The remote farm building Pedro had rented was located just outside the small city of Chascomús, seventy miles south of Buenos Aires. Situated on a quiet country lane, most of the property was shielded from passing cars by a large copse of jacaranda trees. The rental included a huge wooden barn, set behind the main house, accessed by a narrow stone drive. It was totally hidden from the road and backed onto twenty acres of unused farmland, which was the main reason Pedro had chosen it.
It took the thieves less than an hour to unpack the thirty large cloth bags from the back of the lorry, which they neatly laid out into three separate piles, each containing ten bags. Pedro stood behind the centre stack. For the first time in six months, he had a smile on his face.
“Sebastian, which one do you want, left or right?”
Ramos walked across to the pile situated to the right of Pedro. “I’ll take this one.”
Ricardo ran past both men and leapt on top of the remaining pile. One of the bags spilled open, revealing large wads of one-hundred-dollar bills. He grabbed a handful and threw them in the air. Moments later he was rolling on the ground, covering himself from head to toe with pristine US currency notes.
Sebastian shook his head, and a huge grin broke out on his face. “Ricky, you remind me of a giant pig, wallowing in a pile of green shit.”
Pedro ignored Ricardo’s antics, crossing the barn towards the three white vans parked against the far wall.
Six months earlier, each of them had sold their cars, or in Ricardo’s case his motorbike, and bought cheap second-hand transits. A key part of Pedro’s plan involved them stashing their own cut in a secret location and not touching the contents for twelve months. None of them would know where the others had hidden their share. The plan was to live normally for a year before going anywhere near their bounty. Pedro gestured for Ricardo and Sebastian to join him by the vans.
“Okay, let’s load up and no offence, guys, but I hope we have no reason to speak to each other ever again.”
Sebastian opened the rear doors of his van and threw the first of his ten bags inside. “Pedro, if we do have to talk, something will have gone badly wrong.”
Vargas stood in front of the giant whiteboard positioned at the far end of the open-plan office. It was covered with printed imagery linked together by hand-drawn arrows. There were a number of photos showing the vault, the interior of the tunnel and six grabs taken from the CCTV footage showing still images of the three perpetrators. A second, smaller board held three lists of names. The longest one showed the names of the owners of all twelve hundred boxes. The second was a list of the ninety owners whose boxes had actually been raided, and the final list showed the names of any owners who had visited their boxes in the previous twelve months.
Vargas signalled to his assistant, Juan Torres, to call the assembled detectives in the office to order. In total, there were ten of them assigned to the case, including Vargas and Torres.
“So, here’s what we know so far. This heist was carried out by three men wearing monkey masks and one of them is a fucking giant.” Vargas pointed to one of the CCTV grabs, which showed the three thieves standing together near the tunnel entrance and one man’s six-foot-six frame towered above the other two. “We also know the tunnel must have taken them months to excavate and the lease for the café was taken out under a fake name and profile. What else have we got, Juan?”
“We have the lab boys going over everything we found inside the café and the tunnel. They think we may have a lead on where the carpet came from, although it’s quite old. Who the fuck worries about laying high-quality carpet in a hundred-foot tunnel?”
Vargas cut back in and pointed at the smaller board. “I want these three lists worked through and broken down. Look for anything unusual or suspicious about any of the owners and let’s contact everyone who visited the vault in the last twelve months. I want them all interviewed in person.”
Torres moved over to the board displaying the lists. “Chief, the list from the bank shows over two hundred of the owners made visits in 2011 and forty of those came on more than one occasion. It’s going to take time but we will work our way through them.”
Vargas nodded at his assistant. “Okay, Juan, let’s start with any owners who visited their boxes more than once and see what we find. Somewhere down the line, our boys will have made a mistake. Our job is to find out what it was.”