Wednesday 1145 Washington DC
(1645 London)
“For the last time, I have nothing to say!” Daniel Reid glared at John Windsor who sat opposite him in an interrogation room in the D.C. Central Cellblock.
John nodded at the guard. “The charges, please.”
The guard began to read; “shooting at a police officer, attempted murder, and deprivation of liberty.”
“Do you understand those charges?” John asked Daniel.
“Do you understand I have nothing to say?” Daniel continued in his British accent. “I’ve heard the charges before.”
“Play the tough guy all you like, Mr. Reid, it’s your neck on the line.”
“My neck? You fly me back here from Nevada to read the same charges to me, lock me up in the same size cell and refuse to release me. What’s the point?”
“Convenience. I didn’t want to travel to Nevada every time I thought of a question.”
“Screw you.”
John watched him. “You’re not as impressive in your orange jumpsuit, Mr. Reid. But we’ve put aside your slick suit and polished shoes for when you get out in the distant future.” John rose to go. He put his suit jacket back on and picked up several files, noting a slight panic in Daniel’s face. John turned to the officer at the door.
“We’re done here, thank you.”
The officer nodded.
“What do you mean you’re done here? You pull me out of my cell and drag me here to read me my charges?” Daniel blurted.
John turned. “I thought you would like an outing. Don’t worry, we’ll take you back to your cell now. You’ve probably got about twenty years in there, what’s the rush to get back?”
“Come on, you’ve come down here to offer me a deal?” he smirked. “No reduced sentence for some information? Why the hell are you here?”
John stopped.
“Not to see you. I’ve other business in this building. One of the prisoners has been found beaten to a pulp, you just happen to be on the way. Killing two birds with one stone you might say.”
“So you’re not even going to try and cut a deal?”
“No, no deal. I have all I need now. Oh, I did want to mention that Lawrence has left you high and dry. Claims he’s never heard of you. But I’ve got all I need from Lawrence’s director on the Fabergé job at the Louvre. He’s cut himself a pretty good deal,” John bluffed. He saw his words had the effect he wanted; Daniel’s eyes enlarged and darted from the security officer to John.
“He’ll be out in a few days, new identity, new life. You, on the other hand, are a loyal employee. I’m sure Lawrence prizes that above all else.”
Daniel ran his tongue over his lips. “Wait.”
“Mr. Reid, there is nothing you could say that would be of value to us now.”
“I know about the Washington job.”
“So do we.” He glanced at his watch. “In fact, as we speak, I think we’re finishing that one up.”
“If I speak against Lawrence …” Daniel licked his lips again.
“There is no need to. I’ve got him.”
Daniel fidgeted in his chair. “What about the Monaco job, I can tell you about the Monaco job!” John stopped and returned.
“I’m not familiar with it,” he said knowing it was already over.
“If it succeeded, you wouldn’t know about it.”
John closed the door and sat back down.
“I’m all ears.”
“Not until we make a deal,” Daniel said.
“Alright, we can do a deal; but first, I want to hear about the Washington job … I hate waiting for the reports to come in,” John tried not to betray the urgency in his voice.
He saw the realization dawning on Daniel.
Yes, you’ve been had! John gloated.
Wednesday 1150 Washington DC
(1650 London)
Mitch’s phone rang; Samantha’s name came up.
“Sam?”
“Mitch, I’ve got more information on that university tour group. They’re doing a specialist tour. That’s where they go behind the scenes to the storage area and see any extra pieces that get rotated with the pieces on display or considered too fragile to display. I don’t know if it is of any significance, but the twelve-thirty and the two o’clock groups are both booked on these. It’s high-security stuff, all lock and key.”
“The twelve-thirty group? Is that our lads?” Mitch asked.
“Yep.”
“Find out what’s behind the scenes for the scrolls collection. I want to know what is not out front on display. I’ll hold.”
Mitch listened as Samantha took the stairs effortlessly. He overheard the conversation. It was as he thought; more scrolls were in the storage area.
“Did you hear that?” Samantha asked, returning to the phone.
