thalia/j.r. (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
thalialunacy2) wrote2011-11-13 12:54 pm
thalialunacy2) wrote2011-11-13 12:54 pm
Entry tags:
Fic: 'What Are We Stealing?' - 3 - The Heist
The Plan | The Set-Up | The Heist | The Payoff
And that’s more than enough for him.
"Where you gonna put your hands?" Chris asks, eyeing Anton while casually flipping a butterfly knife open and shut.
Anton demonstrates.
"No good,” Chris says immediately.
Anton shrugs. He’s twitchy as hell.
"Don't touch your tie,” Chris admonishes, “look at me.” Anton does. Barely. “Okay. I ask you a question, you have to think of the answer, where do you look?" Anton looks down. "No good. You look down, they know you're lying.” Anton looks up. Chris shakes his head. “And up, they know you don't know the truth.”
Anton kind of wants to kill him.
“Don't use seven words when four will do. Don't shift your weight. Look always at your mark, but don't stare. Be specific, but not memorable. Be funny, but don't make her laugh. She's gotta like you and then forget you the moment you've left her sight. And for God's sake, whatever you do, don't, under any circumstances--"
"Chris!" Cho's voice calls from the next room.
"Yeah?"
"Can you take a look at this?"
"Sure." Chris exits without a backwards glance.
Anton definitely wants to kill him.
Chris gets his lean on in the doorway, watching as Jeff finishes knotting his (awkwardly but in-character-ly paisley) tie. “It’s time.”
Jeff starts to stand, but pauses, his face drawn and his hand on his stomach. “Jeff?” Chris asks quietly.
“I’m fine.”
“What’d we always say about those cigarettes?” Chris teases lightly.
“I said I’m fine.”
Chris regards him. “Alright, then. Let’s do this.”
Jeff nods. Chris leaves. Jeff checks the mirror one more time, straightens his spine, then follows suit.
No sweat.
The opening is just about to start when Jeff arrives. Genevieve is at the front entrance, making last-minute directives. "Mr. Gelfler?"
He nods. "Ms. Cortese."
Her lips are pursed. "It's a very busy night for me, are we on schedule?"
"I have no reason to suspect otherwise. My couriers should be here momentarily."
And they are. A few minutes later, Zach and Steve slip out of a town car dressed sharply in black suits with earpieces, the whole nine yards. Cortese regards them briefly. “They’re very, very valuable jewels,” Jeff says casually as he holds out his hand for the briefcase. She nods tersely, and watches as it’s transferred from wrist to wrist, the handcuff gleaming brightly.
She leads them inside. Zach and Steve flank the rear. They do not make eye contact with a security guard whose name tag says ‘Escalantes’. Nor do they take note of Jensen, who’s clearly visible just inside one of the display rooms.
Genevieve does, though. She gestures at a PA, who immediately joins them. They never stop walking. "Find Ms. Wallace, tell her Mr. Ackles is in the Purple Room." The PA nods and veers off with intent.
At the first set of security doors, Genevieve stops. "I'm afraid I can't have any private security personnel in the back rooms, I hope you don't mind."
"No, no, of course—“
“Jeff!”
A man in an awful Hawaiian shirt has caught up to them, his hands out and a huge smile on his face. “Jeff Morgan!”
Jeff blinks, not breaking character, and eyes the guy. “Pardon?”
The guy’s smile falters. “You—“ Jeff doesn’t budge. “You look just like a guy I went to high school with down the road. Name’s Jeff… Sorry.” He makes a conciliatory hand gesture.
Jeff lets out a jovial laugh and claps him on the shoulder. “Well, clearly I am not said guy, but thanks very much.” He very nicely shakes hands and steers the guy away. “Cheers.” Then he turns to Genevieve and lowers his voice. “Ms. Cortese, please, do let’s get on with this. I have never enjoyed the touch of steel against my skin."
Gen gives him a look, trying to ascertain whether he's a dirty old man or not. Then she takes him past the first door and lets it click behind them as she leads them to an office, where she proceeds to examine the briefcase. There are four innocuous-enough looking jewel-like things inside the red-velvet interior. "Lift them up please." There’s nothing underneath, of course. All clean.
"Alright, Mr. Gelfler,” she says, perhaps just a little reluctantly. “I acknowledge that your briefcase does not contain any dangerous or illicit material and I further agree to take custody of said brief case and store it in my vault for a period of twenty-four hours. Now, I cannot actually allow you to accompany the briefcase into the vault--"
"Why not?"
"Insurance, for once, security, another, but most of all? I just don't trust you." Jeff smiles. There's a knock on the door. "Excuse me."
A no-nonsense middle-aged woman with a hawk-like nose comes in. She ignores Jeff completely and speaks in low tones to Genevieve. "Two plainclothes on Ackles. He's at the bar now."
Genevieve nods. "Mr. Gelfler, this is my floor manager, Ms. Walsh. Now, if you will allow her, she will arrange for your briefcase to be stored inside our vault while you watch on a security monitor. Those are my terms. Yes or no?"
