11 Harrowhouse (28 page)

It was perhaps amateurish, certainly audacious, for Chesser, Maren, and Weaver to make their attempt on such a night. Actually they'd been misled by the official weather forecast, which had predicted mere cloudiness with only a twenty-per-cent chance of showers and no mention of high winds. Perhaps that afternoon these winds had been headed in a different direction. Anyway, by the time Chesser, Maren, and Weaver realized the extent of the handicap, they were committed.

The two huge dump trucks marked Marylebone, Ltd., were parked strategically close to the rear of number 13, and the unit was brought in and up to the second floor along with the cumbersome coil of hose.

More important, Watts was already locked within The System's subterranean vault.

At exactly five twenty-five that afternoon he had gone to the sorting area on the first subterranean level. Five thirty was quitting time and all the classifiers were preparing to leave. Watts usually remained a while to avoid the delay at the door on Harrowhouse, the only way in or out of number 11. There was always a jam-up of fifty or more at quitting time.

But this day at five thirty Watts went with the others, rode the elevator up to the main foyer, where The System's secretaries and various office workers were already a shuffling crowd, eager to get to the door and be through. Their flow was restricted by the narrow width of the door itself, and by Miller of Security Section, who was checking everyone out.

Watts looked ahead and observed Miller's procedure. Miller had a personnel list on a clipboard, marking departures according to the faces that passed by him in twos and threes, irregularly. Watts saw how automatically Miller was doing it, no doubt from having done it so many times before.

Watts had counted on that. He reached the door simultaneously with two of his fellow workers.

Miller's eyes recognized him.

Watts hesitated there.

Miller's eyes left Watts and went to the list.

And, during that moment, Watts stepped aside and busied himself with adjusting his hat while those who had been behind him filled in, continued the flow, became the faces for Miller's attention.

Watts turned partly away and glanced aside at Miller; saw through the spaces between those now going out that Miller was entirely preoccupied. Apparently, as far as Miller was concerned, Watts had gone, checked out.

Watts went back along the fringe of the remaining crowd, entered the elevator, and took it down to the vault, where he remained.

At precisely six, he watched the vault's automatic door close and heard the electronically controlled tumblers of its internal locking mechanism click its intricate combinations. He had three hours for preparations. Ample time. He had purposely not read the
Morning Telegraph
that day, had brought the newspaper with him to enjoy during his spare time. But now he again postponed reading it, decided he'd first do what was expected of him.

He took off his suit jacket and hung it over the back of a chair. From a pocket he removed a pair of ordinary gloves, a sterling penknife with his initials engraved on it, a small roll of electrician's black tape, and a two-hundred-foot length of five-hundred-pound test nylon fishing line gathered into a compact circle. He got down on the floor, disconnected the cord of the Diamondlite from the wall outlet and used the dull edge of the knife's blade to twist out the single bolt that held the outlet's face-plate in position. He did it with care not to make any marks. He placed the face-plate and its retaining bolt on the floor nearby where he could easily locate it when the time came for that. Then he slipped on the gloves for insulation and went to work on the outlet box itself, unscrewing the pair of bolts that held the double-plug unit in place. No trouble. He released the wires connected to it and placed the plug on the floor.

Next he taped the two exposed ends of the wires, so they wouldn't contact and cause a short. He made the ends of the wire into a loop. He tied the fish line into a loop and led it through the loop of wires, so the wires and the fish line were securely attached. He placed the fish line on the floor, right there, ready.

For the next hour and fifteen minutes he prepared the cabinets that contained the sorted diamonds. He pulled out the many wide, shallow drawers to leave them all in open position. The drawers were well-balanced, made with ball bearings, and came out easily, smoothly.

That done, Watts took notice of the time. He had just a little less than half an hour. He sat and relaxed with the newspaper.

At that moment Weaver was unlatching the horizontal door to the roof of number 13. He pushed it up, and the wind nearly tore it from his hands. Weaver and Maren climbed out onto the roof and found out how really bad the wind was. They stood with legs wide and tried to lean into it to keep their balance, but it was sporadic, blowing with varying intensities from one direction and then another so there was no way to dependably compensate for it.