“Yes, thanks. I think we’re onto it; that tour group at twelve-thirty is the Mastermind entry,” Mitch gave her an update on their findings. “Now, I need you to find out exactly where Paul Asher will be working. He’s in the Junior Fellows Program assigned to the artefacts preservation area,” he looked up at Adam for confirmation. “But,” Mitch continued, “don’t—I repeat don’t—raise any suspicion about him; we don’t want to blow it at this stage. If he has access to that storage area, call me back.”
Mitch hung up and joined Adam and Nick.
“Our Atheos team has booked a special behind-the-scenes tour. It gives them entry to a high-security storage area where an extra ten scrolls are stored that get rotated as part of the display. I imagine it’s to preserve them; I know the Israel Museum rotates the scrolls every three months to give them a rest from exposure.”
“Ten-to-one, that’s when it will happen,” Adam’s eyes lit up.
Mitch’s phone rang again.
“Yep?” he answered.
“There are three Junior Fellows assigned to the artefacts preservation project area,” Samantha told him. “Edward Sparkes, Allison Coetzee and Paul Asher.”
A smile swept across Mitch’s face. “Got him!”
“And,” Samantha continued, “They’ve access to the storage area; in fact, most of their work is conducted in there. The three are assigned to projects, including documenting the archival collection. Most of the material is still under lock and key inside the storage area, but they do have access to some of it, or at least can see it without being constantly monitored.”
“Beautiful,” he answered. “Give me a few minutes and I’ll call you back with the plan. Brief Roe on what we’ve discussed.” He hung up.
“What’s the story?” Nick asked.
“I’m guessing somehow the lads are going to get all of their team in that high security area and … and … what?” Mitch exhaled with frustration, his hands on his hips. It came to him! “One of the twins has to remain in that high-security area while the other masquerades as him and is somewhere else at the same time. What would be happening at the same time that would require them to be in two places at once?”
“Beats me,” Nick concluded. “But, Paul Asher has to lift the scrolls. He may share the same DNA sequence as his twin, but Ronin’s fingerprints will be different. It’s logical that Paul’s prints would be in the work area.” Nick concluded.
Adam agreed. “It’s a great plan if they can pull it off. Questions still remain: how are they going to pull it off and what are their buddies in the tour group doing? Will they hide scrolls somewhere where the Junior Fellow twin can get them later, or will the twin masquerading as the Junior Fellow walk out of there with them, not drawing attention to himself?” Adam rubbed his forehead.
“We’ve got less than thirty minutes to work it out,” Mitch said, feeling the walls of the room closing in on him.
Wednesday 1215 Washington DC
(1715 London)
Mitch’s phone rang making them all jump. They exchanged sheepish looks.
“John!” Mitch said surprised. “What’s new?” He listened for a few minutes.
“Great. We got the twin connection—the Asher boys—Adam identified them, but then we got stuck. We’ve gone through it a thousand times and come up with a thousand scenarios.” Again he listened. “That’s under twenty minutes from now! We’re onto it!”
Mitch hung up.
“Good news?” Adam asked.
“Yes and no,” Mitch said, hitting Samantha’s number on his automatic dial. “John’s had a session with Daniel. He’s up for a deal and spilled it on D.C., it’s about to go down – there is going to be a bomb scare. The twins duplicated the Junior Fellows access passes. One will stay in the storage area, load himself up with the scrolls – the other will head to the gathering point for staff which is in the staff parking lot at the back of the building and be marked on the roll.”
He waited but Samantha did not answer.
Mitch continued. “The one remaining with the scrolls is going to wear an iPod. When the bomb squad finds him, he’ll play dumb and pretend he didn’t hear anything and be personally escorted out the front of the building for his own safety. Personally escorted out – with the scrolls!” Mitch redialed as his call went to voice mail.
“Where the hell is she?” he muttered. He continued to fill in Nick and Adam. “His colleagues will never know he was missing since, physically, his twin was at roll call.”
“What happens if they escort him out the back where his twin will be?” Nick asked.
