The Magpie Trap: A Novel (32 page)

The Outside Man

Danny’s hand shook with cold and nerves as he saw
Chris and Mark slip into the view of one of the cameras which had been
allocated to the dummy system. Not quite believing his eyes that they could
simply walk into a place such as
Edison
’s
Printers, he quickly glanced at another view they had intercepted; that of the
Main Monitoring Centre. There, just as Mark had predicted, sat the two
watchers, and they had seen nothing. There was no tell-tale panic, no rushing
to the phone, no flicker of interest; they were so used to reliance upon this
technology that they no longer questioned what they saw.

           
Danny
looked back to the previous view again; that of his two companions. They were
now approaching the Precisioner unit; he couldn’t believe how easy it had all
been. He almost wished that he could have been there instead of them. The
Intertel Shift had seen them past the Intruder System on the perimeter. There
was seemed to be no extra security on site, no patrols checking the fence. For
the robbers, the Intertel Shift idea had been their very own Trojan horse.

It’s too easy
, Danny said to himself.
Fair
enough, the next bit of the plan does require a bit of skill; not everybody can
wire up a dummy system like Mark did, but surely any Joe Public who knew about
the Intertel Shift should have been literally queuing up outside places like
this on the night of the Intertel Shift, taking advantage of the back doors
being left open. Maybe, across the country at this moment, there are little
groups of people that actually have the balls to do something about their
ideas. Maybe they are waiting outside Banks,
Art
Galleries
and
Building Societies and then simply walking in and pillaging the night away.

Something told Danny
that he was a part of a brotherhood of people who were prepared to stand up and
take what was theirs; who wouldn’t say no when opportunity came knocking. He
grinned to himself, the throbbing heat of the diesel generator reminding him of
his goal; basking on a warm beach.

To think; I will remember this moment for the rest
of my life. I will be lying there on that beach in
Mauritius
, and I
won’t be able to stop myself from smiling at the memory of this rusty old van
and how we pulled the wool over everyone’s eyes. Getting that money will let me
realise
my dreams!

 
          
Danny looked back at the camera view
from the dummy system and was suddenly alerted to the fact that Chris and Mark
could no longer be seen. Where had they gone? They were supposed to signal to
him when they required the door entry system to be de-activated for a few
seconds, but he had not seen any signal.

Danny began to panic.
Mark had instructed him; only de-activate the door system once. Any more than
that and a signal really will be picked up, and they’ll know it’s not as a
result of the Intertel Shift.

           
Danny’s
forehead was soaked with cold sweat; he didn’t know what he should do. Perhaps
he had cursed the whole plan by getting arrogant a few seconds back… by
imagining the crisp newness of the money already in his hands. That sign had
been a false prophet; it had lured him into complacency.

On screen a new figure
emerged into view; a burly figure, who was walking at some pace towards the
entrance of the Precisioner Unit. The figure was wielding a baton as though it
was a sword; he was threateningly rolling his shoulders as though spoiling for
a fight.

Danny punched at keys
on the keypad Mark had provided, frantically typing in the code which would
override the automatic door lock. He hadn’t seen any signal. Had he blacked
out? Had he missed it?

A frosty dread
descended on him; maybe he would remember this moment for the rest of his life,
but he wouldn’t be remembering it from a sun-bed on a beach, he would be
remembering it from a similarly confined space to the back of the van; a prison
cell.

Blindness

Jim Hunter was watching the monitors closely;
something was not right. The reception of the images looked weak, static was at
a premium. Even Callum Burr began to notice the poor image quality, especially
that of the cameras which were around the Precisioner Unit.

‘It’s probably the
weather though, boss.’

Jim was always struck by the sarcasm which crept into Burr’s voice when
he called him ‘boss’.

‘I still think we
should take a quick tour round the site, just to be on the safe side,’ Jim
suggested.

‘Don’t you worry
yourself, I’ll go, boss. You just stay here; you’re always saying that I need
the exercise,’ said Burr. He tried a laugh, but there was something strange in
his voice. ‘Anyway, I need to make a phone call.’

‘Make your call here
Callum. I have heard all that stuff before; you don’t have to worry about me
listening in to you telling your wife that you love her.’

Hunter was testing the
water; was there more to his colleague’s apparent desire to be out of the
Security Lodge?

‘What? No, it’s not the
wife, it’s….’

Burr was suddenly cut
off by the high-pitched screech of the alarm. It was the alarm for the door
entry system at the Precisioner Unit. Hunter swiftly tried to access the camera
for the Precisioner Unit, but as he switched, the static became far worse; they
would have to physically go and check.

What the fuck is going on? Oh don’t let this be
something serious. Not on my watch…

He continued
manipulating the controls, sweat now starting to pour from his forehead. He
heard Burr climb out of his seat and turned in his swivel chair to see the big
man fish something that looked suspiciously like a bottle of whisky from his
rucksack before bursting from the Security Lodge like a caged animal. Jim was
no longer as fit as he used to be and struggled up out of the seat to follow
him.

