The Lock Box, page 9
“There’s still one more.” Her hand slid down, past the master door handle, to a spot in the middle of the bottom third of the door. There, a small metal awning protruded over a panel of black glass. “Biometric scanner. Same one Customs uses at the airport. It needs four fingerprints.” She raised her hand with the thumb tucked in and wiggled the remaining digits, index to pinkie.
“You gotta open all three?” Jack asked.
“Worse,” Locke said. “There’s a timer. If you don’t trigger each of the locks within a certain number of seconds, they all freeze for an hour. Plus, five misses on any lock, and that one shuts down completely. You need to fly someone out from the factory to override it.”
“So blow the door off with explosives or something,” Queen said.
Locke smiled. Movies made that look easy, but the X in this safe’s product designation meant it was explosive resistant. “The door’s seven inches thick, including a layer of heat-resistant ceramic. Plus it’s got a glass relocker. Break the glass and you’ve got six spring-loaded bolts to overcome.”
“Cut it open,” Jack said.
Locke was surprised he didn’t draw his knife again to demonstrate. But she shook her head. “They cast this thing out of a single sheet of metal. There’s no seams, nothing to attack. They’ve added a layer of tar insulation and a cage of alloy bars inside the walls. You’d need a whole truck of acetylene to torch through.”
“Can you drill it?” Queen asked.
Locke nodded. “That’s your best shot. Go in through one of the sidewalls. You need an industrial drill, titanium bits. And you’re gonna break a few.”
A few dozen, she thought without saying it. The numbers in a safe’s rating indicated the minimum minutes of resistance it provided, and on how many walls. Most commercial safes were rated 15x6 or 30x6, meaning fifteen minutes or a half hour on all six sides. This bitch was a 60x6, and Locke had a feeling the actual drill time would extend well over an hour.
Standing behind the others, King began pacing back and forth. The way his jaw was grinding, it looked like his scalp muscles were doing calisthenics.
Jack cocked his head at Huang. “Don’t get me wrong, boss, I love coming to South Beach. And it’s fucking fantastic listening to these lovely ladies talk about blowing and drilling. Really. But if Ace can’t open the box—”
“Oh, I can open it,” Locke said. “I just need time. You leave me alone with a drill—”
“You will not be alone,” Huang said. “No tools. Nothing larger than a purse. You will have approximately ten minutes to open the safe.”
“Ten minutes?” Locke gave Queen an eye roll.
Huang cut between them and started advancing toward Locke. His whole face reddened.
“You will open the combination lock.”
It wasn’t phrased as a question. Despite the Miami air, Locke could feel his warm breath, and every huff and puff felt like fire licking her skin. She began backpedaling, even though a growing part of her wanted to punch the fake lawyer in the face.
“Then, you will open the digital lock.”
Another statement, another order. Huang kept coming, and Locke kept retreating until her back struck the cinder-block wall. He closed within inches of her, a drop of spittle flying from his lips. “You will find a way—”
Her insides clenched, even as her skin continued to crawl at the thought of what might be swirling in the air around her. “I told you,” she said through gritted teeth, “the digital combo can’t be picked.”
“You have opened digital locks before, yes?”
“Sure, but not—”
“Then you will also open this one.”
She looked up at the ceiling. “You don’t understand—”
“No, Ms. Locke,” Huang hissed. “I understand everything perfectly.”
When he didn’t say anything further, she glanced back down and found him gazing off to the side. Down the rear wall of the building.
Her eyes followed his and landed on Evan.
Locke nearly doubled over. “No! No, you can’t—”
“You care about the boy,” Huang said. “I care for what is inside that safe.”
In the play area, Evan had already assembled the Lego car’s wheels and now was building a bumper. He was like Kori that way—he could spend hours working on the tiniest projects. If his hands were occupied, Evan was happy.
Locke tried to swallow but had no spit left.