Jeff puts his hands out in an expansive gesture of acceptance. "You leave me no choice."
She smiles. There’s not much warmth in it. "Good."
Cho pokes at the mic. “Chad. You in yet?”
“I hate that question.”
Cho grins.
“We’re in,” Steve and Zach say after they’ve worked aside the vent cover past which Sandy is going to squeeze.
“Show-off dickwads,” Chad says back.
“Love you too, Gidget,” Zach crows back.
"Deep breaths,” Cho says over his mic into Anton’s earpiece. “You'll do fine."
"Thank you," Anton says on an exhale.
"No sweat, you're a natural.” John grins, even though he knows Anton can’t see it. “But don't screw up."
Anton glares up at the nearest camera.
Genevieve stops just inside the control room. "This is our security center. It's self-explanatory. You'll be able to monitor your briefcase right from here." She looks rather pointedly at her watch.
Jeff gestures graciously. "Don't let me keep you."
She doesn’t. "Mr. Gelfler," she says with a nod.
"Ms. Cortese."
After she’s left, he allows himself a small triumphant smile.
"Anton, you're up."
Anton watches as Genevieve comes through the doors leading to the back area. "Got her."
"How are you, Don?" she’s saying to one of the guards as Anton approaches her.
"Ms. Cortese?” he says. “Hi, Sheldon Willis, FBI.” He flashes the badge and everything. “I'm afraid I need a few minutes of your time."
Her mouth tightens, but she makes a gesture for him to continue. "Anything for the federal government."
"Thank you. Will you accompany me to the front entrance, please?"
The procession into the opening relevant to our interests goes a little like this:
Jared, tan and grinning in his suit, excited for the evening and ready for whatever it brings.
Jensen, following Jared with intent but staying unseen for now, confident in his suit but with one hand clenched in a fist that betrays his very real tension about coming events.
And two of Genevieve’s personal security, right behind Jensen.
"Okay,” Chris asks of Steve and Zach as they assist Sandy into the vent face-first, “when do you make the deposit?"
Steve makes a ‘doi’ face at him. "Uuuhh, when we get your signal. Dude, what do we look like, a couple of peckerwood jackasses or something?"
Chris doesn't answer, just gives them a look, then turns to the tiny woman now in a tiny space. "McCoy, how does that feel? You all right?" They get a toe-wiggle in answer. "You want something to read? Magazine?"
"Funny, boys," echoes tinnily, but perkily.
They all grin. "Alright."
As they’re walking to the front of the building, Anton’s explaining the situation in quiet, sympathetic but not sycophantic tones. “This just came to our attention this morning, Ms. Cortese. Apparently he's got a record longer than my… Well, it's long."
Cortese eyes him. "If he is who you say he is," she says, taking the tiny magical golden envelope—the one with the codes, the reason Anton’s dressed in the ridiculous suit with the ridiculous glasses--out of her folder and into her jacket pocket. "You been at the Seattle Bureau long?"
"Yeah, about eighteen months."
"You know Lorraine Schutter, over there, work with her at all?"
Anton very carefully does not clench his jaw. Instead, he lets out a little breath. "Not since she died last year."
Genevieve stills, then ‘hmm’s non-committally.
And by that time, they’ve reached Mike, who is just inside the front entrance.
Anton clears his throat. "Ramone Escalante?"
"Yes."
"Sheldon Willis, FBI."
Mike spreads his hands. "What's goin’ on?"
"It's come to our attention that when you applied for this position--"
Genevieve interrupts, voice quiet but made of steel. "I think it'd be better if we speak off the floor."
Anton inclines his head, and she leads them back into the building.
Jared doesn’t see it coming. He’s been out of the business for a while, after all. Been with honest people, dealing with nothing more serious than awkward dinner conversations and some road rage when he loses the last parking spot in Bell Town.
But suddenly, while he’s leaning slightly against a doorway in the museum, waiting patiently for Genevieve, Jensen is in front of him.
Jared’s nostrils flare, he’s so angry. "No, Jensen. No."
"Jared--"
"I want you out of here." Jared is thisclose to pushing him away.
Jensen puts his hands up. "Give me one minute, that’s all--"
"I want you gone."
Jensen steps closer. "Jared, just—“
"You are up to something, Jensen. What? And don't say you came here for me. You're pulling a job, aren't you? Well, know this: No matter what it is, you won't win me back."
But: "Jared,” Jensen continues quietly, “I just came to say goodbye."
Jared stops short. Stares at Jensen. The red haze recedes, but just a little. "Goodbye." It’s not quite a question.
Jensen hesitates, then lifts his hands to Jared's uppers arms, skimming, shifting, while he stares at Jared. Finally, he leans in and wraps a hand loosely around the back of Jared’s neck, a sort of hug, his breath warm in Jared's ear. "You be good."
Once he’s far into the inner display rooms, Jensen stops. Adjusts his collar with only slightly shaking hands.
Waits.
It takes about sixteen seconds before he’s got two goons in front of him. He eyes them.
“Mr. Ackles,” Goon #1 says. "Ms. Cortese would like to see you."
