I pondered for a minute. HVAC might be a good way to get in. An unusual heat wave was blanketing the city. If the AC went down in the house I could pose as a repairman to gain entry. I would need to rent a van and get some gear. I turned back to my laptop and composed a reply to Ashna.
You’re awesome. Please work on the HVAC. I’ll need to you to shut down the AC at a specific date/time. I’ll follow up with details.
****
The next day was even warmer. I waited around the corner in my rented van, a bead of sweat running down my forehead. I’d worked up a logo in Photoshop for my imaginary AC repair service and had it printed as a magnetic car decal. It was stuck to the side of the van. I also had it stenciled on the back of my new work shirt. I had hand cut the stencil out of thick cardboard and spray painted it on the shirt but it looked fairly convincing. In the back of the van was a toolbox full of tools an AC repairman would carry. I had purchased them at a couple of different pawn shops in the outer arrondissements so they wouldn’t look suspiciously new if inspected.
I checked the time. Ashna would be turning off the AC at any moment. I would wait ten minutes then drive around the corner and park in front of Ortoli’s house.
Exactly ten minutes later I pulled up and turned off the engine. The guard barred my way as soon as I stepped out of the van, looming over me, obviously sweltering in his dark blazer and black button up. A drop of sweat meandered down through his close-cropped black hair and slid onto his acne scarred cheek, picking up speed. I’d used Google translate to figure out what I would say and had been practicing it since the evening before, trying to improve my accent.
“Central maintenance sent me out. They got a system down alert for the AC at this address.”
He held up a hand and talked into his lapel mic, holding the other hand to his ear piece. After a short conversation with the person on the other end, he turned back to me.
“They’re checking,” he said and stood impassively for a minute. I tried to look bored. This part was the weakest link in my plan. There was no central maintenance office monitoring the AC in the house. I was counting on them not to know that bit of information. People tend to be fatalistic about technology and just accept that everything is constantly monitored—their cars, their TVs, even their AC units. Finally someone’s voice spoke in his ear and he nodded. “Yeah, AC’s down. My boss is coming to escort you.”
A couple of minutes later another man I recognized from my surveillance, older and less bulky but still highly capable looking, pushed the front door open and gestured to me. I picked up my toolbox and headed for the entrance but was stopped short by the door guardʼs extended arm. He squinted at me, forehead wrinkling, and held out his hand for the tool box. I set it down and opened it. He inspected the contents slowly and carefully then, satisfied, handed it back and inclined his head toward the door where the other guard still waited. I turned and entered, following the older man inside. I was glad it was warm out. The sweat patches under my arms were not entirely from the heat. These guys made me nervous.
As soon as we were inside I switched my brain to record mode and took in as much information as possible. It reminded me of a nice, business class hotel lobby. Some people’s houses and furnishings say a lot about who they are and what they value. Ortoli’s house so far said only “I hired a somewhat competent interior decorator.” I saw a security camera in the entry hall, facing the front door. I did not see any motion detectors.
“AC unit is downstairs.” The guard said, opening the door next to the elevator with a key from the set hanging on his belt. He held it open for me and I walked through. Wooden stairs led up toward the higher floors, switching back and forth. Concrete stairs led down into a gloomy, damp smelling basement. There did not seem to be any cameras in the stairwell. I descended slowly and found myself in a vaulted cellar with a dusty stone floor. It looked like spider territory. Dim lamps hung down, casting just enough light to see by but not enough to illuminate the many shadowy corners and alcoves. The guard pushed past me and led me to a back corner where a squat central AC unit sat on an elevated pad next to a gas furnace.
“This will take a little time,” I said, rounding the unit and crouching down. I found the access panel at the back and glanced over at him. He hovered, seemingly unsure whether he should stay or leave me to my work. Just then, his phone rang and he answered it. I could hear a gruff voice on the other end. The security guard answered obsequiously, speaking rapid Corsican. He glanced back at me as the barking continued, then put his hand over the phone and stage whispered ‘hurry’ before heading back up the stairs.
I popped the right bit onto my socket driver, unscrewed the panel, and pulled it off. There was nothing really for me to do. Ashna would turn the system back on when I gave her the signal. I wanted to look busy if the