Still, she couldn’t do the impossible. “Even if I got through both locks in time—and that’s an if—I can’t fake the biometrics. The only way—”
“I will handle the biometrics.” Huang’s head swung back toward her. The steely look in his eyes, the way his chin jutted forward, he really believed it. “To ensure Evan’s safety, all you need to do is open the other two locks. And I have given you a duplicate on which to practice.”
Locke took a slow, shallow breath. “How long?”
“Ten minutes,” he said. “Not a minute more.”
“No. I mean, how long do I get to practice?”
“The rest of today. And part of tomorrow.”
Two days.
Locke now knew exactly how long she had to signal for help.
CHAPTER
11
LOCKE WATCHED HUANG lead the others up rickety-looking stairs to a doorway cut into the plywood structure’s side.
Although she stood at the safe, turning the dial, she paid no attention to the numbers. She simply spun the knob, pretending. Once the crew disappeared inside, she started counting seconds in her head.
When she reached sixty, she slipped off her flip-flops and tiptoed from her fenced-off workspace. As she started back toward where they’d eaten, Evan rose to his feet in her peripheral vision.
She stopped and signaled him to stay put.
He hesitated a moment, then sat back down. That let her exhale.
And then she was off again.
Locke jogged the entire perimeter of the building, scanning for anything that’d let her contact the outside world. But when she reached the safe again, she had nothing to show for the run other than embarrassment at how hard her heart was pounding. She’d seen no phones anywhere. The little glass offices contained suitcases and cots, not computers.
Escape seemed equally impossible. Although each wall bore a set of emergency exit doors, all were chained closed. The links were quarter-inch steel, secured by iron padlocks; even heavy-duty bolt cutters might not slice through them. And it wasn’t like she had a set of those anyway—a quick check showed the rolling toolbox contained mostly electronics equipment. No real tools beyond a couple of screwdrivers.
The sliding metal door they’d entered through last night was weird. Almost like a submarine hatch, its “handle” was a wheel mounted in the middle that slid security bars up and down into the ceiling and floor. While she didn’t see any obvious locks, there was no sign the wheel would turn freely either. Remembering the piercing screech the door had made, Locke decided to avoid it for now.
The only place she hadn’t checked was the bathrooms.
Locke eyed the plywood stairs again as she slipped on her sandals.
With no idea how long the crew would be working inside the wooden structure, she figured she’d better wait to make a pretend pit stop. Whenever Huang emerged, he’d want to know what she’d been doing all this time. She needed to take a crack at the Ticonderoga.
The traditional dial was bound to be the easiest part, so she started with that. After setting a random combination with her head turned, she tried to decipher it.
Big mistake.
The dial was supremely well-balanced. Although each of her first few spins picked up another one of the five combination wheels, she couldn’t sense any difference. No extra weight, no increased resistance. Just a smooth turn, every single time.
It was totally disorienting.
She hadn’t felt this lost on a dial since she’d been a teenager. The Mule had kept an old safe in the middle of his classroom, a waist-high Alpine box he’d recovered from some junkyard. At the start of every semester, he’d take a hundred-dollar bill, set it inside the safe, and lock the door—a bounty for anyone who could get inside. Kids tried everything, every tool available inside the shop. Which, of course, had been the Mule’s plan all along.
But no one had ever beaten the thing and gotten the money. And, after weathering years of failed attempts, that box looked like it had survived Vietnam with the Mule. Most of its paint was long gone, replaced by pockmarked patches of rust. Every one of its walls was scarred, drilled, and dented.
Still, the box looked beautiful to Locke—and that Benjamin inside was more money than she’d ever seen. She could picture herself on a spending spree at the mall, rows of bags slung over both arms. To get there, Locke figured she needed to be smarter than everyone else. Brute forcing it wasn’t gonna work—she needed to actually open the thing. So she searched safecracking online and found a bunch of old TV clips.