Jensen merely nods, his jaw tight. "I thought she might."
Anton regards the man seated in front of him, while Genevieve stands to his right watching both of them. "Good afternoon, Mr. Escalante. Or should I call you Mr. Rosenbaum? You are Mike Rosenbaum, formerly of the Jeffersonian, the MOMA, and the New York State Penitentiary System, are you not?"
Mike is sullenly quiet, staring at the table with a mutinous look on his face.
"I take it from your silence that you're not gonna refute that."
Mike huffs and sits back in his chair, his hand tightening into a fist on the table.
"Ms. Cortese, I'm afraid you've been employing an ex-convict. As you know, federal law--"
"Anti-Semite."
Anton hits just the right expression of offense and disbelief. "Excuse me?"
Mike looks at him. Guy is pissed. If Anton didn’t know better, he’d bet a little terrified. "You heard what I said. A Jewish man can't earn a decent wage in this state?"
"That is absolutely not true," Anton immediately counters.
"You're just gonna throw me out on the street?"
"I'm not trying to throw you out on the street! I'm just trying to do my job, sir!"
"Trying to do your job. What do you want from me, man? Want me to get up on the table and dance? Want me to count your money? Because I don't know you don't want to let me do my job."
"I don't know what to say to that. That's… I'm sorry, Ms. Cortese, I just resent the implication that race or religion has anything to do with it."
"Yeah, right."
"What a horrible thing to say. You, ma'am, of all people, know that we at the Bureau have always supported the hiring of Yids and--"
Mike is on him like a shot. He ducks out of the way, into Genevieve as choreographed--"I didn't mean it!"--and her shock is just enough for him to slip that small glorious envelope out of her jacket.
And she may not be the wiser about this petty theft, but she plants herself between the two of them like she weighs 200 pounds instead of 90. "Okay, okay, come on,” she says to Mike, tautly but not without sympathy. “Sit down."
"You'd better talk to him," Mike says warningly, his eyes still snapping.
She glares at him. "Sit down."
Chris breathes out and clicks the mic on. "He's got it. Sandy, make your move."
Jeff loosens his tie as he watches the movement of his item on the monitors. The vault seems so innocuous on the grey screens. "There,” the security guy manning the setup says to him. “There's your briefcase now, Mr. Gelfler."
"Wonderful."
He dabs the sweat off his forehead, and prays.
"That's my cue," Chris says, tightening the tie he just put on. "Give Chad the go."
John clicks his mic on. "Chad, what's your status?” There’s no answer. “Chad!"
"Chill, chill. No need to shout, bro."
"Then what's your status, bro?"
"I'm nearly there."
John shakes his head. “You’d better hope so, Goldilocks.”
"Ms. Walsh," Gen says to her manager, whom they’ve met near the back entrance to the offices, “show this man off the premises." Her voice is hard, brittle, and her eyes blaze at Mike. "Don't ever set foot in my museum again."
"Sir," Walsh says, taking Mike's arm.
Mike lunges at Anton. "Cracker!"
Anton flinches back. "Oh dear God."
Mike smirks triumphantly. Makes another fake lunge. Then lets himself be led out the door.
Anton makes a show of feeling in his pockets. “Oh, I forgot my phone… I left it—“ He looks up at her, apology and ‘aw, shucks’ writ large on his face. “Sorry."
Gen blows out a breath, looks at her watch. "You know your way back?"
He nods. "I do."
"Good."
"'Kay. Enjoy the opening.” He almost waves a little as she turns. “Sorry."
Jensen has counted the ceiling tiles, the stains on the floor, and the hairs on the second dude’s knuckles. He can’t stand it anymore.
"How much longer you figure Ms, Cortese is gonna be?" he ventures.
Silence is his response.
"Hmm. No cameras in this room, huh? Yeah. Don't want anybody seeing what goes on here."
Some more silence.
"She's not coming, is she?"
Then, like rain in the Sahara, there's a pounding on the door. Instead of Genevieve Cortese, however, the person that comes through is decidedly male. And decidedly large.
Jensen’s face falls.
"We're gonna step outside now,” Goon #2 says with a nasty grin. “Leave you two alone to talk things over."
Jensen hangs his head.
"There,” the security guy asks, sounding bored, “does that satisfy you, Mr. Gelfler?"
Because finally, his briefcase is in the vault. He can see it on the screen clear as day. Finally, he can get this show on the road.
"I am… very satisfied…" He loosens his tie.
The guy frowns, finally noticing Jeff’s apparent distress. "Are you all right, sir?"
"I'm fine,” Jeff reassures him. “I'm fine."
"All right," Jensen says, facing the huge guy head-on. He should expect the fist that comes flying at him, but he doesn’t. "Ah!” He clutches his cheek. “Gah. Jesus, Bruiser, not until later!"
Bruiser looks absolutely horrified. "Sorry, Jensen! I forgot!"
Jensen claps him on the shoulder with his free hand. "It's alright. Phew. How's your wife?"
"Pregnant again."