‘Callum; come back!
We’ll cut through the distribution building!’ he shouted, before noting that
Burr was already heading in that direction.

The distribution
building provided a shortcut to the Precisioner Unit; Burr would wait for him
in order that they could both present their identity passes and get through the
door entry system. Burr, however, didn’t stop at the door; he paused to present
two
badges and then ran through,
closing it firmly behind him. Hunter reached the door seconds later and leaned
against it in a bemused state, thinking:
How
has Burr got through there without me? How has he got hold of two identity
cards to access each building? Why is he behaving so strangely? I’ve been
blind. I’ve been blind.

Without having to look,
Hunter knew the answer; his own identity badge was not in its holder on the
lanyard around his neck. Burr had taken it; Burr was involved in something;
suddenly Hunter knew that his old warning antennae had still been working when
he had sensed danger earlier that day. He should have trusted his instincts…

Because of his lack of
an access badge, Hunter was forced to run almost the entire perimeter of the
site in order to get to the Precisioner Unit; the technology which barred
access to intruders was now indiscriminately barring entry to the potential
rescuer of the situation...

‘Danny knows that we’re outside the Precisioner
building doesn’t he? But how do we know that he knows?’ whispered Mark. His
confidence had deserted him again.
 
This
was the moment he’d had nightmares about.

‘I tested everything
when I set up his dummy system, but whatever I tried, there was only ever one
chance; whatever happened, on the second occasion, the alarm always went off.
If Danny doesn’t see the signal and we try the door, we’ll set the alarms off.
We’ll be caught.’

‘Mark,’ hissed Chris,
‘just make the signal. He’s not blind!’

Mark raised both arms
into the air and extended his palms; in anybody else’s book, it was the signal
for surrender.

‘Right; in we go!’ said
Chris, his excitement evident in his wild eyes.

           
It
was Mark who approached the heavy door to the Precisioner Unit. He grasped the
cold steel of the handle and closed his eyes in hope and expectation. Then he
pulled; nothing.

Chris bundled him out
of the way and tugged at the door with both hands, desperation starting to set
in; still nothing. Mark had to pull Chris back from making a third attempt at
the door. In the still silence of the
Edison
’s
night, their rattling of the door sounded unnaturally loud.

‘We have to get out of
here. Now! If Danny hasn’t got that door open now, he’s either been caught or
he’s run off. Whatever. We’re here with our head in the lion’s mouth, and believe
me; it would have felt us pulling at its teeth like that. The alarm must have
gone off.’

‘But we can’t hear it,’
said Chris, looking confused.

‘Of course we won’t
hear it. But the security staff will. Right now, that alarm will be blaring up
there in the
MMC
and in the Security Lodge.’

The full horror seemed
to sink into Chris’s face in that moment; Mark observed his eyes begin to fill
with tears. ‘I’ve let him down. I’ve let him down,’ he mumbled.

This time it was Mark’s
turn to be strong though: ‘Come on. We can at least run for it; make it back to
the van. You haven’t let Danny down at all!’

‘Not Danny; Todd,’
Chris stuttered. ‘I needed to do this for Todd.’

Momentarily confused,
Mark was left standing by Chris’s sudden surge of energy as he burst out of the
blocks like an athlete. He swallowed up great swathes of the path and then
rounded the corner, out of sight. Mark gritted his teeth against the pain which
shot into him from his ankle and he forced himself to follow.

As he was running he
thought he heard a terrible sound; it was like a squeak of shock from a child.
Then he heard a muffled thud.

Something’s gone wrong,
God told him.
When
you get round the corner, you’ll see that I’m right. You’ll see…

The sight which met him
as he careered around the corner chilled his blood. All of the muscles in his
legs seemed to seize up. He could no longer run; he wanted to collapse onto his
knees in a real symbol of surrender; they were not alone.

A huge bear-like man
was standing over the prone body of Chris Parker, who had a stream of blood
pouring from a cut on his head.

‘Chris?’ shouted Mark,
before he could put a leash on his voice. He was
always
saying the wrong thing at the wrong time, and this time, the
wrong thing alerted the huge man that was standing over Chris. The man turned
his head at the involuntary cry which escaped from Mark, and suddenly his face
was in full view.

‘Callum Burr?’ Mark
could barely gasp, ‘I…’

‘Mark? What the fuck
are you… Wait a minute; you’re with this one, are you?’

Mark could almost see
the cogs in Burr’s cannon-ball sized head begin to click into place as he
finally realised that Mark was a part of the heist. Suddenly his eyes narrowed.

‘This isn’t what it
looks like,’ begged Mark.

‘Oh, yeah? Well what is
it then?’ asked Burr, his voice sounding more Scottish in anger. He was now
moving towards Mark, but he paused to give Chris a sly kick in the head as he
prowled past him.

