“And what will they do?”
“Try to pry it open,” he said.
“And will that work?” she asked.
He shook his head and said, “No.”
“Can you blast into that safe, Hale?”
“What? Why are you asking?”
“Because I think we have bigger problems.”
“What kind of problems?” Hale asked, but Macey just pointed to the fireplace under the painting.
The gas-powered fireplace.
“The kind that go boom.”
Katarina Bishop had been many things in her young life. The daughter of a con man, the niece of a thief. (And once, during a particularly delicate operation in Hungary, the heir to an American ketchup dynasty.) But on that evening, she was something she had never, ever been before: helpless.
Needless to say, she didn’t like it.
“Kat,” Abby called, strolling in her direction. “Tell me about your boyfriend.”
“Well…I don’t know that he’s my boyfriend. I mean…he’s a boy. And he’s my friend. And there’s recently been the addition of kissing. But does that make us friends with benefits or—”
“Kat,” Abby snapped.
“Sorry,” Kat said. “What were you asking?”
“What is his training?”
“Oh…” And then, for an excellent liar, Kat had absolutely no idea what to say.
Abby seemed to read her face, because she inched closer and lowered her voice. “Look, I’m not a cop. And I’m not Interpol. I’m just someone who took an oath a long time ago to keep Macey McHenry safe, so whatever you can tell me…”
“He’s a con man. An inside man. He’s pretty good at short cons and street work. Picking pockets, sleight of hand—stuff like that—but what he does best is…lie.”
“Can he handle a safe?” Abby asked.
“What kind of safe?” Kat asked.
“A Scribner 9000,” Abby told her, and Kat couldn’t help herself—she laughed.
“I’m sorry,” she said, righting herself. “But that safe is drill-proof, hack-proof, and has an internal gyroscope with titanium shafts that bolt into place if anyone even breathes on it funny. Seriously. They don’t even install them in California because of earthquakes.” Kat watched the way Abby gaped at her. “Maybe I don’t know much about boys.…” Kat shook her head. “Doesn’t mean I don’t know about safes.”
“Can you pry your way into it?”
“You mean like with the Jaws of Life?” Kat thought about what Hale had seen hidden in the ballroom. “You can try, but it won’t work. Or…well…it didn’t work at the Israeli Diamond Exchange in 2009.” Kat thought about what she’d said, then quickly added, “Allegedly. There are only two ways into a Scribner nine series. Either you hire one of the half dozen or so safecrackers in the world who can work the tumblers or…” Kat cut her eyes up at Abby, who was totally not liking the answer. “You get someone to give you the combination.” Kat drew a deep breath. “Why?”
“I think we might have a problem.” Abby looked up at the high-rise. “What do you know about the new whole-house system from Sterling Security?”
“The new one?” Kat raised her eyebrows, impressed. “It’s good. I mean…really good. A friend of mine’s dad designed it, and there’s really no way around it unless…” Kat let her voice trail off, and Abby must have read her mind.
“Somebody cuts the power,” Abby said, and Kat looked up at the too-dark building. “The authorities turned off all electricity to the building five minutes ago.”
“What about—” Kat started, but Abby was already shaking her head.
“Backup generators too.”
“That’s why they needed the hostages,” Kat said, and in spite of herself she had to smile. “That’s why they weren’t in a hurry. This had to be big and public and scary enough to get the cops to black out the whole building. It’s genius.” She suddenly remembered who she was speaking to. “I mean it’s awful. But it’s also kind of genius.”
Suddenly, the hostages made sense. It wasn’t a holdup, Kat realized. It was a diversion. It had a purpose. And purposes made Kat happy.
Abby smiled and never asked how a fifteen-year-old girl could be so good at doing very bad things. “They’re past the security system, Kat. And now they’re working on the safe.”
“Whose safe is it?”
“Have you ever heard of the Calloway Canary?”
“Is Mrs. Calloway in there?”
“She’s in the ballroom now,” Abby said. “With a fake necklace that our gunmen evidently knew was a fake, because they went straight for the safe.”
“So someone is slipping them inside information,” Kat said, and Abby nodded. “What do you know about the gunmen?”
“Not much. According to our source—”
“You mean Macey?” Kat asked, but Abby didn’t answer.
“They’re Eastern European, probably muscle for hire,” Abby said. “There’s some big boss we haven’t identified yet. Someone’s calling the shots, but these guys are just here to do a job.”
But Kat was shaking her head. “There isn’t any honor among thieves, Abby. Not among that kind, at least. And right now they’re trying to get into a safe they can’t crack while holding on to over a hundred people they no longer need.” Kat watched the woman’s eyes, her worried posture and hasty glances toward an empty balcony.
“What is it?” Kat asked. “What aren’t you telling me?”
“Kat, can you blast your way into that safe?”
“Technically, yes,” Kat started slowly. “But in a private residence with close quarters and utilities you’d have to be crazy to try.”
“So we can’t let them try.”
“No.” Kat shook her head. “We can’t.”
Then Abby seemed to remember that she was the adult and Kat was the teen, the civilian, because she patted the younger girl on the back and said, “You don’t need to worry about it, Kat. You’ve done enough.” She turned away.