Holy Rollers (36 page)

Wheeling the suitcase with one hand and texting Mary Beth with the other, he led Jared and Dan around a corner and to the end of the block. Seconds later, Farraday pulled a Chrysler with congressional plates to the curb.

“You stole a congressman’s car?” Grant asked when Farraday powered down his window.

“Personally saw him get out of it and walk into the hotel, and grabbed it before the valet could. I figure we’ve got a good hour before he knows it’s missing. We can change out the plates in Virginia and be back in Nash Bog without raising a sweat.”

“If you say so.”

“And this damn city,” Farraday muttered, pressing a button to pop the trunk as he got out of the car. “I hate driving in this city.”

Grant tossed the suitcase in the trunk and was about to agree about the city’s lack of merit when he spotted Hurley and Merribaugh down the block, standing at the corner but not yet looking in their direction.

“In the trunk,” he told Jared and Dan, who both stared at him. So he gave the order again, this time grabbing each of them by the collar and dragging them off the sidewalk.

“What gives?” asked Jared.

“Hurley and Merribaugh are about a hundred feet behind you on the sidewalk. And their heads are starting to turn toward us.”

Jared and Dan wasted no time diving into the trunk, which, thank God, was spacious enough to accommodate both them and the suitcase. But not Grant, too, he realized, as he prepared to join them.

So he closed the trunk and decided to take his chances.

“You sure about this?” asked Farraday as Grant climbed into the backseat. Mary Beth faced forward in the front seat and ignored them.

“I don’t think they had time to make me before we left the hotel.” He took a quick glance out the rear window and saw Hurley and Merribaugh a half block away. “Hope not, at least. But if you drive instead of talk, we won’t have to worry about it.”

Farraday put the car in drive and pulled away from the curb.

He was almost to the green light at Pennsylvania Avenue when a motorcycle cop pulled into the middle of the intersection, blocking their car.

“This ain’t good,” said Farraday.

From the backseat, Grant said, “You mean it ain’t good to get stopped by the cops in a congressman’s stolen car with two escapees from an ex-gay conference and seven million dollars locked in the trunk while the guys you stole it from are standing next to you?”

“When you put it that way…”

Farraday, Mary Beth, and Grant sank down in their seats.

$ $ $

After Hurley and Merribaugh passed them with no more than a cursory glance at the Chrysler and turned the corner onto Pennsylvania Avenue, they could finally breathe.

“Told you they wouldn’t recognize me,” said Grant, with much more confidence than he felt.

“You’re the luckiest man in the world,” said Mary Beth.

To which Farraday added, “If you don’t factor in this motorcycle cop who’s still standing in front of us.”

They sank back in their seats again.

But the cop wasn’t paying them any attention, and thirty seconds later they understood why, as the vice president’s motorcade passed.

“All this for the vice president?” said Mary Beth. “We couldn’t go through this for someone important?”

After another minute the intersection was clear, and as soon as they had a green light, they were zigzagging their way in the opposite direction of the motorcade through the DC streets on their way back to Nash Bog, Virginia.

Everything—money, suitcase, and Jared—stayed in the trunk until they arrived back in Nash Bog, after a brief detour in Alexandria. First they freed Dan at a Metro station, where he’d been sworn to secrecy with not-so-subtle threats of physical violence. Then they exchanged license plates with a Subaru in a mall parking lot. The owners would no doubt be shocked the next time they looked and realized they’d been elected to the U.S. House of Representatives.

Mindful of nosy neighbors, Farraday tucked the car in the garage before opening the trunk. Grant reached over Jared and grabbed the suitcase, then closed the trunk.

“You forgot about the kid,” said Farraday.

“No, I didn’t.”

He opened the door into the house and wheeled the bag into the kitchen, where Chase, Lisa, Constance, and Leonard were waiting.

They eyed the suitcase.

Lisa said, “That doesn’t look very big, Lambert.”

“Told you,” said Chase.

The eight of them stood in a circle around the bag, hoping their perception was wrong. Maybe seven million dollars
could
fit inside that suitcase. It didn’t seem likely, but
maybe
.

There was only one way to find out, and staring wasn’t going to do it.

Grant broke the TSA-approved lock and unzipped it.

$ $ $

“Twenty-five thousand, six hundred dollars,” said Chase, carefully setting the last twenty on top of the pile. “Which, I’d like to point out, is in the range Constance and I estimated when Merribaugh wheeled it out.”

She nodded.

“Which,
I
gotta point out once again, still ain’t seven million.” Farraday wasn’t happy. Not that any of them were. “Between this and the money from the safe, we’ve cleared maybe one-fifteen.”

“Correction,” said Lisa. “We’ve cleared around ninety-five thou, because the first twenty—plus my expenses—comes back to me.” She thought for a moment. “Make it ninety, because my out-of-pocket expenses are running around five thousand. Not including the lawn service.”

“Meaning,” said Constance, “you just pulled the hotel job to recoup Lisa’s expenses.”

Sensing a looming mutiny, Grant tried to put the best spin possible on their relatively paltry take. “Better than nothing.”

“But not better than seven million,” said Chase, causing Grant to wonder whose side he was on.

For a long time they looked wordlessly at the cash stacked on the kitchen table as if it were pocket change. It was Leonard who finally broke the silence.

“I really don’t understand,” he said. “I was sure it was in the safe.”

“But it wasn’t,” noted Grant. “And then it wasn’t in the suitcase.”

Leonard played with a shirt button. “Could they have hidden it in one of their hotel rooms?”

