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This was the problem when you started to care about people. They started to worm their way under your skin. This mission was a step closer to taking Massimo off the board. I had to focus.
I stood on the pavement outside Whitmore bank. I knew from Gabe and Liam that Whitmore Bank was where Massimo Igno was getting his cash from, so I needed to go inside and have a look-see. Which meant going in as a potential client. I'd get a tour.
As I walked in, I was met by Noah Pratt, the Vice President. "Mr. Foster."
I nodded and smiled. "Yes. Drake Foster. Just call me Drake."
"We are excited to talk to a client of your caliber. We obviously have done our homework on you, and we would love the opportunity to work with you."
"Thank you."
As he prattled on and talked about how long the bank had been in existence, when it was built, and the architect who designed it, I only half listened. I knew everything about this bank. I'd spent days pouring over it already. After all, never walk in somewhere unprepared.
He led me upstairs to the offices that had a beautiful corner view that looked over Westminster. "So, how might I help you?"
I started my story with confidence. "I'm looking for a bank for my new endeavors. Import-export. I have sent my portfolio over already. You're aware of the kind of business that we do. It is, however, selective and private. What I'm looking to have your bank do for me is offer a level of discretion."
Banks like this that had shady-as-fuck clients loved the word discretion, which meant keep my shit in an offshore account where no one could touch it.
"Of course, sir, we specialize in discretion. We have several banks all over the world. Obviously, the Cayman Islands are not nearly as discreet as they used to be, but they do offer a variety of options. Our home office is in Switzerland. Many of our clients choose that route."
He went on and on, and as he talked, I planted a bug. I walked over to the window and installed the compression tape that I would need for later. It would be used to dampen the movement that might set off the alarms when I came back and needed to get onto the computer.
Above his desk was the vent I was going to use for the most dangerous part. I would be in the vent for quite some time, leading all the way down to the vault. The vault room had all kinds of fans, security measures, and lasers I’d have to get around. It was the temperature control that I was going to have a hard time with.
"I’d like to take a tour of the vault if possible."
"Of course."
As he stood, I placed the next device directly under his laptop. It was a cloning device that would work all day copying his files. That's all I’d have to retrieve tonight when I came back. I would get all the information that I needed.
Luckily, the layout of the building was very simple. No major surprises. The vents would be a tight squeeze, but I could manage it. And then, at least I would have a paper trail of Massimo's money. Someone was funding him. The question was, who? Who had the juice to get me burned?
Massimo had money from his father, but without the Ledger, his funds were limited. More in the millions than the billions range. If Massimo was making a play to beef himself up in the Syndicate, he would need a lot more than that.
Noah chatted with me amiably as we toured. He very helpfully showed me where all the cameras were. As we went down to the vault, he pointed out key features. "I know we have some lens balls, but I promise you, we have state-of-the-art security. In the evenings, when we don't need access to the vault, you see those lines right there? That's where the lasers are. And as you can see, in there is our temperature control monitor. It's very simple. If there's a person there, the temperature increases. And then, of course, there's the vault itself, with 64-bit encryption. Your money and your information are safe here."
As he led me to the marble banquette where depositors could open their boxes in private, I nodded and forced my brain to ask a list of questions that I had come prepared with. About how many people banked here. Capacity. Privacy. I was more than grateful that I was able to focus on more than one thing at a time.
I had an inch-thick tabular canister designed by Matthias Weller from Blake Security, a firm in New York. I'd already prepped to turn it on at 6:00 p.m. When the bank closed and it would begin lowering the temperature. So when I waltzed in here, straight into the vault, the room would be far colder than usual already. My body temperature wouldn't set anything off.
I was laying out the plan. All I had to do tonight was execute.
"Well, Mr. Pratt, I am thrilled to have been able to get this meeting done today. Thank you for the tour of the bank."
"Thank you. I look forward to seeing you again."
And as I let myself be escorted out, I chuckled under my breath. "Oh, I will be back, but you won't be seeing me."
31
Drake
I parked several blocks from the bank, having already scoured the area for gaps in CCTV. Staying low, I stuck to the shadows in the alley. I was a block from the bank when I realized I had a tail.
Motherfucker.
I could be wrong, but it was unlikely. That feeling, the one I'd gotten accustomed to in all the years of fieldwork, had been dogging me for about half a block now. Like feeling eyes on me somewhere along the way.
