barrel of each tube. The grenades hit the windshield on either side and exploded. The guard in the passenger seat raised his gun.
“The windshield held!” the guard cried triumphantly.
The driver looked into the right and left side mirrors. Then he started to nose to the right, into oncoming traffic. “Attempting evasive maneuver to the north lanes—” he said.
Suddenly, both men screamed.
High-end bulletproof glass, made of plastic laminate, is designed to withstand even close-proximity blasts from hand grenades. It may shatter in a single-hole or web pattern, but it’ll hold without fragmentation for one or possibly two assaults. After that, there are no guarantees. Whoever is behind the glass — the driver of an armored car or limousine, the employee at a bank, prison, parking or transit booth, or federal office building — is supposed to call for backup and evacuate the target area if possible. In the case of an armored car, even if the occupants can’t drive off, the driver and passenger are both armed. In theory, once the glass is breached, the attackers are equally at risk.
But the grenades that had been fired from the truck were two-chambered. The front chamber contained an explosive. The larger back chamber, which was shattered in the blast, contained disulphuric acid.
The windshield had broken the same way in two spots, a sunburst pattern caused by high-velocity fragmentation: a nearly inch-wide crater at the center with filament-thin cracks radiating from it. Some of the acid had been blown through the hole, splattering the driver and passenger in the face and lap. The rest of the acid ate through the cracks by dissolving the non-chemically inert polymers that were a component of the glass.
Etienne Vandal and Reynold Downer slung the grenade launchers over their shoulders. Downer jumped from the back as the armored car slammed into the right rear corner of the truck. The truck skidded to the right, the armored car to the left, and both came to a stop. Vandal and Downer jumped onto the hood of the armored car. All they had to do was kick the windshield to knock it in. It came apart just as Vandal had said it would. The glass was thicker and heavier than Downer had expected, and the acid residue caused the rubber heel of his boot to smoke. But he only had a moment to think about that. The Australian pulled an automatic from a holster he wore on his right hip. He was standing on the passenger’s side. As cars in the other lanes slowed and watched and then sped away, Downer fired a single shot into the forehead of the guard. Vandal did the same on the other side.
The lone guard in the sealed cargo compartment called the dispatcher from his own secure radio in the back. Vandal had known he would do that because, after leaving the military with an impeccable record, the lieutenant had easily landed work as a security guard for the Banque de Commerce armored cars. He had served on an armored vehicle just like this one for nearly seven months. Vandal also knew that at this point in the journey, with traffic as heavy as it was, it would take the police emergency response team at least ten minutes to get there. And that was more than enough time to finish the job.
From studying the videotapes, the men had ascertained that the armor used in the cars hadn’t changed in the months since Vandal had left his post. In the military, upgrades of vehicles were ongoing in order to keep up with new ammunition ranging from armor-piercing plasma jets to more powerful land mines, as well as strategic needs such as lighter weight for greater speed and mobility. However, the private sector was slower to make changes.
Careful to avoid the acid that was still burning through the dashboard, Reynold Downer slid into the cab. Between the seats, on the floor, was a deep, narrow well that was used to store extra ammunition. It was accessible from both the front and back of the armored car. Downer pushed the dead guard against the cab door and opened the panel that accessed the ammunition chamber. Then he reached down to his belt and removed a small chunk of C-4 from one of the pouches. He snaked his right hand into the well, fixed the C-4 to the panel that opened into the rear of the van, and plugged in a small timer. He set it for fifteen seconds, then dropped a tear gas canister behind it and shut the door. Climbing over the dead guard, he opened the door and stepped onto the roadway.
While Downer was doing that, Vandal knelt on the hood. He took a pair of tin shears from his equipment belt and pulled back the driver’s right-hand sleeve. The key that unlocked the back of the van was on a metal band attached to the driver’s wrist. Vandal pulled the man’s forearm toward him and snipped through the band. As he did, the C-4 exploded. It not only ripped a hole in the rear panel, it destroyed the container of tear gas. Though some of the gas leaked into the cab, the bulk of it poured into the back.
