Guilty Minds

“We do it the old-fashioned way.” He pulled a folded piece of paper from a pocket. It had a long column of numbers on it. “This could take fifteen minutes or so.”

“If you get lucky,” I said.

Merlin grunted.

The Simplex had five buttons, which could be pressed in any order. But it had one rule, one weakness: Each number could be used only once per combination.

That meant that the Simplex lock had “only” 1,082 combinations. I don’t know how this is calculated, but I know that math teachers sometimes give their students the “Simplex math problem” to solve: how to calculate the number of combinations for the five-button Simplex lock.

“I can shorten the time a little,” I said. “I saw Norcross push four buttons, not five.”

“Oh yeah?”

On the piece of paper he’d just taken out was a list of all possible combinations for the Simplex five-button mechanical lock. Now he was going to run down the list and enter each four-digit combination.

Seriously. I thought we’d be lucky if it only took him fifteen minutes.

I tested our walkie-talkies one last time and then left him there pushing buttons. I took out my penlight and wandered the corridors until I found Norcross’s office. The door was closed, as I expected. The plaque on the door said ASHTON NORCROSS in black letters on gold. I waved my keycard at it, and it beeped and the red light turned green.

There was no CCTV camera in here, as far as I could tell, but I didn’t want to take a chance, so I kept my mask on. What if there was a well-concealed camera? Not likely, but possible, and I didn’t want to risk being photographed.

It was starting to get hot and sweaty inside the mask. Perspiration was dripping down my face.

I remembered from my earlier visit that there was a credenza behind the desk that had books and keepsakes on display and a lower hutch section that looked like a file cabinet. I figured that might be where he kept active files on matters he was currently working on. It wasn’t locked, but inside, disappointingly, were a few reams of printer paper and nothing much else. I turned around and surveyed the desk. There was not much on top of it except a pen set, a lamp, a few knickknacks, and a computer monitor.

I squatted down, searching with my penlight, and located a computer tower underneath the desk, pushed to one corner. It grunted quietly. I found a USB port and inserted the Rubber Ducky.

Dorothy had instructed me to keep it plugged in for at least ten minutes, though it would probably finish its work within five.

Then I stood back up and checked the drawers of Norcross’s desk, looking for a sticky note with numbers on it. You’d be surprised how often I find combinations to safes or passwords to computer accounts scrawled on Post-it notes or scraps of paper. We all have too many passwords and numbers to remember nowadays, and he couldn’t be expected to have the combination to the strong room memorized. But there was nothing here. Good for him. He practiced good security hygiene.

Then again, I considered, there was his executive assistant’s desk just outside, an even more likely place for one of those sticky notes. I left Norcross’s office, headed to his assistant’s desk, and searched her drawers, and the underside of the drawers, and her computer monitor and keyboard-all the usual places.

But nothing here either. Both Norcross and his assistant were good doobies.

So what about the other name partner, McKenna? Maybe he was sloppier.

I followed the corridor to the next corner office, and sure enough, the plaque on it read JAMES MCKENNA. I waved my keycard at the reader mounted to his doorjamb, but nothing happened. It was keyed separately, no surprise. I rifled through his assistant’s desk. This one was sloppier, the desk drawers jammed with extra supplies like boxes of paper clips, printer cartridges, tape, staples. It took me longer to go through this cluttered desk, more false alarms, pieces of paper to examine, but I still ended up without the combination to the strong room.

I looked at McKenna’s office door and stood there in silence, thinking for a moment about how I might try to get in.

Then my walkie-talkie came to life and I heard Merlin’s voice. “I’m in,” he said.

55

I took my toolbox and strode through the maze of hallways to the strong room. Merlin was holding the door open, and for an instant I was jolted by his strange appearance until I remembered we were both wearing masks. He said, “I knew it was just a matter of time. Can I take off this damn mask yet?”

“Not in here,” I said.

“I know. You’re right.”

Merlin let the door close, with a pneumatic sucking sound, like opening a can of tennis balls, then a thunk like a car door closing. There was nothing else in this vault but a long row of black metal file cabinets. Then I noticed another keypad mounted to the wall next to the doorjamb. I noticed it because it had begun to beep, a slow, ominous, high-pitched electronic beep.

“What’s that?” Merlin said.

“Oh, shit.”