“I don’t know if the back exit can be seen from where the staff gather in the parking lot. Check on your diagram where the exit and car park are located,” Mitch nodded towards the table where the maps sat. “With a bomb scare, I’m sure they’ll be moving people well away from the building where he’ll be able to slip out unnoticed. According to Daniel, one of the Atheos team will call in the bomb scare and have a car waiting once they’re evacuated. Paul Asher will be out of the building with the scrolls before the bomb scare is over.”
Fifteen minutes remained.
Mitch exhaled. The tension in the room was electric.
Wednesday 1215 Washington
(1715 London)
Samantha was milling around the sales shop on the ground floor of the Library of Congress when she saw them: six young males walking towards the entrance. They looked between eighteen and twenty-five, she estimated. The two in front were obviously in charge; one of them was Ronin Asher. The other boys followed their lead.
Samantha noticed the CID agent, Roe, had them in full view.
You’d never guess those innocent faces were about to commit a crime – at least, I hope they attempt to or I’ll look like a total idiot, she thought.
Samantha sized the boys up. They were dressed casually, nothing unusual about them. How are they going to do it?
She noticed a couple of the plain-clothes male and female officers in the area. Samantha inconspicuously snapped a few digital photos. To show Mitch.
One of the boys glanced at her, checking her out. She looked away. She could feel his eyes on her again; she pretended to be absorbed in a calendar featuring the Gettysburg Address. In her peripheral vision, she saw them stop at the group-tour counter. A middle-aged woman came out to greet them, introducing herself as their tour guide. She was a motherly type and the boys seemed to play up to her, being overtly polite.
Samantha watched them with fascination. She felt her phone vibrate and, looking at the screen, saw it was Mitch calling. At the same time, the boys headed to an administration area with their tour guide.
She ignored the phone and hurried upstairs to get ahead of them.
I don’t have time to update you now, Mitch. They’re here.
She shook her head. He’s always such a control freak.
Wednesday 1220 Washington
(1720 London)
Ten minutes.
Mitch redialed Samantha’s number for the third time.
“Answer the phone, Sam, or I swear …” he paced. It rang out. He dialed again and she cut it off.
“You’ve got to be kidding, she’s cut the call off!” he said looking at Adam and Nick.
“I’ll text her, you keep ringing,” Adam used his own phone. He sent her a text message that read: “Call URGENT have info” … and waited.
Fifteen seconds passed … no call.
Thirty seconds.
Forty-five seconds.
Mitch redialed again shaking his head in disbelief. Again it went to message bank.
“What the hell is she doing?”
“What’s the CID agent’s name?” Nick asked.
“Sebastian Roe.”
“Spell it.”
“Romeo, Oscar, Echo,” he answered, hearing Nick in the background dialing the Counter Intelligence Division in Washington.
Mitch tried again.
“Hello,” Samantha answered.
“Sam, listen!”
“Mitch, I can’t talk now, the boys are here, I’ll call you back.”
“Sam, wait!” The phone went dead.
He redialed and the number went to message bank. Mitch hurled the phone clear across the room.
“Got him,” Nick announced.
Mitch took the phone and briefed Roe on what the boys were planning to do, when and how they were going to do it. When Mitch finished, he hung up and handed the phone back to Nick.
“Thanks.”
“No problem. You’re not riding solo here, you know,” Nick reminded him.
Mitch shook his head in disbelief. “She could have blown it. It will be pretty hard to pick how the twins are going to strike.”
Mitch walked out on the balcony, his anger simmering near the surface and sweat running off him. He closed his eyes, annoyed at himself for losing it in front of Adam and Nick, and angry at Samantha for bringing that out in him. He heard footsteps behind him.
“Alright?” Adam asked.
Mitch turned to him. “I’m going to kill her.” His voice was tight with control. Inside, his phone rang.
Adam leaned in, collected it off the floor and answered it. It was Samantha.
“Be afraid, be very afraid,” he said to her with a laugh in his voice as he returned to the balcony and handed the phone over to Mitch.
“Sam, Sebastian Roe will give you an update,” Mitch said with exasperation lacing his voice.
“He has. I’m sorry.”
Mitch cut her off. “Be careful, call me when it’s done,” he hung up and looked down on the street.
“It’s a normal day down there, like nothing’s happening,” Adam commented.
