The Sacred Vault_ A Novel - Andy McDermott [76]
‘He wants to know how thick the metal is,’ Karima replied after a moment.
‘Not very. A millimetre, maybe. The plates are about, oh . . . eight inches long.’
‘Okay. Matt thinks about four or five minutes to remove each plate.’
‘How long before the river police come back?’
‘About thirty minutes.’
Eddie chewed his lower lip. Adding the time it would take him to traverse the last length of duct inside the vault itself would leave only fifteen minutes for him to do everything he needed - and Zec had told him the rapid prototyper would need about eight minutes to carry out its job. Tight timing. Maybe too tight.
But he had no choice. ‘Okay, I’m switching on the cutter.’ Its tip quickly became red hot.
The heat was concentrated in a small area, but he could already feel it. The tool was designed to be used underwater, the liquid medium acting as a natural radiator. Here, trapped in the duct’s confines, the hot air had nowhere to go.
He touched the cutter to the plate where it was welded to the duct’s ceiling. The metal started to soften. He had to be precise with his cutting. If he left any protruding metal, he could slice himself wide open as he crawled past it.
The work was painfully slow, progress measured in millimetres. But a gap gradually opened up along the top of the plate. A minute passed, and it extended about halfway along. Matt’s estimate seemed accurate. He kept working.
Jablonsky was, not for the first time, envying his companion’s electronic time-killer. He checked the monitors again. The archive’s aisles were empty, the images seeming almost like still photos; only the timecodes assured him that they were live. The only sign of life was in the reading area. Whatever Eddie was doing for Dr Wilde, it was obviously engrossing - he had barely moved since returning to his seat.
He considered making another patrol . . . but resisted. He still had three more hours on duty - might as well spread out the ‘excitement’. In twenty minutes, maybe.
After another minute, the plate had been entirely separated from the ceiling. Eddie switched to the bottom. More care was needed here; if he accidentally cut through the duct floor, molten metal could drop on to the suspended ceiling below and start a fire.
The need for greater accuracy slowed him down. Over three minutes passed before the plate finally came loose. He caught it with his thumb and forefinger before it fell. ‘Ow, ow, shit,’ he hissed, carefully laying the hot piece of steel flat before blowing on his fingers. A quick check of the duct; there were some sharp-looking edges, but nothing capable of giving him more than a superficial cut.
He started on the other plate. With the cutter at full temperature it took slightly less time, but by the end he felt as though he was working inside an oven. He lowered the second piece of metal, then checked his watch. The obstacle had cost him over ten minutes, and he still had to reach the vent.
He switched off the cutter. ‘I’m going through.’
‘Okay.’ Karima sounded more tense than before. ‘We’ve got less than twenty minutes before the police come back. If they make us leave, we’ll have to cut the camera feeds. You’ve got to be out of there by then.’
‘No pressure, then . . .’ He fastened the cutter back on to his arm, careful to keep the still-hot tip clear of his skin, and raised the suction cup. The routine of movement began again, six inches at a time. He passed over the cuts, feeling the metal tugging at his bodysuit - then something gave. ‘Shit.’
‘What’s wrong?’
‘Got a cut.’ He moved forward again, trying to push himself upwards. Nothing seemed to snag this time. ‘Hope it’s just the suit and not me. I don’t want to leave a nipple in here.’ He had hoped to raise a laugh from the other end of the line, but Karima was too worried.
He was now above the vault itself. Directly ahead was his next obstacle. Blocking the duct was a rack of ventilator fans, blowing air down into the vault. ‘Okay, I’m at the fans. Let’s have a look . . .’
He tilted his head to direct the torch beam over the