Grant thought for a moment, but realized that wouldn’t have been possible. “The FBI raided their rooms while we were there, and they would’ve found it. Also, this suitcase was pretty full. Even if Hurley and Merribaugh had managed to stash a few thousand here and there, at least three-quarters of their money was still inside the suitcase by the time we got our hands on it.”

Everyone stared at the cash again.

“I have one more thought,” said Leonard. “If the money isn’t in the safe, and Merribaugh wasn’t carrying it…” He stopped.

“What?!” demanded Constance. “You got an idea, you’d better keep talking.”

Leonard tapped one finger nervously on the table, organizing his thoughts. He finally looked around the table and said, “The Desk of Christ.”

Grant scowled. “The
what
of
what
?”

Leonard explained. “The Desk of Christ is an iconic part of the cathedral. It’s a symbol of Dr. Hurley’s ministry.”

“Wait a minute,” said Constance. “Are you talking about that ugly old thing in Hurley’s office?”

“That’s it! That’s the Desk of Christ!”

“But it’s so
ugly
!”

“Yes,” Leonard agreed. “But it’s also
huge
!”

Constance considered that and finally nodded an agreement.

Grant asked, “Huge enough to hide seven million dollars?”

Leonard wasn’t sure. “I don’t really know how much room you’d need to hide seven million dollars. But it’s much bigger than the safe. Much bigger than
four
safes!” The more he thought over the idea, the more he liked it. “And the only people with access to Hurley’s office are Hurley and Merribaugh.”

Grant looked at the stack of currency again. It seemed so…small. He really didn’t want to break into Cathedral House again—returning to the scene of the crime was never a good idea—but if the money was still there…

He looked around the table at the other members of his team.

“Whaddya think? Cash out at less than a hundred grand? Or take one more chance on seven million dollars?”

“I’m out,” said Mary Beth. “This is ridiculous.”

Her girlfriend, though, had a different opinion, and felt an excited shiver run up her spine. “Let’s do it.”

“Lisa!”

“Oh, Mary Beth! Get a grip. We’ve got one last chance to multiply our haul by a factor of seventy.”

Grant acknowledged Lisa’s support with the smallest of smiles. “Anyone else in?”

Chase, leaning against the island, said, “Of course.”

Leonard and Farraday nodded. They were in. So was Constance. Jared started to agree, but Grant cut him off.

“Not you. Hurley and Farraday are already hunting for you, so you’ll lay low. Mary Beth can be your babysitter.”

“What?!!”

He ignored her. “So when do you think we should rob this Desk of Christ?”

“Tomorrow night,” said Constance firmly.

“Are you that impatient?”

She smiled. “As a matter of fact, I am. But tomorrow’s the night
The Sound of Music
opens at the auditorium, meaning there’ll be a lot of people and traffic. Buses. Delivery trucks. In other words, a lot of distractions.”

Grant was sold and as anxious to get out of Virginia as the rest of them.

“Okay, then. Tomorrow we rob the Desk of Christ.”

The panel truck had been easy to steal; so had the coveralls and the rope. It took a little longer to find several dozen folding chairs, but fortunately someone had left the rear door open at St. Agnes’s Orphanage, so they could check that off their list, too.

The play started at eight o’clock. At seven o’clock they dropped Constance and Chase a few hundred yards down Cathedral Boulevard from the main entrance.

“See you inside,” said Grant, and Farraday put his foot on the gas. Less than a minute later they slowed and drove up to the guard shack. Leonard ducked his head as the truck came to a stop. Just in case.

“Got a chair delivery,” said Farraday through the open window.

The guard barely looked and directed him to the loading dock on the other side of the cathedral.

$ $ $

“You still think they’re not in with Hurley?” asked Agent Tolan as their black SUV passed Constance and Chase at a normal rate of speed as they walked down Cathedral Boulevard.

In the passenger seat, Agent Waverly grunted. “I think they’re after the same thing
we’re
after. But that doesn’t mean they’re working with Hurley and Merribaugh.” He thought about that. “Actually, it probably means quite the opposite. Price and her gang obviously think the money is still here at the cathedral.”

The SUV passed the entrance to the Virginia Cathedral of Love and kept moving.

“They could be wrong, Patrick. These people are small-timers.”

“Small-timers who are smart and hungry. And persistent. Trust me, Ollie: if we keep our eyes on them, they’ll eventually lead us to the cash.”

“Hope I live that long.”

$ $ $

The elderly guard in the Cathedral House lobby widened his eyes in surprise as Constance walked through the front door. Chase, carrying a black bag, was a few steps behind her.

“Uh, Ms. Brown, I thought…” He looked from her to Chase and back again. “I thought…”

“You thought what?” she asked innocently.

“Well, didn’t the FBI…”

She offered him a reassuring smile. “Oh, that? That was just a misunderstanding.”

He’d never experienced a misunderstanding quite like that, so had nothing to compare it to. No matter how unlikely it seemed.

“We’re going up to the finance office to get a little work done,” she told him, leading Chase past the guard station to the elevator.

$ $ $

As eight o’clock approached, security officer Chris Cason watched traffic pour off Cathedral Boulevard, directed it toward the almost-full parking lots, and marveled at the long, circuitous journey that had led him to the Virginia Cathedral of Love.

For the first several decades of his life, he had considered himself a liberal thinker. Chris Cason was an aspiring author, toiling away at a Barnes and Noble in Tacoma when he wasn’t working on the novel he was sure would propel him to fame and fortune. Circumstance rerouted him to Los Angeles and a job as a production assistant for an entertainment conglomerate, but that was good, too. It took no more work to write a screenplay than a novel, after all.