Mitch exhaled. “You know, I’ve been lost at sea, shot at, even imprisoned for weeks on end and coped, but she’s doing my head in. If she’s not questioning orders, she’s running her own show or …” he hesitated, “sleeping with team members!”
Adam looked sheepish. “Samantha doesn’t play the game. You, me, Nick, we’re from military backgrounds, trained to follow commands; trained how to think, not what to think. We go into a situation knowing the standard operating procedures. Sam gets under pressure and she reacts to the play. Anyway you handled her well. Very controlled.”
“Only because I want to kill her in person,” Mitch headed back inside.
Wednesday 1230 Washington, 1730 London
Samantha feigned interest in a sculpture so she could get a better view of the six young men in the administration area below. She counted heads: there were five now. She re-counted. Ronin Asher was gone. Alarmed, her eyes scanned the area for him. Pulling out her phone, she refreshed her memory with his emailed photo. Then, it occurred to her he was most likely waiting outside, somewhere near the emergency rally point for staff so he could mix in when they were being exited.
She glanced at the boys again; they were filling in paper work. Samantha caught Roe’s eye and indicated she was heading out. She made her way to the back of the building and wandered past the cloakroom, past the local history and genealogy room and to the stairs that headed out to Second Street. Outside, she sat on the stairs, reaching for her water bottle. It took a few minutes to spot Ronin Asher sitting with a number of other people, listening to his headset and watching the building. Samantha felt a rush of excitement as the plan unveiled. She glanced around and saw one of Roe’s agents lounging on a bench watching Ronin. Their eyes met and she turned, put the lid on her water bottle and headed back inside.
She saw the boys had their visitor tour passes around their necks and were walking towards the first exhibit with four plain-clothed officers following behind. Samantha followed from a distance, passing Roe.
As the tour group gazed at an exhibition, Samantha left them and joined the two plain-clothed officers allocated to the library’s storage area. They met the tour guide who agreed to escort the three through the locked storage area to look bona fide. Samantha entered the area and put her phone on silent and vibrate. She did not want to attract attention.
Good grief, it’s enormous, she thought.
In one area was a young girl with her dark hair tied back, concentrating over an opened manila folder. That must be Allison, one of the three Junior Fellows, she concluded. Looking around, Samantha spotted the twin, Paul Asher, working at the far side of the room. He was identical to the boy she saw seated outside and dressed the same. She tried not to stare but was mesmerized by the likeness. The third Junior Fellow was nowhere to be seen. She watched Paul as he removed items from the glass cabinet, checked them off on his list and returned them. Occasionally, she turned back to the tour guide, feigning interest in the exhibitions. The storage area door clicked open and Samantha saw the boys’ guide enter with the boys in tow. She felt her heart beat increase as the younger boys gave the game away; their eyes glanced towards Paul, who gave them a subtle nod.
Samantha waited.
One minute.
Two minutes.
Three minutes.
Then one of the boys a tall, redheaded boy interrupted the tour guide to ask for directions to the bathroom. Their guide stopped and pointed him to the security door, telling him to press the exit button, and turn left outside the door. She advised him that he wouldn’t be able to re-enter without her, so wait outside until the group rejoined him in ten minutes.
Samantha watched fascinated, as the redheaded boy headed to the exit. At the same time, a stocky blonde boy wearing a black Kurt Cobain T-shirt, drew the guide’s attention to a display. She turned to look. The redheaded boy glanced back towards Paul again before pushing the exit security button. Their eyes made contact and he exited. Samantha moved with her own small tour group, absorbed in the movements of the Atheos group.
Outside Sebastian Roe was in position. He watched the redheaded boy head for the payphone in the hallway. Roe whispered into his microphone.
“OK, he’s at the payphone – everyone on standby.”
The redheaded boy dialed three numbers, said a few words and hung up. He looked around, then headed towards the bathroom. Roe’s phone rang, he answered, listened and hung up. He announced through his headset: “We have confirmation – a bomb threat has been made from a phone inside the Library of Congress.”
