A bright light flashed across the far wall as a car pulled into the parking lot and drove past me. I maintained my nonchalance as the driver parked and stepped out. It was a tiny, though sturdy elderly woman, always my preferred duping target. Laden with shopping bags, she trudged wearily toward the door. I maintained my leisurely pace.
The woman reached the door, set a shopping bag on the asphalt and, after what seemed like an eternity of purse searching, came up with a card, which she ran through the card reader. After replacing the card meticulously, she grabbed the door handle with both hands and heaved. At that moment, she became aware of me and turned. I threw every ounce of charm I could muster into a wide smile.
“Feliz Navidad!”
The woman smiled back at me and eyed my huge pile of brightly decorated packages.
“Feliz Navidad!”
She stepped to the side and, as expected, held the door open. I was in.
The old lady followed me inside and down a short corridor to a set of elevator doors. An armed security guard sat on a chair nearby, reading a Condorito comic book. He barely glanced at me, probably assuming that I was helping grandma with the boxes.
The old lady reached passed me and pushed the up button. We waited silently for the elevator to descend. My nerves began to kick in, causing my stomach to slowly twist and tighten. It probably didn’t help that I hadn’t eaten anything for five days. On the flight down, I’d made the mistake of studying my Spanish for Idiots book, which had only reinforced my fear of native Mexican food by including translations for such phrases as ‘What species of meat is that?’ and ’No lettuce, for God’s sake!’ As I waited for the elevator, I could feel my digestive juices deciding that my stomach was not only edible, but nutritious and delicious.
After what seemed like a long time, the elevator chimed and the doors opened. Grandma and I stepped in, and I breathed a sigh of relief. As the doors closed, she pushed the button for the third floor, then swiveled her head in my irection. “Que piso?”
She seemed to be asking which floor I wanted. I quickly traveled through time to seventh-grade Spanish and began counting. “Diez y ocho.”
The old lady pressed the eighteen button and offered me a crinkled smile. Ten seconds later, we came to a halt at the third floor, and grandma stepped out of the elevator.
“Buenas noches.”
“Buenas noches.” The doors closed, and I began my ascent to the top floor.
UAKM — CHAPTER TWO
Two days before, I’d paid my first visit to the Dulce Vida. I’d found out which apartment Eddie Ching lived in and that he was out of town — a lucky break, since apartments are almost easier to ransack when they’re unoccupied.
I then approached the manager under the pretense of wanting to lease an apartment. The manager, a wellheeled, swarthy man by the name of Alfonso, had agreed to give me a tour of the facilities. His English was as perfect as the white teeth that gleamed from beneath his astonishingly manicured mustache. I’d said I was only interested in an apartment on the top floor, with a spectacular view of Alfonso’s uncommonly beautiful city. Obviously pleased, Alfonso had been more than happy to oblige.
As we rode the elevator to the eighteenth floor, Alfonso detailed the many benefits of becoming one of his tenants. The combination of the high crime rate and the rich clientele, he said, required that the apartment building be a veritable fortress of security.
Not only were the entrances to the residential areas sealed off to outsiders, but each apartment had its own personalized security system. A keypad was installed on each apartment door, and the code to unlock the door was chosen by and known only to the tenant. Moreover, additional security systems, such as individual laser grids and LCD alarm glass for the windows, were offered optionally inside each apartment. If I’d actually been a potential renter, it would’ve sounded lovely. As it was, it made me nervous.
On the eighteenth floor, Alfonso had escorted me to an empty apartment on the far end of the hall from Ching’s. I’d casually looked over his shoulder as he entered the code 1-2-2-1 on the keypad. The access code was all I’d been after, but to avoid suspicion, I went along with the compulsory tour, lavishly complimenting the architecture, the décor, and, of course, the fabulous view. Alfonso and I then returned to the lobby, where I told him I would need time to make up my mind.
The next day, I’d gotten everything together to execute my plan, then waited outside the building. But the tenants in the apartment next to Ching’s didn’t go out that evening, so I was forced to try again. This time everything was going smoothly.
The elevator doors opened on the eighteenth floor, and I walked briskly toward the door to the empty apartment. To be safe, I knocked several times. There was no answer. I punched in 1-2-2-1 on the keypad and opened the door.
Except for the dim city glow coming through the windows, it was dark inside the apartment. I set the packages down and opened one of them. Inside was a flashlight, a laser blade, a bent piece of metal, and an extremely expensive pair of ultrasensitive night-vision goggles. Placing the implements in my deep overcoat pockets, I walked to one of the windows and, after checking to make sure it had no alarm, opened it.
There was a wide ledge below the window. I stepped out onto it and made the mistake of looking down. It hadn’t seemed so high up from the ground. I turned around to face the window, closed it, and then began shuffling slowly along the ledge. The first two apartments I slid by were dark. The third was lit up, but the only person I saw inside was a bald man, sitting in an easy chair and facing away from me.
I reached the first window of Ching’s apartment without incident. Then I pulled out the particle-beam-detection goggles and put them on. As I’d learned from my tour with Alfonso, the apartment windows could contain the special and very expensive LCD alarm glass. Sure enough, with the goggles on, I could see faint blue lines cycling through the glass in a grid pattern. I wasn’t surprised — in fact, I’d counted on it. What suddenly concerned me was the net of motion-detecting beams I could see beyond the window. The lines of light were about three feet off the floor and crisscrossed from the wall under the window to about ten feet into the room. I checked the second window, but it was equipped with the same safeguards. The laser nets, in effect, were hightech moats. Unless I turned them off, access through the windows would be impossible.
I didn’t have much to lose. If the apartments were all set up the same, there would be a switch on the wall about six inches to the right of the window, about four feet off the floor. After establishing the approximate location of the switch, I watched the cycling pattern for several minutes, then get out my laser blade and flipped it on. A razor-thin beam of light appeared, about three inches in length. With the care of a rabbi performing his first circumcision, I sliced into the glass and cut a hole with a two-inch diameter.
Then I turned off the laser blade and grabbed the bent piece of metal. Inserting it into the hole, I began twisting it, feeling for the switch. After several seconds, I felt some resistance, then pushed down. The blue lights in the glass disappeared. The laser net didn’t.
Using the laser blade, I cut an even wider hole in the glass, large enough to stick my head into. Peering around in the dark, I soon decided that whatever controlled the laser net was not within reach.
I’d been foiled. My first reaction, as always, was to light up. Then I reconsidered. Even though it was dark, I could be seen easily, and some might consider my conspicuous presence on the ledge of an exclusive penthouse apartment suspicious. The sooner I got inside, the better. I decided to try the neighbor’s apartment. It was certainly preferable to being seen in my current position.