Jensen smiles at him as best he can. His face isn’t too bad; Bruiser’d pulled the punch. "Well, that happens. Now Let's get started."
Bruiser nods, and holds out his hands for the hoist up to remove the ceiling panel and slide into the crawl space.
Jensen takes a moment to be thankful he’s never been claustrophobic. Then he gets on with it.
Out front, the unveiling is starting. Jared is at Genevieve’s side, his hand on the small of her back in support. Right where he thinks he should be.
And right where he should be. For now.
Anton makes his way down the hall, backtracking to and then surpassing where he’s been, really getting into the bowels of the place. "You're almost there, Anton," John whispers in his ear. He’s not sure why he’s whispering, but whatever.
Too bad security notices, too. The guy with Jeff peers at the screen that shows Anton, alone, moving down the hallway. "Who's that guy? Hey, 31,” he says into his walkie talkie, “I've got a bogey in the west corridor--"
Which is when Jeff pitches forward, forcing security to look away from the screen. "Mr. Gelfler!"
"Call a doctor!" the other one says. "Elevate his head," somebody else suggests helpfully.
Amidst all this, Anton makes it to the elevator unnoticed.
John exhales then pushes a button. "Going to video… now." And the screen in the security room goes carefully back to showing an empty elevator.
"We have a man down,” one of the security guys is saying into his walkie-talkie, “and he appears to be unconscious."
Anton gets the screen door in the roof of the elevator down, then looks up – to see Jensen smiling down at him.
He curses a blue streak in Russian, but manages not to fall ass over teakettle.
Jensen just grins. "Now, you really didn't think I was gonna sit this one out, did you?"
"What, you didn't trust me?"
"I do now." Jensen reaches his hand down for the briefcase. "Come on."
The head of the Art History department is a sobbing bore, Jared recalls a little too late. The woman’s been speaking for all of five seconds before Jared’s nearly twitching where he stands.
Ah, well. He likes the perks of where he is in life, so he has to take the hits that came with it.
He stifles a yawn and starts to assess the value of the attendees’ jewels in his head. It’s a game he used to play with Jensen, and he still—
Jensen.
His gut curls.
Chris approaches the secure door, wearing a horrible wig and a convincingly serious look. "Someone call for a doctor?"
Anton eyes Jensen as they crouch above the secure elevator shaft and put together their harnesses. "How'd you get here?"
Jensen shrugs awkwardly. "You give a friend a couple million…"
"Yeah, but what about… Chris, Jared, the whole argument… What was that about?"
Jensen has the grace to look a little sheepish.
Anton’s shoulders fall. But he doesn’t pout. Nope. "Aw, come on. Why didn't you just tell me? Why'd you have to put me through all this?"
Jensen grins at him, his charming grin that gets him anyways. "Where's the fun in that?"
Anton tries, but gives up a smile in return.
"We gotta get going."
Chris will never let Jeff live this down, he thinks as he gives the older guy faux-CPR. He’s flanked by EMTs that look a lot like Steve and Zach.
He lets up for a moment, a manfully distressed look on his face. "Breathe, man, come on! Breathe!"
He ducks down for mouth-to-mouth again. Then watches, impressed by Jeff’s ability to be, well, dead.
He wipes his mouth and looks at the small crowd around him. "I'm sorry. We've lost him."
Some days, he loves his job.
Meanwhile, Bruiser is pretending to beat up Jensen in that little, camera-less back room.
He clearly loves his job, too.
Anton and Jensen, hooked into the metal beams above the shaft by wires that end in their harnesses, their feet safely still on something solid, look down at the pretty laser grid beneath them. Then the floor.
The floor that’s really far down.
Their eyes meet. "These things are gonna hold us, right?" Anton says, trying to make it sound like a joke.
"They should…” Jensen says lightly, but there’s no denying the tension there, too.
Then he lets go. Anton sucks in a breath and does the same, until he can feel his own bodyweight in a new and different way.
"Hah," Jensen lets out triumphantly. Then he pushes at his earpiece. "John, we're set."
"Chad, we're set," John says.
Unfortunately, Chad says: "Hang on a minute, baller."
John blinks at his screens. "We don't have a minute, Boy Wonder."
"Well then you'd better fucking get off my ass, don't you think? I’m not your wife."
“Thank God.”
Dr. Monotone, PhD in Boring, finishes her schpiel just as Jared’s run out of things to count – this round it’s been Jensen’s Annoying Habits – and they all turn to the piece about the be unveiled.
It’s all so very dramatic, Jared thinks, a bit uncharitably, the build-up and the--
Then the power goes out.
“Bam!” Chad shouts. Chris winces and tugs at his earpiece, but his grin is huge.
"Alright,” Jensen says to Anton the moment the laser grid flickers out, “crack 'em."
They harness their inner raver-kid and crack some glowsticks, which they then let drop down the shaft. Like they themselves are about to drop. The swooshing noise the sticks make is… not reassuring.
Too bad, so sad.
"Go,” Jensen commands quietly.
And they go.
They fly.
The end hurts, but they're alive.
