Thieves Till We Die by Stephen Cole Page A

reception. So long as Con’s mesmerism bit worked, the doorman could spy the Moscow State Circus breaking into the penthouse and not bat an eye. That just left the building’s roaming security guard, but Con could take care of him one way or another while Patch and Motti got on with the job in hand.
    â€˜You all right, Mot?’ Patch asked quietly. ‘You been kind of quiet lately.’
    He didn’t look round. ‘I’m fine.’
    â€˜Worried about Tye?’
    â€˜And about Coldhardt,’ Motti admitted. ‘He ain’t exactly breaking his balls to get her back, is he? This sword’s all he cares about. I’m thinking, what if it was one of us? How much do
any
of us count with him?’
    Patch frowned. ‘He cares about us! ’Course he does!’
    â€˜Sure. It’s all a nice, cosy game of happy families.’
    At that moment, Con re-emerged and stuck her slender thumb up. Nervously, Patch followed Motti into the building to join her. All together they took thelift up to the top floor, where Patch took his lock-pick tools from out of his false eye.
    â€˜Do your thing,’ said Con as the lift doors opened on to the penthouse approach. ‘The guard is on the third floor, he’s working his way up. I’ll meet him on the fourth and talk him out of going any further.’
    â€˜Got it,’ said Motti, and breezed off to study the door to the penthouse.
    â€˜Take care,’ Con told them as the lift doors closed again.
    â€˜So what’ve we got?’ Patch asked.
    â€˜I’m guessing a sensor in the side of the door. If the door opens, the switch tells the alarm to prime itself. And when that happens we’ve got, what, fifteen seconds tops to stop the alarms going.’ Motti glanced behind him at the door to the penthouse opposite. ‘Maybe less if Bozo and Bozo through there stick their broken noses in.’
    Patch was already working the lock, teasing the tumblers into turning his way. ‘So it’s E-bomb time?’
    â€˜Risky, but we ain’t got no choice.’ Motti had taken a small metal drum about the size of his palm from his pocket. It emitted a powerful electro-magnetic pulse; enough high-powered microwaves to completely screw the electrics of anything in the area while leaving everything else intact. Trouble was, you couldn’t really aim an E-bomb – they just went off and took out anything electronic within range. The one in Motti’s hand was a titch, but it could still easily take out the whole top floor – not to mention their mobiles, the bit-buster, all their gadgets …
    Patch got to work on the door’s lock and wasrewarded just a few seconds later with a quiet click. His hand closed on the door handle. ‘Ready?’
    â€˜Look out, alarm,’ muttered Motti, priming the E-bomb. ‘Got ten gigawatts coming up your ass.’
    Patch threw open the door, and Motti pushed through into the penthouse, activating the device. The alarm didn’t make a sound – but the lights in the hallway clicked off in an instant. Patch checked his digital watch as he followed Motti inside. It was dead.
    â€˜Right,’ said Motti softly, ‘let’s hope everyone else in the place thinks it’s just a power cut and waits nice and quietly inside for the juice to turn back on.’ He pulled out a solar-powered torch and was soon pulling paintings off the living-room wall, looking for a hidden safe.
    Patch produced his own torch and started searching the white and minimalist master bedroom. He had a quick poke around in the slatted wardrobes. ‘Found the safe!’ he hissed. It was large. Easily large enough to hold a sword.
    Motti was beside him in a second. ‘Can you crack it?’
    â€˜Dial combination lock with key-change capability,’ Patch muttered. ‘In other words, if you wanna change the combination, you need a special key from the manufacturer.