Blackjack Read Online Free PDF Page B

of the window. He gently placed the taped glass pane on the fire-escape ledge, then used an L-shaped steel bar to remove the remaining shards from the window. Those he placed on the taped glass pane. Then he stepped through the opened window.
    Although the outside of the building appeared to be a landlord-neglected slum, the interior of the particular apartment Cross entered was luxurious. He pulled out a blue-light flash and slowly scanned the premises. The floors were all coated in white shag, the walls covered with “art” chosen to proclaim its cost.
    Patiently, Cross moved from room to room. Within minutes he found what he’d been looking for—an electronic scale on a raised marble slab, standing like an idol on an altar.
    Cross took a small, flat device from his pocket, held it against the marble base, and pushed a button. A faint light began to appear. The device was soundless, but the intensity of its light glowed in proportion to how close Cross got to his goal—a small safe set into the floor in one corner. On its face was an inset panel with an elaborate set of digital readouts: J6528815.
    Cross pulled a slip of paper from an inside pocket, and read it with the aid of his flash: X7324545.
    He was leaning forward to tap the digital dial when he heard a low meow and saw its source was a magnificent sealpoint Siamese. The feline made another noise deep in its throat, continuing its fearless approach. Cross picked up the cat and stroked its fur, noting that it had been declawed to preserve the furnishings, reducing it to nothing more than another visible sign of wealth.
    “You don’t give a damn if I empty the joint out, do you, pal?” he said, very softly. Then he set the cat down and tapped the digital dial in accordance with the code on the paper he’d brought with him. The safe popped open. It was almost completely stuffed with cash, but a separate-slotted compartment held a thin red leather book.
    Cross didn’t touch the money. He took an exact replica of the book from his coat, exchanged it for the original, and closed the safe. Then he tapped the code in reverse, which returned the dial to its original number.
    Next, he covered the top and front of the safe with a thick foam pad, then slammed a small sledge over it several times. When he removed the foam, the safe looked as if some amateur had tried to hammer off the dial.
    Cross performed a smash-and-grab on a few small objects in the living room, snatched loose cash from a bedroom chest of drawers, and slid an iPhone and its attached Bose headset into another pocket of his coat.
    Just another half-ass junkie burglar
, he thought to himself as he retraced his steps to the window.
    The cat watched, mildly interested.
    Cross turned and watched the cat, obviously making some sort of decision.
    After a long minute, he shrugged his shoulders and left. His exit was as silent as his entrance. And as unobserved.

    CROSS SAT in a stark, cement-walled room. Furnished in minimalist fashion, it was, nevertheless, comfortable, with everything that might be expected in an expensive apartment. Except windows.
    In his hands, he held the thin red book he had liberated from the drug lord’s safe, studying its construction intently.
    Finally satisfied, he delicately removed the backing from a strip of paper that exactly matched the inside back cover of the book. He then laid the strip parallel to the book’s binding, pressed it down with a latex-gloved thumb, and used a surgeon’s scalpel to trim the top and bottom. Even under an intense light, the new addition was undetectable.
    Cross pocketed a transmitter small enough to fit inside a pack of cigarettes. He picked up a cell phone, tapped in a number, and patiently let it ring until it was answered with an aggressive
“¿Qué?”
    “
Finito
,” Cross said, just before he cut the connection.

    THE NEXT night.
    Cross merged his body with the shadows as he waited against the wall of a gas station. Long ago abandoned,