"Cut it." Anton is quick to do so, unpocketing and flipping open his knife in the blink of an eye.
The lasers come back on just after they (safely) hit the floor.
Jensen.
The blood is roaring in Jared’s ears. He just knows Jensen’s involved with this. He doesn’t know what ‘this’ is, but he knows enough to be fucking angry.
The exhibit's not exactly chaos—it’s a bunch of arts people, and it’s the Pacific Northwest, where the power goes out every winter at least twice--but Gen is instantly on the move towards the secure doors and the control room.
Jared, his jaw clenched, follows.
“On three,” Jensen instructs. Anton nods, and on the count, they pull open the elevator doors so Jensen can shuck out a nice little smoke bomb. The doors slide shut as soon as they let them go.
Jensen tracks the seconds on his wristwatch. Anton tries not to squirm. “You think Sandy made it out okay?"
"I'm sure she'll be fine."
"How we doin?" Mike asks John.
"Okay. I guess."
The two thumps of knocked out guards falling to the floor is their queue, and in minutes Jensen and Anton are standing between two tied up people and an extremely intimidating vault door.
Their awe is palpable.
"There's a 95-pound woman with the keys to a hundred and fifty million dollars behind this door," Jensen says thoughtfully.
“Yeah,” Anton replies, just as thoughtfully. "Let's get her out."
"Yeah."
They pound on the door once, hard, the pre-arranged signal. And then they wait.
"Ten says she shorts it," Zach says.
John shakes his head with a ‘you are ridiculous’ look on his face. "No bet. Idiot."
Zach bats his eyelashes.
She overshoots, but makes it. With a whoop, she climbs the door.
Her hand hitting the metal is the best sound ever.
"Okay." Jensen sets the last sensor on his side and pounds one last time.
"Where we at, boys?" Chad says back at headquarters. He’s basically done with his bit, so he’s lazing about.
"Pins and floor sensors now," John answers.
"Fuckin-a."
“Too right.”
Sandy sets up the last explosive (Jeff’s pretty ‘jewels’ pack a big punch) and pounds the final time.
"Here we go," Jensen says. "Count down from twenty… now."
"Twenty," Anton murmurs, looking at his watch.
Unbeknownst to either of them, Sandy’s shoe has become caught in the metalwork of the door. “Oh, shit,” John breathes.
"Do not blow the door," he says into his mic. "Anton, can you read me?"
Apparently, he can’t, because he’s still counting. "Ten… nine…eight…"
"Anton, can you read me?” John’s voice climbs. “Do not blow the door!"
"Two… one…" Jensen pushes the button.
Nothing happens.
“Uh…” Jensen shakes the detonator, hears nothing suspicious.
"What's wrong?" Anton asks him.
"Something…" Jensen is muttering at himself, at the detonator. At life.
"Well, did you check the battery?"
Jensen lifts his head very, very slowly. "…no."
Anton tries to repress a grin and fails. "You know, you lose focus in this game for one second…" he intones as he pulls out a fresh battery.
"I know, I know,” Jensen says, “somebody gets hurt. I don't hear Sandy complaining."
They replace the batteries, hit the button, and there's a big boom, smoke, the whole works.
They stare at the door for a while, then… walk in. it’s a little surreal.
"…Sandy?"
There’s movement from a corner of the vault. Then she executes a truly impressive tumbling pass, and ends up right in front of them. Then she grins. "We ready to do this?"
They can't help grinning back.
John, Chad, Mike, and Jeff watch from the control room as Jensen, Sandy and Anton carefully extract their four artifacts and go about with packing things up.
"That is the sexiest thing I have ever seen," Chad murmurs.
“Mmm-hmm,” Zach agrees.
Cho clicks on his mic. "Chris, you're up."
Chris punches numbers into his cell while sauntering through a nearly deserted wing of the museum. He’s never really liked sculpture, but it’s something to look at as he slots together the second to last piece of the puzzle.
While they head through the museum to the control room, Genevieve and Jared hear a ringing.
"You gonna answer that?" she finally says after the second ring, not slowing down. They’re through the secure doors and on their way to the control room.
"I don't have my phone on me,” Jared says, nonplussed.
But the ringing continues, and it's clearly coming from Jared. He fishes in his pocket and, what do you know, pulls out a small cell phone. "This isn't mine."
Genevieve glances at it, then shrugs. "See who it is."
Jared decides it can’t hurt, so he does. "Hello?"
"May I have a word with Ms. Cortese, please?" the pleasant voice on the other end says.
“Uh…” Jared holds out the phone, looking from it to Gen. "It's for you."
She takes it, slowing her walk but not stopping. "Who the hell is this?" she says tersely.
"The man who's robbing you."
Her eyes widen, and she comes to a grinding halt.
Luckily, they’re right in front of their destination.
"What the hell's going on in the vault?" she demands.
The guard on duty blinks up at her, startled. "Uh, nothing ma’am. It's all normal."
"Show me."
He does. The video screens show nothing out of the ordinary.
Genevieve’s eyes narrow as she lifts the cell phone to her ear again. "I'm afraid you're mistaken."
