RJ
Clicking the hidden button in the cigarette carton a second time as I approach the hallway changes the camera issues to this part of the house.
This should be the fifth or so such outage, and I’m hoping they’re either bored with rushing to places where everything is totally normal, or spread too thin to check on me right away.
Walking down the hallway with confidence feels like I’m wearing someone else’s skin, the sweat that gathered at the back of my neck spreading to the rest of me, even as my toes remain stubbornly frozen. I don’t like this. If I never have to leave the van again, I’ll be the happiest man alive. More accurately, if this plan works and we get Clara back for good, then I’ll be the happiest man alive. Not leaving the van would just be a bonus. Either way, right now is the most uncomfortable I’ve ever been, and that’s saying something.
I’ve spent most of my life uncomfortable.
I count the doors on my left until I get to the sixth, and turn toward it, sliding the lock pick set out from the pocket I sewed into the back of my tie. It turns out watching Clara’s favorite genre of movie isn’t much fun without her, but it helped with our brainstorming session on how we were going to get all the things I’d need into this house without being found out.
It takes me a while to pick the lock, longer than it would take Walker or Clara, let alone Jansen, my fingers sweaty by the time the door finally gives way. Heavy footsteps echo down the long hallway as I duck into the room, closing the door as quietly as I can.
Then I lean against it, holding the handle steady as I catch my breath. Step four complete. I never would have guessed that my heart would pound so heavily from doing so little, but once again, I’m all about van life from here on out. Never again.
Sure enough, whatever guards I heard at the end of the hallway jiggle the handle, and for a moment, I worry I didn’t hold it still enough, that they’ll know it’s not secure. I press my ear against the door, and when the footsteps keep getting farther away, I finally let myself exhale.
Jansen should never have gotten shot, for many reasons, only one of which was losing his anonymity. A haircut, beard, and glasses on him could have been enough. Instead, he made a big enough splash that he had to adopt a whole different personality just to go grocery shopping. I was his understudy, but this is his stage.
We can’t change the past, though. And while Jansen took me as far as he could, this is now my show.
I’m sure he’s kicking himself that he’s missing out on what he considers the pinnacle of fun. Luckily, an all-night bonfire should be a close second.
My thoughts collected, I rush across the thick rug to the desk, noting where the safe is. Then I scan the shelves behind, looking for the tiny camera Clara snuck in after the orchestra concert. She did a good job hiding it, but I know what to look for.
Jamming my lockpicks back into my tie and removing what looks like an ordinary clump of credit cards from my wallet, I flip them open, the tiny touchscreen Walker and I jerry-rigged hidden inside. I hook it up to the camera and play back today’s footage.
The man might change his security codes more often than a sane person, but a good camera fixes that problem.
Once I get the code and memorize it, I put away my screen and crouch in front of the safe. It opens on the first try—step five is a success. But my heart is so loud in my ears I’m worried a guard could be in the room with me and I wouldn’t hear him. With a frustrated sigh, I pull everything out of the safe, then flip through folder after folder.
Eventually, I find all the ones that apply to me and my team, as well as any that look to be blackmail. Any legal briefs get shoved back inside, as well as the two bags of Nazi jewels we stole from Mr. Westerhouse’s former business partner.
We might not be able to get him on blackmail and extortion without risking ourselves, but we can get him on possession of stolen goods with a side of forgery.
At least, that’s the plan.
Once I’ve gathered what I need, sliding the documents into a pouch against my spine, I double check I haven’t forgotten anything. Step six done. Then I wait by the door until I hear music drifting from the end of the hallway. With damp palms and a prayer, I open the door, glad to see that no one is around.
Relocking the door with the picks is harder than unlocking it, but eventually it gives a satisfying click. Only as I’m hiding my tools in my tie, the ominous stomp of boots picks up at the end of the hallway. I turn my back to them, digging out the pack of cigarettes with shaking hands, lighting the half-finished smoke just as the guard calls out to me.
I turn, forcing my face into the intimidating blank, trying my best to work through code while I’m standing in front of someone who could ruin the plan. They hold our entire future in their uniformed hands.
“What are you doing down here? This area is off limits,” the guard starts before he notes the ember dangling from my fingers. “Sir, you’re a guest in this house. If you want to smoke, you must do it outside, not in dark corners where you shouldn’t be.”
“Sorry,” I mumble, snubbing out the cherry on the sole of my shoe before it even gets going.
“The door that will take you outside is on the other side of the ballroom. Follow that hallway, and you can’t miss it.” He motions where I was headinganyway.
“Thanks.”
I once again pretend confidence I’m not feeling, weaving through the crowd as Trips and Clara are called for their first dance. Step seven, rough but complete.
I can barely see the dark bronze of Trips’ head over the crowd, and part of me wants to stay, to sneak closer and catch sight of Clara. The rest of me knows I’d chew Jansen out for doing that kind of thing, so I stay on task.
The guard at the door is happy to let me out, my cigarette once again burning in the bitter night as I trudge into the rose garden. I navigate my way to the willow tree, knowing with a glance at my watch that all the cameras are down by now.
Climbing over a wall covered in ice while wearing dress shoes has me questioning any athleticism I thought I had, but I make it. I immediately yank on my down coat that I’d hidden under the tarp, just as excited to be pulling my snow boots onto my frozen feet.
