Illusive (9 page)

T
he Richard & Cole law firm is located on the fourth story of an office building in downtown Baltimore. The streets are crowded with cars, buses, and taxis, and a constant haze of smog drifts through the city, along with the sounds of car engines and the droning of air conditioners.

At one in the afternoon, a man strides into the office building. His tags identify him as Massimiliano Paterni. Security doesn’t give him a second glance; he looks like any other businessman. He pauses at the front desk and tells the receptionist he has an appointment with Matilda Cole. The receptionist smiles vaguely and makes a phone call.

“Fourth floor,” she tells him, pulling a visitor’s pass from her desk drawer. Massimiliano Paterni takes it and clips it to
his lapel. With a word of thanks, he makes for the elevator. He nods once to the security guard, who smiles back. All is well.

One block away, three criminals sit in a silver SUV and watch the office building’s hacked security feed on Devon’s largest tablet.

The planning session for The Lawyer Job (as Devon titled it) occurred the same day Magnus arrived. No time to delay, Kit said. Especially not with Daniel missing.

Kit brought in a platter of tea and scones, set it down, and headed to the far wall. A large portion of that wall—about five feet by four feet—appeared to be nothing more than a landscape painted on glass. Kit reached out and touched it; the colors shimmered and then faded to transparency. It was the patch of the high-def enamel Kit installed when they’d first moved in. Capable of syncing with any tablet or computer, it functioned as a large screen when it wasn’t masquerading as a painting.

The large wall screen showed the blueprints of a multistory office building. Kit’s fingers darted over his tablet and the picture zoomed in, focusing on a specific area. “This is the building where Richard and Cole practice law. It’s in downtown Baltimore. Eight stories. The building also houses other law practices, three real estate agents, a politician’s headquarters, and a pretty affluent artist.” He paused. “What does this
tell us?” The question was aimed at Ciere, who froze in the act of reaching for a scone.

She sat up straighter, trying to give the impression she hadn’t zoned out halfway through his description. “Um, all the tenants are loaded.”

“Which means tight security,” Devon said. He already had his own tablet out and was typing with one hand. “The building is owned by a rental company that owns several other corporate offices in the area,” he said. “They’ve outsourced security to a private agency. All guests are buzzed in from the lobby reception area, and tags are scanned for records. Cameras everywhere. Two security guards in the lobby at all times. Oh, and every office is equipped with a safe. At night, there’s the usual lockdown—motion-detecting sensors around the doors and windows and a single guard bunking in the lobby.”

Kit nodded with grudging approval. “Looks like you’re not a complete disappointment.”

“So how are we going to get someone inside? Walk in through the front door?”

Kit looked at Magnus. “Exactly.”

It occurs to Ciere that confining Devon and Kit to a car together is a bad idea. The quarters are too close—they keep bumping elbows. The SUV’s backseats are folded down, and the three of them sit in their makeshift crooked headquarters.

The immediate plan is for them to remain in the SUV while Magnus does his thing. Hacking into the building’s security system is Devon’s job.

Devon grumbles to himself as he works, his fingers a blur on his tablet. All Ciere can see are streams of code. “Wireless systems again,” Devon mutters. “My God, when will people learn that wireless is about as secure as an unlocked car?”

“For our sakes,” Kit drawls, “hopefully never.”

Ciere leans over the tablet. “Well, at least Magnus is in the building,” she says. It’s not the most graceful segue into a new conversation, but it distracts Kit.

“Of course he got in.” Kit shifts uncomfortably, trying to find a place to sit. “His alias is flawless.”

“Who is Massimiliano Paterni?” Ciere asked. She wasn’t sure if she’d pronounced the name correctly. Frowning, she brushed the scone crumbles from her lap. Kit still stood in front of the HDE screen, his tablet in hand. His fingers moved, and a new picture appeared on the screen. It was a government-issued ID, the kind programmed into tags.

The picture showed a young man with a long neck and dark hair. It looked like a younger Magnus. Devon whistled in admiration. “Nice bit of forgery.”

Magnus’s lip curled. “Oh god, not that name again.”