"Are you watching your monitors?” Chris asks casually. “Keep watching."
Elsewhere, John taps his keyboard.
And Genevieve watches in horror as the feed switches to show her guards on the floor and her vault being robbed by several figures in black.
"Sometimes," Chris’s voice comes over the phone speaker that has fallen slightly away from her ear, "your luck can change just that quickly."
Jared’s never been a dumb guy, but at the moment he feels like a fucking idiot. He was so distracted by Jensen saying goodbye, by Jensen’s mouth and Jensen’s regret and Jensen’s, well, everything—that he hadn’t noticed Jensen slipping the small phone into his pocket. Jared, trusting, stupid Jared, hadn’t even fathomed he’d been an unwitting part of the con.
Well, he knows it now. And he is going to kick somebody’s ass.
"Jared?" Genevieve says to him, distracted. "Jared, perhaps you should…"
Jared tilts his head. "Perhaps I should what?"
"It would be better if you weren't around for this. It's not your problem." Jared’s jaw clenches, but he leaves without a fuss.
Genevieve exhales, focusing. "All right," she says into the phone. "You've proved your point. You broke into my vault. Congratulations, you're a dead man."
Chris smiles into the phone. "Maybe."
"Maybe? May I ask how you expect to leave? Do you believe I’m going to allow you to bring bags of my goods out of my museum doors?"
"Nope, you're gonna carry 'em."
"And why would I do that?"
"Take a closer look at your monitors. You may notice, we're not packing up everything. Obviously. We're only here for a few things, and you're a smart girl so you've probably already guessed which ones. The other things, we're leaving in your vault, booby trapped, as hostages. You let our stuff go, and you get to keep yours. That's the deal. You try and stop us, we'll blow all of it--"
Chris stops short when he turns to find Jared looming over him, fury in his eyes. He swallows, but doesn’t stray from point. "Ms. Cortese, you can lose four stolen goods tonight secretly, or all of them publically. It's your decision." He lowers the phone and covers the mouthpiece with his hand. "Hi."
Genevieve thinks for about four seconds. Then: "Make the call."
Her manager does. "911 emergency response," a cheerful voice answers.
"Where's Jensen?" Jared asks, the bile evident in his voice.
"Jensen's fine. He's in good form."
Jared laughs without mirth. "He is."
"We have three men, with explosives,” Ms Walsh is saying to the dispatcher, “who have taken control of our vault." He nods at Genevieve.
"Okay," Genevieve says into the cell phone.
Chris still has the mouthpiece covered. "It's alright, Jared. I promise."
Jared looks fit to kill.
"You have a deal," Genevieve finishes reluctantly.
"Fantastic!” Chris says genuinely. “Here's what you do: The guys in the vault will deposit four items into the vault elevator. The elevator will rise to the main floor. Three of your guards will pick of the items, and carry them out into the museum. Now, if they take more than twenty seconds to reach the museum floor, or there's any indication a switch has been made, we'll blow up the stuff in the bags and the stuff in the vault."
Genevieve makes a noise, and pulls the phone away from her face to speak to Ms Walsh. “He's in the museum."
"Of course I’m in the museum,” Chris says, practically tsking. “We've been here all week."
Genevieve is clearly fuming, but says nothing.
"As soon as your guards hit the museum floor, a white unmarked van's going to pull up in your valet station. Your guards will load the items into the van's rear. If anyone so much as approaches the driver's door, we'll blow everything. When I get word the van is away, and the money's secured, my men will exit the building. And once their safety is confirmed, you'll get your vault back."
Ms Walsh interrupts. "The SWAT team is here."
Genevieve nods. "Alright,” she says into the phone. “Now, I have complied with your every request, would you agree."
"I would."
"Good. Because now I have one of my own. Run and hide, asshole. Run and hide. I want my people to find you, and when they do, rest assured, we're not gonna hand you over to the police. So my advice to you again, is this: run. And hide. That is all that I ask."
But Chris has already left the phone behind.
Headquarters are empty.
White vans make their way down the high way.
"Ms. Cortese, our guys say that van is headed toward Sea-Tac."
Genevieve nearly smirks. "Get everybody in position. I want my vault back before that van hits the tarmack."
The SWAT team moves in while Cortese watches the video feed showing the people robbing her vault. "Night goggles on,” the SWAT relays. “Prepare to cut power."
"Ready," the security guy at Gen's monitor says.
"Cutting power now," Gen says over the radio to the SWAT team. "Do it," she says to her guy. He hits the button. The screens go dim.
"Breaching elevator doors, now," SWAT guy says, and the sound of a battering ram can be heard. "We have two guards, bound, unconscious… Wait a minute. Guys, guys, someone's here, someone's here! Get down now, I got ‘em!" Shots ring out. "Lights! Lights! We need power, now!"
"Give it to them," Gen murmurs. The lights flip on again, the screens come up to show the SWAT team attending to the guards and approaching the vault with their guns up. "What's going on? Talk to me."
"It appears a high-explosive incendiary device has been detonated. I repeat, has been detonated. Continuing to assess the situation."
