Ha! Two chapters in as many days. Hands up anyone who thinks this is gonna last . . . well, it's not. Sorry.
S minus 5 days . . .
Rusty perched on the counter, just behind Danny, and sucked at a Tootsie pop and watched the room.
This was the first time the five of them had got together, but they all knew each other already, and had worked together in varying combinations. There'd be no unexpected personality clashes, and that was always something to be thankful for.
Kieran Webb. Blond, mid thirties and in a seemingly permanent good mood. Rusty didn't think they'd need much to win him over. If anything. He was loyal and undemanding and liked it when things went smoothly and ended in money. And Rusty knew he trusted them to deliver.
Eddie Delaney was a slightly different matter. Dark, wiry and a little twitchy, he liked his jobs both precise and varied. And he was very good at what he did. Unfortunately he couldn't tell a lie to save his life. That's why they needed Saul.
And Saul would almost certainly automatically be in. Because Saul had never turned them down before, and they didn't need to offer money, and they didn't need to offer excitement. They just needed to promise that they weren't being stupid.
"Okay gentlemen, we all know why we're here," Danny began.
"Right," Kieran spoke up, with a lazy smile. "You've got something good."
Rusty grinned. "Of course. Don't we always?" And that was one.
"The mark," Danny went on with a smirk in his voice, just for Rusty, "Is Alexander Northridge - "
" - Alexander Cabot Northridge – " Rusty expanded.
" – joint owner of Zuultech."
Eddie frowned. "The arms company?" he asked, cautiously.
Rusty winced internally when he saw Saul's eyes narrow at that and he could almost hear the discussion on what made a safe mark. "The company isn't the target," he said firmly, taking the Tootsie pop out of his mouth. "Strictly private." Saul stared at him for a long, long moment, and he offered confidence and reassurance until Saul nodded, satisfied.
"Right," Danny agreed. "He has a collection of bronze statuettes."
"Ugly bronze statuettes," Rusty contributed, between sucks.
"Expensive ugly bronze statuettes," Danny expanded further, "And Kenny has a buyer willing to pay five million."
Kieran beamed. Eddie looked mildly interested for the first time. Saul's expression didn't change. They'd need more than mere money for that.
"Now, the statuettes are kept in a special collection room in the middle of the third floor of Northridge's house." Danny indicated the point on the plans.
"It's more of a mansion, really," Rusty remarked. He watched carefully as Saul looked over the plans and so he was able to catch the slight expression of approval and intrigue. Two, and with no visible sign, Danny smiled back at him.
"Me and Rusty are going after the statuettes," Danny continued. "Kieran will be waiting in the car here." He pointed on the map. "Now, not only is the mansion set in the middle of a gated community with more private security than you can shake a stick at, it also has one of the most elaborate security systems we've ever seen."
And they'd seen a lot. Rusty watched as Eddie's eyes narrowed. Simple deduction, really. "You going to break it?"
Danny shook his head. "We want it gone."
"It's controlled centrally," Rusty said, reaching behind him for the specs and passing them over. "Aembic Security Systems." Eddie frowned at them for a long moment.
"Saul, you're Eddie's way in," Danny said, and Saul nodded. "Clean Sweep, we thought. Me and Rus' will set it up the night before. We met a nice man named Rolf, who was perfectly willing to give us his system access codes in exchange for money."
"A lot of money," Rusty added. Still, if they could get Saul accepted as a member of staff, it was more than worth it.
Eddie blinked absently, looked up from the specs, and turned to Saul. "While you're there, can you get me some current pictures of the set up?"
And three. Rusty relaxed, and felt Danny do the same.
They were on.
S minus 3 days . . .
They'd been sitting in the deserted office at Aembic for over two hours now, and Danny could tell that Rusty was getting bored. Just because Rusty hadn't actually moved in all that time didn't mean he didn't know that. Still, they had to wait until the last of the admin staff was out of the building.
Danny himself had been thinking. "I do want to live with her," he admitted suddenly.
"Uh huh," Rusty continued to stare at the opposite wall.
"But I was thinking – "
Rusty grimaced. " – not a good – "
Danny ignored him. " – just because I want her to move in – "
" – Danny – " Rusty protested.
" - doesn't mean I want you to move out," he finished determinedly.
