The Inside Job (21 page)

“Drywall?” Hastings said, confused. His face morphed to horrified; he turned and raced through the house. We followed out of curiosity, and when we caught up with him, he was staring at an Annabelle-size hole in the bathroom wall (which is to say, an enormous hole in the bathroom wall).

“She
ate her way
through the wall!” Hastings shouted.

“To get to us!” Ben added, sounding pleased.

“It would seem that way,” Otter said. Even
he
looked touched by Annabelle's act of destructive affection. I rubbed Annabelle's ears, and she licked my hand. Hastings tried to balance a particularly large chunk of broken drywall back in its place on the wall; it tumbled to the ground, where he stomped on it angrily.

“Well, come along now, Mr. Hastings—you can worry about bathroom renovations another day,” Otter said, waving his hand to stave off the drywall dust. “We need to discuss the bank robbery.”

“What about it?” Hastings said, trudging away from the bathroom and casting furious glances at Annabelle.

Otter sighed. “Unfortunately, we do need your help after all. But we're not offering more than thirty percent of the take.”

“All right, all right, thirty percent,” Hastings said, brightening a bit. “Tell me what you need.”

As we reached the kitchen, I withdrew a piece of paper from my pocket. On it we'd outlined Hastings's responsibilities. “It's easy, really. We'll call in a fake authorization for the cash to be moved. All you have to do is roll it to the loading dock. We'll be there with a truck, the same one we're using to transport the gold. The big thing, though, is you have to do this at
exactly
ten o'clock on Tuesday morning. If you come any earlier, we won't be down there to help you load it, and it'll look suspicious.”

“Ten o'clock. Got it. What happens if I get there late?”

“Don't,” Otter snapped. “We're going to send four agents into the safe deposit room to steal the gold at the same time you're getting the cash. The longer you take, the longer my people have to sit around in the loading docks with thirty million in stolen gold.”

“What about the digital money? Did you find a way to get that? Because I could help you with that too for a little more . . . ,” Hastings said wickedly.

Otter rolled his eyes. “One of our agents will be in the building lobby and hack the system from there. She'll move the cash into one account. So, yes. If you can set up an account for us that we can drop the money into, that would be useful.”

“What do I get for my assistance?” Hastings asked. I

couldn't believe how badly I wanted to slap this guy. Or trip him. Or straight-up punch him.

Maybe all three.

Otter's teeth were gritted, his eyes narrowed. “We can't offer you anything else. Thirty percent of the cash is close to nine million dollars. That's nine million dollars that, until we showed up, you didn't have—plus the books we got back for you.”

Hastings looked at us for a minute, I think trying to decide if Otter was likely to grab him by the shirt collar again. “Make it thirty-one percent, I'll create the account for you, and I'll give you the dog as a bonus.”

“You mean, the dog you're desperate to get rid of? The dog that just ate your bathroom wall?” I said, lifting my eyebrows. “She's not even a purebred, you said it yourself. You're just unloading her on us.”

“Right, she's not a purebred—that's why she's not worth anything to
me
. But you guys like her. So make it thirty-one percent, and you can have her
and
my help.”

I'll be honest: I expected Otter to scoff. Maybe even to laugh. I didn't expect him to nod, and say, “Fine. Thirty-one percent, and we take the dog now. Ben, go get the man's books from the trunk.”

Ben skirted off to retrieve the books while Clatterbuck and I tried not to look too shocked. As Ben and Hastings transferred the books into the case downstairs, I turned to Otter.

“We're
keeping
the dog?” I asked doubtfully.

“For only one percent of the cash. What a bargain,” Otter said flatly.

I frowned. “What's your plan?”

“Do I need a plan? Can't I just want a dog?” Otter said.

“You would never just want a dog,” Clatterbuck said. “Do you have a fever? Can I check?” He reached forward to put his hand on Otter's head, but Otter slapped it away.

“I'm the director. I said we're keeping the dog,” he said.

I wasn't convinced Otter wasn't hiding something from me, but I didn't have time to push it—Ben and Hastings reappeared. Hastings said, “All right, so I'll create the account under your name—Steve, right? You'll transfer the money. I'll get your cash. You'll get the gold. And we'll all be gone before SRS even knows what's happening, right?”

“Exactly. You have the account numbers for the digital money, and the safe deposit box numbers?” Otter asked.

Hastings nodded and handed over a piece of paper with what looked like hamburger grease stains on it. Otter studied it for a moment and then folded it up and slipped it into his pocket. “Well, then. Tuesday. Ten o'clock in the morning, down at the loading dock.”

Hastings's mouth twisted up into a weaselly smile. “Perfect.”

*

This was a two-day operation—the longest and most complex thing I'd ever had a part in orchestrating.

Sunday evening, we sat around the kitchen table going over the timetable. Making sure we had everything we needed—the horse trailer. The tour tickets. The boarding passes. The iguana (which wasn't here yet, because we'd have to get that at the last minute). Annabelle circled around us like a furry shark, searching for crumbs we'd dropped at dinner (to be fair, we were so happy to have her back that we all “secretly” fed her under the table).

“All right, day one should be clear enough. A simple smash-and-grab, using Ben's invention and some old-fashioned stakeout time,” Otter said. “Day two is where the timing is important. Let's break it down. Beatrix?”

“Uncle Stan and I get to our ride at eight forty-five in the morning,” she said.

My turn. “Kennedy, Walter, and I enter the safe deposit room at nine o'clock.”

“At nine fifty I hack into the network using the account Hastings created,” Beatrix said.

“Nine fifty-five we finish getting the gold loaded and out of the safe deposit room,” I said.

