The Forgotten Soldier: A Pike Logan Thriller (39 page)

78

I
pulled open the glass door, noting the guards, but nobody bothered to say anything about my bag, which was good since it held a bunch of strange climbing gear. Not to mention a sawed-off shotgun.

I heard Nick say, “I got you and Knuckles. Feed’s good.”

“No recording?”

“No. You’re clean.”

There were two lines of people waiting on a teller, and I ignored them both, moving to the left where my mental map told me was a short staircase leading to the old section of the building. I went up the first small flight, then turned the corner and waited. The next flight was only about seven steps, and I could see the doorway Knuckles would pass through, as well as the elevator bank he would access to go the four floors below.

I withdrew an envelope that had
POLICE
written in bold block letters. It was my “manifesto,” explaining why a lunatic American was causing havoc in a Greek bank. A bunch of drivel about how the rich man was getting richer and the poor man was getting poorer and how the EU was forcing austerity just like a Wall Street banker screwed over the downtrodden in the United States. The end state was a demand for Alpha Bank to redistribute its wealth to the people. Yeah, it had enough radical craziness to make someone believe I was here for the long term.

I saw Knuckles break the plane of the door separating the old building from the new. I took a deep breath. It was time.

He was walking with the secondary bank manager—the man required to open the safe-deposit box—chatting amicably as if he didn’t have a care in the world. The manager pressed the elevator call button, and I withdrew the shotgun, waiting, my breath increasing. I saw the elevator arrive, and went running up the stairs.

I reached them, wishing that the bank was much more crowded. I needed a response to what I was going to do next.

The manager finally caught my approach and turned, puzzled. I raised the shotgun barrel in the air and squeezed the trigger, the noise deafening against the marble walls. He shrieked and sank back. I heard the small crowd in the old section stir, but not nearly as much as I had wanted.

I jabbed the barrel into Knuckles’s stomach, forcing him into the elevator, then grabbed the manager by the collar and jerked him in. I pressed sub-basement four and tossed out the manifesto as the doors closed.

We started down and I yelled at the manager, cuffing him in the head and calling him names straight out of the ’60s. I said, “When we get to the bottom, you’re going to open the vault. I know it’s down there.”

That was true, but I also knew he was unable to open it.

He knelt down, cowering, and said he couldn’t do that. I jammed the barrel into his head and said he’d better find someone who could, because I wasn’t leaving until that happened.

For his part, Knuckles just sat with his arms over his head, whimpering.

We reached the bottom and I said, “Act like nothing’s wrong and get the security guard to the elevator. Screw this up, and you’re dead.”

I heard Nick in my earpiece. “Pike, a lot of activity, but nobody’s stopped at the manifesto. They just ran through the hallway like they weren’t sure where the noise came from.”

Just perfect. Shit. Nobody saw me.

The manager shouted outside the elevator in Greek, and I pressed into the corner, out of sight. When the guard appeared, I stepped out, shoving the barrel in his face and shouting. I had him throw his pistol away, then turned to Knuckles. “Reach in my bag. You’ll find a package of zip ties. Get them. Now!”

He did and I pressed the stop button on the elevator, leaving my bag inside. I said, “All three of you, move to the vault room.”

The main vault of the bank was to the right, and the safe-deposit-box room was to the left, both behind a secondary cage. I wanted to show no interest in the safe-deposit boxes. Yet.

I had Knuckles zip-tie the two men, then himself, both the ankles and the wrists. In my earpiece, I heard Nick say, “Koko, Koko, climbing kit is in place.”

—

At the fourth-floor elevator access, Jennifer put on a pair of thick gloves, the palms and fingers reinforced with extra leather. She swung her arms back and forth twice, then lightly leapt into space, snagging the three cables that worked the elevator. She wrapped her boots together, the cable cluster in the center, and began a hand-over-hand slide down the cable.

She reached the top of the elevator and said, “On the ground. Getting gear now.”

She opened the access hatch at the top and dropped into the car. She grabbed Pike’s duffel bag and slung it over her shoulder, climbing back up through the access panel. Using her headlight, she withdrew three sets of peculiar-looking clamps with two long stirrups attached. She attached the first one as high as she could reach, then the other two beneath it. She tested the hold of each, then put the duffel over her shoulder.

She stood, putting a hand in each of the clamps of the first set. She
pulled herself up, then slid her feet into the stirrups, standing up and letting them take her weight. She began walking up the cable, sliding one hand and bending her knee, then straightening up and repeating the process with the other hand, moving up the cable in a high-tech prusik climb.

By the time she reached the topmost ceiling of the building, she was completely winded. She paused for a moment to get her breathing under control, then grabbed the ironwork under the ceiling. She monkey-crawled to the roof access door and opened it, throwing out the duffel bag. She crossed back over, retrieved her climbing gear, then exited the door, putting her gloves in the eave to make sure it didn’t lock her out.

She slung the bag and got her bearings, scanning for the path they’d researched in the satellite photos. She scrambled across the roof, running in a crouch and searching for her little alley cut. She found it after climbing and dropping over several different ventilation systems, the bank itself two buildings behind. She looked down and saw her van, Brett inside, relief flowing through her.

She tossed the duffel to the ground and pulled out three coils of thin kernmantle climbing rope, threading each around an anchor point. She laid out three harnesses by the ropes and keyed her radio.

“Exfil in place.”

79

T
he bank manager had calmed down a little bit, getting his wits about him since I hadn’t shot anyone yet. He said, “What do you want?”

I made sure to spray spittle with my answer, striving to look crazy. “Want? I want you to quit raping the people. I want that vault opened and the money distributed to the people, and make no mistake, I’m prepared to die for that.”

