Firewall (24 page)

Liv had chosen some good woolen outer gloves for us, as well as a pair of thin cotton contact gloves, so I could manipulate the door lock or whatever without my bare hands freezing onto the metal. There was also a pair of sneakers for me to wear, from which I cut out the reflective heel piece. I hadn't ordered any for Tom; he had his daps. We would put them on just before entering the house. Heavy-soled boots make noise and drag in snow, leaving sign. The outside world needs to stay out there.

I found the bag of six-inch nails, some lengths of one-inch thick nylon webbing and a handful of metal washers. The length of wood was exactly as specified. I couldn't help laughing to myself at the thought of Liv in a hardware store. She probably hadn't even known these places existed.

There was a neat little hacksaw in a cardboard and plastic shrinkwrap.

I ripped it out of its packaging and used it to cut half a dozen six-inch lengths of wood.

Liv had done her work well; the washers went over the six-inch nails and were stopped by the nail head. I slipped two washers over each, since they would be taking quite a strain.

Fifteen minutes later, I had six fist-sized lumps of wood, each with a nail hammered through. The nail had then been bent into an acute angle about halfway along with pliers, so the whole thing looked a bit like a docker's hook. The exposed metal of the nail, apart from the bit at the bend and about half a centimeter either side of it, had then been covered with rubber bands to eliminate noise when they were used. Tom and I would use one hook in each hand and carry one each as a spare.

The dark-green two-inch webbing was meant for strapping skis to a roof rack. I cut four six-foot lengths of it, knotting together the ends of each so that I ended up with four loops. These I put to one side with the hooks, away from the chaos around me. The climbing kit was ready.

Liv had been right: The old ways sometimes are the best, and this method took a lot of beating. It was a little gem from the files of MI9, created during World War Two when they were asked to think up new ideas and design equipment so that POWs could escape from their camps and travel through occupied Europe to safety. They came up with silk maps, sandwiched between the thin layers of a playing card and sent in Red Cross parcels. They even changed the design of R.A.F uniforms to make them easily convertible into civilian clothes. This hook-and-loop device, easy to make and easy to use, was just one of the many ideas they'd come up with for scaling POW camp fences. It had worked for them; I hoped it was going to work for us.

Next I unwrapped the Polaroid camera and four packs of film. Once a film was inserted, I took a quick test shot of my foot. The camera was working fine. I stripped the other three films of their wrapping. Each cartridge of film contained its own battery power source, but batteries tend to get sluggish in cold weather, and I couldn't afford for that to happen. To keep them warm I'd make sure I kept them close to my body.

Once we'd put on our sneakers and I'd made entry, I would take pictures of wherever we were on target, camera noise and flash permitting. On a covert operation, everything has to be left exactly as you find it.

People notice straightaway when something is not precisely where it should be. It could be something obvious, like a folded rug that has suddenly been laid flat, but more often it's something almost indefinable that compromises the job; they just feel instinctively that something is wrong. Maybe their pen isn't in the position they always leave it, even by as little as half an inch; or the morning sunlight isn't shining through the blinds exactly how it normally does, lighting up half the desk; or some dust has been disturbed. We might not consciously notice these things, but our subconscious does; it takes in every detail and tries to tell us. We aren't always clever enough to understand, but we feel that something isn't right. A switched-on target will know that even an out-of-place paper clip constitutes a drama, and will take whatever action he feels is called for.

The fact that people would be on target gave this job a high chance of compromise, but I couldn't let it affect the way I thought about what I needed to do, just the way I planned it. I'd been successful on similar jobs in the past, so why should this one be any different?

Thinking about making entry reminded me to charge up the electric toothbrush. I went into my bathroom and plugged it into the outlet.

Back in the living room, I picked up the set of Alien keys. A large metal ring held about twenty of the things, in order of size. I chose the smallest one and eased it off the ring.

The room was beginning to look like Santa's workshop, with sawdust, ripped packaging, plastic bags, clothes tags, and me sitting in the middle of it all.

The Alien key had a right-angle bend about half an inch from the end.