Gen curses. She turns and strides towards the door, calling instructions to Ms. Walsh over her shoulder. "Tell them to take the van. I'm going down to the vault. And find out how the fuck they hooked into my system."
"Yes, ma'am."
The van, however, is a more formidable foe than assumed.
It hits the tarmack at Sea-Tac, a feat in itself, before security manages to shoot out the tires.
Then it just sits there.
Jared, fucking incensed, as it were, is nearly back to the control room when a hand stops him a couple corners away.
He looks down and sees, of all people, Chad.
"J-bird."
"Chad, what the--"
"Don't do it."
"Don't do what?"
"Well, don't play dumb, for one, and don't go trying to save your woman when you really should be trying to save Jensen."
But he's no match for Jared, let alone an angry Jared. "You!” Jared shouts, pushing Chad back. “Of all fucking people, I can't believe you are standing here defending him. Helping him, from the looks of it."
Chad pushes back, though, roughly, and Jared is surprised. "You don't know shit, Jared. Jensen fucking loves you, like stars and puppies and rainbows loves you, and you fucking abandoned him while he was inside."
Jared stares at him. "I abandoned him?" He shakes his head, mouth open. "I don't know what pipe you've been hitting, but you just rewrote history, man."
But Chad's just looking angrier. There's pity in there, too. And that’s just too much. Jared's lip curls. "Oh, fuck you," he snarls as he pushes past Chad down the hall.
“Status,” Genevieve demands as soon as she hits the vault.
The SWAT guy’s voice is all tinny from under his helmet. "Ma’am, our search has yielded no suspects, nor are we able to determine at this time how they entered or exited the premises."
Genevieve’s jaw tics. "Take your men out."
"Ma'am, may I suggest you stand outside until the bomb squad is--"
"Now."
The guy acquiesces. "It's your vault. Blue team! Move it out!"
Genevieve pushes the button on her walkie-talkie. "Walsh, where are we with the van?"
They’re having a showdown with the van, that’s where they are. There are loads of guys with guns out and pointed at this innocent looking white van, and nobody’s really sure what to do.
Finally, one of them, either brave or crazy, or perhaps both, finally approaches, and pulls open the driver’s side door with a yank.
…to find a camera staring back at him.
Because Zach and Misha are sitting in a car, a hundred yards away, a remote control in Zach’s over-excited hands.
Zach wiggles the knobs with glee. "’kay, I just wanna try something here for a second."
The security guy is backing away, looking around at his cohorts with a definite ‘what the fuck’ expression. "There's nobody inside!"
The van starts to slide away from him. He jumps back with a curse.
"Oops," Zach says. "Oh, sorry. Oops."
"Enough monkey business," Misha finally says. "Just do it already."
A couple other guys are approaching the rear of the van, warily eyeing the doors…
… which promptly explode open.
"Ms. Cortese,” the shell-shocked security guard says reluctantly into his phone, “we took the van, ma'am…"
"And?"
"And there were no artifacts in the van, ma'am."
"What do you mean, there were no artifacts in the van?"
"The van was filled with flyers, ma’am. For… Cialis. And… a battering ram?"
Genevieve snaps the phone shut.
She stares at the blackened walls of her vault for a long time, before a sickening thought occurs to her. "Ms. Walsh,” she says into her walkie-talkie. “Cue up the tape to the robbery."
"Yes, ma'am, I'm looking at the tape now."
"Does it say 'Gates' on the vault floor?"
"No, it doesn't. I don't understand."
Genevieve’s voice is low, rough. "We had it installed on Wednesday. The images we saw of those men robbing us was a tape."
"What?"
She exhales raggedly. "It was staged. Somebody made a duplicate of my vault. And what we saw on the monitor wasn't actually happening."
"I don't understand. What happened to the artifacts?"
Genevieve Cortese is anything but dumb.
“The SWAT team,” she says quietly to Ms. Walsh.
“You think?”
“They must have intercepted our call out.”
Ms. Walsh lets out a whistle. “Impressive.”
Genevieve kicks at some rubble on the floor in front of her. “Unfortunately, yes.”
“Why would someone do this to you?”
Genevieve doesn’t laugh, but it’s a close thing. “There are plenty of people that would do this to me.”
“Well, alright. But who could actually pull it off?”
Genevieve freezes.
Then high tails it out of the room like her ass is on fire.
She heads straight to that one small room. The one with no cameras. "Open the door," she says to the two goons still outside. They do, and it reveals Jensen Ackles getting the shit kicked out of him by a huge guy. All below the neck, of course.
It stops when she walks in the room. Jensen’s bent over, but he lifts his head to look at her. "Heya, Ms. Cortese. How's your night goin'? Better'n mine?"
She winces. "Pick him up."
The goons from earlier yank on his arms until he’s standing straight. "Alright. Phew."
"Did you have a hand in this?"
"Did I have my hand in what?"
"I'm gonna ask you one more time: Did you have a hand in this?"
"Ma'am, I have no idea what you're talkin' about."
