep in conversation. They took slow steps as if they had all the time in the world or too much to say and not enough distance to say it. They looked happy. Harvey watched them and couldn't help but think of Melody. They were supposed to have their wedding soon. Harvey knew that she'd wanted to have children as soon as they were married.
He pictured Melody in the place of one of the mums.
She would have been a good mother. Hopefully, she still will be one day, thought Harvey. But he doubted his own suitability to be a dad. A kid shouldn't have to grow up with a father who had spent most of his life as a hitman for a crime firm, and the rest of it on the good side of the law. But still killing. He was cold-blooded.
How could he possibly raise a child?
During the three months Harvey had been lying low, he'd had a lot of time to think, and to contemplate his future.
His decision to leave the crime world behind and live alone on his farm in France with a simple routine had been the outcome of many dark nights walking the rain or staring at the ceiling of his bedsit. But there had always been something gnawing at the thought. He knew what it was. It was a phrase he'd said to Melody once to describe how killing had made him feel.
"I enjoy it," he said aloud to himself. His voice sounded loud in contrast to his thoughts.
"Excuse me?" said one of the women as they strolled past.
The woman's voice shook Harvey from his daydream. His reaction was to offer a weak smile and wave the comment away as nothing. They walked on with furtive glances over their shoulders at the man sat talking to himself on the bench where kids get high.
"I enjoy it, and it's what I'm good at," Harvey said again. He repeated the words as if saying them aloud was somehow more convincing than losing them in the jumble of thoughts in his head.
"You've got talent," said a memory, somewhere distant in a dark corner. But this time it wasn't his own. "You're unique, Son. Don't waste it."
It was the voice of his foster father, words he'd spoken many times.
Harvey had been training with Julios in the gym at the back of their grand house in the Essex countryside. He had loved that gym. It had everything he needed to train with floor-to-ceiling glazing around the entire room. Even on the dullest of days, when the grey sky felt just a few inches out of reach, the gym had been full of light with no shadows.
Nowhere to hide.
John Cartwright made a habit of watching Julios train Harvey, while sat on the sun beds around the pool and holding a brandy between his fat fingers. When Harvey had developed into a strong sixteen-year-old, with two kills under his belt, John had watched and praised the boy's progress. When they'd finished training, all Harvey had wanted to do was to sit and eat with Julios and listen to a story of when his mentor was young. It was Harvey's favourite time of the day.
One time, they stepped from the gym, both boy and mentor glazed in sweat, and John had put his arm around his foster son and stolen the moment from Julios and Harvey. The mentor was made to stay behind and clean up. Instead of tales of Portuguese back streets and fishing on the Mediterranean, Harvey had to sit with his foster father and listen to his dreams of what Harvey might be.
Harvey didn't need to hear the praise, he didn't need the push, and he didn't need any more direction. His path had been set in stone. He thought like a beast, with cunning and foresight, and he trained like a beast, with relentless vigour. Harvey had been building a pool of stamina to call upon when Julios pushed him to the edge. He knew he'd already become a beast.
"You're going to be a dangerous man when you get bigger, Harvey," John had said, as they'd sat in the kitchen eating.
In his mind, Harvey had recalled how he'd reached out from the darkness and slit his second victim's Achilles tendon before standing over the much older man.
"I can see it, you know?" continued John, as he shovelled carrots into his mouth. "I can see it in your eyes. And if you follow my advice, do what I say, you'll be feared throughout London. Maybe even further, who knows?"
Harvey chewed his vegetables. He avoided eye contact with his foster father, but let his mind continue to cast images in horrific flashes. First, there had been the boy from school, the sex pest who Harvey had hunted, found, and then slaughtered. Then came Jack, one of John's men. Julios had accompanied Harvey that time. He'd stood in the shadows and watched Harvey bring his own flavour of retribution to the sick man who'd raped Harvey's sister.
"You see," John explained, ignoring the fact that Harvey hadn't replied once. "Some people in this world are born to sit in an office. Some are born to help others, like nurses and doctors. But some, Harvey Stone, are born to even the odds. These people aren't bad people. But if the world didn't have them, and the rest of the men were left to their own devices, well, it wouldn't be safe to walk the streets. They bring balance to the world."
Harvey pictured himself walking the dark alleyways as he often did at the weekends, seeking lowlife to practice what Julios had taught him. He made himself a potential victim of a crime and waited to be attacked so he could unleash his skills.
"You're one of those people, Harvey," said John. "You're special. Some might even say unique."
Harvey imagined what the Bond Brothers might look like. He knew their type; he'd been around people like that all his life. Too much money, inflated egos, and somehow they'd earned respect. He knew they fed off fear, all bullies did. Harvey also knew that they wouldn't stop looking for him. They might find him today, tomorrow or a year from now, but one day the episode would catch up with him. Unless he stopped them.
Harvey felt John's eyes burning into him.
"Don't waste it," said Harvey aloud.
Further along the towpath at the exact location he'd been given, Harvey climbed down the few steps to a small wooden boardwalk. The canal cut through the neighbourhood. It acted as a dividing line between the old run-down factories on one side and the new-build apartment blocks on the other. The entrance to the dock was over a small footbridge spanning the gap adjacent to an old lock. Manicured lawns and trimmed bushes bordered the quiet private roads and parking bays that stood between the residential buildings.
He pushed open the door to one houseboat and ducked inside to find Lola and Fingers pouring over building blueprints. The boat smelled of damp wood and greasy food, likely from the used pans and plates in the kitchenette.
Fingers averted his eyes when Harvey looked his way, and Lola kept her head down, engrossed in the plans.
"I'm in," said Harvey. "Where and when?"
7
Twin Demons
"We seem to have a dilemma," said Charlie to his brother. They were sat in the back seat of their Bentley. Both wore dark blue suits with white shirts. The only differentiator was the colour of their accessories. Rupert wore a yellow pocket-handkerchief and tie, while Charlie had opted for a light blue.
"There's no dilemma, Charlie," said Rupert. "Merely plans to be made."
"We need to act, bro. We can't be seen sitting on our laurels while some nutter out there gets away with killing Mad Bob and Cannon Bill. It won't take long for word to get about."
