CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

Corman didn’t use electronic maps. He found smartphone screens to be impossibly small for his blocky, work-roughened hands. Just dialing a call was a long and irritating exercise, let alone maneuvering through online directions. But he wasn’t the sort of technological dinosaur who persisted in treating his phone like a walkie-talkie. You still saw guys all the time at worksites, too cool to put the damn phone to their ear. Corman at least tried to keep up with the world.

But he figured that if he could use his phone to follow a route, somebody somewhere could use the phone to follow him. Nicola confirmed this one day while they were sitting around the warehouse. In considerable detail.

That girl did love to talk.

So he’d bought a large-format street atlas, razored out the pages he was interested in, and taped them together into a sort of field survey. This ungainly compilation of paper was now unfolded on the pickup’s bench seat beside him.

Today he was working out the best driving routes for their getaway.

The first stop was easy. A half mile from their warehouse, and there were effectively only two choices. Caleb Street was too busy, not to mention in plain view of anyone looking out from the rail yard. So: out the back, down the side roads, and into a narrow way between two industrial buildings. Finn had come to a short-term agreement with the owner of the complex—it used to be a large factory operation, but now just ran trucks and rented out container storage. They had their own temporary spot in the rear.

Good.

The second transfer point was only somewhat more complicated. Corman tried different alternatives, taking his time, backing up and going around the blocks. Distribution centers, heavily fenced lots, old brick industrial buildings, and small, blue-collar businesses. Busy during the day, trucks and diesel clouds everywhere. Hopefully deserted at night, especially during the predawn hours of New Year’s Day.

In the end, the most direct road seemed best. Corman idled his truck and studied the spot Finn identified. It was a short access alley behind a utility substation, a squat brick building surrounded by chain link and barbed wire. absolutely no parking threatened several signs affixed to the fence, along with towing information and legal threats.

PSEG really didn’t want their access blocked.

All the better for them.

From there, a short, straight drive took him to the ramp onto I-78. If they made it that far, they’d be free, driving into America with a truckful of metal more valuable than gold. And if not …

Corman didn’t believe in thinking about if not. What was the point?

He went back and drove the routes he’d selected again, then a third time, memorizing every turn and stop sign and driveway. Finally satisfied, he stopped at Karl’s for a take-out cheese steak. No reason to eat inside, let more people get a look at him. He sat in his truck, in a corner of the lot, trying not to drip grease while he studied the map again.

He had one other route to survey.

“Do you want to do it, or me?” Nicola pushed over a piece of paper with some names and numbers scribbled on it.

Finn, sitting across from her at the folding table in the warehouse, looked at the sheet. “You’re sure these are right?”

“Nothing’s one hundred percent.” She shrugged. “But Lenape is the only current vendor that seems to have anything to do with linen supply. Stormwall’s been paying invoices from them regularly, like at least once per month. And the budget code matches to a category called ‘uniforms.’”

“Hard to argue that last point. And this is Stormwall’s HR manager? Daisy Vanderweil?”

“One of several, according to the internal company directory. But her name is on the invoices.”

“Okay.” Finn considered. “You do it. I’m sure you’re better at this sort of thing.”

Nicola nodded—no false modesty for her—and picked up her phone. Finn hollered over to Asher to keep it quiet for a few minutes, then settled back in his chair to watch.

“Hi, this is Jen Fairmont at Stormwall? We have a rush order?” She pitched her voice higher, its usual edges gone. “Can I talk to whoever is in charge of the account? Oh, thank you.” Pause. “Hi, Paula, thanks for— Yes, I work for Daisy, she’d normally be handling this, but she’s so busy today, she asked me to just call it in if that’s okay? Yes, you know, everything has to be done yesterday.” She laughed brightly. “Three new hires, and of course they’re starting next week, and there’s barely enough time for the background check let alone the orientation … Right, exactly. Oh, I know. Isn’t that how it always is?” Pause. “Okay, so what they need is the standard money-room jumpsuit. Yes … right, blue, the usual insignia? Really, just the same as all the others … Three. One large, one medium-tall, and one XXL.” She laughed again. “Yes, exactly like ordering at Starbucks!”

Nicola rolled her eyes at Finn.

“Listen, Daisy asked me to send someone over to pick them up? Is that okay? Oh, wonderful, they need them for the orientation first thing tomorrow morning, that’s excellent … Shall I have Chip ask for you?” Pause. “Chip Relleno, do you know him? He’s in the cubicle next to me, but he gets to drive the company car, you know how that goes … Right, the usual billing.” Nicola squinted at her notes. “Code it ‘34-STAFFUNI,’ like always … Thank you, Paula, that is so helpful. One more thing off Daisy’s plate … and onto mine, you’re so right!” Laughter. “Okay, so Chip will be there late this afternoon. How late? Gosh, I don’t know. Six or six thirty? Is that a problem? . . . Well, how about this, could you just leave them at the desk, and he can sign them out from the security guard?”

By this point, Finn was shaking his head with admiration. Another minute, then Nicola clicked off and set the phone on the table.

“You’re all set, Chip,” she said.

“Maybe we should put you on the phone to Penn Southern’s vault,” he said. “See if you can talk them into packing up all the rhodium and leaving it on the dock. Save us the trouble.”

“People generally want to be helpful.” Nicola tucked the paper away. “It’s not so hard to take advantage.”

“Helpful?” Finn looked over at Asher, who was sprawled in the excavator’s padded seat, head back, eyes shut, mouth hanging open. “Maybe we travel in different circles.”

“I hope the sizes are right.”

“They’ll be close enough.” He stood up, pulling on his coat.

“You going to be back later?”

“No. I have to find somebody. Might take a while. I’ll go straight to Lenape from there.”

“Anything I can help with?”

“Thanks, but probably not.” Finn zipped up and found his hat. “I don’t think these guys leave electronic trails.”