“It would be the only way to remain undetected.”
Megan turned towards Eric.
“Just in case, give me the phone Ed gave you and I’ll change the SIM card. I have one ready, Ed already has the number.”
Stone handed over his phone.
“I suppose I’d better get to the bank and withdraw some cash then.”
“No need.”
Megan reached into her desk and handed over a familiar shopping bag.
“A gift from Anton Stephens — a bag full of untraceable drug money. It’s ideal for just this kind of situation. Ed suggested that I give it to you today.”
“Thanks.”
Stone took the bag with some embarrassment.
“Charles left me a lot of money, you know.”
Megan waved dismissively.
“Put it to a good cause after this is over. Perhaps you can donate to a cat sanctuary, or take me out on a date. For the moment, use the dirty money, and keep yourselves safe.”
“Thanks for all the help. You have my promise, at the first sign of trouble we’ll drop off the grid — after phoning you first.”
Megan shook her head and sighed.
“Phone afterwards.”
Linda came over and sat on the edge of Megan’s desk.
“And what about you, are you safe here?”
“Don’t worry about me, I’m fine. As far as the world is concerned, a lady called Catherine Dama lives here. Megan Smith is invisible.”
She waved a hand at her computers.
“Even with all of this and the work that I do, I’m so well hidden that even I couldn’t find me!”
Linda smiled and gave Megan a sisterly hug.
“Good to know.”
They parked fifty yards from Second Chances’ office, facing away, and on the opposite side of the road. Using the car’s side-mirrors, for twenty minutes they watched a steady stream of people entering and leaving the office.
“Well they’re certainly busy doing something out of that office,” Linda said, “Perhaps there are an excessive number of ex-cons living around here.”
“Hopefully we’re not going to add to that number.”
Stone checked his watch. It was almost 6pm.
“Let’s take a casual walk and see if we can spot a better way in, than the door on the street.”
Hand-in-hand like a couple of newlyweds, they slowly walked two complete circuits of the block. It was growing dark and the streetlights were beginning to come on as they climbed into Linda’s car. The office of Second Chances was in darkness, and outside a large man was in the process of locking the door. They watched from the car as the man casually walked by, taking no notice of them. In the glimpse Stone caught in the mirror, he could see that the man was younger than he had supposed. He was tall and fit looking, with an unruly mop of long blonde hair, and probably in his mid-twenties. Neither Linda nor Stone had ever seen the man before. Linda spoke first.
“There’s an alleyway at the side of the building that leads to a small yard at the rear. I saw an entrance, an old door — I think that it would be the best way in.”
“Yeah, I saw that. I think you’re right. I don’t see any sign of an alarm.”
“We’ll check when we get closer, but I don’t see any outside bell box or anything else to indicate an active system.”
“Ok, let’s go. Can you stay near the alley entrance and keep a lookout while I work on the lock?”
“Humph! That’s woman’s work. I’ll be doing the ironing next,” she joked as she climbed out of the car.
With Linda guarding the entrance to the alleyway, Stone was able to concentrate on opening the back door to Second Chances’ office. Picking locks is almost a lost art form, and one that takes considerable skill and practice to master. Contrary to popular belief, it can take considerable time, and multiple attempts, to pick a lock successfully. Some time ago, Ed Carter had shown him the basics and, more as a hobby than anything else, Stone had practiced at home for a while, but apparently, he hadn’t practiced anywhere near enough.
Kneeling on a scrap of cardboard rescued from a bin, and holding a penlight in his teeth, Stone inspected the lock and groaned. It was a standard cylinder lock. The generic sort, you would probably get from a discount store. He knew that cheap locks could be more difficult to pick. The mechanism is less precisely manufactured, making it slack and difficult to feel with the lock pick. Nevertheless, he had to try. It was important that the break-in remained secret.
Stone began by spraying the interior of the mechanism with penetrating oil to free any rust and grime. He attached a twisted elastic band to a thumbtack he had stuck into the door, and looped the other end around the arm of the tension wrench. That way he could maintain an even twisting pressure on the barrel, whilst keeping both hands free. After a glance at Linda to check that the coast was clear, he started to pick the lock.
Internally every cylinder lock has a number of pins of varying length that have to be pushed upwards until they all match something called the shear line. When the pins are correctly aligned, usually by the little pointed teeth on the key, the lock will turn. The process of picking the lock involves using a tension wrench to apply a slight rotational pressure to the barrel, whilst using a thin pick to ease each of the pins gently upwards. As each pin reaches the shear line, there is a slight click. Once all of the pins are correctly ‘picked’, the lock will open.
Picking a lock is skillful, difficult work — not like the movies at all. A bent hairgrip won’t do the job, and a lock cannot be picked in just a few seconds with a casual jiggle of the wrist, whilst looking over your shoulder to check that no one is watching. Sometimes, despite his very best efforts, it can’t be picked in twenty minutes of persistent effort.
Stone groaned as he stood up. His back ached, his fingers were cramped, and his knees were shaking.
“I can’t get it!” he whispered irately, rubbing his hands to try to restore some circulation.
“I need to walk around for a moment.”
“Can I have a go?” Linda asked.
“Be my guest,” Stone waved a hand at the unyielding lock. “Don’t tell me you know how to pick locks.”
Linda tipped her head and winked.
“Absolutely; I saw it on a cop show once — you stick the gismo into the thingamabob and wiggle it around and the door opens!”
Stone gave a grunt of disapproval.
“I’ll keep an eye out until my circulation returns.”
He hobbled to the entrance of the alleyway and bent forward to massage his aching calves. Less than a minute passed before he heard Linda whispering his name.
“What?”
“Come here… I don’t think you’re going to like this.”
Stone walked back down the alleyway to find Linda pointing to the open door. She gave him a triumphant smile edged with embarrassment. He stared open-mouthed in disbelief.
“How the hell… did you pick the lock?”
“Actually, the door was already unlocked — that’s why you couldn’t pick it. It was just a bit sticky and there were some empty boxes in the way. It opened as soon as I gave it a hard shove.”
Stone slapped his forehead.
“Idiot! That’s a classic rookie mistake. I never even thought to check the door to see if it was already unlocked.”
Linda smiled sweetly.
“Shall we go in?”
The office was quite small, just fifteen by thirty feet. At the front, facing the street, there was the main door and a large window, probably from when it was used as a store. The first ten feet was a waiting area. There were several hard chairs along the wall and a low coffee table in the center, piled high with old newspapers and magazines. The area behind the counter that bisected the room was clearly used as the office. There was a desk, three filing cabinets, a small kitchenette, and a second door that led to a restroom. Stone pointed Linda towards the desk, and without further comment, they began searching the office.