Beginnings
For a sneaky property crime to produce a thrill, the person must understand that
it incorporates several challenges that have personal, existentially fundamental,
significance outside the act of theft. The experienced profundity of the event
-both as deeply moving in the moment of success or failure and as one of the
rare, brief events of private life that can be recalled vividly years, even
decades, later -embodies the awareness of its multiple metaphoric implications.
-Jack Katz
The Seductions of Crime;
Moral and Sensual
Attractions in Doing Evil"
1988
The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York, New York ( 1:00am, GMT -5 )
From inside the museum an undisturbed calm seemed to resonate, broken only
momentarily by an occasional light from a motion sensor as the security staff
did their hourly check. The two story building held several collections with
several hundred on display at any given time. The dulled footsteps of one of the
security team clicked softly against the marble tile as the illuminated beam
from a flashlight bounced from place to place, and a yawn escaped from the mouth
of its owner. A uniformed security guard hurriedly finished his 20 minute walk
around, and once he had circled the last exhibit on the second floor he spoke
with an exhausted tone into the hand held radio transmitter and said,
" All clear on the second floor. I hope you got the coffee brewing, its going to
be a long night."
His partner mumbled back an inaudible reply as he headed toward the stairs to
the ground floor. There was a moment of silence before a gloved hand grasped the
wire mesh opening of an airduct grate from an adjoining room and a confident
voice whispered,
"Did you hear that? Just finished the hourly check. We have approximately 20
minutes to get in and out before they even begin to expect a thing." Another
voice crackled a moment from the headset before becoming clear, a low soft
feminine tone,
"Okay, now. Motion sensors and proximity alarms are down. Your boys are still
working on looping the parallel circuit for the cameras...and I'm monitoring
radio transmissions from the control desk personally. But I'm also picking up
this weird interference, like someone close is transmitting in clear. Hmmm.
Probably some old ham radio operator. Just get in there and do whatcha gotta do,
and get out. We almost blew the last heist in Berlin..."
"Relax Kal, this is going to be easier. You just do what I pay you to do and
I'll be just fine. Are those cameras down yet? Or must I do everything myself?"
A mockingly sarcastic whisper purred in reply,
" They're still working on it. Who'd you get to counter electronic surveillance?
The Three Stooges? Next time leave the important decisions to me. We've wasted
almost a minute...wait, okay, cameras are down. Do the deed, dude."
At that moment the vent swung open and a darkened figure lowered quickly to the
floor. It stepped aside as others followed and looked toward the faint
sillouhette of their leader. Only a momentary flash of coppery colored eyes
betrayed his position before he moved into visibility and motioned them into
action. While his cohorts seemed to move hastily toward the limestone reliefs
positioned along the surrounding walls, his posture never betrayed its
nonchalant, languid fluidity as he walked toward one of the Assyrian artifacts,
seemingly unaware of the events which transpired around him. A strand of dark
brown hair fell across his face as he removed a black leather glove and pressed
his fingers to the cold beige limestone of a human headed winged lion. He stood
a moment admiring the detailed lines carved in stone, running his hand along the
timeless statue, feeling the alterations of smoothness and the insignificant
places where age had softly worn away the surface and bristled a fine grit
beneath the fingertips. The structure seemed to stare right through him, a gaze
transfixed from 883 B.C., frozen in place with an eternal stature and grace. A
powerful emotion welled up inside from this single moment, as though a hidden
taboo had been violated in this one single act, and a sudden realization to the
origin of the artifact filled the mind with awe inspiring consequence. The
figure that had once involuntarily witnessed the rise and fall of Nimrud as it
stood at gateway of the palace of Ashurnasirpal II, supporting the archways to
the great Assyrian capital, now belonged to him. Heavy eyelids closed over the
piercing orange hued orbs as he prolonged the profundity of the moment just as
an all too familiar voice broke the silence of intense concentration,
"Hello? Jida? What are you doing down there? We can take a tour of the museum
during normal business hours! Are you ignoring me again? You've got less than
ten minutes! Get the hydraulic lifts in place and get out! I don't think the
morons working on the alarm system can prolong the automatic dialer much longer!
Jida? Are you listening to me? Jida!..."
Somehow, Kalista always knew when to ruin a perfect moment. He yanked the
headset from his ears and switched the power off as one of his henchmen
approached him and cautiously interjected,
"Boss? We're ready to go. Are we taking this one too?"