“Massimiliano Paterni is an identity we worked under a long time ago,” Kit said, ignoring Magnus. “Youngest son of the Paterni family. They own several large vineyards in Italy. Unfortunately for poor Massimiliano, he had a falling-out with his father and was disowned. That’s why he needs an estate lawyer.”

Devon frowned and leaned forward. “Wait, so one of us is going to impersonate some fake Italian wine bloke?”

“Oh, the family is quite real,” Kit said. “And Massimiliano is also real—well, he
was
real. He died in the war. And you,” he added to Devon, “will not be donning any aliases. The tags are programmed for Magnus.”

Ciere understood. “You resurrected this Paterni’s social security code, his titer test, and his birth certificate.”

Kit inclined his head in an approving nod. “It’s more reliable to resurrect an identity than to create one. Good to see you were listening for that lecture.”

“That’s sort of morbid,” Devon said, pulling a disgusted expression. “Using a dead man’s info like that.”

“We’re crooks. Morbidity is the least of our worries.” Kit’s smile sharpened. “And if you’re disturbed by Magnus’s alias, then you won’t like what we’re stealing.”

“A will,” Devon says, for what must be the fifth time. He shifts uncomfortably, trying to stretch his long legs inside the SUV.
“I can’t believe we’re going to all this fuss for some dead bird’s will.”

A muscle near Kit’s eye spasms. “Richard and Cole specialize in estate law. What’d you
think
we were acquiring?”

“I don’t know.” Devon smirks down at his tablet as he scrolls through the many security feeds. “Maybe you finally decided to
acquire
that Pollock piece. I think my dad sold it to a lawyer a year ago.”

Magnus pushes the door open and steps into the offices of Richard and Cole. The offices are plushly decorated, with a dark carpet and leather furniture. The receptionist is a man in his early thirties, with wire-rimmed glasses and an impeccable suit. He’s typing away on his old-fashioned desktop computer. He sees Magnus and his lips form words.

Ciere cannot see Magnus’s face—he is angled away from the security cam. But he must say something amusing, because the receptionist smiles.

As if on cue, the office door swings open and a woman appears. She’s in her mid-forties, with graying hair swept back into a bun. She wears a dark skirt and blazer, both conservatively cut.

“Mr. Paterni,” Devon says in a breathy parody of a woman’s voice. “We spoke on the phone. I’m Matilda Cole.”

There is an exchange of hands. Bare hands, Ciere notes, because Magnus isn’t wearing his gloves.

Kit switched the wall screen to the building blueprints while Magnus poured a second cup of tea and Devon reached for another scone. “This is Cole’s office,” Kit said, pointing at the HDE screen. “Now”—he drew a box inside the office—“this is the safe. The will of Marie Louis should be inside.”

“Who is Marie Louis?” Ciere asked.

Devon perked up. “Yeah. You never did tell us why the client wants the will, anyway.”

“Or,” Magnus murmured, stirring his tea delicately, “
who
the client is.”

Kit’s expression smoothed out. “Her name is Frieda Fuller. Daniel has freelanced for her before. She works for a conglomerate of hackers. As for why she wants the will, I wouldn’t know.”

Magnus looked as if he wanted to ask another question, but Kit cut him off. “It is our job to make a copy of Marie Louis’s will and deliver it to Ms. Fuller by the day after tomorrow.” He spread his hands wide, opening up the conversation. “Now, how are we going to get the will? According to Fuller, it’s being kept in the safe in Cole’s office.”

Ciere narrowed her eyes at the HDE wall screen. The office was on the fourth floor, which would’ve posed a problem if their crew didn’t have a levitas. She glanced at the blueprints again and saw that the office in question had a window just large enough for someone to squeeze through.

“Break in through the window,” she said, “and pick the safe’s lock.”

Devon snorted. “Not unless you find a way to disable the entire building’s security. Motion sensors on the windows. The moment you break in, you’ve got about two minutes before the police show up.”

“Precisely,” Kit said. Then his face twisted into an expression of disgust, as if he realized he and Devon agreed on something. “Cracking the safe’s combination would take far too long.”

“Then we’ll take the safe with us,” Ciere said. “Tear it out of the wall and chuck it out the window.”