‘It’s all a test… part
of this Intertel Shift thing.’

‘You shouldn’t be
here,’ growled Burr. ‘But I’m pleased that you are; this way
I
get to be the hero, just like he
said.’

‘Like who said? What do
you mean?’ cried Mark.

Burr didn’t answer, but
Mark saw him start to wave his baton aggressively back and forth. The man had a
baseball swing like Babe Ruth… It all seemed so unreal, like a movie.

           
And
then Burr was on him; was raining blows down onto his body and face and it
became painfully real. Mark stretched out his arms in a weak attempt at
defence
, but it was no good. He fell backwards and onto
the black sports bag, winding himself in the process.

Another swing of the
baton, another connection with his already wrecked leg.

You’re going to die, Mark, if this carries on. The
last face that you’ll ever see in the world will be the mad, sweating red-face
of Callum Burr. The last sounds you’ll hear will be the crack of his baton
against your leg.

Burr was laughing as he
worked on Mark. There was something of the victory dance about the way that he
bounced around the body, searching for new, unguarded places onto which he
could throw down new blows from the baton.

He’s laughing at you Mark; he thinks that by doing
this, he’ll win. He’ll become the hero of the hour and you’ll be that forgotten
piece of rubbish that allows him to get what he’s always wanted.

Mark rolled over and
tried to breathe. Suddenly, he found that he had the cable cutters in his right
hand, and he was unsteadily climbing back to his feet. He staggered away from
Burr, but the man was back on him again like a wild animal.

Some kind of robotic
self-defense mechanism took control of Mark and, as if in a trance, he met the
next one of Burr’s wild swings of the baton with the cable cutters, sending a
painful jarring shock up his arm. Burr stopped; taken aback.

Now’s your chance; attack him now. Drive him back;
you might still be able to escape. This doesn’t have to end badly.

Mark lifted the cable
cutters above his head. From somewhere he heard a full-throated war-cry. It
took him a second to realise that the sound was coming from his own throat. He
swung.

All it required was a
short, sharp thrust forward of Mark’s hand; the application of as much force as
to push a car door closed. But perhaps the hand of fate was also on the cable
cutters, applying the real strength behind the blow. There was no hackneyed
slow-motion ‘life-flashing before the eyes’ as the sharp blade of the cable
cutters cracked through Burr’s skin and into his skull as though it was an
egg-shell. It seemed unreal. But then the scarlet yolk of his blood seeped through
the jagged cut; a trickle also bubbled from his open mouth.

Burr tried to speak,
but more blood vomited out. He staggered forward, reaching out with a trembling
hand. He grasped Mark’s fleece and stared into his eyes, accusing. Then his
life started to drain away.

Mark knew straight away
that he had killed him; he watched with cold, inhuman detachment as the light
in Callum Burr’s eyes gradually faded and his desperate hands slipped defeated
from Mark’s fleece.

Mark looked down on
himself from afar; he saw himself as though from the heights of the panopticon
control room. He fiddled with the mechanics inside his head, trying to find the
right spark to coax his legs into movement. His body was closing down; he knew
this, and he simply
had
to re-establish
the connection; to reassert the network link between his brain and his body.

Unfortunately,
somewhere along the way, he had lost the connection for his soul.

A short, sharp pulse of
electric current woke Mark from stand-by mode; it was Chris, who’d evidently
managed to overcome the injury to his head. Chris was shaking him. A swathe of
blood had spread across his face like war-paint; a murderous look was in his
eyes.

‘Come on Mark! There’s
another guard coming,’ he bellowed. ‘Head for the Precisioner Unit, I’ve just
tried the door and it is open.’

He pulled Mark after
him towards the open doorway, pausing only to grab the sports bag. The cable
cutters were still in Mark’s vice-like grip; their cold touch his only
connection with reality.

‘We can still get away
with this,’ he roared as they started their descent into the Precisioner’s
underground lair. ‘We can still win.’

Mark followed without
knowing what he was doing. He didn’t know how the door had come to be opened;
he didn’t know how he was even walking. All he knew was that he had to get away
from the sight of Callum Burr’s prone body and the threat of another security
guard on their tail.

You’ve killed someone. You’ve taken the life of
another person.

He screwed up his eyes
and allowed himself to be dragged down. When he opened them again, he realised
that they were within the treasure trove. He saw the piles of money on the
crates. It was like Monopoly money now. He saw the CCTV cameras perched in the
ceiling, no more than toys. He saw the devastation that his life would become,
now that it would be defined by the one act of taking another person’s life.
His own life had ended when he had swung the cable cutters at Callum Burr;
somehow they had cut the cable to his own soul too.

Chris, meanwhile, was
laughing maniacally as he swept armfuls of cash into the sports bag. Mark heard
one word over and over: ‘Todd!’ Chris was repeating the name as though it was a
sacred chant.