Jida didn't bother to turn and face his employee as he mumbled,
" I hate her. I really do. Hate, hate, hate. Mental note, fire my administrative
assistant the moment I find a suitable replacement."
"Excuse me?" Jida turned only half hiding the snarl on his lips and snapped,
"Yes, especially this one. Start the evacuation." Another approached and began
to object,
" Mr. Jerard, I don't think we have time to..." The darkened figure stepped
defensively in response and snarled,
" I don't pay you to think, I pay you to act! Is that understood? Good. Now get
it done and start the exit procedures I briefed you on, or did those
instructions lapse inside your minuscule brains as well?"
Both nodded a negative response as they cowered back from him and turned to
complete their orders. As the blinding light from the arc of a torch finished
its purpose of providing an exit from the rooftop, Jida froze like an animal who
suddenly fathoms it is being watched by a predator. His henchmen did the same,
alarmed by this sudden change in his normally casual disposition. The hairs on
the back of his neck stood on end and an over developed instinct crept across
his skin.
They were not alone.
Jida motioned silently to exit, his reaction hastened by this unknown element
and he switched the headset on temporarily and whispered,
"Kali, load the cargo quickly and get out of here. Meet me at the safehouse in
Atlanta." The sudden sense of urgency stunned her and the momentary uncertainty
was overpowering. Nothing ever scared Jida von Chera Jerard. Nothing. A
terrified voice responded,
"What's going on down there? I have been trying to reach you! There's someone
else..."
Jida switched the headset off once again and turned as the last of the
collection was hoisted through the opening to the roof and loaded into the cargo
bay of the unlit aircraft carrier. Once he was reassured of the safety of the
last item, he turned again toward the darkness of the now vacant room and an
overwhelming curiosity took hold of him. There was an odd reassurance in knowing
that even if he were caught in the act of theft, his collection was almost
complete. An earlier crime had secured other reliefs from ancient Nineveh into
his possession, despite the fact that three of his "employees" had made the
costly mistake of disobeying a direct order. Incarceration would prove in the
end that he had been correct, and Jida was not forthcoming in forgiveness. Yet
in contrast to the eccentric millionare's coldness, few ever betrayed his
involvement. Jida never needed to remind anyone with little more than his
cutting voice and disarming stare as to who was in charge. But now, something
unplanned was taking place. An element of chaos thrown into his working
machination of precision. He wasn't without fear and little of it showed if any
within the powerful frame. He pressed closer to the wall behind him and held a
deep breath in, controlling the pounding heartbeat inside of his chest.
A soft indiscriminate creak broke the reverie of silence, and his ears strained
to find its origin. Jida slowly slide towards the opening to his right and
stopped short of stepping into view as a shadow glided past him and continued in
the direction of the wing which housed nineteenth century European paintings and
sculptures. He held his breath and swallowed the lump of fear which had settled
in his throat, just as the light from the auxiliary system revealed the
mysterious interloper's identity. The trademark red and gold encircled fedora
and trenchcoat could only mean one thing.
Carmen Sandiego had chosen this night to break into the famous museum as well.
There was a confident strength behind the silent way she seemed to move toward
her intended object, pausing only to admire another postimpressionist painting
with a brief smile before returning to her task at hand.
Jida moved closer to view this unplanned spectacle. The thought of capture and
prosecution slipped from his mind as he became entranced with the rare glimpse
to watch the world famous thief at work. An almost giddy childlike fascination
drew his attentions, like the snooping eye of an artful voyeur who watches what
was never meant to be seen. There was an incredible grace and style to her
movements, as she removed the painting from its position and set a curled piece
of paper in its place.
He ducked swiftly into the darkness as VILE henchmen approached the scene
and Carmen left the left wing of the building. Jida waited silently until the
silence beckoned once again with its false sense of security. He peered out into
the breezeway and made the assessment that he was truly alone, before moving
into the west wing of the second floor. An uncontrollable urge took command of
his better senses as he reached out to remove the carefully planned clue from
its place. Glancing around again to reassure himself, Jida uncurled the paper as
a sly knowing smirk dancing fleetingly across his lips. A strange feeling seemed
to descend upon him as he glanced around the room once more and a thousand
thoughts danced through his mind. He gently replaced the paper back where Carmen
had left it, as the alarm sirens broke the calm of the moment, he turned, eyes
half closed and walked casually from the scene of the crime.