There was a long pause. "That's got to be the worst plan you've ever thought of," Rusty said finally.
Danny blinked. "Worse than – "
" – no, Krista and Trista were worse," Rusty conceded.
Danny relaxed. "Well, you see – "
" – as was that thing in Vegas, actually. With the ostrich feathers and the – "
" – that worked!" Danny protested. Because it had. Not exactly as intended, but nonetheless there had definitely been a success there.
"Really? Because I don't remember it getting us any closer to Grigor."
Okay. Not that success. "True," he admitted. "But it did teach you that I mean it when – "
" – it was four hours – " Rusty objected.
" – I tell you to get more than two hours sleep in ninety six," he said firmly.
Rusty paused. "Reuben saw."
"Oh. Yes." Danny remembered with a shudder. "You win." Not a success. "Did we ever apologise?"
"He never stopped laughing long enough for us to try," Rusty said shrugging.
Danny nodded and there was a long silence. "It could work," he said, quietly.
"No. It couldn't," Rusty told him, equally serious.
"You like Tess, Tess likes you, you know how I feel about both of you, so why can't we - "
Rusty interrupted hastily. " – Are you sure you know where this sentence is going?"
Danny blinked. "I thought I did." He sighed. "I don't want to lose – "
" – you're not going to lose anything," Rusty told him, and Danny warmed a little at the fierceness in his voice. "Neither of us are."
"But . . . " He trailed off. Because how could he explain how comforting it was, knowing that Rusty was safe in the next room? How could he explain that he still wanted the talking and the movies and the silence and the chocolate and the whisky? How could he explain how he needed to know that when he woke up in the middle of the night there would be warmth and understanding and love and timelessness?
Rusty was looking at him, and his eyes were open, and his smile was unguarded, and he reflected Danny in all things, and of course he'd never needed to explain anything. "Yes," he said simply. "Always."
"Then why not?" he asked. Surely it was worth a try.
Rusty sighed. "You honestly think Tess would be happy with that little arrangement?"
She wouldn't. Of course she wouldn't. Because she'd know damn well that if they started that way, Danny would never, ever want to give it up. "That's not the only thing that matters," he pointed out desperately.
"But it's not completely irrelevant, either," Rusty answered, and Danny wished he wasn't right.
He stifled a groan, and watched the light go out in the office opposite. "Come on. Let's get to work."
S minus 2 days . . .
It was Saul who paused outside the headquarters of Aembic Security Systems and took a deep breath, but it was Michael Hatcher who strode through the doors and slammed an ID badge down in front of the startled receptionist. "Get me Steven Aitken. Now."
The man was still blinking at the ID, "Uh, of course, Mr Hatcher," He hastily dialled a number and Saul watched the whispered conversation impassively. "Um, Mr Aitken isn't actually in the office today . . . " Saul knew that. He'd been unexpectedly sent, at the last possible minute, to a conference in Jefferson City. "His deputy, Mr Prince is available, if that's all right?"
Saul scowled. "It will have to do."
He hovered, disgruntled, around the reception area for ten minutes, while the receptionist offered him a seat, a coffee, a glass of water, or, in fact, anything he desired. It was something of a relief when Mr Prince finally appeared and ushered him into an empty meeting room. "Mr . . . Hatcher, am I right?"
Saul nodded. "Mr Prince, I presume."
"Yes, that's right. And you're from head office? I must say, we weren't expecting an inspection."
"That's why they're called surprise inspections," Saul said patiently. "I'm here to get an overall understanding of the way you're running this outfit, taking a broad view of both your financial and technical position."
"Oh, good." The man smiled nervously. "I'm sure you won't be disappointed."
Saul paused just long enough for it to be uncomfortable. "I'm sure," he agreed politely. "I expect to be here until the end of next week, assuming I discover nothing untoward, and I'll start going through your financial records from Monday." That would keep them busy for a bit, hiding all the irregularities. "In the meantime it is my intention to observe, and conceivably bring in other experts. I understand you're a twenty four hour operation?"
"That's right." There was actually pride in the man's voice. Distantly, Saul approved. It was good to be happy in your work.
"Well, I intend to observe as many shifts as possible over the next few days. Naturally I can't tell you exactly when, but I'm certainly not asking you to make any special arrangements."
Mr Prince nodded. "I understand. Let me first of all give you a tour of our facility." He moved to the door.
