Code Name: Heist Read online

  Our entry point into The Diamond Warehouse is the second-floor office that Mercier’s inside man has been renting for the past year. He’s long gone now that he’s completed his job, of course. I wonder what Mercier paid him… or if the man is even still alive. I’m thinking probably not.

  We’ve memorized the building’s layout—each light switch and motion sensor accounted for. Hell, the man who scoped the place even listed areas where the floorboards tended to creak so we could avoid them.

  We also roughly know the security guards’ routines as the inside man pulled faux “all-nighters” at the warehouse so he could observe. We know there are two at night, with one posted in front of the vault door at all times. If he needs a break to eat or take a piss, the other guard relieves him. Whoever isn’t guarding the door patrols the second floor but will often come down to talk to the other. The tricky thing is they don’t have too much of a definable pattern other than when they take their half-hour ‘lunch’ breaks around one and one-thirty AM respectively. There’s a breakroom upstairs where they eat, and one of the guards is in there now.

  We decided to strike right after that, even though it’s usually when one guard will do a perimeter walk on the second floor.

  Tasked with dispatching that guard, Saint will inject the man with a sleepy-time drug William provided. Because of that, he will stay up here to wait on his chance.

  Silently, Saint pulls a small device that came from Bebe out of his utility belt. It’s rectangular, no more than four inches in length, and has a thin, rubberized antenna. There’s a button on the side. When Saint depresses it, a red light starts to blink, which means the security camera feeds have been frozen. Neither guard watches the feeds as they seem to prefer to walk around, so unless one changes up their routine, it shouldn’t be noticed. As of this moment, the cameras have ceased recording. Our heist will not be memorialized if all goes as it should.

  More importantly, though, is its ability to jam the motion sensors as well, although we’re going to hit them with rubberized spray as an added protection measure.

  Saint’s eyes catch mine, and I can clearly read his plea. Be careful.

  I nod and start to turn away, but his hand on my arm stops me. I shift his way, only to find him right in my face… and then his mouth is on mine. Saint presses a hand to the back of my head, holding me in place for a fierce but short kiss, which speaks volumes. Please be careful. I don’t want to lose you.

  Bringing my gloved hand to his cheek, I take a chance and mouth, “I love you.”

  Saint’s eyes warm, but I don’t give him a chance to respond. Silently, I pull away and leave the office we’re in.

  I’m not sure if he would have said the words back, but I can’t worry about that now. All I know is I can’t live my life with a single regret, and nothing is guaranteed. I could be killed or arrested before the night is through, and I need him to know how I feel.

  The second floor is a balcony of perimeter offices that look down at the open middle space on the first floor where the massive vault resides. It’s a poor security measure, but they don’t keep the lights on. Instead, they rely on ambient wall sconces on the second floor. It lets me stick to the shadows as I make my way to the staircase at the back of the vault. Every motion sensor I come to, I hit it with the spray Dozer provided, which coats the eye with a thin layer of opaque silicone, making it impossible to see anything if the jammer stops working. I peer over the balcony railing as I creep my way along, watching the vault guard sitting in a chair reading a magazine.

  He’s not alert to the danger I present, but then why would he be? The Diamond Warehouse believes its valuables are adequately protected by having someone with a gun sit directly in front of the door. As a backup, it relies heavily on the magnetized alarm if that door does somehow open. Frankly, the people in charge of security have become complacent. But that is the sole reason most heists occur.

  People don’t think it will happen to them, so they let their proverbial guard down.

  I make it to the staircase, then silently descend. When I reach the bottom, I hug the long side of the vault, creeping toward the guard. There are three motion sensors along the way, and I give them each a shot of spray. However Dozer engineered the cans, the spray emits without the slightest hiss. At the corner, I can see the guard’s leg sticking out from where he sits in the chair.

  Quietly inhaling a deep breath, I reach for the syringe in my utility belt. Frankly, this is the scariest part—knowing I have to physically attack this man to be able to access the vault.

