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I turned around and made my way through the laser grid. The concealed closet housed nothing more than a massive safe. It was taller and wider than me. I recognized the model. It was a Hamilton safe that had been produced for banks in the 1970s. It had an older style turn lock. Once I was safely on the other side of the protective grid, I swung my bag onto the floor and took out a few of my supplies.
First, I put my stethoscope over one ear and the metal piece against the door of the safe. I reached up and took the dial in my fingers. Excruciatingly slowly, I turned it, listening to the internal structure click until that first pin opened. I glanced up, noting that the first number was twenty-five.
I moved onto the second number. This time, I went even more slowly, turning the dial bit by bit until the safe opened that second pin.
Fifty-seven.
I took a deep steadying breath, moving onto the third number. This particular model had a fail-safe. I knew that I only had two chances to get the combination right before it locked for a predetermined period of time and would have to be opened with both the correct combination along with a physical key. I took a moment, sitting still as I calmed the beat of my heart.
I didn’t have a key. I needed to get this right the first time.
With the utmost care, I steadily turned the dial until that all familiar sound rang in my ear. I released the dial and jerked my hand away.
Forty-three.
I grasped the handle and turned it to the left. The mechanism inside the safe clanked, but then the door swung open. I audibly sighed with relief.
The safe was stuffed full of cash, but I wasn’t concerned with any of that. The only thing I was here for was the small blue velvet bag. I reached in and took it with trembling fingers. I pulled the drawstring open and used my fingers to gently pry it apart.
From what I could tell, all the diamonds were still there. Thank God.
I closed it quickly and packed it away in my bag. I closed the safe and turned the dial, locking it behind me. I used my aerosol can and made my way back through the laser grid, down the hallway and back to the stairwell. I had just gotten to the second floor when I heard a faint cry. I stilled immediately.
It sounded again. I narrowed my eyes and crouched against the stairwell, listening closely. The rest of the building was still quiet. There was no one on patrol and I hadn’t heard anyone come up the stairs from down below.
When I heard it again, I recognized it for what it was. It was the sound of a woman crying somewhere in the building in the dead of the night. It was muted, but there was no denying that it was there.
I looked to the right side. There were a number of storage rooms in that direction. The hall ran the length of the building. I chewed my lip. I was so close to getting out of here without a trace, but if there was someone hurt back there, I would think about it every day for the rest of my life.
The crying continued and I wavered.
What if they’d taken someone and I was their only chance at freedom? What if they were trafficking women or selling them or something worse?
What should I do?
I looked back downstairs. I searched the windows, looking for any hint of a human shadow.
Fuck me. I knew I shouldn’t, but I was going to do it anyway.
With a deep shaky breath, I turned back toward the hallway. I would spare five minutes and not a minute more.
Periodically, I sprayed a dash of hairspray to check for any laser grids, but those seemed constrained to the valuables on the third floor. I searched the high ceilings above me for any hint of a camera and found nothing.
The sound grew louder as I drew closer. All the doors were shut, but I could tell that the crying was confined to the last room at the end of the hall. I crouched low and looked beneath the door frame. There was a large enough gap for me to see into the room.
There was a group of women tied up. Most of them were dressed in nothing more than a bra and panties with their arms tied behind their backs. The rope was coarse and had left angry purple welts around their wrists.
I reached into my pocket and pulled out another lock pick. I made quick work of the doorknob but froze when I heard something that was far more than just the warehouse settling.
A shoe scraped the floor, echoing loudly in the warehouse. I jerked my head back toward the stairwell. I quickly moved backwards around the corner, throwing my body against the wall as someone stomped up the stairs.
Fuck. They were back.
Boisterous laughter filled the air. Some of the men called out in Russian, others broken English. One of them was singing a ballad. I didn’t quite understand the words, but his tone of voice said that it was definitely very raunchy.
“You should check on the merchandise, Igor,” one of them called out.
“Yeah. You wouldn’t want Sergei to find out about your little side hustle,” another whistled.
