“We think that this was how the thief got inside. A sort of Trojan horse.”
“Trojan what?” asked Piper. Jennifer ignored him.
“We’ve gone through the inventory records and it seems that on the night of the fourth, a small gold shipment turned up at the Depository at about seventeen-hundred hours, just before it closed. Short was the duty officer. In fact, he’d volunteered to have his shift changed to that day. He signed it in and placed it down in the vault.”
She paused to take a sip of water from the glass on the table in front of her before continuing.
“We think that this” — she indicated the photograph again — “was the container in which the gold was delivered. As you can see, when painted it would have looked very similar to the containers typically used for moving bullion around.”
Another photograph flashed up alongside the first one showing a silvery container of identical proportions.
“However, the container we recovered from near Short’s house is different in one vital way. It contains a separate compartment accessible from the side, here.” She pointed out the side panel on the screen. “It would have been very uncomfortable, but it is large enough for someone to get into. A small amount of gold was presumably placed in the upper compartment to make it look like the container was full in case the lid was opened.”
“This is all bullshit,” said Brady, a pleading tone in his voice now as his jacket slipped off the back of his chair and onto the floor. “It’s standard procedure to inventory every shipment in and out to make sure it’s all there.”
“And the procedure was followed to the letter,” Jennifer said firmly. “Only it was Short that was following it. According to statements from the other guards on duty that night, he insisted on personally inventorying the shipment. As the ranking officer, that was his prerogative. Once he’d okayed the contents, he had it taken down to the vault. Given that it was the Fourth of July, he told the guys who took it down that they could unpack it in the morning, so they could get home early. Short was like that, apparently. They thought nothing of it.”
“We believe,” said Corbett, picking up on Jennifer’s line, “that whoever was hiding in the container waited until a pre-agreed time when the virus had kicked in, stole the coins, resealed the cage they were in, and then got back inside the container. The next day, again according to the inventory records, another truck turned up at zero nine hundred with a new set of paperwork, claiming that a mistake had been made and that they had to take the container back to where it had come from. It all checked out and no one gave it a second thought.”
“And Short?” asked Green.
“Short? A loose end. Presumably killed to make sure he couldn’t talk, the money they paid him an acceptable loss. We found the truck burned out in a field about eighty miles away. No forensics, not even a serial number on the engine block. Whoever we’re dealing with here, sir, they’re not taking any chances.”
“What about the gold?” asked Young. “There’s billions of dollars down there, why didn’t they take any of that?”
“Mainly because if these coins are really worth forty million, then the equivalent amount of bullion would weigh about three and a half tons,” Corbett replied. “These people, whoever they are, they’re professionals. They knew exactly what they were looking for and where to find it and they didn’t let themselves get distracted.”
“Thank you, Agent Browne,” said Young. Corbett nodded at Jennifer to sit down next to him. “Okay, so we may have an idea of how they did it. But that still leaves the who. Who could have done this to us?… Any ideas?… Anyone?” He looked expectantly around the table.
“The Mafia?” Green ventured. “Or someone in the Far East, maybe the Triads?”
“Or Cassius?”
As Corbett had spoken there had been a sudden lull in the conversation and his voice had echoed across the room’s sudden calm. Young looked at him blankly.
“Who?”
“A man; more of a shadow really,” Corbett explained slowly. “He allegedly heads up an international crime syndicate that is involved in almost every aspect of the art and antiques underworld. We never get any closer than rumors. Every time we do, somebody dies.”
“I thought all this talk of a Captain Nemo figure, of some controlling mastermind in the art world had been ruled out,” Green interjected.
“None of the experts will talk about it, the insurance companies least of all. It would be too much for them to admit that one man can manipulate and influence the global art market. But people forget that art crime is a three-billion-dollar-a-year global business.”
“Three billion dollars?” Young was clearly shocked by the number.
“It’s the world’s third-largest area of criminal activity after drugs and arms dealing,” Corbett confirmed with a nod. “And the really big scores don’t come from stealing a work and selling it to a new buyer, but in stealing it and ransoming it back to the original owners. The insurers call it a finder’s fee, of course, but they’d rather offer ten percent to the thieves than pay out the full value to the owners. It happens all the time. From the consistency in how and where these jobs are financed and structured, our view is that there is a sophisticated and coordinated global operation behind the vast bulk of the high-end heists.”
“So do you think that this Cassius is involved or not?” Young leant forward in his chair. He was clearly used to dealing in yes or no, in buy or sell. He wanted an answer. Corbett, though, was noncommittal.
“A job like this would have needed a lot of planning and funding. Not many people would have the resources to pull it off. He’s definitely one of them. But even if he is behind this, he wouldn’t have actually done the job himself. People like him hire others to do their dirty work. Most often, they probably don’t even know they’re working for him. What we need to find is the person actually in the vault. That person will lead us back to whoever set the job up and hopefully the rest of the coins.”
Piper leaned toward Young and whispered something in his ear. Young, for the first time since Jennifer had been in the room, stopped chewing. He looked at Piper and whispered something back. Piper nodded and, getting to his feet, walked to the back of the room. Here, Jennifer noticed for the first time, a large mirrored panel was set into the wall. Piper tapped on the glass and then drew his hand across his throat twice. The signal made it clear to Jennifer that this whole meeting had been taped. Now, for some reason, Piper wanted it off the record. Why?
“I think perhaps it would be appropriate for Browne and Brady to leave at this point,” Piper suggested to Young. Corbett shook his head firmly.
“Whatever is about to be said, Browne should be here. She’s point on this case. Whatever I know, she knows.” Piper looked at Young questioningly, who nodded slowly. Jennifer flashed Corbett a grateful smile, her curiosity mounting.
“Wait for me outside, Chris,” said Young.
“How come she gets to stay?” whined Brady. “I’m being set up. I know it.”
“Just wait the hell outside,” Young snapped back. “And leave that file here.” Muttering under his breath, Brady slapped the file down onto the table, scooped up his jacket, and stumbled to the door.
“Okay, John. This had better be good,” said Young. Piper blew slowly through his lips before speaking.
“On July sixteenth there was a break-in in New York City at an Upper West Side apartment block. The thief rappelled down from the roof to the seventeenth floor, broke in, and stole a nine-million-dollar Fabergé egg. NYPD got lucky and found a hair sample next to the safe. They sent it to the FBI lab in Quantico to run it through their system just in case it wasn’t the maid’s. They got a hit and following the on-screen protocol alerted me immediately.”