Encrypted (51 page)

“Is it yellow?” Quirk slurred as he opened his mouth wide, sticking out his tongue.

“For the tenth time, no, it looks fine.”

Still
,
the young man went back to his compulsive checking of his lymph nodes. He grabbed her hand off her laptop and placed it against his forehead. “Do I feel warm? I think I feel warm.”

Ronnie jerked her hand back. “Quirk
,
you are
fine
. We’ve barely been in contact with anyone.”

Still
,
she wiped her palm onto her jeans. It was hard to delete
from memory
the sight of those bright red tarps and those blue, black lips of the dead. At least now they flew high above downtown Manhattan
,
so that the carnage below was only offered in fleeting glimpses of disarray.

“Do we have an entrance strategy to the museum?” Zach asked.

Right. They had to get his and everyone’s mind back to the task at hand rather than the grisly sight down below.

Ronnie elbowed Quirk. “We are going in
by
the back loading dock.”

Which sounded so confident
,
only it wasn’t. Sure
,
she’d figured out the guard’s inspection schedule based on key carding information
,
and Quirk had taped a loop of video feed for each of the rooms they were going to hit. He’s uploaded the footage to a backup drive inside the security hub.

But the rest? The electronic, all-seeing, all-knowing,
and
ever-present security measures? Those were going to be a bitch to get around. Oh, how she wished they could do a smash and grab
,
like Graceland. Here, if they knocked out the building’s electricity, iron gates would lower at all the major junctures within the museum and would mechanically lock until an override was entered from inside the security office. Given that they needed to hit over eight of the nineteen departments, that just wasn’t going to work.

If she had three weeks, Ronnie could breeze them in and out of there. But in these short hours? With these kind
s
of security measures? Not that Ronnie wouldn’t have minded a few weeks with Zach
,
a
la
Entrapment
-style practice, the Met was possibly the most secure building in the world beyond the Pentagon. With art theft being a four
-
billion dollar a year business and the Met containing, what, forty billion
dollars’
worth of art, the museum had every reason to be
über
-
cautious.

Which meant they had the most advanced technology installed. Motion sensors, optical lasers, vibration detectors, high-grade steel anchors for paintings, and a host of other preventive measures. The worst of it
,
though? The Met had adopted the
C
atch
M
e
I
f
Y
ou
C
an
rotation of their security. Meaning a room that used to be equipped with lasers might now have vibration detectors. It forced any potential thief to worry about all security measures all the time.

Since she was that potential thief, it was up to her to countermand every conceivable antitheft method known to mankind.

And Quirk wondered why she had so many wrinkles.

“Are you sure about the loading docks?” Zach asked as they flew over Central Park
,
which was eerily empty. Normally at this time of day there would be early
-
morning yoga classes,
and
Tai Chi groups scattered across the greens. Instead
,
the entire park had been cordoned off. But as the plague grew and the panic around it, how long would that last?

Zach indicated across the street from the park to the large Greco-Roman building that housed the Met. The building dominated perhaps Ronnie’s favorite stretch of road in the world, the “Museum Mile.”

“Shouldn’t we go in through the roof
,
or something?” Zach asked.

Ronnie shook her head. She didn’t have time to explain the concept of a security “shell”
—t
he tough outer coating of protection
that
museums used to keep thieves out.
W
ell over
70
percent of museum break-ins were attempted from the roof
,
or the floor just below the roof. Clearly
,
way too many people had watched way too many Tom Cruise movies. Therefore, a museum’s thickest “shell” was protecting the roof or the floor just below the roof. The second area they secured the most tightly was the front entrance
,
since another good
15
percent of break-ins were smash and grabs like they’d done at Graceland. While the loading docks did account for over
5
percent of all break-ins
,
the museum relied on a heavy guard presence during transfers
,
but otherwise relied on fortified steel doors with elaborate, electronic
-
locking mechanisms.

Basically
,
putty in her hands.

Getting in the loading
-
dock doors never concerned Ronnie. Penetrating the shell was relatively simple. Once they got inside the museum? That’s when things got complicated and
dicey
. While
the
NYPD was extremely busy taking care of looters and rioters on the eastside, an alarm tripped at the Met would still be responded to in force.

“All right. The loading dock it is,” Zach answered
,
seeming to understand her vigorous head shake.

The helicopter barely bobbled as it landed on a flat patch of the park. The museum
was
directly across the street. Zach hopped out first, helping her
, and
then Quirk, of course now decked out in a makeshift surgical mask and gloves, and Francois out of the chopper. The pilot lifted off immediately, streaking away toward the 34
th
Street Helipad.