  I wait, keeping my breaths shallow and noiseless, while Saint handles the guard on the second floor.

  It only takes a couple of minutes, but it seems like a lifetime as I wait for him to come down the stairs and move along the opposite side of the vault from me. Not taking my eyes off the guard’s leg in case he decides to move, I don’t see Saint. Instead, I have to trust he’s done his part.

  And then I hear it… the sound of something hitting the wooden floor on the other side of the vault.

  Saint’s distraction.

  “Laurent?” the guard says hesitantly, presumably calling the other man’s name.

  Silence.

  The guard stands and I creep forward a bit, carefully peeking around the corner. He’s looking in the direction the sound came from, which means his back is to me.

  He takes a hesitant step that way, not seeming overly alarmed as he’s still holding his magazine and doesn’t even move a hand toward his gun.

  When he shuffles forward once more, it’s my cue to move, silently gliding up behind him. With absolutely no hesitation, I jab the needle into the side of his neck and depress the plunger. As William promised, the guard immediately goes down. I grab him as best I can to lower him silently to the floor.

  I let out an audible sigh of relief, my heart hammering so hard it feels like it’s going to jump out of my chest. As I take in a few deep breaths, Saint appears from around the other corner of the vault.

  Now onto what I consider the easy stuff… cracking the combo locks and removing the magnet plate. Way more up my alley than attacking someone with a syringe.

  “You okay?” he murmurs as I drop to one knee to remove my backpack.

  I nod as I take out the robotic arm, setting the pieces on the floor. Saint will put it together while I work on the combo locks. “That was a little scary.”

  “You did great,” he replies as he kneels beside me. He unpacks the drill—ironically, it has a diamond bit—that will cut through the steel of the vault. It can’t be completed until after I finish the combos since I can’t have the competing noise messing me up.

  We don’t talk, both having important work to complete. I straighten, move to the vault, and flex my fingers. Stepping in close, I put my ear right near the first combo wheel and place my fingers on it. Sucking in a breath, I then let it out slowly. I don’t breathe back in. Instead, I start to slowly turn the knob while I listen, letting my fingers feel for the tiniest sensation of the wheel sticking.

  In less than a minute, I have the first number, which I whisper to Saint. “Twenty-nine.”

  “Got it,” he replies. He’s in charge of keeping up with the numbers. Three wheels, three numbers each. I can’t hold all those in my memory and keep focused.

  My lips curl slightly at how good a team we make.

  I move on to the next number.

  ♦

  It takes me almost eighteen minutes to crack all three combos. Another three minutes for Saint to drill through the vault while I calibrate the robotic arm and make sure it’s a solid connection to the small TV screen I’ll be watching. I manage my best time yet at removing the magnetic plate—forty-four seconds—which I think is a testament to the fact I work best under pressure.

  Even though we’ve done everything perfectly so far while operating on the best intelligence we could have hoped for by having an inside man, it’s still incredibly nerve-racking when I depress the lever to op
en the vault door and start to pull it open. We have no clue if there’s an added security measure inside we don’t know about, and Saint and I are prepared to flee if need be.

  Instead, we’re met with a soft whoosh of air as the interior depressurizes, then we’re treated to the sight of over a hundred metal lockboxes filled with precious gems.

  Pulling out our lock-pick guns, we both start the process. The boxes pop open easily. It takes me emptying the first four boxes before the brilliance of the gemstones stops dazzling me. Mostly diamonds… but there are stones in every color of the rainbow and some elaborate pieces of jewelry.

  We don’t bother checking loose stones as they won’t be chipped, but Saint runs the scanner over every piece of jewelry to see if it’s been marked with a GPS unit. He pulls the chips off every necklace, bracelet, and earring he finds with the exception of a diamond-and-ruby necklace that has multiple layers. The GPS unit is sophisticated and small, and he deliberately leaves it on. It’s how the police will be able to find Mercier later. Saint makes sure it goes to the bottom of the nylon bag, so it’s not easily accessible after we hand over the loot.