With the pliers and hammer I straightened it out until the angle was more like forty-five degrees than ninety, being careful not to snap the soft steel. Then, having ripped the metal file from its shrinkwrap, I started to round off the end of the shorter section. It only took about ten minutes. Going downstairs to the main door, I slipped it into the cylinder lock to check. It fitted perfectly.

Back in Santa's workshop I opened the pack of Isopon and mixed equal amounts of resin and hardener from both tubes on a piece of cardboard.

I took it and the Alien key back to the bathroom. Not many minutes later the key was fixed firmly to the oscillating steel shaft of the toothbrush, the bit the brush head would normally fit onto. When I'd watched the door of the target house being kicked closed, no keys had been turned, it had just been shut and left, which suggested that the lock was a Yale-type cylinder. This gadget should do the trick.

Bringing back two white hand towels I sat on the floor and started to file another Alien key the same way. What I had made with the toothbrush and first Alien key was a makeshift Yale gun, a device that simulates a key by manipulating the pins inside a lock. The oscillation of the toothbrush shaft would move the Alien key tip up and down strongly onto the pins. With any luck it would displace them long enough for the lock to be opened. If not, it would be down to the old way. Still using the Alien key on the toothbrush, but with no oscillation this time, I would have to push up one pin at a time, then hold it there while I attacked the next one in line. For this a second Alien key was needed, and that was what I was busy filing down. Once I had attacked the second pin I would simply move the other Alien key along, so that it held both pins up, then keep on going until, in theory, I could open the door that was if it wasn't bolted on the inside, of course. Which it probably would be if they had even one brain cell allocated to security.

It took me another hour to finish preparing the kit and packing it into a medium-sized dark-blue backpack. Everything was wrapped in my nice white towels, so as not to make any noise, or get smashed by the bolt cutters, the handles of which were sticking out each side of the top flap.

Tom wouldn't be needing a backpack. The only kit he'd have with him was the Think Pad and cables in their carry bag.

Liv emerged from her hallway. By now the jumper was off, and she was in her tight jeans and a white T-shirt no bra. That would have been interesting a couple of nights ago, but now I was getting on with the job. The circumstances had changed.

She surveyed the mess as coolly as ever. "Having fun?"

I nodded. "Want to get Tom in to see what toys I've made for him?"

She walked past me to the main room and I got to my feet. I was still brushing off sawdust when they both reappeared.

Tom laughed. "Tell you what, mate. Lego would have been easier!"

I smiled my yes-very-funny smile. "Tom, I'm going to show you how to use this stuff." I pointed at the hooks and straps by the sofa.

Tom watched Liv disappear into the kitchen.

"There's your clothes, mate. You're going to need a bit more on than you bought yesterday."

He picked up the contact gloves and tried them on. "Hey, Nick, I'll wear my silk stuff underneath and be a bit kinky, eh?"

I smiled. As far as I was concerned silk thermals were about as much use as paper lifejackets. Mr. Helly Hansen's stuff was the one for me.

He pointed down at the hooks and straps. "Go on then, what are they for?"

When I explained, he looked a bit taken aback. "We'll be like fucking Spiderman, or what?" His head jutted, but not as confidently as normal.

"You sure you'll be all right doing this, Tom? Have you climbed before?"

"Sure I have." He thought about that for a second. "Can I have a practice?"

" "Fraid not, mate. There isn't anywhere."

He picked up one of the hooks and twanged a rubber band. "Is this the only way, Nick? I mean "

"Listen, this is the only thing you've got to do for yourself.

Everything else I'll do for you." I broke into a whisper, as if we were in a conspiracy that I didn't want Liv to join. "Remember, we're in for a lot of money here."

He seemed to spark up a bit and I felt quite proud of my little speech.

The coffee arrived well, for Liv and me. The string of one of Tom's newly purchased herbal tea bags was hanging over the rim of the third mug. We sat down, Tom at my side.

"Okay," I said, "what I want to do now is explain exactly how we're going to get into, and out of, this place with your" I looked at Liv as she pulled her feet up onto the sofa "box of tricks."