"Stop," Saul barked, and the poor man froze. "Mr Prince, are you seriously planning on showing a complete stranger around these facilities without checking his identity?"
"Ah, well, that is . . . " He swallowed. "You gave your ID to Tim at the desk, didn't you?"
"Certainly. But such things can be easily faked." Actually, it hadn't been that easy. "You should always check with head office."
"Right." Prince bobbed his head. "Well, I think in this case, we can make an exception, though I'll certainly bear it in mind for the future."
Saul was going to let him off that easily. "No exceptions," he insisted.
"Okay," Prince agreed wearily, and he walked out to the reception desk and started looking up the number. "Now, let's see, that would be . . . "
"Andrew Kerrigan," Saul prompted helpfully.
"Kerrigan, Kerrigan . . . ah, yes. Of course."
Saul watched as Prince dialled the number that would put him straight through to Rusty. And he wished him joy of the experience.
S minus 28 hours . . .
Rusty stepped out of the bathroom, towelling vigorously at his hair and stopped on seeing Danny, lying on his bed, talking on his phone.
" . . . no, it's just Rusty, I'm in his room," Danny looked round and blinked on seeing rather more of Rusty than he was probably expecting. Then he grinned. "Yeah, I'll tell him." He covered the mouthpiece. "Tess says hi. And she'd like it if you put more clothes on."
"She doesn't want you looking at me naked, you should speak to her in your room," Rusty retorted. But he went looking for a bathrobe anyway.
Danny grinned some more. "He says hi back, Tess. . . . Nah, it's all going well. Easier than we'd thought." He reached behind him and threw Rusty the room service menu and the TV listings. Rusty adjusted the bathrobe to at least give him the appearance of decency, and set about finding them something good from each, and did his best to tune out the sound of Danny's voice. Not something that was ever really going to happen for him. "No, we'll be back in a few days. Monday, probably . . . yes . . . . yes, I miss you too." Rusty grinned, shook his head and called for room service. Danny scowled at him. "Well, why don't you tell Renee . . . no . . . no, I guess you're right. Okay. Take care of yourself . . . yes, I will, I promise. . . . Love you . . . bye now, Tess." He hung up the phone and turned to Rusty. "Find anything?"
"Lasagne and 'Ghostbusters'?" Rusty suggested.
"Sounds good," Danny agreed happily.
With a grin, Rusty bounced onto the bed and stretched out alongside Danny, sighing contentedly.
"You're getting the pillows damp," Danny complained.
Rusty shrugged. "They're my pillows," he pointed out.
"What else did you order?" Danny asked, after a moment.
"What do you – " Rusty began, and Danny shook his head at him in mock reproach.
"Two pages of dessert and junk and you expect me to believe that you only ordered lasagne?"
Rusty smiled. "Might have added a bowl of fries."
"Uh huh." Danny nodded.
"The curly ones. A large bowl." His mouth was watering at the thought. "A very large bowl."
There was amusement in Danny's voice. "What else?"
"Banana split. And a Tiramisu." He turned his head to face Danny. "You can pick," he offered generously.
Danny smiled, inches away. "Half and half," he said firmly.
"Done," Rusty agreed at once. "How's Tess?" he added, casually.
"She's fine." Danny paused. "Renee's driving her nuts again. She's looking for a new job."
"Right," Rusty nodded.
"I miss her," Danny admitted quietly, and he turned to stare up at the ceiling.
Rusty didn't say anything.
"Isn't that stupid?" Danny went on, shaking his head. "I mean, it's only been ten days, and it's not like I've had time to sit and brood. But it's like – I keep thinking of all these little things I want to say to her, you know? Just little things that would make her laugh." He sighed. "I've never felt this way before."
Rusty smiled, and kept quiet, and felt just a slightest, slightest, touch of envy. He'd never felt anything even approaching that before. (Unless he counted the thing that didn't count. Then, maybe, oh, so much more.)
Danny sighed again. "Sometimes I wonder if I should tell her the truth, you know? But what would I do if – "
" – you can't have your cake and eat it?" Rusty asked quietly.
"I don't know." Danny shook his head.
The food arrived and the movie started, and while Bill Murray investigated Sigourney Weaver's fridge, Danny quietly asked "What would you do?"