After watching those over and over, Locke waited till everyone was distracted by pizza day at the cafeteria, then snuck back to the metal shop at lunchtime.
The TV safecrackers all had stethoscopes or other gizmos to help them listen to their locks. Lacking anything that fancy, Locke simply pressed her ear against the door and started spinning the dial. But it wasn’t like what she’d seen on-screen—no ticking or clicking to guide her.
After several fruitless minutes, she was ready to quit when the Mule’s voice called out from behind her. “You got the right idea.”
She’d whipped around to find him grinning at her.
“But you’re gonna have to work a little harder.”
Now, Locke took a deep breath and stared down the Ticonderoga. Time to get systematic.
Using a pad and pen she found by the toolbox, she began the same process with the high-tech safe that she’d used back in Malibu: feeling for changes that signified the start of a notch on one of the wheels, noting the number where it happened, then reversing direction.
After ten cycles back and forth, Locke glanced over the numbers she’d written down.
She was off.
Like, way off.
The notch on a combination wheel wasn’t very big, so she expected to find five tightly packed pairs of numbers. Instead, the digits she’d scribbled were so random, she might as well have picked them out of a hat.
She needed to start over.
On a fresh sheet, Locke made notes through another ten cycles of the dial.
Same result—ten numbers nowhere near each other.
Two more tries went no better. Four manipulation attempts, four complete failures.
The knot behind her eyebrow returned, with a vengeance. At this rate, she wouldn’t need to worry about the digital lock. She’d never even get to it.
Locke was about to try again when a clatter echoed through the warehouse. Huang emerged from the plywood box, followed by the others. He paused long enough at the bottom to say, “Lunch.”
Locke collected Evan and started for the folding tables. But, seeing Jack bustling behind his hot plates and King scanning the San Francisco Chronicle, she got an idea.
“Potty break?” she asked Evan.
Outside the restrooms, Locke leaned down, as if giving him a peck on the cheek. Instead she whispered, “Look for windows or vents, okay? Anything that might lead outside. I’ll meet you out here.”
When she straightened, Evan wore his serious face again. He nodded once before marching into the men’s room. Despite a small pang of worry, Locke headed next door.
In the women’s bathroom, the only light came from a single fluorescent tube above the two-sink vanity. A pair of stalls and a single, curtainless shower stood on the opposite side. Locke ignored all that and stalked to the far wall. Scanning it corner to corner, she found solid cinder blocks the whole way along, except for one panel at the ceiling where a metal fan had been installed. As tall as she was, though, Locke couldn’t reach it. And even if she could, the panel was no bigger than a single block.
She was still staring at it when a toilet flushed behind her.
Locke jumped at the noise, then turned to see Queen exiting the first stall.
A wicked smile was splayed across her face. “Plotting your escape?”
Locke’s eyes darted back up to the fan. “Oh … no. I—”
“I don’t think you’re getting out through that little hole, hon.” Queen stepped to the sink and ran her hands under the water. In the mirror, her pale-blue eyes remained locked on Locke.
The intensity of the stare made Locke’s face flush.
“I mean, I don’t know if I could even squeeze into something that tight.” Queen ripped paper towels from the dispenser to dry her hands, then crumpled them into a ball. Without looking, she let it roll off her fingers into the trash. “Although I’d probably try. Just for fun.”
As silence hung there, heavier than the humidity, Locke searched desperately for something to say. “I … I don’t know how you did that move this morning. But he deserved it. Jack.”
Queen chuckled as she turned toward Locke. “Probably more time than he’s ever spent with his face between a woman’s legs.” Then she grunted. “At least he talks.”
“King never …?”
“Not that I’ve heard. The couple days we been trapped in here, he’s just Frankensteined around, glaring at everybody.”
“Trapped?”
Queen took a step toward Locke, causing her to retreat an equal amount.
“Huang told us when we got here, no one leaves. We’re locked in, same as you.” She glanced up at the fan in the wall. “I don’t think you’re gonna find a way out, hon. I already looked.”
