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was badly wrong. He covered the mouthpiece with his hand and slowly returned the telephone to its cradle. Then he sat back, keeping both hands on the desk.
    Salvatore stepped into the office. Right behind him came a wide-shouldered black man in a khaki Brinks-Mat uniform that barely buttoned up over his chest. He reminded Conor of Mike Tyson, but with tinier eyes and inkier skin and an ethnic haircut with swirly patterns shaved into the sides. He was holding a huge nickel-plated .44 automatic up to the back of Salvatore’s head. He pushed Salvatore across to the chair in front of the TV monitor screens and said in a thick, slow, gravelly voice, ‘Sit down. Don’t move. Don’t say jack shit.’

Chapter 4
    Salvatore awkwardly sat down. The black man prodded his forehead with the barrel of his gun. ‘You want to stay alive, you stay right where you are. And you—’ he said, turning to Conor, ‘you don’t get cute with me, pushing no alarm button or nothing. We hear one siren outside, we see one single cop, this guy’s brain’s going to be wallpaper.’
    â€˜We?’ said Conor.
    â€˜Me and my associate. He’s on his way right now.’ The black man’s forehead was studded with pearls of sweat and he was in a state of strongly suppressed panic, like an actor with stage fright.
    â€˜You got a name?’ Conor asked him. ‘My name’s Conor, and this is Sal.’ First and immediate rule of survival in a hostage situation: personalize yourself, make it more difficult for your captor to shoot you because he knows who you are.
    The black man said, ‘You want my name? You’re putting me on. You want my address and my telephone number, too?’
    Conor said, ‘I hope you realize that the chances of your getting away with this are just about zilch.Look over there. You’re on
Candid Camera
.’
    â€˜We know what we’re doing, man. You look after the security and we’ll take care of the robbery. First thing you can do is give me your gun. Take it out ultra careful with two fingers and lay it on the floor.’
    Conor did as he was told. His heart rate had quickened, but he was trying to keep calm. He kept a pump-action shotgun taped to the underside of his desk, and three more revolvers in various hiding places around the office. It was a precaution he had always taken, ever since the days of the Forty-Ninth Street Golf Club. His grandfather had always told him: they don’t give out medals for inferior firepower.
    The black man kicked Conor’s gun out of reach.
    â€˜Now you going to do something, man. You going to call the other guy, the guy you need to open the strongroom door. You going to sound
cool
, man. You going to sound so laid back. You going to say, come down here, man, there’s some rich old bitch who wants to check out her jewels.’
    Conor said, ‘I have to warn you, this is very badly advised. If you steal any one of those safety-deposit boxes, you’re going to have people after you who can afford five million dollars just to have you tracked down, and their property returned, and your body minced up and fed to every pig in Iowa.’
    â€˜Just do what you’re fucking told,’ said the black man, and screwed the muzzle of the pistol into Salvatore’s ear.
    Conor picked up the phone and punched out Darrell’s number. He had to wait nearly thirty seconds before an irritable Darrell picked up. ‘Yes?What? I’m in the middle of a display meeting here.’
    â€˜Darrell, Mrs Hammerlich just came in. She needs access to the strongroom.’
    â€˜Jesus on a bicycle, Conor. Didn’t she make an appointment?’
    â€˜I don’t think the wife of the owner of the third largest petroleum refiner in the United States needs an appointment, do you?’
    â€˜All right, all right. Give me a couple of minutes, will you?’
    â€˜It has to be
now
,