Chesser came up with the end of the hose. Weaver took it and began pulling it up swiftly hand over hand. The wind caught the hose, and Chesser and Maren had to control it by pressing it down onto the surface of the roof with their bodies. When enough of the hose was pulled up, Weaver took the free end of it to the fence and secured it there. He bent open the section of fence.

Chesser told Maren, “There's no need for all of us to go across.”

She glanced at the roof of number 11, at the drain gutter.

“Let's go together,” she said.

Part of Chesser wanted to argue about that, wanted her as safe as possible. But another part told him that was the best way to go. Together.

Chesser went first. Maren was right behind him. He could sense her there, and it helped, just as it helped her to have him leading the way.

The wind was their enemy now, a deadly, unpredictable element that slapped against them like a powerful, invisible hand, pushing one moment, pulling the next, swirling and sucking, letting go all at once only to come smashing back again with renewed force.

They inched across the narrow drain gutter, making more progress during the intermittent lulls. A fall either way meant death. They didn't step foot over foot, as they'd done before. Now they slid their feet along the drain, maintaining contact with it, front foot forward a length, back foot forward an equal distance. Slowly.

When there was a little more than a yard to go, Chesser had the desire to leap the rest of the way, just lunge and grab for safety. He didn't because he thought it might cause Maren to lose balance, the suddenness of it. So he continued to slide his feet until he was across. He immediately turned and reached for her and she got his arm and he pulled her to him.

They held against one another. “I love you,” he said. He'd never meant it more than at this moment.

“I know,” she said.

A blast of wind hit them with reality. They kneeled together and began removing the bricks.

There was the pipe containing the five electrical conduits. Maren shined her flashlight to determine which of the corrugated tubes bore the adhesive strip marked with pink. They undid the tape from that one, exposing the pair of wires it contained. Chesser worked the wires up with his fingers until he had enough to grasp. He pulled hard. The wires came. Hand over hand he brought them up the corrugated tube, feeding them to Maren, who gathered them. Finally, there was the end of the wires, and with it the fish line that Watts had attached. Now they were ready for the hose.

The plan had been merely to lead the hose across the roof, but now the wind prevented that. Weaver improvised. While Chesser and Maren were busy extracting the wires, Weaver had searched the rooms of number 13 and found some adequately heavy twine left by the Marylebone workmen. Several pieces, which he knotted together. He tied one end of the twine to the hose and the other to a wrench. He knew he'd have only one chance. If the wrench fell short onto the roof of number 11 it would set off the alarm.

Weaver took a wide stance and whirled the wrench above his head. When it had enough momentum, he released. The twine played out. The wrench cleared the near fence, spun and fought the wind above the roof of number 11 and, by inches, cleared the opposite fence which separated number 11 from the next adjacent rooftop. Chesser retrieved it, untied it, and pulled the twine to him until he had the end of the hose in hand. He pulled the hose across, not without difficulty, because the wind snapped and twisted it erratically.

Meanwhile, with methodical caution, Maren disconnected the fish line from the wires.

Chesser removed the twine from the end of the hose and Maren secured the fish line in its place.

From her pocket Maren brought out a tiny brass pellet. She dropped it into the corrugated tube. Hopefully it would communicate a signal to Watts, seven floors below. It did. In a few seconds the fish line went taut. Chesser fitted the end of the hose into the corrugated tube. For some reason it wasn't as snug a fit as it had been in rehearsal. It slipped in easily. Weaver played it across and Chesser and Maren guided it in and down.

Below, in the vault, Watts kept just enough pressure on the line to help bring the hose down. When the tip of the hose appeared in the hole of the wall socket, Watts guided it out and detached the line. He carefully gauged how much pull he should apply to the hose and, as it came to him, he arranged it on the floor in a neat coil, the same as he usually did at home with his gardening hose when he'd finished watering his lawn or roses.