For a sneaky property crime to produce a thrill, the person must understand that
it incorporates several challenges that have personal, existentially fundamental,
significance outside the act of theft. The experienced profundity of the event
-both as deeply moving in the moment of success or failure and as one of the
rare, brief events of private life that can be recalled vividly years, even
decades, later -embodies the awareness of its multiple metaphoric implications.
-Jack Katz
The Seductions of Crime;
Moral and Sensual
Attractions in Doing Evil"
1988
The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York, New York ( 1:00am, GMT -5 )
From inside the museum an undisturbed calm seemed to resonate, broken only
momentarily by an occasional light from a motion sensor as the security staff
did their hourly check. The two story building held several collections with
several hundred on display at any given time. The dulled footsteps of one of the
security team clicked softly against the marble tile as the illuminated beam
from a flashlight bounced from place to place, and a yawn escaped from the mouth
of its owner. A uniformed security guard hurriedly finished his 20 minute walk
around, and once he had circled the last exhibit on the second floor he spoke
with an exhausted tone into the hand held radio transmitter and said,
" All clear on the second floor. I hope you got the coffee brewing, its going to
be a long night."
His partner mumbled back an inaudible reply as he headed toward the stairs to
the ground floor. There was a moment of silence before a gloved hand grasped the
wire mesh opening of an airduct grate from an adjoining room and a confident
voice whispered,
"Did you hear that? Just finished the hourly check. We have approximately 20
minutes to get in and out before they even begin to expect a thing." Another
voice crackled a moment from the headset before becoming clear, a low soft
feminine tone,
"Okay, now. Motion sensors and proximity alarms are down. Your boys are still
working on looping the parallel circuit for the cameras...and I'm monitoring
radio transmissions from the control desk personally. But I'm also picking up
this weird interference, like someone close is transmitting in clear. Hmmm.
Probably some old ham radio operator. Just get in there and do whatcha gotta do,
and get out. We almost blew the last heist in Berlin..."
"Relax Kal, this is going to be easier. You just do what I pay you to do and
I'll be just fine. Are those cameras down yet? Or must I do everything myself?"
A mockingly sarcastic whisper purred in reply,
" They're still working on it. Who'd you get to counter electronic surveillance?
The Three Stooges? Next time leave the important decisions to me. We've wasted
almost a minute...wait, okay, cameras are down. Do the deed, dude."
At that moment the vent swung open and a darkened figure lowered quickly to the
floor. It stepped aside as others followed and looked toward the faint
sillouhette of their leader. Only a momentary flash of coppery colored eyes
betrayed his position before he moved into visibility and motioned them into
action. While his cohorts seemed to move hastily toward the limestone reliefs
positioned along the surrounding walls, his posture never betrayed its
nonchalant, languid fluidity as he walked toward one of the Assyrian artifacts,
seemingly unaware of the events which transpired around him. A strand of dark
brown hair fell across his face as he removed a black leather glove and pressed
his fingers to the cold beige limestone of a human headed winged lion. He stood
a moment admiring the detailed lines carved in stone, running his hand along the
timeless statue, feeling the alterations of smoothness and the insignificant
places where age had softly worn away the surface and bristled a fine grit
beneath the fingertips. The structure seemed to stare right through him, a gaze
transfixed from 883 B.C., frozen in place with an eternal stature and grace. A
powerful emotion welled up inside from this single moment, as though a hidden
taboo had been violated in this one single act, and a sudden realization to the
origin of the artifact filled the mind with awe inspiring consequence. The
figure that had once involuntarily witnessed the rise and fall of Nimrud as it
stood at gateway of the palace of Ashurnasirpal II, supporting the archways to
the great Assyrian capital, now belonged to him. Heavy eyelids closed over the
piercing orange hued orbs as he prolonged the profundity of the moment just as
an all too familiar voice broke the silence of intense concentration,
"Hello? Jida? What are you doing down there? We can take a tour of the museum
during normal business hours! Are you ignoring me again? You've got less than
ten minutes! Get the hydraulic lifts in place and get out! I don't think the
morons working on the alarm system can prolong the automatic dialer much longer!
Jida? Are you listening to me? Jida!..."
Somehow, Kalista always knew when to ruin a perfect moment. He yanked the
headset from his ears and switched the power off as one of his henchmen
approached him and cautiously interjected,
"Boss? We're ready to go. Are we taking this one too?"
