Sealed in the Vault – Part 1: The Perfect Plan

The vault had been built in 1911, and it was still the most beautiful thing Nora had ever broken into, though she had never admitted that to anyone.

She crouched in the cold corridor beneath the Ringstrasse, a torch between her teeth and a slim steel pick in her left hand. Three locks, each one older than her grandmother. Behind them, according to the insurance report she had stolen from a shredder bin, a single crate of uncut stones worth more than the bank.

"Four minutes on the first lock," said a voice in her earpiece. Low, dry, very calm. "Then you're going to swear at me."

"I already am," Nora murmured.

"Good. Keep swearing. It helps your fingers."

Oskar had been her partner for six years, until the night in Prague when he had walked away with the last of the money and left her a note that said only Sorry, Nora, I had to. She had spent two years wanting to kill him. Then she had spent another year wanting to know why.

Now he was back, on the other end of a radio, offering a plan she could not refuse.

The first lock gave with a soft click. She let out a breath and moved on to the second.

"Something's off," Oskar said suddenly. His voice had changed. "Motion sensor, third floor. It just went quiet. Too quiet."

Nora froze, the pick halfway into the lock. "Explain quiet."

"Someone turned it off. From inside."

A faint sound drifted down the corridor from the stairwell above. Footsteps, soft and unhurried. Someone who knew exactly where they were going.

"Nora," Oskar said, very quietly. "Get out. Now."

She didn't move. Her heart was thumping. The footsteps stopped at the top of the stairs.

Then a light came on, a single sharp beam, pointing straight down the corridor, and stopped on her face.

"Hello, Nora," said a woman's voice, cool and amused. "You're far too late. I've already opened it."

Nora looked at the vault door. It stood a fraction ajar, gleaming softly in the torchlight, and the crate was gone.