“How’d you get in here?” Martin heard himself ask. Keep talking. Keep calm. “That door was locked.”
The leader stabbed him with a look. “We can pick a lock, so what?” He grabbed Shelley’s arm. She yelped. “Get on your knees by the cart. You too.” He gestured toward Olga and Martin.
Man Number Four unzipped a duffel bag and withdrew a flathead screwdriver and hammer.
“You can’t lock us in here.” Olga sank to her knees. “I’m supposed to visit my grandkids. If I don’t show up, they’ll know something’s wrong.”
“I said you’ll be fine,” the leader snapped.
Martin got down beside Shelley. His mouth was open now, sucking in air. His clothes stuck to his skin.
Man Number Three yanked pieces of rope from a duffel bag. With rough movements he tied Shelley’s hands to a leg on the first rectangular cart. She lowered her head and cried.
“It’ll be . . . okay,” Martin whispered. He could barely breathe. “It’ll . . . be okay.”
Number Three bound Olga to the leg next to Shelley. He tied Martin to one at the other end.
“Look down and close your eyes,” the leader said.
Martin did as he was told. He heard the sound of hammering, metal against metal as one of the men pried open the padlocked compartments of the cart. The legs jerked this way and that, pulling at his arms, his shoulders. The smell of dust and perspiration swirled around him, and his heart swelled against his ribs. This wasn’t over yet. What if they shut him and the two women in this vault? Martin thought of his words to Shelley. It’ll be okay. Maybe it wouldn’t. He and his coworkers might all be killed.
He thought of Lorraine in their run-down apartment. She was probably reading to Tammy. Such a good mom. She deserved so much better.
Tammy, your daddy loves you.
The pounding stopped on the cart to which they were tied. Feet squeaked against the floor. The noise began again as they broke into the second cart. All that clanking and smashing. The sounds rattled in Martin’s brain. His teeth set on edge.
Zippers opened. Martin cast a look upward. Each of the four men was throwing bound stacks of money into the bags by denomination. Guns protruded from their pockets.
The leader shook a bag. “Pack ’em tight.”
“Did we bring enough bags?” another one asked.
“Just pack ’em down.”
Martin lowered his head. The sounds continued around him, the rustle of clothes, the soft plop of bill stacks tossed upon one another. Ten minutes. The men couldn’t have been in the bank longer than that, but it seemed a lifetime. A drop of sweat rolled off his jaw onto the floor.
Shelley sniffed. Olga had not made a sound.
“How much you think’s in here?” one of the robbers asked, his words breathless.
“He oughtta know.” The leader’s clipped voice. A knee dug into Martin’s shoulder. “How much?”
For a moment rebellion burned. A lie formed on Martin’s tongue, then melted away. “Almost seven million.”
“Seven million!” one of them crowed.
Claustrophobia welled up Martin’s throat. He forced himself to examine the binding around his hands. He tried to pull his wrists apart — and they moved a fraction of an inch. How long before he could work his way out of the rope?
“Come on, come on,” one of the men hissed.
Martin’s heart constricted. He gazed toward the door of the vault. Beyond it he could see the length of the bank, the glass front door at the other end. Through that lay the outside world. His family. Air.
“This one’s full,” Number Two said. A zipper closed. “Who’s got room for more hundreds?”
“Here.” The leader’s voice.
The cart jiggled, the soft sound of gloves scraping bottom.
“That’s it.”
Zzzip. Multiple bags closed. All but the leader ran out of the vault, carrying two duffels each, leaving nine full ones behind. Martin figured each bag had to weigh around thirty-five pounds. One duffel on the vault floor remained empty. The leader stayed in the vault, keeping his eye on Martin and the women. As if they could go anywhere.
The three men soon returned, lugging out six more bags total. Two of them ran back a third time and picked up the rest, including the empty one. Their footfalls scuffed across the bank floor, then faded.
At the vault’s door the leader turned, gun drawn. He pointed it at Martin’s head. Martin went cold.
“Have a nice evening.”
The man swiveled and disappeared.
Martin’s body sagged. Shelley burst into sobs.
“Shh, wait.” Martin listened for the opening of the rear door. He heard nothing but the whoosh of blood in his ears.
“They’re gone.” Olga twisted her hands in her rope.
Martin tried to think. His head was about to explode. He needed to breathe. “Let’s get this cart out of the vault. Shelley?”
“Yeah, okay.” Her voice shook.
“I’ll get in front.” Martin shuffled around, the women moving in the same direction, until his end of the cart pointed outward. Martin’s back was now to the door, nothing but the closing-in walls of the vault in his line of vision. He dragged in air. “Okay. I’ll back up. Follow me.”
As a team, they performed an awkward knee ballet, inching the cart along. When he passed the vault door, Martin turned his head to the side and gulped deep breaths.
“You okay?” Olga’s face shone with perspiration.
“Yeah.”
Another minute and the entire cart stood outside the vault. Martin’s insides still shook. But he could breathe.
He twisted his arm to view his watch. The robbers had been gone maybe five minutes. “Try to untie yourself.”
Dry-throated, Martin fought against his rope. Shelley struggled fitfully with hers, sniffing and swallowing hard enough to make her throat click. Olga made no sound.
Within minutes Martin’s skin burned.
Slowly his rope loosened. He pushed his thumb beneath the topknot and worked it. When he could turn one wrist perpendicular to another, he picked at the ties with the first two fingers on his right hand.
After twenty minutes his left hand wriggled free. He slipped out of the rope completely. Ignoring the pain in his wrists, he moved to untie Shelley, then Olga. His fumbling fingers had gone numb.
His nerves felt like raw meat. Nico hadn’t told him he’d be shackled in the vault. Martin wouldn’t sleep for weeks.
But they’d pulled it off.
Martin and Shelley pushed to their feet. Olga’s legs were stiff. She sat down on the floor and massaged her muscles. Martin stumbled toward the nearest bank alarm.
As he reached out his hand to set it off, he checked his watch. Nico and his three cohorts had been gone for almost thirty minutes.
Plenty of time for a clean getaway.
FIVE
Pulse fluttering, Kaycee followed Officer Mark Burnett as he checked the rooms in her house. He looked carefully, making sure all windows were locked. Every footfall felt like a step toward Kaycee’s grave. Around this corner, maybe the next, the people watching her would be waiting.
First Mark went through the open arched entry into the dining room, where he bent down to look under the table. Then under the matching arch into the large living room at the front of the house. Kaycee hung close, her spine rigid and brittle. She tingled with the sense of eyes watching from the dark outside. Before they left a room she closed all curtains and shades within it.
“We forgot the back bathroom and utility area.” She pointed with her chin toward the living room’s second arch, leading back to the kitchen.