He recoiled, suitably scared, then repeated, “I cannot open the safe. I’m not authorized. It’s on a time-lock system, and I don’t even know the times. They shift.”

I turned to the security guard and withdrew the radio from his belt. I said, “You speak English?”

He shook his head no. I handed the radio to the bank manager and said, “Tell them my demands are in an envelope outside the elevators. Tell them I’ve booby-trapped both the stairwell and the elevator bank. Do it in English. Anyone comes down here, and you die. You say anything in Greek to indicate anything other than that, and you die.”

He relayed and I made a pretense of disappearing into the vault room, turning the handle on the giant door. I returned and said, “Did you find someone to open the vault?”

“No, no. You didn’t tell me to do that.”

I cuffed his head and said, “Do it,” then turned to Knuckles. “What are you doing here?”

He said, “Please, please. I’m just here to get into my safe-deposit box. It has some official papers.”

I looked surprised and said, “You’re American?”

He nodded. I said, “Rich American?”

He shook his head no. I slapped him and said, “Bullshit. Let’s go see what’s in your safe-deposit box.”

He said, “It requires two keys.”

“So?”

The manager looked stricken and I said, “Give me the other key.”

He did. I cut Knuckles’s ankles free and jerked him to his feet, saying, “Move.”

We entered the safe-deposit room, and I pulled out the key we’d found in Guy’s hotel room. I ran to box 1307 and inserted both keys. The box opened. I ripped it out, seeing three thumb drives, a wad of banknotes, a bank ledger, and four or five passport shells. I began taking photos of the passports and the ledger while Knuckles used his phone to download the files on the drives.

We were done in less than five minutes. Nick came over the earpiece saying, “Finally got some local SWAT guys. Building is getting sealed. Might want to move.”

I looked at Knuckles and said, “You ready to die?”

“The sooner the better.”

He pulled a thin wire with a small pad from under his shirt. I raised the shotgun, aiming into a corner. I pulled the trigger, and he pressed the pad. The Hollywood squibs went off and his chest exploded with red, as if he’d taken the brunt end of some double-ought buckshot. He winked at me and said, “See you on the other side.”

He staggered out of the room, wailing and screaming, then collapsed in front of the stunned guard and manager. I came jogging out,
eyes wide and crazy. I shouted, “I didn’t want to do that! He lied to me. There was nothing in his box but paper.”

I pointed the gun at the manager and said, “You’d better get someone to open that safe. I’m running out of patience.”

He said, “I’m doing it. There’s a man up top who wants to talk to you. An American.”

American? Shit. Embassy. Time to go.

I took the radio and cut the manager’s ankles free. I said, “I’m going to show them what happens if they try anything. Help me with the body.”

We dragged Knuckles to the elevator, me grabbing his hands and the guard struggling with the feet. We dumped him in the elevator and I aimed the shotgun, saying, “Get back to the vault room.”

I followed him, then cinched his ankles again, taking his radio and saying, “I’m sending that elevator up to the ground floor. When I get back, I want you to tell them to come get their prize.”

I ran back to the elevator, finding it empty, but the access panel open. I slung the shotgun over my shoulder and chinned myself up through the hatch. Above me I could see Knuckles whipping his legs back and forth as he climbed the cable. I found the last harness and raised the clamps to eye level, then began the climb myself, talking to Nick for the first time.

“Veep, Veep, we’re in the shaft. Is the exfil vehicle outside the perimeter?”

“Roger. Looks like they’re debating an assault. It’s all over the news now. Man, that manifesto I wrote is awesome. They’re reading it every five seconds.”

I said, “You’re making me wonder.”

I passed the fourth floor and looked up, seeing Knuckles disappear out the roof access. Then I heard something mechanical. The cable began moving. I was rising.

Shit
.

It would have been great four floors below, as I wouldn’t have had to work to go higher, but now it was about to jam me into the cable access on the roof for the elevator motor. Aside from definitely killing me, it would cause an investigation into our escape route.

I started pumping my legs and arms, left, right, left, right, attempting to climb down, but only slowing my rise. I said, “Veep, Veep, how is the elevator moving?”

“Stand by. . . . Pike, looks like they’ve got a team outside the elevator and are using the fireman’s override.”

In between strokes I said, “That . . . would . . . have . . . been . . . nice . . . to . . . know.”

“I was scoping the perimeter. Pike, when they don’t find a body, they’re going to start wondering.”

Cutting our getaway time in half.
I’d intended to get at least a ten-minute wait from the bank manager before he generated the courage to try to escape, which is why I’d taken the radio. Someone in charge must have made the call, disregarding my booby-trap bluff. But that was the fifty-meter target. The ten-meter target was literally ten meters above my head, and getting closer by the second.

I huffed and struggled, wondering if the car was going to stop on the first floor or come all the way up. I couldn’t match the speed of the cable, and began planning my escape. I looked to my left, seeing the open access door. I came level with it and leapt, slamming chest-high on the sill and slapping my hands outside the doorjamb, holding myself up, my legs dangling into space. I waited to hear the elevator motor chew through my metal prusik device, but nothing came.

I looked behind me and saw the cables had stopped with about six inches to spare.

Story of my life.

Knuckles came on the net. “Pike, Pike, we’re set out here. What’s your status?”

“At the door. Need to retrieve my climbing gear.”

“What’s taking so long? You that out of shape?”

I felt the metal of the jamb biting into my flesh and knew I’d bruised a couple of ribs in my leap.

I climbed out, biting back my reply.