After a while he decreased his pull, judging that he now had nearly all the hose they could allow him. And, yes, the hose soon went taut. Watts hoped he had enough. To determine that he picked up the end of the hose and walked it down an aisle to the farthest end of the vault. He found it reached, with some to spare. He put its open end against the palm of his hand. Nothing. He waited what seemed a long time and feared that it wouldn't work, now, after all this. But then he suddenly felt the suction begin. He tested it again on the skin of his palm and it was strong.

Watts had a lot to do. He began at the far end of the vault, the top drawer first. Perfect white stones of highest quality, all of eight carats, give or take a point or two. Watts knew exactly how fine they were; he had classified them. They lay crowded in the wide drawer, completely covering its black-velour inner lining. Watts extended the end of the hose to the diamonds and sucked them up. Until the drawer was empty. He pushed it closed and proceeded with the next. And the next, and the next.

Above, Maren and Chesser tended the hose where it emerged from the conduit, while Weaver was on the second floor of number 13 looking after the unit. The unit was much like a very powerful industrial vacuum device, except it was specially constructed to receive and discharge simultaneously. In that manner it was more like a pump. The hose that came down from the roof conveyed the diamonds into the unit. Coupled to the unit, on its opposite side, was the hose that evacuated the stones. This hose was directed out one of the second-floor windows and down to one of the dump trucks parked in the Mews. The truck was enclosed by canvas over a high frame. In the top center of the canvas was a hole through which the hose fed, and blankets had been spread on the bed of the truck to inhibit noise.

The first diamonds fell into the truck at precisely ten twenty-three
P.M.

At two
A.M.
the diamonds stopped flowing. Weaver thought something had gone wrong, but then decided it was only because Watts was taking a break. That was correct. In ten minutes the flow resumed.

By six
A.M.
Watts was extremely tired. He had to take another rest. His legs ached, his arms and shoulders burned with fatigue. His eyes felt as though they were shrunk and asking too much of the muscles that held them in place.

He sat on the floor. He looked at some of the cabinets he'd emptied, their drawers now closed. He lay back on the floor, stretching, and tried to go limp. But he had too much tension. He told himself it would be all over very soon.

Less than an hour to go. And he still had a lot of work. He hadn't labored this hard in years. He hadn't thought it would require this much energy. He got up, stiff from having rested, and began on the drawer of a cabinet he knew contained unusual pink stones. Fancies, they were called. He saw them disappear under the suck of the hose, giving the illusion they were dissolving.

Watts was determined to finish. He hurried, but didn't sacrifice efficiency. At five minutes to seven the hose sucked up the final diamond from the final drawer. He suddenly felt better. He wished it were possible to take the larger stones. They were all that remained. The rest of the cabinets were empty. Ninety-five per cent of The System's inventory had been cleaned out.

Watts fastened the fish line to the end of the hose.

At seven
A.M.
Chesser and Maren pulled the hose up and transferred the line to the wires. Watts pulled the wires down, untaped their ends, attached them to their connections, and bolted them into place. He rolled the used tape into a tight ball and wound the fish line over his fingers, knotting it compactly. He shoved both into his trouser pocket. He screwed the face-plate into position and plugged in the Diamondlite. Then he put on his suit jacket and sat where he usually sat.

Outside, the wind had gone, as though despite all its wild blustering it was afraid of the sun. Dawn was coming. The eastern sky was announcing it with some mauve.

Weaver pulled the hose across. Chesser and Maren replaced the bricks and came across the drain gutter, stepping swiftly now, confident as a pair of veteran performers. They bent the section of fence back and went down from the roof of number 13, latching the trap door, taking the hose and the unit down and out and tossing them into the back of one of the trucks.

Each of the two trucks contained about two tons of diamonds. Chesser and Maren got into the cabin of the lead truck. Weaver would drive the other. They started off. The rear end of Weaver's truck cleared the corner and was out of the Mews just in time. Five seconds later an authentic Marylebone plasterer in an authentic Marylebone vehicle turned into the Mews at the opposite end.