Sophie glanced at Langdon and then back to Vernet. "We need to take it."
Vernet nodded. "Very well. Then whatever the item is, I suggest you wrap it in your jacket as we
move through the hallways. I would prefer nobody else see it."
As Langdon shed his jacket, Vernet hurried over to the conveyor belt,
closed the now empty crate,
and typed a series of simple commands. The conveyor belt began moving again, carrying the
plastic container back down to the vault. Pulling the gold key from the podium, he handed it to
Sophie.
"This way please. Hurry."
When they reached the rear loading dock, Vernet could see the flash of police lights filtering
through the underground garage. He frowned. They were probably blocking the ramp.
Am I really
going to try to pull this off? He was sweating now.
Vernet motioned to one of the bank's small armored trucks.
Transport sûr was
another service
offered by the Depository Bank of Zurich.
"Get in the cargo hold," he said, heaving open the massive rear door and motioning to the
glistening steel compartment. "I'll be right back."
As Sophie and Langdon climbed in, Vernet hurried across the loading dock to the dock overseer's
office, let himself in, collected the keys for the truck, and found a driver's uniform jacket and cap.
Shedding his own suit coat and tie, he began to put on the driver's jacket. Reconsidering, he donned
a shoulder holster beneath the uniform. On his way out, he grabbed a driver's
pistol from the rack,
put in a clip, and stuffed it in the holster, buttoning his uniform over it. Returning to the truck,
Vernet pulled the driver's cap down low and peered in at Sophie and Langdon, who were standing
inside the empty steel box.
"You'll want this on," Vernet said, reaching inside and flicking a wall switch
to illuminate the lone
courtesy bulb on the hold's ceiling. "And you'd better sit down. Not a sound on our way out the
gate."
Sophie and Langdon sat down on the metal floor. Langdon cradled the treasure wadded in his
tweed jacket. Swinging the heavy doors closed, Vernet locked them inside. Then he got in behind
the wheel and revved the engine.
As the armored truck lumbered toward the top of the ramp, Vernet could feel the sweat already
collecting beneath his driver's cap. He could see there were far more police lights in front than he
had imagined. As
the truck powered up the ramp, the interior gate swung inward to let him pass.
Vernet advanced and waited while the gate behind him closed before pulling forward and tripping
the next sensor. The second gate opened, and the exit beckoned.
Except for the police car blocking the top of the ramp.
Vernet dabbed his brow and pulled forward.
A lanky officer stepped out and waved him to a stop a few meters from the roadblock. Four patrol
cars were parked out front.
Vernet stopped. Pulling his driver's cap down farther, he effected as rough a facade as his cultured
upbringing would allow. Not budging from behind the wheel, he opened the door and gazed down
at
the agent, whose face was stern and sallow.
"Qu'est-ce qui se passe?" Vernet asked, his tone rough.
"Je suis Jérome Collet," the agent said.
"Lieutenant Police Judiciaire." He motioned to the truck's
cargo hold.
"Qu'est-ce qu'ily a là dedans?"
"Hell if I know," Vernet replied in crude French. "I'm only a driver."
Collet looked unimpressed. "We're looking for two criminals."
Vernet laughed. "Then you came to the right spot. Some of these bastards I drive for have so much
money they must be criminals."
The agent held up a passport picture of Robert Langdon. "Was this man in your bank tonight?"
Vernet shrugged. "No clue. I'm a dock rat. They don't let us anywhere near the clients. You need to
go in and ask the front desk."
"Your bank is demanding a search warrant before we can enter."
Vernet put on a disgusted look. "Administrators. Don't get me started."
"Open your truck, please." Collet motioned toward the cargo hold.
Vernet stared at the agent and forced an obnoxious laugh. "Open the truck? You think I have keys?
You think they trust us? You should see the crap wages I get paid."
The agent's head tilted to one side, his skepticism evident. "You're telling me you don't have keys
to your own truck?"
Vernet shook his head. "Not the cargo area. Ignition only. These trucks get sealed by overseers on
the loading dock. Then the truck sits in dock while someone drives the cargo keys to the drop-off.
Once we get the call that the cargo
keys are with the recipient, then I get the okay to drive. Not a
second before. I never know what the hell I'm lugging."
"When was
this truck sealed?"
"Must have been hours ago. I'm driving all the way up to St. Thurial tonight. Cargo keys are
already up there."
The agent made no response, his eyes probing as if trying to read Vernet's mind.
A drop of sweat was preparing to slide down Vernet's nose. "You mind?" he said, wiping his nose
with his sleeve and motioning to the police car blocking his way. "I'm on a tight schedule."
"Do all the drivers wear Rolexes?" the agent asked, pointing to Vernet's wrist.
Vernet glanced down and saw the glistening band of his absurdly expensive watch peeking out
from beneath the sleeve of his jacket.
Merde. "This piece of shit? Bought it for twenty euro from a
Taiwanese street vendor in St. Germain des Prés. I'll sell it to you for forty."
The agent paused and finally stepped aside. "No thanks. Have a safe trip."
Vernet did not breathe again until the truck was a good fifty meters down the street. And now he
had another problem. His cargo.
Where do I take them?
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