Takeover - Lisa Black [60]
“No, really, I just need to think a minute. I’m usually guiding little kids around….”
“You work on it, Brad.”
“But I’m only twenty-four!”
“And that’s relevant to me…why, exactly?”
“I can’t die.”
“I thought that once, too, Brad. Anyone else? And before you ask, no, I won’t let you walk out. But once I have enough cash, I’ll leave, and then you can all go.”
No response. Theresa’s breath had finally steadied, and the white spots had disappeared from her vision. Next to her, Jessica Ludlow fidgeted, her son shifting in her lap.
“Missy? I’ll bet you can tell me. Receptionists know everything. They’re almost as good as janitors.”
“I don’t.”
“The way I figure it, if I can pick up another million dollars, I’ll just go on my merry way. Or I can hang out here and continue to shoot people. Which do you think is a better idea?”
“I thought you wanted to leave,” Theresa said. “You said you didn’t want any more money.”
Lucas barely glanced at her. “I only said that to get my car in place before the next stage of wealth accumulation commences, because that sort of activity makes cops antsy. Missy?”
“If I knew where a million dollars was, you think I’d be working as a receptionist?”
“Yes, I do. Because you’re an honest girl, Missy. And also because you’d never get it out of here without one of these.” Lucas gestured with the automatic rifle, its barrel drawing a loop in the air. “Neither condition restricts me.”
He stood in front of them, in scuffed Timberland hiking boots, a crisp black T-shirt under the nylon Windbreaker. His jeans seemed crisply new as well, but they had already been stained. Dark droplets made a vertical line on his right leg, difficult to see against the dark fabric. Their tiny tails pointed toward his head, indicating that the liquid had been cast off by a soaked object traveling upward. He had been doing something messy before entering the bank.
“I’m always down here,” Missy said. “That’s it. I don’t have the run of the building.”
“We’ll go logically. What’s on the second floor?”
“Research.”
“And the third?”
“Check Services. Verifying and correcting.”
“No cash?”
“That’s the beauty of checks,” Missy pointed out. “All electronic.”
“Where are the security guards?”
“Sixth. No cash there either.”
They stared at each other.
“What’s in the security offices?”
“Desks. File cabinets. Lots of food.”
“Food?”
“For the dogs. Monitors. A meeting room.”
“Monitors showing what?”
“The building.”
“What parts of it?”
“All of it. There’s cameras on every floor.”
“This lobby?”
Why did he ask? As Cavanaugh had pointed out, the cameras were clearly visible.
“Sure, this lobby. The vaults. The loading dock. Third floor. The—”
“What’s on the third floor?”
Missy hesitated. She had erred somehow, and the knowledge showed clearly on his face. “Bank Loans.”
“What’s that?”
“How would I know?”
“I’m willing to bet you could run the department if you had a fancy degree after your name. I’m willing to bet you know all about it. So don’t make me shoot Brad after all, okay? What’s in the bank-loan department?”
The girl sighed. “If banks are having a shortfall, or some other temporary crisis, they come in here and get a loan to tide them over. They get a certain interest rate and—anyway, most of it is done by electronic transfers.”
“But some isn’t?”
“Some cash,” Missy admitted, less reluctant now that the subject had been broached, “is kept on hand in case of an old-fashioned run, where customers come in and want to withdraw all their funds. Never used to happen before 9/11. Now, with terrorism scares and worries about another blackout—”
“Thank you for the financial analysis, Missy. Where is this money kept?”
“Don’t know,” the receptionist told him, with a trace of smugness. “I’m always down here, like I said.”
“How much cash?”
“I wouldn’t know that either.”
Lucas watched the young woman, his stare on a slow simmer. “Well. We need to get that money.”
Missy shook her head.
“You got a problem with that, sugar?” Lucas asked.
“No, but you might. There’s still security in the rest of the building.