He quickly walked by her to his closet. “Tell me again, why weren’t you on the plane?”
“You’re changing the subject.”
Nick threw off his towel as he quickly put on a pair of briefs and Levi’s 501 jeans. He was amazed to find his wallet on his dresser. It had been taken by the police at 9:00 P.M., but here it was now, four hours earlier, where it had been for most of the day before he grabbed it at 5:30 in order to get a credit card number. He shook off the warped deja-vu moment and turned to Julia with the most serious of looks. “Julia, I need to know what pulled you off that plane.”
Julia stared for a moment, though she finally relented, annoyance coloring her voice. “I got on the plane this morning; I had to run up to Boston for a short meeting. I had settled into my seat and gotten lost in a conversation with a lovely old lady.” Julia paused with a sudden realization. Her angry tone vanished, replaced with the sound of sorrow. “Her name… her name was Katherine and she was going to see her husband, who was sick. She didn’t say it, but I think he was dying. And despite her hardship, the pain she was in, she asked about me, my life, with such sincere interest, with such green, honest eyes.”
Julia paused, tears welling up. Nick gently laid his hand on her face, stroking it, pulling her into a reassuring hug as she began to sob.
“All those people. They all sat on that plane with such hope in their eyes,” Julia said, her voice cracking. “Heading off to see friends and family; a business trip that they promised their kid they’d hurry back from; people going on vacation. None of them ever imagining they would all soon be…”
“Julia,” Nick gently said, trying to bring her back to the moment. “Why did you get off the plane?”
“There was a robbery.” She looked up at him.
“A robbery? What kind of robbery?”
Julia pulled away from Nick. She briefly went into his bathroom, returning with a tissue, dabbing her eyes, wiping away her grief.
“There’s a large colonial home over on Maple Avenue called Washington House. It belongs to a man by the name of Shamus Hennicot. It’s been in his family for three generations. He’s at least ninety so, as you can imagine, it’s rather old. The outside has that white clapboard New England look with the black shutters, wood shake roof-”
“I know the house, Julia.” Nick said, trying to hurry her along.
“Well, it’s a bit more than some colonial remnant. They have kept the insides updated and reinforced with concrete and steel. While it is Hennicot’s home, it also contains not only his office but a rather elaborate storage and display warehouse on the lower level.”
“Warehouse for what?”
“The Hennicots have been clients of Aitkens, Lerner, & Isles since 1886. Shamus’s grandfather, Ian Hennicot, was this wealthy Irish land baron and whiskey manufacturer. He was also a purveyor of antiques with an affinity for warfare. He had a collection of exotic weapons from around the world. Bejeweled daggers from Sri Lanka, diamond-encrusted sabers from Turkey, katanas from the feudal era of Japan, Chinese lances, English and Spanish swords from the age of knights. It was his true passion. He had a collection of pistols and rifles, with intricate engravings. The contradiction was bizarre: weapons of elegance and beauty whose only purpose was death.
“The tastes of Ian’s son, Stephan Francis, were a bit more traditional. He collected fine art and statuary, jewelry and sculptures. And his son, Shamus, his passions are more benevolent. He would loan certain pieces of their collections out to museums around the world but always refused to sell them.
“I’m not sure if you remember, but a few years back, I was assigned as not only the junior attorney appointed to handle Hennicot’s business affairs but also the emergency point person, which included being contacted any time the security system at the Maple Avenue building was breached.”
“So, while you were waiting to take off, you were beeped?” Nick asked in confusion.
“It’s quite a bit more than a beep.” She smiled. “But yeah. A text message, actually.”
“What did they take?”
“There was a velvet pouch with over two hundred diamonds, four gold swords and two silver rapiers, three sabers, five jewel-encrusted daggers, three gold-inlaid pistols along with their silver ammunition. All told, over $25 million.”
Nick listened to her every word convinced that her future death was 100 percent related to what she had just told him. “What did you do when you got off the plane?”
“Headed over there, straight away. I wasn’t sure yet if there had been a robbery; I thought it might have been a false alarm.”
“What about the police?”
“The Hennicots weren’t too trusting of the police. The procedure is we are contacted first, an automatic email and text message is sent for any unscheduled access to the lower-level vault, then, once we deem it necessary, we call the police. Hennicot’s philosophy was the police were just one step above the criminals and who was to know if they didn’t line their pockets during the investigation while pointing their fingers at the thieves?”