  It takes us about an hour to make it through the boxes, with both of us working as quickly as possible. I’m pouring sweat by the time we empty the last box into our backpacks, which are stuffed full.

  Unbelievable… four hundred million euros reduced to two nylon backpacks with two wily thieves to carry them out.

  Finally, Saint pulls out the bubble protector jammer thingy Bebe built, then hits the first of two buttons on the side. A chime sounds, and a steady red light illuminates on the top. That supposedly means the GPS signal is now currently jammed. Saint will remove that once we get close to the chateau.

  We’ll leave the remainder of the GPS chips right where we piled them as we removed them from the jewelry. It won’t stop the cops from trying to track the loot. They’re going to hope the thieves missed one. And, of course, they’ll be delighted to find one still working. As long as Mercier doesn’t have better tech than we do, the cops should follow the trail straight to his chateau to find him in possession of it all. By then, Saint and I should be long gone—if all goes well. I try to fight off the hoard of butterflies trying to take up residence in my belly. This is not the time to let nerves get the best of me.

  “You ready?” he asks, glancing up.

  I am. Backpack on, belt in the front pulled tight so it doesn’t move. The trip out of the vents back to the roof will be tight.

  When I nod, he smiles.

  We’re in the home stretch now, but I don’t let myself feel the giddiness that comes after a completed job. Not yet. We still have to make it out of here—not to mention the hand off with Mercier…

  Saint and I move swiftly across the warehouse floor to the front staircase, then back to the office that holds the air vent that is our escape route. We don’t spare a glance at the sleeping guard we left behind, and we don’t bring any of our tools. Our fingerprints have been protected by gloves. Nothing can be traced, and we don’t care if they learn our trade secrets. This is our last job, and retirement beckons us forward.

  Saint has me enter the vent first, and I shimmy my way through it. When we exit onto the roof, I get that first rush of joy that we’re close to pulling this off. Even though I’m leaving this life behind, I have a moment of self-pride over what I’ve accomplished, because this will be the biggest heist of all time.

  We cross the roof, jump to the safety of the one beside The Diamond Warehouse, and then head down the exterior fire escape that leads into the back alley. We stick to the shadows as we maneuver almost six blocks away to where we’d parked our car in a dark back alley beside a dumpster.

  Saint hurries to the driver’s door while I go to the passenger’s side. We both shrug out of our backpacks, open the doors to get in, and take a moment to look at each other over the car roof.

  I grin, the giddiness hitting me hard now.

  Except… Saint doesn’t smile back.

  Instead, his face is almost sorrowful.

  His eyes never leave mine, not even when I sense someone directly behind me. Whatever that presence is… whoever it is… Saint doesn’t pay it any mind, and yet… I know someone is there.

  For a split second, we stare at each other. I’ve already realized there’s nowhere for me to go—no room to maneuver or fight. When I feel the slight pinprick in my neck, everything becomes instantly clear. Saint doesn’t acknowledge whoever is behind me because he’d been expecting this. As I start to lose consciousness, I realize my part in this heist is over because Saint declared it so.

  CHAPTER 25

  Saint

  Cruce pulls the needle out of Sin’s neck. It’s a dose that won’t keep her down long—just enough to get her a few hours away from Paris.

  I’ll never forget Sin’s face as she looked across the car’s roof. Ecstatic joy melting into an awareness that something was wrong—that something ominous was about to happen—and then pure betrayal as she realized what I’d done to her.

  As she realized I’d made the decision to take her out of the game without giving her any choice in the matter.

  Some would say—well, Sin would say—I did this as a means to get even with her for doing the same to me all those years ago. I disagree. I have no need to seek revenge against the woman I love. I did it for the same reasons she did, because I want to protect what’s mine.

