Eagle Day - Robert Muchamore Page 0,12

were externally sealed steel doors at the top of the staircase and armed security guards at the end of a long, first-floor corridor, so the tunnel was the only way out that didn’t involve the inconvenience of federal prison.

‘Few bits of floor crumbled into the chamber,’ Miles observed. ‘Looks OK apart from that.’

PT was more interested in the door of cage two. The vault was locked using three heavy-gauge pins sandwiched inside the door. Opening was via a dual-key mechanism that required two people turning locks built into the wall on opposite sides of the door. This was designed to stop a single staff member getting inside the cage and helping themselves to a handful of untraceable notes.

The array of cogs and gears inside the heavily armoured door led to a single bolt which ran through its centre. This secured the main handle locking the pins in place. Any security system is only as strong as its weakest element and while the double locking system prevented pilfering, its complexity played into the hands of any decent safe breaker.

Miles had stolen the vault plans from a lightly-guarded archive in the Federal Reserve offices above. He’d calculated that four precisely-placed explosives would create a shockwave that cracked the central lever holding the locking pins in place. If Miles had his sums right, PT only had to pull on the lever, the lock pins would slide across and the two-tonne door would glide open.

PT raised the handle. There was a clank, followed by an anxious moment as nothing happened. A more powerful tug did the trick and the huge door took on its own momentum, forcing PT backwards as it glided silently into the room.

The door opening triggered three light bulbs and they lit up steel innards – four metres deep and lined with metal shelving. PT stepped around the door and went inside. The air was stale and the thick walls ate every sound.

The shelves were full of football-sized white cotton bags. Each was stamped FOR INCINERATION, and a handwritten tag detailed the contents: Bank of Manhattan – $9,270 mixed values. Deposited 12.4.38 counted and swapped by CLK 12.6.38.

Miles stood in the doorway as his middle son snapped off the tag, peered at the bundles of crumpled notes inside and broke into an enormous grin.

‘So Dad,’ PT said. ‘How’s it feel being a millionaire?’

CHAPTER FOUR

Bert’s Joint had been on the same corner for thirty years, doing a good trade from one of the best all-day breakfasts in town and pies made by Bert’s old lady. It wasn’t unknown for Wall Street types and shoppers to come by and pick up whole pies to take home in the daytime, but most custom went to cab drivers, print workers and late-night cleaners who sat at the tables taking their time.

After dark it was a warm crowd. A fat old cop named Vernon and his young partner Perkins got friendly glances and a couple of waves as they came inside and sat at a table well away from the cold near the doorway. Vernon was hobbling and a cab driver looked over the rim of next morning’s newspaper and had to ask.

‘Watcha do, Vern, slip on the ice? It’s deadly out there, ain’t it?’

Vernon’s gut squeezed between the bench and a table, while his younger colleague told the story.

‘Got a call over to A and H Hardware. Skinny damned kid put a garbage can through the front window.’

‘A and H.’ The cabbie nodded. ‘Smash and grab?’

The young cop batted the snow off his cap as he shrugged. ‘Except the kid didn’t grab anything. Left his scarf behind and twenty-three dollars in the register. Made a bit of a mess looking for something, then legged it out the back way.’

‘You get him?’

The younger cop sniggered into his moustache, unsure whether to answer. Vernon was senior, and he wasn’t certain he’d want people knowing.

Vernon raised his hands. ‘Damn it, Perky, someone’s gonna tell ’em, so it might as well be me. Perkins was driving, so I was inside the store first. Saw the little runt go out the back window – but let’s just say I ain’t as svelte as I was in the day.’

Perkins laughed. ‘You’da loved it. I came in that back room, there’s Vernon with his fat ass wedged in the window. Get me outta here, Davie! If I get my hands on that little mother I’ll …’

Half a dozen regulars who’d tuned into the story rattled with laughter.

‘And you got your ankle hurt