today, and I have a bond in my box that I need to cash. Is there any way you can make an exception?”
“I’m sorry, sir. Any form of ID will be acceptable. Credit card, student ID….”
“I’ll have to go all the way back to my apartment, and by that time it’ll be too late…”
Kevin felt a hand grab his left shoulder. “What are you doing here?” a female voice said.
He spun and was stunned to see a short blonde with her hair pinned up, wearing glasses and a dark gray business jacket and skirt. He was speechless, primarily because he didn’t recall ever seeing her before.
“Don’t tell me you forgot me already. We met at Nigel’s party Friday. The jazz band was great, by the way. Sorry you missed it.”
The recollection of the tight black leather dress hit Kevin. He never would have recognized her if she hadn’t spoken to him. Then he remembered her mentioning that she worked in a local bank.
He nodded. “I’m glad.” he said, trying to regain his composure. He glanced at her name tag, which said “Heather Whitcomb” and underneath “Loan Officer.” He hadn’t remembered her name from the party. He hoped her memory was just as bad.
“I mean, I’m sorry too. Of course, I remember you, Heather.”
“Is it Kenneth?” she said.
“No,” Kevin said, smiling. “Mike. Michael Ward.”
“Oops. I think I met about twenty people that night.”
“That’s okay. I cheated.” He pointed to the name tag.
Heather looked down and chuckled. “I didn’t know this was your bank. I’ve never seen you here before.”
“I, uh, just have a safe deposit box here. I opened it a couple of months ago and haven’t been here since.”
Martha spoke. “Mr. Ward was trying to get into it, but he only had his driver’s license. I was explaining our policy…”
“I think one ID will be enough for Mike.”
“Maybe I should check with Mr. Halmin,” Martha said, still unsure if she was doing the right thing.
“No, he’ll just say the same thing. You don’t have to be a stickler for the rules if you know the customer.” Heather winked at Kevin.
“Thanks,” he said. “You just saved my life.”
“Can you remember my name now?” Heather said.
“I don’t think that’ll be a problem.”
“Then maybe I’ll see you around.”
She started across the lobby, glancing back as she did.
Kevin’s knees stopped shaking now that he had passed inspection. Martha led him to the vault, where she looked through a box of cards, removed one, and handed it to Kevin. On line one, it had Michael Ward’s signature and the date the box was leased. Line two was blank, meaning Ward had never reopened the box.
Kevin tried to nonchalantly sign and date the card. He had practiced the signature for two hours yesterday. As he returned the card to Martha, he thought the resemblance to the original was close enough. Martha replaced the card after a thorough inspection.
Ward’s box was one of the larger ones, about 10 inches across and 4 inches high. Kevin gave Martha the key, and she used it to remove the long box from its sheath. By the way she handled it, it looked fairly light, which he confirmed when she gave it to him. It rattled a little as he took it along with the key.
“Would you like a private booth?”
“Please.”
Once inside the booth, Kevin took a deep breath and lifted the lid.
At the front of the box lay an 8mm camcorder videotape, the kind they used in the lab to record experiments. He took it out. It had been rewound to the beginning. The label on the tape said “NV117.” He slipped the tape into his pocket.
Kevin tilted the box toward him, and a laboratory notebook slid to the front. He reached into the covered area at the back of the box, but nothing else was in it.
He carefully lifted the notebook out and turned it over. Three words were handwritten on the front cover. In all capital letters were the words “THE ADAMAS BLUEPRINT.” It was an odd title for a lab book.
He opened it. The front page looked as if it had been torn out. A date in June was printed at the top of the second page. The first line started with “Adamas — Greek for an impenetrably hard stone. To whom it may concern: Adamas is also the name of the process I’ve described in this notebook. Since you are reading this notebook…”
Kevin quickly read the next few paragraphs, stopping to reread every sentence to make sure he had understood it correctly, not wanting to believe it. He skipped to the pages detailing the technical aspects of the process. As he read the setup and methodology section, the only words running through his mind were “Holy shit!” Then he saw the data. After five minutes, he was almost convinced. Adamas probably worked.
Now he fully understood the danger they were in. The people that were after them would stop at nothing to get this notebook and kill them both for even knowing of its existence.
He shut the notebook, tucked it under his arm, and left the booth.
He passed Martha, who said, “Is that all, Mr. Ward?”
Kevin didn’t stop, but mumbled his thanks as he strode by her and out the bank exit.
He yanked the Honda’s door open. As he jumped into the car, Erica said, “There you are. I was beginning to get worried.”
“Let’s get out of here,” was the only thing he said.
As Erica drove, Kevin remained silent, turning over their next move in his mind.
“Okay. I can’t stand it anymore,” she said. “What did you find? You were in there for a long time. I thought they had spotted the fake license.”
“No. I had a little problem, but I got into the box.” He showed her the notebook, and she glanced at the cover.
“What’s Adamas?”
“You may not believe it. I’m not sure I believe it myself yet.”
“What is it? The formula for Coke?”
“No,” Kevin said, staring at the notebook. “But it’s probably worth just as much. It’s a blueprint, just like the title says. It has schematics, experimental data, methodology, everything.”
“A blueprint? For what?”
“For making diamonds.”
CHAPTER 16
Clayton Tarnwell burst through the left door of the laboratory, almost knocking over a technician carrying samples the other direction. The technician first cursed at him for using the wrong door, and then when he saw who it was, began to apologize profusely. Tarnwell kept walking as if the man weren’t even there.
Following him was his mousy, balding chief financial officer, Milton Senders, still garbed in a plaid shirt and hiking boots, dabbing the top of his perspiring head with a handkerchief. The plane had been late in arriving, and he had raced over to the office without changing when he’d gotten his messages at home. He too didn’t give a second glance at the sputtering technician. He was too busy doing his own sputtering.
“I…I’m sorry, Clay. There’s no excuse. This should never have happened. ZurBank should have called…”
“It’s too late for that, Senders. You’re not going to weasel your way out of this. You gave me your word that Ward had no way of getting the money out.” Tarnwell crashed through another door.
“But he couldn’t have if those assholes at ZurBank hadn’t been so stupid. The bank had specific instructions to notify us before making any transactions over $10,000 involving the account. That would give us time to find out what he was up to. If he withdrew less than that, he’d have some spending money to play with, and he wouldn’t get suspicious. It should have been foolproof.”
“Then what happened? Ten million dollars didn’t just evaporate.” Tarnwell already had a headache, and this
