Page 79 of The Devil Wears Orange
Third beep.
Rashid steadies his breathing, something he learned in meditation long ago to help calm his nerves in heightened situations. Even now, he’s unflappable.
Kassim’s device sounds and locks. He turns to Rashid, his eyes wide, and says, “Booby trapped. Their system has detected the machine.”
Above them, a woman’s automated voice activates over a loudspeaker. “Code denied.”
Jack’s head whips towards the speakers. “This is new. Now what?”
“Fingerprint access is required for verification. Thirty seconds.”
“Thirty seconds for what?” Jack says, his voice agitated.
“Twenty-nine. Twenty-eight.”
“The grenades,” Charlotte reminds everyone.
“Twenty-five. Twenty-four.”
“Stop counting down,” says Jack, hopping from one foot to the other.
Tavi heads to the boat, muttering his children’s names.
How long before the system alerts Banning and his men? Rashid digs into his knapsack and produces a black leather box.Opening it, he slides his hand into a glove, the tips encoded with Banning’s fingerprints taken from the stolen drinking glass.
“Everyone, step back,” Rashid commands, his voice strained.
“Fifteen. Fourteen.”
Amir blocks Rashid and says, “Your Highness, let me do it. If the grenades…”
“Ten. Nine.”
Rashid pushes past him and places his gloved hand on the screen.
“Five. Four.”
The countdown stops. An orange light scans Rashid’s gloved hand on the board. Seconds pass, but they are no nearer to opening the vault door. For all they know, it could reset the code. It could restart the countdown from thirty seconds. Or trigger the grenades. Rashid turns back to Charlotte, who is pushed behind Jack while he covers her with his body. Rashid should have thought to place her the farthest away. She stares back, her eyes wide, her breathing quick.
What if he had just left her alone at the Lumière show instead of involving her in his madness? All along, he had convinced himself Levan was the real threat against her, but it was him all along. And now he will cause their demise, and, of all the people on his crew, hers will be the last face he sees if they fail.
A light shines green in his peripheral. Rashid returns his gaze to the vault door, and it unlocks, gears grinding into place. Around him, everyone lets out a collective breath, but it’s short-lived as they move into action. Everyone has a mission: Amir, the artifacts; Kassim, the jewels; Jack and Charlotte, the art; and Rashid, the Sonnenberg self-portrait. But when Rashid finds himself in the middle of the room and scanning shelves filled with artifacts and paintings hidden beneath cloth, he’s uncharacteristically overwhelmed.
“It is greater than I had imagined,” Rashid says in hushed tones. “All these years, these works have been hidden away in this dark place where no one can see them.” He shakes his head in obvious disgust.
“How is this different from the people who pay you for the stolen artwork?” Jack says.
“My clients appreciate the work, and while it may be for their private viewing, it isn’t hidden away in a place like this. This is disrespectful.”
Amir says, “Seven minutes before the fireworks end.”
Rashid’s men go to work, move quickly to grab oversized items while pocketing the smaller ones. They work in tandem transporting the items to the boats back and forth – three bronze sculptures, paintings flat against the bottom of the boat, jewels tucked in pockets.
It’s a casing in the middle of the room that stops Rashid, and, despite the ticking clock, he moves ever so slowly toward the display, for inside rests the golden salt cellar he stole many years earlier. How it ended in Banning’s possession is a mystery, but somehow the two are connected by a client. This is his for the keeping, and Rashid slips it into his crossbody bag. Coming out of the spell the salt cellar had placed on him, Rashid sees Jack with the Sonnenberg in his hands. The Sonnenberg washisto take, not Jack’s.
“Leave that, Professor. I’ll take it,” Rashid says.
Jack looks up at him. “I already have it.”