There was no need to set out the various phases military style, as if I was briefing an orders group, running through all the actions-on for each phase. It would be counterproductive: I didn't want Tom to have so much stuff floating around in his head that I ended up confusing him. If he got muddled he might get even more scared. He didn't have to know why, just how.

I unfolded the map and pointed at the key locations with a pen. "This is where we're going to park. Then we're going to walk down here." I ran my pen down the marked track as he took small, sharp sips of his tea. "Once we get to the area of the house, we climb the fence using the hooks and straps. Then I'll get us into the house and you can do your stuff. After that, it's out of there the same way. I'll tell you exactly what to do and when to do it. If you see or hear anything different, or there's a drama, stop doing whatever it is you're up to and stay exactly where you are. I'll be there to tell you what to do.

Okay?"

"Okay."

"I want to leave dead on nine, so you need to be ready fifteen minutes before. If the weather's good, we'll be in Helsinki before first light. Then we'll organize the exchange."

This time they both nodded.

"Okay, now I'm going to get something to eat and then crash out for a couple of hours, and I suggest you do the same."

I was going to treat him like an ET (escort to target), telling him only what he needed to know, and if there was a drama, all he had to do was stand still, I would be there to take action and tell him what to do. The less the person you're looking after has to think about, the better.

I stood up and nodded a see-you-later to them both as I went to the kitchen for some of the cheese and cold cuts in the fridge. Tom left for his room.

As well as not telling Tom too much to save confusing him, I also didn't want to scare him by suggesting anything about dramas, let alone the problems we were likely to have with the snow. Once people get negative thoughts into their heads their imaginations go into hyper drive and they start to panic. Every noise or shadow becomes a major event, which slows down the job and also increases the chance of a compromise. Tom already knew what to do if we got split up, without realizing it: get himself to Helsinki train station. He had enough money in that bag to charter a private jet home.

I started to pull the fridge to bits, throwing all sorts onto a plate.

I'd have loved to have left right away and be on target before it had a chance to snow, but what was the point, we couldn't get in until people were asleep. I knew better than to worry any more about the job; it only gets you all keyed up, too keen to get on with it, then you hit the target before the time is right and fuck up.

I headed for my bedroom with the food, picking at it as I went. Liv had gone. Once on my bed, I started visualizing again exactly what I was going to do, with some more what-ifs, except that now in my film it had started to snow.

There was a knock on the door. I looked at Baby G. I must have been asleep for three hours.

The door opened and Tom appeared, his long hair dangling over his shoulders. "Got a minute, mate?"

"Sure, come in." As if I was going anywhere.

He came and sat on the bed, looking down and chewing his bottom lip.

"I'm worried about this hook thing. Look, to tell you the truth, I ain't never done anything like that before, know what I mean? What happens if I can't do it? You know… if I get it all wrong?"

I sat up. His shoulders were hunched and his hair covered his face.

"Tom, no drama. Don't worry about it; it's all in the legs." I stood up. "This is how easy it is." Putting my hands above my head, I bent my knees and slowly lowered myself all my ass was level with the floor, then lifted up again. "Not exactly difficult, is it? Can you do that?"

He nodded. "S'pose so."

"Come on, let's see you, then."

As he lowered himself toward the floor, knees cracking and creaking, he looked and sounded very uncertain, but he managed to do it.

I gave an encouraging smile. "That's all you need to do. If your legs can do that later on, we're home free. But remember, small movements.

No more than a foot at a time, okay?"

"Small movements. Gotcha." He didn't look convinced.

"Just do what I do. Like I said, no drama."

"You sure?"

"Positive."

He bit his lip again. "I don't want to mess things up… you know, get caught or whatever. You know, what we talked about last night."

"You won't. Fucking hell, kids do this for fun. I used to do it when I was a kid, trying to skip school." The school I was talking about was reform school, and I only wished I'd known this little trick at the time. I would have been out of that shithole lickety-split. "Tom, relax. Have a bath, do anything you want. Try your clothes on. Just don't worry about it. The only time to worry is when I look worried, okay?"