Roe braced for the alarms. Suddenly, the library went on full alert. The evacuation alarm rang and people poured out. One of Roe’s men, the guide and four boys raced out of the high security storage room. Roe watched as the guide fidgeted while she waited for her fifth charge, the redheaded boy, to exit the bathroom. As soon as he did, she hurried her group downstairs; Roe’s staff followed close by. He heard the wail of police vehicles and glanced out the window to see the area being cordoned off. Security officers ran past him, scanning the area, checking the staff had evacuated.
“The boys are on their way,” he announced through his headset.
“We’ve got the motive and method: but what’s bugging me is how, with all that security, are they going to get the scrolls out the door?” Mitch paced.
Adam shrugged. “Given Paul Asher is staff and there is a bomb scare, he’ll probably walk straight out the building under escort – and no one will be the wiser.”
“And,” Nick continued, “they’re only paper. If they’re not encased, they’re not going to set off alarms when he walks through the exit.”
Mitch nodded in agreement. “He wouldn’t be able to take a folder or bag out with him during a bomb scare, so he must be going to hide it on himself, somewhere.”
Inside the storage area, Samantha stayed out of sight. She could see one of Roe’s men doing the same as they were left alone with Paul Asher. She felt her phone vibrating.
I can’t answer it … she read the screen … shit … It’s Mitch. If I don’t take the call, he’ll kill me. She answered it without speaking. He’ll understand that.
“Sam, I assume you can’t talk, so listen up,” she heard Mitch say. “We’ve been thinking – Paul must be going to hide the scrolls somewhere on himself to avoid detection. We can’t think of any other way. Anyway, watch him like a hawk in case he slips a scroll somewhere.”
Samantha breathed close to the voice box on her phone.
“Gotcha,” Mitch hung up.
She slid the phone back into her pocket and concentrated on Paul Asher, who remained hidden, waiting for security to make a check of the room. He was oblivious to the fact he wasn’t alone. Moments later, Samantha heard the security fire wardens enter; the two men glanced around the room and, satisfied no one was left behind, exited and closed the door behind them.
At the sound of the door clicking shut, Samantha saw Paul rise from his hiding place and move towards the scrolls. Behind him Samantha moved slightly, allowing her to monitor him in progress. He squatted in front of the scrolls, reached into his pocket and pulled out a pair of thin plastic surgical gloves, putting them on. He used a knife to pry open the cabinet door, struggling with it until he heard the snap of the cabinet lock.
Must be an area they don’t have complete access to, Samantha thought, with some satisfaction.
With quick motions, the twin pulled a scroll out of the storage unit. He lifted his T-shirt and Samantha saw, attached to his chest, two flat, white elastic bands holding a leather pouch. He pulled off the leather pouch and opened it. Laying the scroll flat and taking great pains to preserve it, he surrounded it with parchment and waterproof sheets. Reaching for another, he did the same.
After collecting four, he closed the leather pouch and placed it back under the elastic bands around his chest, closing his shirt and leather jacket. Paul Asher ran his hand down the front of his jacket. No obvious bumps.
Nice work, Samantha thought. It concealed the scrolls perfectly. Impossible to tell he was carrying anything. This kid is good. Let’s see him get them out of here.
Samantha looked over at Roe’s man squatting nearby. He gave it the thumbs up.
The boys split up as they were herded outside of the Library of Congress building. Roe had an officer assigned to follow each of the boys. He listened as officers called in their movements. Three headed for the subway, while Ronin Asher loitered with the staff to be seen and accounted for; two of the boys collected a navy sedan from a parking station in a nearby street.
“Update on Ronin Asher,” Roe ordered.
“Sir, we’ve got Ronin Asher in sight. He’s just shown the I.D. tag around his neck and had his name checked off the staff list. Looks like he’s on the move. Hang on.”
Roe waited.
“Yes, sir. He’s told some of the staff he’s going to get a coffee.”
“Follow him,” Roe ordered.
Inside the storage area, Paul Asher looked towards the door.
Samantha smiled. It’s a waiting game for you now, Paul. Let’s hope you get found and escorted out according to plan.
Paul pulled a phone from his pocket and made a call. Samantha listened as he said one word, “Ready”.