Chapter One
“You’re sure this is the right one?” The man’s voice had a pinched quality. Each word produced a puff of frost in the frigid night air. A flashlight beam played across the expanse of tan stucco wall. “I don’t see any way in. Where’s the door?”
“We can’t use the door.” The second voice, male like the first, was a low growl. “Cameras and alarms. We’ll go in around back.” He led the way along the side of the building and around to the rear, stopping four feet from the corner. The duffel bag he’d been carrying made a loud, clanking sound as he dumped it in the snow at their feet.
“Careful!” the first man whispered. “Somebody will hear.”
“Nobody will hear. They’re all at the New Year’s party.” He jerked his head toward the front of the building, where a bright glow lit the sky.
“Wish I was at a party.” The first man stomped his feet. “I’m freezing to death out here.”
“Stop whining and kill the light.”
The flashlight off, the two black-clad men became invisible in the inky darkness. Then a blueish glow emanated from two feet off the ground. The gruff-voiced man had switched on a headlamp, the beam a narrow beacon shining wherever he looked. He zipped open the duffel and removed a power tool.
“What is that?” the first man asked.
“Multi-tool fitted with a diamond blade. We’re going to make our own door.”
“Are you out of your mind? Everyone within a quarter mile will hear the noise.”
The gruff-voiced man checked his watch. “Not in a couple of minutes.” He pulled out a respirator and slipped it on, added safety goggles and earmuffs. “You might want to step back. The dust this makes is no joke.”
The first man opened his mouth to protest again, but just then a deafeningBOOM!shook the air around them, followed by a chorus ofAhhs!andOhhs!Almost immediately, what sounded like a full orchestra struck up a rousing march.
The gruff-voiced man started the saw and began cutting into the stucco and concrete of the back of the building.
The first man glanced overhead as a cascade of golden stars, red and green balls and other colorful fireworks bloomed against the night sky. More explosions sent rockets into the air, followed by pinwheels and cascades of light. Between the fireworks and the music, he almost couldn’t hear the whine of the saw. Still, how long would this New Year’s Eve show last? He shifted from foot to foot, as much out of nervousness as an attempt to stay warm.
“Don’t just stand there. Help me get rid of this stuff.” The gruff-voiced man handed up a chunk of concrete the size of a man’s head.
“What should I do with it?”
“There’s a dumpster on the side of the building. Chuck it in there.”
“Why not just leave it all here?”
“Because we don’t want anyone to notice the hole. Not until it’s too late.”
How anyone wasn’t going to notice a hole large enough for a person to climb through, the first man didn’t know, but his partner was already sawing again, making further conversation impossible.
He made six trips to the dumpster carrying heavy chunks of stucco and concrete before the second man had cut out an opening wide enough for him to squeeze through. He handed the saw to the first man. “Get that back in the bag while I get what we need.” Not waiting for a reply, he crawled into the building.
The first man returned the saw to the bag, then waited. The music and the fireworks ceased, though he could still hear voices and laughter from the revelers at the annual New Year’s Eve bash at SkyCrest Resort. His friends were probably there, drinking beer and mulled cider and hot toddies, waiting for the torchlight parade down the mountain that always followed the fireworks display. Last year, he had skied in that parade, carrying a flickering electric torch and wishing he hadn’t had that third hot toddy, afraid he was going to wipe out in front of everybody and make a fool of himself. But he had managed to stay upright.
“Here. Shove as much of this as you can into the bag.” The second man handed off two shoe-box-size parcels, and the first man wedged them into the duffel. The second man dragged out a second duffel, which sagged with a heavy weight.
“What’s in there?” the first man asked.
“Everything we need to show these people who this mountain really belongs to.”
The first man shouldered his duffel. “Let’s get out of here.”
“Just a sec.” The second man felt around in his pockets and pulled out a tube of adhesive. He smeared this around the edges of the opening he had just cut. Then he unrolled a scroll of what might have been wallpaper and smoothed it over the opening. In the dim light, it blended in with the wall. The second man straightened and stepped back, then scooped up a couple of handfuls of snow and tossed them around the bottom of the opening. “Somebody walking by would never notice,” he said. Then he shouldered his own duffel. “Let’s get out of here.”
They raced off into the dark, not stopping until they reached the side street where they’d parked the car. They threw the duffels into the back seat, and the first man got behind the wheel.
He started the car and was about to back out when something cold touched his cheek. He tried to turn his head, and the cold turned to a sharp pain.