“A little cynical,” Nick said. “Don’t you think?”
“They call it eccentric.”
“You mean high-class crazy?”
“If you ever met him, you’d think differently. He’s probably the sanest, nicest man I’ve ever met. When I was first assigned to him, he sent me the kindest note. He has taken me to lunch dozens of times. He’s so charming and wise. He’s given me such great advice about my career, business, life…”
“Should I be worried?” Nick asked facetiously.
“Well, he’s worth over $4 billion. And for a gentleman of ninety, he couldn’t be more handsome. He doesn’t get around too well, hasn’t left his New England summer home in over a month. Everyone thinks he’s this man of mystery, an anonymous donor to countless charities. When large donations are made and no one can track down the originator, many think it has to be Shamus trying to give away his fortune.”
“Well, is it him?”
“Now it wouldn’t be anonymous if I knew, would it?” Julia smiled.
“Does he know he’s been robbed?”
“It was my first call after I saw what was stolen. I spoke to his assistant, who said she’d tell him, but they were crazy dealing with other matters.”
Nick became lost in thought for a moment before getting angry. “You went inside this place? How did you know the thieves weren’t still in there?”
“Well…” her face couldn’t hide her answer.
“This isn’t part of an attorney’s job, you never told me this.”
“He pays us a retainer of twenty five thousand a month in addition to what we bill them. I never thought this would happen. Besides, I’m fine.”
“Yeah, but…” he didn’t finish the statement, not knowing what to say.
“Look, I’m fine. And besides, you’ve seen that crazy eight-faced key in my purse and I know you’ve seen the security card. I told you what it was for.”
“You said a client’s home. You never mentioned you were playing security guard.”
“Client confidentiality,” Julia said.
Nick brushed off her response. “If the key and the card are the means of access to a place of such wealth, why do you carry them around so nonchalantly?”
“The key is special. It’s marked with eight letters, each corresponding to a specific date. Today happens to be a D-day. If you don’t know the algorithm to get the date you’ve got a one in eight chance of its working, that coupled with the magna-card being passed before the reader three times plus you need to input your Social Security number… the key alone is pretty worthless.”
“Julia, you said it was an extra key to someone’s home. Not a place filled with weapons.”
“Not this kind of weapons. You wouldn’t use these to kill someone.”
Nick didn’t dare contradict her. “With all the great security, how’d they get in?”
“Not sure, but they knew what they were doing, they had definite inside knowledge, they knew the security system, destroyed the server, the whole magilla, but they forgot about one thing-we hired a separate firm to set up a remote backup.”
“What?”
“Never put all your eggs in one basket for security or you’re beholden to the integrity of one protector. Two separate firms for two separate aspects. The security server in Hennicot’s building has a remote live backup to the computer in my office. Any time there’s a security breach it sends the files to my computer for this exact reason.”
“So everything, images of whoever broke in, is on the computer in your office?”
“Yeah, and here.” Julia held up her Palm Pilot PDA. The hand-held personal data assistant she carried in her purse stored far more than her contacts, calendar, and email, its large memory capacity far surpassing that of her BlackBerry and smart phone.
“What?”
“When a blackout hits, we have backup batteries that allow our computers to save and shut down so you don’t lose the data you’re working on. When the plane crashed, knocking out the lights, it initiated a backup and shutdown.”
“And…?”
“As a precaution, sensitive files are emailed to my PDA, so I’m not impeded in critical work. All of the security files for two hours prior to shutdown are on this.”
“Can I see?”
“Why would you want to see?” Julia said, confused. “The police will handle it after they deal with the plane crash.”
“I just want to take a look.”
“Even if we wanted to, I need a computer, and we have no power unless your notebook still has battery.”
Nick shook his head.
“The file is unviewable on the Palm. It’s a host of video and secure data files.”
“I can’t believe you put yourself at such risk.” Nick couldn’t hide his anger.
“When you think about it,” Julia said, “that robbery saved my life.”
Nick knew she was right, but it was only a temporary save; It actually cost her her life. He couldn’t help thinking that no matter what he did, fate was going to take her away.
Nick pulled on a light-blue, button-up shirt. He reached out and took Julia’s hand. “Listen to what I have to say, hear me out without interruption.”
“You’re freaking me out,” Julia said.