Genevieve looks at him for a long, long moment. "Okay. You're free to go. Show him out."
Jared hears the voices as he approaches the small room. "Mother fuckers," he hisses. But then Chad's hand clamps on his arm, twisting him to a halt.
"Don't."
Jared shakes his head in disbelief. “You can't possibly expect me to just leave--"
"I don't. Just don't fucking interrupt." Jared stops fighting, now more confused than ever. "How long have you known me? Trust me, fucker. Just… listen."
Jared does.
Jensen is getting led down a long hallway, looking beat to hell and leaving Gen behind. "What happened, Cortese?" Jensen throws over his shoulder. "You get robbed or something?"
Gen's voice rings out. "Stop." She approaches Jensen. Slowly. Heels clacking ominously. She dismisses her two guards. "We go way back, Jen, so I'm gonna give you one last chance. Where are my things?"
Jensen, suddenly, is all business. "What if I told you I could get your things back, and I'd never tell anybody about how underhandedly you got them--or about how you threw my ass under the bus five years ago just to save your own skin, and the only reason Jared didn't get taken down too is because I turned myself in--but in return, you have to give up Jared. You let him go. You never talk to him again. What would you say?"
Gen deliberates, but only for a second. "I would say yes."
Jensen doesn't miss a beat. "Alright. I know this guy, we were in the joint together…"
But Jared's heard enough. He cuts around the corner with a loud, booming, “Oh, hell no."
Jensen and Gen both turn to him.
Jensen smiles. That small smile he has for Jared, where the corners of his eyes and mouth crinkle and he looks like he knows the best secret in the whole wide world.
Gen, on the other hand, pales.
That's more than enough proof for Jared.
He walks up to Jensen, grabs the back of his neck, brings their foreheads together. Jensen's hands are a vice-grip on his upper arms. "Jesus," he breathes into Jensen's temple. "I’m so sorry."
Jensen shakes his head, pulls back a little, smiles. "See, I knew what I was doing."
"I didn't." And he can't help it, he kisses him. Kisses him firmly and deeply and it's only when he hears heels clicking away from them that he breaks it.
It's an easy couple of strides to catch her arm, and even easier to twist her wrists together. She gives a token protest, growling, but he isn't having it. "Maybe you didn't hear me the first time, Gen, but: Hell no. You are going to jail, you are going directly to jail. Do not pass Go, do not collect two hundred dollars."
He hears Jensen guffaw behind him, and it's the best sound he's ever heard.
They leave Gen trussed up like a turkey, along with documents showing exactly how she procured the four artifacts no longer in her possession. Not to mention a nice expose about her involvement in the Incan Matrimonial Headmasks Incident.
It makes a nice present for the cops that Jared calls just before he drags Jensen out the back door, through the parking lot, and to his car.
Jensen stops short in front of it. "A Range Rover? You fuckin' kiddin' me?"
Jared shakes his head, grinning, and tugs Jensen around to the passenger side, away from the building, before pushing him up against the door and kissing him again. "You like it?" he says, lowly, against Jensen's lips.
Jensen chuckles. "Is this what being a kept boy gets you? Or was it cold-decking Teen Beat cover boys?"
"Cheeky." Jared kisses him again for his sass. He can hear the rumble in Jensen's voice, can feel the sweet way Jensen's body lines up with his. "And here I was going to let you drive someday."
Jensen snorts, and pushes at him, albeit a little reluctantly. "We need to get back."
Jared raises an eyebrow at him. "We?"
"Well." Jensen almost blushes, and Jared kisses the corner of his mouth. He can't not. "I do," Jensen murmurs, "and…" He shifts, reaching for Jared once again. "I'd look like a pretty big chump if you didn't come back with me."
"To the victor go the spoils, huh?" Jared nudges Jensen's nose with his.
"Something like that. God, you're being such a girl. Can we just please go back to Misha's so we can get the hell out of town and have this reunion somewhere horizontal?"
Jared throws his head back and laughs.
Then they hear the wail of sirens. They both tense up, and look at each other.
"To answer your question, yes. And I think that's our cue."
"That’ll about do it, yeah."
Master Post
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AWW LITTLE ANTON!
Gen gives him a look, trying to ascertain whether he's a dirty old man or not. Which he totally is.
Yids? Omg, cracking up.
He curses a blue streak in Russian, but manages not to fall ass over teakettle. Teakettle! I LOVE IT.
PSST [Because Zach and Misha are sitting in a car, a hundred yards away, a remote control in Zach’s over-excited hands.
Zach wiggles the knobs with glee. "’kay, I just wanna try something here for a second."
AND THEN
"Oops," Steve says. "Oh, sorry. Oops."
"Enough monkey business," Misha finally says. "Just do it already."
JUST FYI]
Awwwwwwwwwwwwww you made Jensen a good guy, of course you did, self sacrifice and all that. You adorable girl you! And I love how you kept trying to make Jared seem all manly but I just kept thinking thinks like 'SAVE THE PRINCESS' all over. hehehehe
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And thank you! for pointing those things out! ^^
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*makes princess crown for Jared*