  And besides… I tried to talk to her about it. I tried to get her to back away. I offered her multiple options to keep her safe, yet she chose to stay deep in the danger with me. Some may call me a control freak or misogynistic or a caveman, but if keeping her safe means I have to take matters into my own hands, then so be it. She’ll have to get over it.

  Sin struggles to stay conscious, but it’s useless. Her eyes roll back in her head and she collapses, only for Cruce to catch her as he drops the syringe. He hoists her limp body up, then deftly deposits her right into the passenger seat. I round the front of the car as he leans in to put the seat belt on her.

  When he straightens, I hand him the car keys and he fishes in his pocket for a set he drops into my palm. “Silver Peugeot parked three blocks back,” he says.

  I bend, nab Sin’s diamond-filled backpack, and sling it over my shoulder. Pausing, I spare Sin a brief glance. Her head is slumped to the side, her face pinched even in unconsciousness. She’s going to be so pissed when she wakes up.

  “You able to get everything I asked for?” I ask Cruce as I shut the passenger door.

  “It’s all in the trunk,” he says, then gives me a worried look. “You sure about doing this? Because right now, you and Sin could disappear with four hundred million.”

  I blink in surprise. “You’d want me to do that? Take the diamonds and run?”

  His expression is incredulous. “How can you not consider it? That’s a lot of fucking money.”

  I look down at Sin. It would give us a new life, free from having to worry ever again. Her dad could come with us, and we could have an amazing life together.

  “Would you do it?” I ask without taking my eyes off her.

  “I’d think about it,” he murmurs, but it’s not an answer.

  “But would you?” I press. I value Cruce’s opinion, and he’d brought up something I hadn’t even considered once.

  He hesitates before shaking his head. “No. I wouldn’t do it. Got too much going for me that’s worth more than money.”

  He’s talking about Barrett. Probably Jameson, too. It’s a new family of sorts for us both.

  And like Cruce, I have too much going for me now to consider a life on the run, no matter how wealthy I could be. I want to be legit—want to have a life with the woman I love. Kids and dogs and white picket fences.

  I want it all—and no amount of diamonds could ever make up for the loss of those pleasures.

  I nod down at Sin. “Take care of her. And be ready… she might come out of that drug swinging. She’s nasty in a fig
ht. and will cheat. Protect your balls and eyes.”

  Cruce snorts. “Thanks for the warning.”

  I stick out my hand. When he takes it, I pull him into a half hug. “I can’t ever repay you for helping me out like this.”

  “I seem to recall you helping me rescue Barrett. We’re even, brother.”

  We pull apart, and Cruce smiles. “Stay safe and good luck.”

  I nod and pivot on my heel, heading down the alley to where he indicated he’d parked the Peugeot. Now that Sin is safe, I’m ready to finish with Mercier.

  I find the car exactly where Cruce said it would be. In the shadows of the alley, I open the trunk and grin at Cruce’s ingenuity. I put on the vest and jacket he provided before once again checking to make sure the red light still emanates from the reverse jammer.

  If Mercier does as I suspect, he’s going to try to utilize a jammer of his own on the bags to disable any GPS chips left behind in case I “missed” something. Due to Bebe’s ingenuity, that will activate my reverse jammer and start the GPS signal again, as well as protect it from further jamming. There will be no way to stop the police from finding him short of him discovering the chip left on the ruby necklace and destroying it.

  That’s where luck will play in. I have to assume it will take him a bit of time to check all the jewels by hand.

  The drive to Seine-et-Marne seems to take forever, even though I’m not necessarily eager for this confrontation. It could end badly for me, but it has to be done. It’s my job… my mission.

  While Malik went missing, and Jimmy and Sal gave their lives, in service to Jameson, I have my own contribution to make to this company by facing my own brand of danger right now.

  When I make it to Mercier’s chateau, I’m surprised to find it lit up as if he’s having a huge party, yet it appears deserted at the same time. The pebbled circular driveway crunches under the Peugeot’s tires. I take a settling breath as I bring the car to a stop and cut the ignition.