“I considered it.” Kit tapped the HDE screen with a fingernail, pointing at the safe. “But our odds of getting that very heavy safe out of the office and to the car wouldn’t be ideal. Also, we’re not taking the will with us. Lyre should memorize it and put it back into the safe. Then he’ll dictate it to me afterward.” He directs a gaze at Ciere. “Magnus gets us the code. You buy us time. Lyre and I will do the actual breaking in.”

“Why don’t we just steal it?” Devon said.

“Smart thieves,” said Ciere, “don’t leave behind clues. Like obviously missing property.”
Like that Hello Kitty bobblehead
, she thinks, but doesn’t say aloud. “Anyone who investigates the break-in will have no idea why we did it, so they won’t know who to suspect.”

Kit nodded in approval. “Exactly. As for how we get the safe’s combination, that’s a task best suited for our mentalist.”

Devon shot Magnus a derisive look, and said, “Sorry, but what’s a rent boy going to do for a job like this? He going to shag the combination out of the lawyer?” Ciere winced; Devon’s habit of blurting out his every thought was sometimes mortifying.

Magnus let the silence draw out into an uncomfortable length. He never said a word, but he let the full weight of his gaze rest on Devon. Devon shifted restlessly in his seat, his mouth pulled down in an expression that was half embarrassment, half defiance.

“I have other uses,” Magnus said once a full thirty seconds had passed.

Devon, looking thoroughly spooked, said, “Right. So what are you going to do?”

Magnus set his cup on its saucer. With his free hand, pinched the tip of one leather glove and tugged. The glove slipped off, revealing a long-fingered, pale hand. His every movement was deliberate, careful, the way a man might handle a grenade.

“As a mentalist, I can experience what a person feels and thinks so long as I am touching them,” he said, flexing his fingers. Suddenly the fact that Magnus wore a turtleneck sweater, pants, shoes, and gloves even on a hot summer day
made sense. Ciere’s eyes raked over him—besides his hands, the only bare skin she could find was on his face. Magnus rubbed his thumb and forefinger together. “When this lawyer opens the safe, the numbers will be in her head, even if it is subconscious.”

“You can’t just grab her while she’s getting into her safe,” Ciere said. “That would look suspicious.”

Magnus began pulling his gloves back on. “Like I said—I can do things other than seduce people.”

Kit, Devon, and Ciere watch the security feed as Cole and Magnus exchange the usual greetings. The lawyer slides a key into her office door and unlocks it.

As the door shuts behind Magnus, Ciere draws in a sharp breath. “We’re blind now, aren’t we?”

Devon nods. “No cameras in the offices.” He taps his tablet again and Ciere can see several feeds at once—all miniature.

Kit rises from his crouch, his knees making painful creaking sounds. With a groan, he drags himself into the driver’s seat. “Might as well be comfortable while we wait,” he says, angling the seat into a reclining position.

Ciere wishes she could adopt such a leisurely attitude about this job, but the thought of Brandt Guntram and his tracker has her on edge. Its heavy weight is a constant reminder of the power he holds over her. She rocks back and forth, waiting
impatiently for any sign of Magnus’s return. Devon seems as jumpy as she is; he doesn’t put his tablet down. Instead, he channel surfs through the security feeds, bouncing through them so quickly that Ciere can’t keep up. But then again, she’s not an eidos. Devon is probably taking in the scenes at a glance, storing the information, and then going on to the next feed. It’s a good strategy, and Ciere tells him so.

Devon blinks. “Actually, I was trying to see how many people in this building are picking their noses. So far I’m at three.”

Ciere is only half-sure he’s joking.

The minutes crawl past. It’s at least an hour before Devon makes a noise. “Sighting,” he says abruptly, and Ciere sits up so quickly she slams her elbow into the car door. “It’s Magnus—he’s leaving the lawyer’s office.”

Kit’s eyes don’t open, but a smile tugs at his mouth. “About time.”

A few minutes later, Magnus swings into the passenger seat. Without a word, he opens the glove compartment and digs out his leather gloves. “Combination digital lock and password,” he says without preamble. “Eight, three, five, nine, six, one. The password is ‘ad valorem.’ ” He twists in his seat so he can look at Devon. “And I didn’t even have to remove any of her clothing.”

Devon seems instantly fascinated with the floor. Ciere grins.

All that’s left is to wait for nightfall.