Rusty considered. "We can always get more cake." Because there'd always be a them to get it.
Danny nodded. "That's what I thought."
S minus 12 hours . . .
"Oh, I'm just in love with the lighting in this room," Rusty enthused to Jeremy, Northridge's bemused publicist. "See the way that it strokes over the contours of these columns here, and the way it teases aside the long shadows and just surges over the centre and creates such an exquisite impression of heat and sensation. The heart of the room, you might say." He giggled. "And these mirrors! So clever! Oh, I can see Denevue's hand all over this room. He's such a wonderful designer, don't you think? And so naughty!"
Jeremy's eyes were beginning to glaze over. But that was only partly because of Rusty. Mostly it was because he hadn't taken his eyes off Danny since he'd opened the door. Danny. In jeans and a black turtleneck. Doing manual labour. Rusty loved his job.
"And the view!" He danced over to the window, and though it was a million miles from being visible, he could feel Danny's amusement. "Oh, it's just to die for. Colin! Dear!" He called Danny over, and, to Jeremy's obvious delight, Danny abandoned the crates and joined them. "We're going to set up in this room, all right? Unpack the cameras."
"Of course, Emile," Danny agreed.
"Now," Rusty turned back to Jeremy. "What I'm going to do is set up the cameras and leave them here overnight with the timer running. I want our readers to experience the full range of light, do you understand?"
Jeremy was too busy watching Danny walk away. Rusty smiled slightly. Must be a fan of Levis.
S minus 1 hour . . .
Kieran waited until Danny and Rusty were out of sight before he turned the radio on and started singing along to Johnny Mathis. There was nothing to do but wait. Might as well have some fun while he did.
S minus 30 minutes . . .
Saul nodded sharply to the night watchman as he and Eddie walked out of the Aembic office for the last time. Everything had gone off without a hitch. Fifteen minutes and Eddie's little package went boom, and the system went dark.
S minus 15 minutes . . .
They waited, at the bottom of the wall, sitting shoulder to shoulder, until their watches showed three o'clock precisely. Then, with a shared grin, invisible in the dark even without the masks, they scaled the wall and headed directly for the house.
S minus 5 minutes . . .
Getting into the house had been exactly as easy as it looked, thanks to the window with the view to die for that he'd wedged earlier, and the ostentatious decoration of those columns. Rusty smiled. Something to thank pretentious architecture for.
It was when they were at the top of the stairs, just outside the Collection Room, that he thought he saw . . . something. Movement. He froze, and Danny, a step behind him and carrying the case, stopped immediately. For a long moment they stood there, not moving, not breathing, but he couldn't see anything, peering into the dim light, and he couldn't hear anything. Slowly, he turned his head, but Danny was exuding a bewildered question. Must have been a shadow. His imagination getting away with him. He shrugged and opened the door.
As soon as he heard Danny close it behind him, he headed for the far wall and the display cases, leaving Danny to find the light switch. There were no windows in this room. No need to struggle by flashlight.
Gradually he realised that there was something wrong with the floor under his feet. It felt . . . sticky. Suddenly he put his foot on something that definitely wasn't carpet, and he tripped and fell to his knees.
For what seemed like eternity he knelt there. Because he'd stood on something soft, and squishy and giving. Something that should have felt alive. And his thinly-gloved hand was in something warm and moist. He could taste the bile at the back of his throat, as he reached into his pocket and pulled out the flashlight and he turned it on with trembling fingers, and it shone on a man's face, inches from his own. And that wasn't right. The man wasn't right. Because he was pale, and his eyes were wide and staring and there was a hole in the middle of his forehead and the back of his head was missing, and then Rusty looked down at his own hands and he wanted to scream and never, ever stop.
. . . SNAFU
Danny heard the stumble and the strangled gasp, immediately suppressed, and he heard the muffled thump of the flashlight hitting the floor and rolling away, and with his heart in his mouth he hit the light switch and spun round to see Rusty stumble up and stumble back, staring at his hands and staring down at the . . . oh. Fuck.
Alexander Cabot Northridge was very, very dead.
"I've got him on my hands," Rusty said, numbly, and for once Danny couldn't think of a single thing to say.
And then he heard the sirens.
And I'd be willing to bet that no-one saw that coming. Least I hope you didn't. So, what do you think?