Chasing the White Lion James Hannibal (essential reading TXT) 📖

hall, pulled the rubber shielding free, and zapped the lock with his stun gun.

The overload should have triggered the electric motor to throw the bolt, mimicking the result of an electric pulse from the keypad.

It didn’t.

The motor whirred and whined, but the bolt never clicked back. Finn tried again. Another whir. More whining. No click. The steel door wouldn’t budge.

“Huh.”

Finn knew other ways to defeat a keypad lock or a vault door. None were quiet or left no trace. This job required both. In moments, Atan had to open that door with his own code, believing no one had tampered with it.

When Talia hinted they were coming, panic set in.

“I can’t do it.”

“Talk to me, Finn,” Tyler said. “Is someone in the hall, blocking the way to the door?”

“Negative. I’m at the door. I can’t beat the lock.”

A moment of silence. “You . . . what?”

“This lock has some secondary defense mechanism I’ve never seen. I don’t know the trick.” Voices drifted down the hall from the reception desk. Val, in her loud Brooklyn persona, admired the furnishings in Atan’s foyer. She was stalling, clearly tracking Finn’s struggles through the comm chatter. She couldn’t keep it up for long.

Tyler pulled the plug on him. “Get out of there.”

“But—”

“Now, Finn.”

“Right.” He scrambled to replace the shielding and cover. In the process, he dropped a screw. It vanished into the carpet.

TALIA HEARD FINN’S FRANTIC BREATHING, followed by a Got it! and the kerchunk of a door closing.

Trailing Val and Atan, she rounded the corner past the reception desk and walked by his office—which included a king-size bed, complete with zebra-striped duvet.

Atan winked at Val when she commented on his choice in decor. “What can I say. I am one with my animal instincts.” His leer dropped to her leopard-print pumps.

Talia wanted to be sick.

Val laughed and snorted. “Oh, Mr. Atan. You’re so funny.”

The hallway ahead was empty. Had Finn gone inside the vault?

Tyler must have had the same thought. “Got what, Finn? Did you beat the lock? Finn, answer me.”

“Sorry. I’m at the roof. I couldn’t talk in the stairwell. Atan might’ve heard.”

“Fine. What about the XRF?”

“Never made the switch. The one he’ll be using is real.”

As Atan and the girls reached the coin room door, Talia tried another delay tactic. Tyler had insisted the team set the hook tonight, but if Atan spied their fake, they’d lose this whole game in the first round. No Boyd. No Archangel. No Hla Meh. “It’s late, Mr. Atan. I’m sure a man like you has plans for the evening. We can come back in the morning.”

“Nonsense. You are here now. Let me test the coin. Otherwise, the curiosity will deny me my beauty sleep.”

His next motion caught her off guard. Atan rested a shoulder against the door and offered an embarrassed smile. “Forgive me. My coin vault is all steel construction, and I made the error of choosing the lowest bidder.” He entered his pass code. The lock whirred and whined until he gave the door a shoulder-check worthy of a hockey team enforcer. The bolt clicked back. “My installer set the door out of plumb. Since the steel wall is a seamless unit, this will cost me thousands to fix.”

If not for the danger of exposure, Talia might have laughed. Finn, despite all his skill and cockiness, had been defeated by a sticky door.

The vault was an Aladdin’s cave of silver, copper, and gold. Mostly gold. Val whistled. “Niiiiiice.” Talia could hear real interest in her voice. “Not to tell you your business, Mr. Atan, but one lock and a sketchy vault door ain’t enough to protect a trove like this. You need lasers and such. I’ve got a guy in town right now for this Bavarian Thaler hunt. Australian. Really knows his stuff.” She shot a sidelong glance at Talia. “Most of the time.”

“I can still hear you,” Finn said over the link. “I’m not laughing.”

Atan would not be distracted so easily. He brandished the coin. “Let us focus on the task at hand and worry about my security later.”

The center display case served as Atan’s worktable. Worn coins labeled with dates in the early Roman period sat on velvet pillows inside. But on top, on polished wood trays, were instruments and tools similar to those Darcy and Finn had used in their demonstration.

“I am a discerning, if not neurotic, collector.” Using a ruler and calipers, Atan took width and diameter measurements. He jotted down his findings on a notepad, then set the thaler on a digital scale and punched in a few numbers, eyeing the readout. “Mmm-hmm. Good.” With casual flair, he let the coin fall down a magnetic slide. “Yes. Very good. But only one test will tell if this gold came from the old Bohemian mines.”

The XRF gun sat unmolested on its own swiveling stand. Atan waved Val away from the business end. “Step over there, please.” He patted the gun. “The XRF works by displacing electrons at the atomic level. I’d hate to scramble yours. They are so beautifully placed.”

A quick pull of the trigger, a hum from the XRF, and it was over.

Atan frowned at the screen. He lifted his gaze to meet Val’s. “Now you have my full attention, Miss Macciano.” He swiveled the XRF so his guests could see the readout.

GOLD 97.1%.

If Val was fazed at all by the real analyzer’s positive result, she didn’t show it. “Ninety-seven point one. The percentage found in most Bohemian gold of the period, right, Nat?”

When Talia didn’t answer, Val prodded her with an elbow. “Earth to Nat. You with us?”

“Uh . . . Right.” Val had done something—some sleight of hand. How had Talia missed it?

The conversation went on without her.

Atan set the XRF on its stand. “I am happy to move these coins for you. Honored, in fact.”

“Good. Use your contacts here, and in the Far East. Private auctions, quiet and simultaneous so the buyers won’t know there are others on the market. Rarity drives up the price. We