Traffic had stopped well behind the armored car. The road was clear and the backup would slow police even more. When Vandal was finished, he slid from the hood and joined Downer around back.
Neither man spoke. There was always a chance that the open radio would pick up their voices. As Downer stood watch, Vandal unlocked the door. Gas rolled out as he opened it, along with the gasping security guard. He had tried to get the gas mask that was stored in a chest in the back. Unfortunately, the mask had been placed there with the expectation that a gas strike would be made outside the van, not inside. He never reached the chest, let alone the mask. The guard hit the asphalt and Downer stomped hard on the side of his head. The man stopped moving, though he was still breathing.
As Vandal climbed inside, Downer heard the distant hum of an approaching helicopter. The black Hughes 500D swung in from over the river, which was where Sazanka’s family owned a waterfront shipping facility. The Japanese pilot had stolen the helicopter so it couldn’t be traced to them. He slowed as he flew over the boulevard. The Hughes has exceptional flight stability in slow and hover modes, as well as a tolerable downdraft. It also has room for five people and cargo, which was perhaps the most important consideration.
Barone, who had been driving the truck, ran back. As the Uruguayan pulled on his gas mask, Georgiev opened the aft door of the helicopter. He lowered a line with a hook. Attached to the iron hook was a twelve-by-seven-foot metal platform with large nylon nets along the sides. While Downer made certain that no one interfered, Vandal and Barone stood in the thinning clouds of tear gas and loaded the sacks of money onto the platform. At five minutes into the operation, Georgiev hauled up the first load.
Downer glanced at his watch. They were running slightly behind schedule. “We need to speed things up!” he shouted into the specially built-in mask radio.
“Calm down,” Barone said. “We’re within the safety net.”
“That’s not good enough,” Downer said. “I want to be dead center, in the sweet spot.”
“When you’re in charge,
“Same goes for you, mate,” Downer snapped.
Barone shot him a look through the faceplate of his gas mask just as the platform came back down. The men threw in a second batch. They heard police sirens in the distance, but Downer wasn’t worried. If necessary, they had the unconscious guard as a hostage. Fifty feet above, Sazanka watched the skies. The only event that would cause them to abort the mission and move out was the arrival of a police helicopter. Sazanka was looking out for that with the cockpit radar unit. Downer was watching Sazanka. If there was a blip, Sazanka would signal, and they’d move out.
The second load of bags went up. There was one more to go. Traffic had backed up nearly a quarter mile when people realized what was going on. There was no way to get through. The police would have to respond either with members of
The third load went in. Suddenly, Sazanka raised his finger and moved it around in a quick circle. Then he pointed to the left. There was a police helicopter en route from the west. Georgiev lowered the platform again. As they’d planned, Barone climbed in, followed by Vandal. The Bulgarian didn’t reel the net in. Instead, the men all removed their gas masks, hooked them to their equipment belts, and began climbing the line. When the men were respectively twenty and ten feet up, Downer hopped onto the platform. Now Georgiev began reeling it in. While it rose, Downer steadied himself by holding the net siding with one hand while with the other he pulled the grenade launcher from his shoulder. Then he pulled off his gas mask so he could see more clearly, lay on his side, removed a projectile from the grenade pouch on his belt, and loaded the weapon. Above him, Georgiev helped Barone and Vandal climb back into the helicopter.
Sazanka climbed, quickly pushing the chopper to its maximum cruising speed of 160 mph. As he did, Downer made sure that both the barrel and the exhaust of the launcher were poking through the mesh siding. He didn’t want to incinerate the net and fall to his death.
Georgiev secured the platform with cables run through two eye hooks on the front and back side nearest the helicopter, but he left it hanging three feet below the open door of the helicopter’s aft compartment. From here,