Jida didn't bother to turn and face his employee as he mumbled,
" I hate her. I really do. Hate, hate, hate. Mental note, fire my administrative
assistant the moment I find a suitable replacement."
"Excuse me?" Jida turned only half hiding the snarl on his lips and snapped,
"Yes, especially this one. Start the evacuation." Another approached and began
to object,
" Mr. Jerard, I don't think we have time to..." The darkened figure stepped
defensively in response and snarled,
" I don't pay you to think, I pay you to act! Is that understood? Good. Now get
it done and start the exit procedures I briefed you on, or did those
instructions lapse inside your minuscule brains as well?"
Both nodded a negative response as they cowered back from him and turned to
complete their orders. As the blinding light from the arc of a torch finished
its purpose of providing an exit from the rooftop, Jida froze like an animal who
suddenly fathoms it is being watched by a predator. His henchmen did the same,
alarmed by this sudden change in his normally casual disposition. The hairs on
the back of his neck stood on end and an over developed instinct crept across
his skin.
They were not alone.
Jida motioned silently to exit, his reaction hastened by this unknown element
and he switched the headset on temporarily and whispered,
"Kali, load the cargo quickly and get out of here. Meet me at the safehouse in
Atlanta." The sudden sense of urgency stunned her and the momentary uncertainty
was overpowering. Nothing ever scared Jida von Chera Jerard. Nothing. A
terrified voice responded,
"What's going on down there? I have been trying to reach you! There's someone
else..."
Jida switched the headset off once again and turned as the last of the
collection was hoisted through the opening to the roof and loaded into the cargo
bay of the unlit aircraft carrier. Once he was reassured of the safety of the
last item, he turned again toward the darkness of the now vacant room and an
overwhelming curiosity took hold of him. There was an odd reassurance in knowing
that even if he were caught in the act of theft, his collection was almost
complete. An earlier crime had secured other reliefs from ancient Nineveh into
his possession, despite the fact that three of his "employees" had made the
costly mistake of disobeying a direct order. Incarceration would prove in the
end that he had been correct, and Jida was not forthcoming in forgiveness. Yet
in contrast to the eccentric millionare's coldness, few ever betrayed his
involvement. Jida never needed to remind anyone with little more than his
cutting voice and disarming stare as to who was in charge. But now, something
unplanned was taking place. An element of chaos thrown into his working
machination of precision. He wasn't without fear and little of it showed if any
within the powerful frame. He pressed closer to the wall behind him and held a
deep breath in, controlling the pounding heartbeat inside of his chest.
A soft indiscriminate creak broke the reverie of silence, and his ears strained
to find its origin. Jida slowly slide towards the opening to his right and
stopped short of stepping into view as a shadow glided past him and continued in
the direction of the wing which housed nineteenth century European paintings and
sculptures. He held his breath and swallowed the lump of fear which had settled
in his throat, just as the light from the auxiliary system revealed the
mysterious interloper's identity. The trademark red and gold encircled fedora
and trenchcoat could only mean one thing.
Carmen Sandiego had chosen this night to break into the famous museum as well.
There was a confident strength behind the silent way she seemed to move toward
her intended object, pausing only to admire another postimpressionist painting
with a brief smile before returning to her task at hand.
Jida moved closer to view this unplanned spectacle. The thought of capture and
prosecution slipped from his mind as he became entranced with the rare glimpse
to watch the world famous thief at work. An almost giddy childlike fascination
drew his attentions, like the snooping eye of an artful voyeur who watches what
was never meant to be seen. There was an incredible grace and style to her
movements, as she removed the painting from its position and set a curled piece
of paper in its place.
He ducked swiftly into the darkness as VILE henchmen approached the scene
and Carmen left the left wing of the building. Jida waited silently until the
silence beckoned once again with its false sense of security. He peered out into
the breezeway and made the assessment that he was truly alone, before moving
into the west wing of the second floor. An uncontrollable urge took command of
his better senses as he reached out to remove the carefully planned clue from
its place. Glancing around again to reassure himself, Jida uncurled the paper as
a sly knowing smirk dancing fleetingly across his lips. A strange feeling seemed
to descend upon him as he glanced around the room once more and a thousand
thoughts danced through his mind. He gently replaced the paper back where Carmen
had left it, as the alarm sirens broke the calm of the moment, he turned, eyes
half closed and walked casually from the scene of the crime.
