Meaner Things (13 page)

*

“Thank you very much,” I said with a smile. Building manager Daniel Boylan, tall, imperious, long greying hair swept back, had just handed me unhindered access to the building I planned to rob. I jangled the set of keys in my hand. So far, so good.

As far as Boylan was concerned, I was simply a new tenant filling a vacant office space on the twelfth floor of the building. No doubt he was pleased to have leased it so easily, to such an easy-going, non-quibbling tenant. I’d told him that I was involved in the jewellery wholesale business, importing and exporting via Asian markets. He hadn’t asked any questions. There were multiple businesses renting office space in the building, many of them dealing in similar ventures, so my explanation could not have sounded more mundane. As indeed it was intended to do.

I must admit, though, I was relieved at the easy way things had progressed. I had expected a bit more of an interrogation from the middle-aged, but bursting with energy, Boylan. I had spent tedious hours forging official-looking documents and had had glossy brochures printed up of non-existent products. In my briefcase I was carrying ‘samples’ – cheap tat for Boylan to look down his nose at, and over the last few days I’d swotted up on the Asian jewellery market. It had all been for nothing. Boylan seemed not remotely interested.

“Can I give you a tour of the facility?” Boylan asked.

“Yes, I think I’d better have that,” I replied, sending him my most affable and accommodating smile.

He led me through the foyer and, for some unknown reason, went through his sales spiel again. “This is a really smart choice for a merchant like you, Mr. Robie. At a very competitive rent you get an office in the heart of the downtown commercial district, conveniently located within a few blocks of almost any business or service you might require.”

Boylan droned on, reciting the building’s amenities, eyes gleaming behind his little wire glasses. I felt like screaming at him:
Shut
up
!
I’ve
already
rented
the
blasted
place
. But I kept silent and made sure my smile remained firmly cemented in place.

What I was really interested in, of course, was the building’s security features. The exact workings of which I’d have to find out for myself.

I’d already noted the video cameras positioned in the hallways. No attempt had been made to hide them from view. On the contrary, they had been positioned as obviously as possible in order to deter anyone walking around who might be contemplating theft. On the way to the elevators we passed a security room with glass-panelled walls, situated at an intersection in the main corridor, again for all to see. Through the glass I noted monitors displaying images of tenants coming and going. I’d have to walk past here again in the coming days, loiter a bit if I could, tie my patent leather shoes or whatever. Did the cameras record digital images on a computer hard drive or onto videotape? If it was an old system that hadn’t been updated, it would be the latter.

The difference was critical, and just one of many things I planned on discovering with my newly acquired access.

We took the elevator up to the twelfth floor, turned into a narrow hallway with doors on both sides – private offices similar to the one I was renting – and approached yet another video camera at the end of the corridor. Boylan unlocked door number 1207 and motioned me inside.

The office was plain as could be, with cream coloured walls that hadn’t seen fresh paint in years, and furnished with just a desk, an old metal filing cabinet, and a couple of chairs. Fluorescent tubes flickered and hummed overhead and the floor was covered in a brown commercial carpet. At least there was plenty of light: three windows overlooked a gravel alleyway and some overgrown vacant lots behind the building. Tenants on the other side enjoyed the better view and, no doubt, higher rents.

“Yes, this is more than satisfactory, thanks,” I told Boylan, expanding my smile a little more. “Good. I understand you’re also wishing to rent a safe deposit box?”

I nodded, as if he’d just reminded me of something relatively unimportant that nevertheless had to be attended to.

Boylan led me back to the elevator where he pressed the button for Floor -2, two levels underground.
The
vault
. I kept my breathing slow and measured. The doors slid open and we turned left into a foyer room. Unlike the main foyer above us, there had been no attempt to make this area plush and comfortable. On the contrary, the stark fluorescent light bouncing off the white walls and white tile floor made me think of an antiseptic surgery or operating theatre. Yet another Siemens video camera hung from the ceiling, sending television studio quality images up to the security room. I realised that, apart from the few minutes in my newly-rented office, there had not been a single moment since I’d entered the building when I was not being observed and my movements recorded.

“You have good security in this building,” I said. It was not really a question.

“The best,” Boylan replied, “Surveillance of course, and security guards on duty twenty-four seven.”

“I’ve seen a couple of your guards,” I replied, “Nice uniforms.”

“Armed too.”

“Bit American, eh? Is that legal in Canada?”

Boylan frowned and I made a mental note to lay off yanking his chain for a while. “Not normally in British Columbia, but we have a government permit allowing it. Our guards come under armoured car legislation.”

“I see.” It would be my luck to have to rob the only commercial building in the province with its own pistol-wielding security guards.

At the end of the room, taking up the entire wall, stood the vault. The massive door was wide open, extending out into the foyer. I’d expected it to be an impressive sight and it was: an enormous circle of gleaming brushed steel, thick cylindrical door bolts splayed all around the inside giving it the appearance of a giant, immovable wheel. A shallow ramp led over the lip of the door frame to an inner steel-grilled gate blocking entry to the vault itself.

“Impressive,” I murmured. What else could I possibly say?

No doubt Boylan had heard it a hundred times before. He rattled off the vault’s security features as we walked up to the gate. I peered through the bars into the vault while Boylan explained that the vault door was thirty centimetres thick and made of layered iron and steel.

“We keep the door open during business hours, Monday to Friday seven a.m. to seven p.m., but the day gate is always closed and locked. To get in you have to buzz the security room on the main floor. The intercom is right here.” He pointed to a box on the wall beside him. “A guard will check your credentials on the video monitor and press a button that will unlock the gate. Here, I’ll show you.”