Locke forced a swallow down. She had a million questions, but the way Queen was staring didn’t help her efforts to string words together.
After another silent moment, the Pink Punker spun on her heel and started for the door.
Locke’s stomach dropped, and she called after her. “Hey! You’re not gonna tell—”
“Nope.” Queen glanced back over her shoulder and winked. “Chicks before pricks.”
As the door swung shut, Locke released the remainder of the breath she’d been holding. The tiny bathroom, which had seemed to shrink around them, now widened just a little. Although she assumed Evan must be waiting outside by now, she stepped to the sink and splashed water on her face.
The cold liquid seemed to sizzle against her cheeks.
When she straightened, the confusion was still plain on her face in the mirror.
Locke wasn’t quite sure what Queen was playing at.
And by quite, she meant at all.
Growing up, Locke had gravitated to guys. She’d found their company more enjoyable, not least of all because they were easier to understand. Like bulls, they always charged straight at whatever red cape waved in front of them.
Dealing with women was more like playing pool, all angles and bank shots. Stranding the cue ball so the other player had to scratch.
The guys Locke grew up with had never judged her Salvation Army clothes. They didn’t think she was weird for liking sports or being outdoors. Girls were always preoccupied with things that didn’t matter, communicating in some language Locke had never been taught.
That’s why Kori was special.
One reason at least.
A female friend Locke could trust. And understand.
The first of those, like, ever.
Not that it started that way. One corner of Locke’s mouth turned up, remembering how Sergeant Nunez had pulled Locke aside and asked her to be Kori’s keeper through basic. Locke had been horrified. Over the first three weeks, she’d been killing it—maxing out her PT scores, winning the combatives competition. Why did she suddenly need to babysit the mousy girl who started every drill on the wrong foot? The one who could barely finish the short runs, let alone the long ones?
Locke had decided Nunez’s request was the very worst thing that could have happened. But she had to comply or face Nunez’s punishment.
Problem was, Kori wasn’t exactly psyched to receive help. When Locke approached her in the barracks, you’d have thought Locke had come to kill her. Kori actually reared back to throw a punch.
Locke had turned and stalked away.
Not because she was scared—she would have knocked five-foot-nothing Kori into next week. Because she didn’t want the trouble. Who was this little girl to give her any lip? And why the fuck was Nunez forcing her to help someone so utterly ungrateful?
The next morning, though, when Nunez discovered Kori had lost her canteen, it wasn’t just Kori who had to run around asking inanimate objects—doors, lampposts, rocks—if they’d seen it. Nunez made Locke perform the punishment too.
She’s started off steaming. Her first time in trouble, and it wasn’t even her fault! The paranoid part of her brain imagined Nunez calling the Mule back home, telling him how badly she’d done.
But no matter how mad she was, when Kori saluted a small tree like it was a goddamn three-star, Locke couldn’t help letting out a chuckle.
Kori looked over, that wild gleam in her eye. The one Locke had seen so many times afterward.
The one that meant, Oh, that made you laugh? Just wait!
They’d become fast friends after that, Locke helping Kori with her soldiering, Kori forcing Locke to keep it light. They looked so different standing side by side—the tall, muscular white chick and the tiny Aleut girl—that Nunez started calling them Grande and Pequeña.
Looking at herself in the mirror now, Locke longed for one of Kori’s smiles to take the edge off. A joke to break the tension.
Deep down, though, Locke knew none was coming. And she’d kept Evan waiting long enough.
One last splash on her face, and she headed back outside.
Evan stood waiting at the bathroom door. Seeing his face, she couldn’t help but give him a hug. While her mouth was near his ear, she whispered, “Anything?”
He shook his head.
Locke tried not to let her disappointment show. Instead, she steered him toward the corner where the others had queued up for food. Huang was being served first, while Queen stood at the end of the line.
