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While I’m talking to Bella, I reach behind me, out of view of the security cameras, and stick my own little camera under the nozzle of the fire extinguisher.
The only problem with this tiny device is that I have to place the receiver above ground, within a hundred meters of the vault.
“So your dad built this bank recently?” I ask Bella.
“Three years ago—if that’s recent,” she giggles.
“Did they build the vault at the same time?”
“I guess so.” She giggles again. “It was definitely here when I visited. You want to look at anything else?”
“Nah.” I grin. “I get the idea.”
As we head back up, I say to Bella, “You seemed to know Michael pretty well.”
“He’s always guarding the elevator,” Bella says. “He’s a bit of a stick, but he’s nice enough.”
Meaning, he lets her do what she wants in the end.
The doors open, and I hold out my hand to Michael.
“Thanks for letting us take a tour,” I say, shaking his meaty paw.
Meanwhile, I stick my receiver right on top of his walkie-talkie. It’s black metal, about the size of a screw. Unless he looks closely at his antennae, he won’t notice it at all.
It will silently beam the images from the hidden camera right out of this building, all the way to my laptop at home.
“Come back soon,” Michael says politely.
I intend to.
15
CAMILLE
When I get home, I knock on Vic’s door.
“Come in!” he calls.
I push the door open. His bedroom is tiny. He only has a minuscule window high up on one wall, like in a prison cell. He doesn’t seem to care, though—he’s papered the walls with posters of all his favorite musicians, and the space is as cheerfully crowded and messy as any teenage boy’s room.
He’s got a desk squished in there with his bed. He’s currently working at that desk, hunched over the laptop I bought him a couple years back.
He sits up a little too quickly when I come into the room.
I automatically glance at the screen, to check if he’s doing his course work.
Instead, I see some kind of music program. It looks like a bunch of slider bars and squiggly graphs.
“What’s that?” I ask him.
“Well . . .” Vic looks guilty.
“Come on. Out with it.”
“It’s this thing for making beats,” he admits.
“What kind of beats?”