I followed his lead and we both stared into the electronic eye of the video camera. There was a sharp click from the gate. He pushed it open and we stepped inside.

The vault was the size of a small room and almost perfectly square. It too was brightly lit with strip lighting along the low ceiling. It looked sparse, almost empty, apart from the rows of safe deposit boxes lining both walls.

“The one hundred boxes on the right are for Zheng Corporation use only,” Boylan explained, following my gaze. “But the boxes on the left wall are available for rental to office leaseholders.”

I looked away from Zheng’s side of the room and towards the wall where I was renting a box. The boxes on both sides were identical. Another crucial factor had just fallen into place. Each had a keyhole and three metal dials; tenants needed both the key to their box and an alphabetic combination of their own choosing to access their box’s contents.

I took a last quick look around the room. High up on the back wall, far away from the door, there was a combined motion detector and infrared light sensor. Even if I could get through the vault door, I wouldn’t be able to move inside the room itself without setting off one or both of these alarms. I wouldn’t even be able to turn on the light, much less crack open a hundred safes in the space of a few hours.

The vault was closed at seven p.m. each Friday evening and not opened again until seven a.m. on Monday morning. “No exceptions,” warned Boylan. “So best not to leave your passport in here if you’re flying over the weekend.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” I said, grinning inanely as if I’d just thought of a tremendously funny joke. “I wouldn’t want to have to break in here.”

Boylan gave a short staccato laugh. “Not much chance of that, Mr. Robie. Let me show you something.” We stepped outside the vault and stood in front of the enormous round door. “See this thing here?”

I nodded. He was pointing to what looked like a metal brick attached to the edge of the door.

“This is a magnetic alarm. Like the sensors inside the room, it’s monitored twenty-four seven by an offsite security company. When the door is closed, it connects to this other magnet bolted on the door jamb. Outside office hours, opening the door breaks the magnetic field, triggering the alarm.”

“Which no doubt brings the police running?”

“Within ten minutes, maximum.”

“Well, I’d best not leave my glasses in there on a Friday night, eh?” I gave him a friendly nudge with my elbow. “I’m blind as a bat without them, you know.”

He seemed amused by that thought too. “Perhaps one of the security guards will spot them and leave them out for you,” he replied. “There are always two on duty here overnight, after we lock up the vault.”

“So I can come here in the evenings and do some work?”

“Sure,” he replied, “Just not in the vault.” He gave the odd staccato laugh again.

*

I left the building early, as it wasn’t important to stay on my first day. At the end of the block I popped into a coffee shop I’d scouted earlier and sat in an alcove beside the door, where I couldn’t be seen from outside. I watched the next half-a-dozen customers come in: a young mother with two small kids; an elderly man in a smart suit; two ‘office secretary’ type women avidly gossiping; and a bald guy with tufty hair above his ears who reminded me of Jeffery Deaver. It was probably a bit paranoid to think that anyone from the Zheng Building might be following me, but I had to be sure. None of these people looked the part, so I strolled out the café’s side exit and walked several blocks towards Granville Street and the downtown core. Near the transit station I stepped into a busy A&W and sat near the washrooms at the back. I repeated my door surveillance, but nobody I recognised from the Zheng Building or the coffee shop came in.

I relaxed and went up to the counter, where a pretty Filipino girl was serving. I gave her my best smile.

“Hi, I’m the guy who left the backpack.”

She looked at me blankly.

“For pick up.”

Light dawned. “Oh yes, the backpack.” She fished around under the counter at the side and produced it.

“Thanks,” I said. For a geek who spent hours every day in his garage, Charlie’s contacts were surprisingly widespread. He’d arranged with the manager of this place, who apparently owed him a major favour, to store my backpack here every day for the next few weeks. No questions asked.

I entered the washroom, took off the wig and glasses and changed into the casual clothes I’d brought in the shoulder bag. Ignoring the Filipino girl as I left, I walked to the nearest bus stop and took the Canada Line home.

As soon as I got in the door I called Emma on my new secure cell phone. The three of us each now had a prepaid phone with an anonymous number that couldn’t be traced back to us.

“I’m in,” I said.

“Have you seen the vault?” she asked.

“Yes.”

There was a pause. “Is it possible?”

I knew exactly what she was asking, and that she wanted a simple ‘yes’ or ‘no’. Explanations would come later.

“Yes,” I replied, “I think it is.”

Another little pause. “Good, you made the right decision then.”

“Yup, the house would be slim pickings compared to this place.”

“It would be easier though. Less risk for you.”

We’d gone over this before. “He might be expecting something like that.
This
he will never expect. That’s to my advantage.”

“OK. Just take care Mike. Let’s talk again soon.” Click.

I was okay with that. We’d agreed to keep our meetings, even our communications, to a minimum to avoid attracting Zheng’s attention as much as possible. It was essential that he didn’t know we were meeting regularly, and figure out that we were planning something.

I went to the fridge, took out an already-opened ten-dollar Argentinean white, and poured a glassful. The first few sips were glorious, the chilled, piquant wine an instant stress reliever. I sat at my desk for the next hour, drawing diagrams and making notes on unlined sheets of paper, until the wine was lukewarm and almost gone, and my plans made.

I looked them over and reluctantly fed every sheet into the little paper shredder on the floor beside my desk. Nothing I had come up with was any good.

We had to get past the building’s security and into the vault room, then into the vault, and then into the Zheng deposit boxes. At the moment, I didn’t have the faintest idea how to achieve any of those things.