Why did it feel like all hope left with him?

* * *

Zach stopped the foursome at the entrance to the alley. He looked down at Ronnie’s palmtop. Half of the screen showed what the cameras were picking up. The footage showed the four approaching from the north side. The other half of the screen showed what Ronnie was transmitting to the security hub
—a
perfectly empty street.

“They’re only seeing what we want them to see. We’re good.” Quirk reassured them, although it rang a little false
,
since he was saying it from behind a medical mask.

The other problem was the sunrise. Very soon
,
their footage loop of early
-
morning glow wasn’t going to cut it.

Francois went to step into the alleyway
,
but Zach had a tight grip on the edge of his sleeve. The guy was not going to rush them into
anything
this time. “Hold up. Let Ronnie do her stuff.”

A smile swept over her lips
.
T
hen
it
was quickly replaced by the grimace that had sat
there since landing. She was worried. Really worried
,
which made Zach
extremely
worried. The woman was usually all bluster and confidence, scoffing at any challenge to her skills with a keyboard.

“Here goes,” Ronnie said as she entered in the last command.

The tiniest
click
answered her maneuver. The small side
doors to the museum popped open
an inch. They all held their breath. Zach’s eyes scanned the half dozen screens that Quirk had open on his palmtop, showing each of the security boards. Not a single red light flashed.

Step one, complete.

He went to step out, but Ronnie hissed, “Wait.”

“What is that security panel monitoring?” she asked her assistant.

Quirk zoomed in on the set of controls which read “External laser scan.”

So much for
S
tep one.

Quirk frowned. “They don’t have that one up on a scope. The computer must be scanning the laser feed
continuously
and only alerting them if there is some derivation in the mean movement.”

Zach didn’t understand half of that
.
H
e just knew it was bad for them.

“I am going to have to ping back the differential as we move forward to keep the mean above the white line.”

Again, Zach didn’t know what she meant
.
H
owever
,
Quirk nodded.

“What do I have to do?” Zach asked.

“Move very, very slowly
,
and in a straight line. We have got to follow within inches of each other
.
O
therwise
,
I won’t be able to keep up with the algorithm.”

Zach turned to Francois. “Did you hear Ronnie?”

“I might be borderline psychotic, my dear man, but I can hear.”

Somehow
,
that didn’t comfort Zach in the least.

* * *

Quirk didn’t want to be within inches of anyone, even Ronnie. Yet here they were shuffling down the street like some kind of time-delayed conga line. Zach had taken Ronnie seriously about the very, very, very slowly part. If it took them much longer
,
they might as well head to Ronnie’s island and wait out the plague.

Balancing his palmtop on one hand, Quirk checked the glands in his throat with the other. Was that left one just a bit larger? Were his cuticles turning darker
—
foreshadowing the black nails that spelled a quick death?

He tapped his palmtop
,
bringing up his text program. Nothing new from his BFF. Usually
,
she was updating him every ten minutes with what an ass their CIA liaison was or how handsome their new director was in a Sean Connery or Clint Eastwood kind of way. Now silence. That couldn’t be good.

“Stop,” Ronnie whispered.

The group ground to a halt. What now?

“I think I have built an evolving algorithm,” Ronnie said
,
not that anyone but Quirk would understand her. “Zach
,
take a step forward.
”

Quirk winced as the FBI agent lifted his foot. Ronnie took no countermeasures. Would her program really work
,
or was this one of those instances where her ego had slightly outgrown her skills?

As the FBI agent moved forward, the bundle of data that streamed from the sensors to the security computers showed only a steady state.

“Take another.”

The program held, delivering the nice
,
boring data
that
they wanted it to deliver. Thank
G
od. If Quirk had to smell the Frenchman’s odd aroma of stale smoke and pomegranates
one more time…
. They moved forward more quickly, loosening their formation until they made it to the opened door of the Met.

Zach took their handy can of hair
spray and shot it into the doorway this time
—
sans fire. Laser beams crisscrossed the inner doorway.

“Ugh,” Ronnie groaned. “They must have upgraded.”

“Oh
,
please,” Quirk said. What they had
d
one was old school. These museum security companies loved to roll out the bright
,
shiny red laser beam grid. “Look how pretty they are. When in reality
,
well
,
over
90
percent of all museum heists were inside jobs. Quirk just needed to re
-
create the effect.

Watching his palmtop that gave real
-
time footage of the door from
inside
the loading bay, Quirk stuck his hand through a gap in the laser sights, keyed in the correct code
,
and
voilà
, the lasers went to sleep. Ronnie, of course, compensated by sending packets of data
that
ma
de
it look like the lasers were still up and running.