“Ten o'clock I make sure everything's been loaded and ready,” Walter said.

“At the same time, Hastings moves the cash into the lot at ten o'clock,” Otter said. “Supposedly.”

“And at ten fifteen I pack everything up and meet you guys to get out of Geneva,” I finished.

“Does it bother anyone else that with this plan, there's a good chance Hastings is going to get away with thirty million dollars in cash?” Walter said, frowning.

“The point isn't for us to have the money—it's for SRS
not
to have it,” I reminded him, though I actually felt the same way. But hey, Hastings was better than SRS, right?

Which wasn't saying much. But still.

Everyone filtered off to bed—except Walter. He lingered at the table, sort of fidgety, before pulling a thin envelope out from the back elastic of his pajama pants.

“You finished it?” I asked.

“Yeah. But, Hale, I know . . . You don't
have
to do this,” Walter said.

“I know. But it'll be fine, Walter. And if it's not safe, I'll just give it back to you, okay?”

“Okay. Thanks, Hale.”

“Of course. You'd do it for me, right? Anyway, I've got to go make the call,” I said.

“Good luck,” Walter said, and grinned as he walked off toward our room. “If this works out, maybe we can recruit her.”

I laughed and sat down with the farmhouse's old corded phone and dialed a number Beatrix had hunted down for
me. It rang three times, and then a bright female voice answered.

I said, “Is this Aria? Aria Stoneman? Hi, this is—well. My name's Hale, but last time we met, I told you my name was George Kessel. You said I should call you if I was going on a second adventure?”

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

Day One

Mission: Steal the gold

Step 1: Stakeout

Here's what I realized: Being a product of SRS wasn't always a bad thing. It meant that I—and Kennedy, Walter, and Otter—had a pretty good idea of what SRS would do and how they'd do it. SRS was by the books, after all, not an organization known for unique thinking.

Which is why I was staked out with Clatterbuck at a twenty-four-hour pancake restaurant across the street from the bank, wearing a weird blond wig that was supposed to make me look like a random German kid but actually made me look like a random weirdo. I seriously did not have the right skin color for ice-blond hair.

“What if they don't show up?” Clatterbuck asked me under his breath. His fake mustache quivered when he spoke.

“They will—and you don't have to whisper. We're inside. Whispering will only draw attention,” I said, then waved to ask the waitress to come refill my juice. I was working hard to make sure she didn't question why a twelve-year-old was in a restaurant at three in the morning—not because I worried she'd throw me out, but because I didn't want her to remember me later. It was safer for her this way, if she didn't realize I was here on a stakeout.

“Is that them?” Clatterbuck asked hurriedly. I used the reflection of a nearby water pitcher to look behind me at the bank. A small truck—they called them LKWs here, and they were basically semitrucks with big flat faces—was pulling up to the bank's service entrance.

“That's them. Everyone, can you hear me? ” I asked over the comm. One by one everyone else checked in. “I see them now. They're in an unmarked truck with a blue cab, cleaning company logo on the side. And, Walter? Your mom is definitely with them. I can't see her face, but I recognize her by her walk.”

“Great—wait, my mom totally doesn't have a walk!” Walter said.

“She sort of does,” Kennedy's voice chimed in on his end. They started to argue, so I tuned them out and
focused on the truck and its occupants. The SRS agents spoke with the guard in front of the bank's gates. He scanned a list and then seemed to cross their names off; a moment later he was waving them through. They were there to move their gold. They knew to do it because, as we expected, Hastings had tipped them off about us. In some ways, I hated that Hastings had been so reliably untrustworthy—I wanted him to surprise me and be a decent person. But if he were, our plan wouldn't have even gotten off the ground.

“
L'addition, s'il vous plait,
” I said to the waitress.
Check please
.

Step 2: Route analysis

Clatterbuck and I sped away from the bank in a black pickup truck that belonged to the owners of the
poney
farm. It smelled like horses and was dusty with hay bits, but it was perfect for the mission.

“All right, guys, I've nearly got it—the cameras are slow,” Beatrix said over the comm. She was hacking into Geneva's network of traffic cameras, mapping where the truck came from so she could sort out where it would go once they'd loaded up their gold. “It looks like they came from the west, so I'm guessing they'll need to return that way too.”

“We'll start working on bodies of water and roads—go get the others,” Otter said.

Clatterbuck and I rode in relative silence, save his occasionally whistling, until about ten minutes later. He eased the truck to the side of the road, where Kennedy, Ben, and Walter were waiting alongside an empty horse trailer. Clatterbuck backed the truck up while Walter waved to direct him. By the time Clatterbuck and I got out, Walter was already hooking the trailer up to the truck hitch.

“Finally! Geneva is
cold
at night,” Kennedy said, jumping for the truck's open door to get in. She and Walter were both in their black SRS uniforms, which didn't offer much by way of warmth.

“I'm not at all cold,” Walter called from the hitch.

Ben scoffed. “Walter ran two miles while we waited.”

“One and a half!” Walter corrected, trying to sound offended but mostly looking pleased. He and Clatterbuck climbed back into the truck, and Walter went on. “I have a lot of physical work to do this evening. I can't do it if I'm a Popsicle.”

Walter had a point. Plus, if the guy needed to run around to keep from dropping my sister, then I didn't care if he ran ten miles. I turned in the passenger seat to remind Kennedy to stretch out, but she was already in the middle of a split on the truck floorboards. She gave me a
don't worry
look and then pushed her nose down toward
her knee so she was in a position that I was pretty sure I could only hit if all my joints were broken.