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ПРИЯТНОГО ЧТЕНИЯ!
Carolyn Keene
Nancy Drew Mystery Stories: Volume Ninety-Three
The Case of the Safecracker’s Secret
Copyright, 1990, by Simon & Schuster
DANGER ON DEPOSIT!
The safe at the Bentley Bank has turned into the unsafest place in town. And when Nancy investigates a series of safe deposit box break-ins she walks into a vault full of trouble.
Whatever the burglars are after, it’s not cash and it’s not jewelry. But they’re willing to go to any length—from poison gas to fast cars—to get their hands on it. One thing Nancy knows for sure: danger is money in the bank when she tries to crack the combination in THE CASE OF THE SAFECRACKER’S SECRET!
1. An Inside Job
“So what does this bank guy want, anyway?” George Fayne asked Nancy Drew. “And why is he so desperate?” The two girls hurried up the steep main street of Bentley, Illinois, as George’s cousin, Bess Marvin, trailed behind.
“Ooh, sailboats!” Bess cried, staring down the hill, over the small town’s roofs and across Bentley Lake. The water glittered in the morning sun. Tiny white triangles crisscrossed each other as they glided along the silver surface.
“Hey, Bess,” Nancy called over her shoulder. “We’d better pick up the pace or we’ll be late to meet Alan Charles. Too bad I didn’t park my car closer.” Quickening her stride, Nancy sped up the hill, her reddish blond hair flying in the wind behind her. Her steady blue eyes burned with determination. She could smell a mystery in the air.
“To answer your question, George,” Nancy said as they hurried, “I’m not exactly sure what Mr. Charles wants. He wouldn’t explain anything on the phone. All he told me is that he’s president of the bank here and he needs our help.”
“Interesting,” George said, fixing her dark brown eyes on Nancy. She ran one hand through her short dark brown hair as she rushed to keep up with her friend. “And he found out about you because your dad used to be his lawyer?”
Nancy nodded. Her father, Carson Drew, was a well-known attorney in their hometown, River Heights.
“What really gets to me,” Bess complained, “are these outfits we have to wear.” She rolled her eyes as she took in Nancy’s conservative light blue skirt suit, George’s emerald green dress, and her own black skirt and white bow blouse. The girls had wanted to fit in with the bank’s dress code in case they needed to do some undercover work. Bess usually liked to dress a little more flashily.
Nancy and George only half listened to Bess as they rounded the corner. Over the crest of the hill the Bentley Bank rose before them. Broad stone steps led through a row of white marble columns and up to two carved wooden doors.
“At last,” Bess said, huffing and puffing, and finally catching up to her friends. “I knew I shouldn’t have quit my aerobics class.” Bess was just a little too fond of eating—she was always gaining and losing the same five pounds.
“We’re late,” Nancy said, hurrying up the bank’s stairs. George, trim and athletic, bounded up the steps two at a time behind Nancy, while Bess lagged in the rear. Then Nancy pulled open the heavy door, and the girls stepped inside.
“Wow.” George gave a low whistle that echoed in the cool, cavernous lobby. Her eyes opened wide as she stared up at the painted ceiling. Clouds and cherubs floated thirty feet above the girls’ heads. A long mahogany counter with a thick Plexiglas window above it stretched the entire length of the room. Half a dozen male and female tellers stood behind it, helping a handful of customers.
“Pretty impressive,” Nancy said.
A guard in a gray uniform walked over to the girls, his footsteps clicking against the smooth marble floor. “May I help you?” he asked.
“We’re here to see Mr. Charles,” Nancy told him. “We have an appointment.”
The guard stepped over to the nearby security desk, spoke softly into an intercom, then nodded. “Past the tellers’ windows, up the stairs, and all the way at the end of the hall,” he told them.
The girls followed the guard’s directions. At the top of the stairs a long, dark, windowless hallway spread out before them. Gone was the elegance of the main floor. The hallway went on and on, but finally, at the very end, they came to a door with a brass plaque that read, Office of the President.
“I’ll bet he’s about a hundred years old,” Bess quipped.
Nancy knocked. A moment later the door opened, and the girls blinked at the bright fluorescent light that suddenly illuminated the dim hallway.
An attractive older woman with curly silver hair greeted them. “You must be Nancy Drew and company,” she said. “I’m Elaine Kussack, Mr. Charles’s personal secretary. Please come in. Mr. Charles is waiting for you.”
Ms. Kussack wore tailored slacks and a blouse topped with heavy, old-fashioned costume jewelry. Somehow, Nancy liked her looks right away.
The woman led them through a small office with a desk, word processor, and coffee maker to another door, which stood ajar. Poking her head through the doorway, she called, “Mr. Charles?”
“Send them in, Elaine.” A deep male voice answered her.
The girls followed Ms. Kussack through the door and into the inner office. Nancy heard Bess gasp as she got her first look at Alan Charles. Nancy felt almost as surprised herself. Instead of the aged banker they’d all expected, there sat a handsome man in his midthirties. His curly brown hair was just a bit tousled, and his blue eyes sparkled. His navy blue suit looked like the newest style from Italy. No doubt about it, Mr. Charles was quite attractive.
“Is there something wrong?” Mr. Charles asked, looking at Bess.
“It’s nothing,” Nancy said. She shot her friend a reproving glance, then explained, “Except that you look so young to be a bank president.”
Mr. Charles smiled. “I just took over from my dad. He decided he’d had enough of banking, so he moved to Florida to play golf.” He flashed them a winning smile and motioned for them to sit down.
Nancy introduced everyone.
“So, Mr. Charles,” Nancy began as Ms. Kussack left, closing the door behind her. “You sounded pretty upset on the phone. How can we help you?”
The smile quickly faded from Alan Charles’s face. “First of all,” he told them, “you must promise that what I tell you won’t go any further than these four walls. If word of this gets out to anyone, the bank could be out of business in a week. My great-great-grandfather founded Bentley Bank. I can’t let down four generations of my family.”
“We’ll keep your problem completely secret,” Nancy guaranteed, and Bess and George nodded their agreement.
Mr. Charles heaved a deep, troubled sigh. “I hope you’re as talented a detective as your father said, because something strange is going on here.”
“A robbery?” Nancy inquired.
“Not exactly,” Mr. Charles said. “Not yet, anyway. But a few days ago there was a mix-up in our vault.”
“A mix-up?” Nancy asked. “What do you mean?”
Mr. Charles explained. “This past Monday a longtime customer of mine, Mrs. Unruh, came storming in here, telling me her two-carat diamond ring was missing from her safe-deposit box. In its place was a ruby and diamond necklace she’d never seen before. Then yesterday another customer, Mr. Abrams, reported that his wife’s ruby and diamond necklace were missing—and that he had a diamond ring that wasn’t his.”
“Somebody switched them,” Nancy said.
“Exactly,” Mr. Charles stated with a nod. “As soon as I realized this, I called you. So far no one’s pressed charges, because the property was retrieved—”
“But this means that someone has access to the safe-deposit boxes,” Nancy finished for him. “Someone who shouldn’t.”
“Security’s been breached,” Mr. Charles confirmed. “And even if this person hasn’t stolen anything yet, I figure it’s just a matter of time. There must be at least a million dollars’ worth of jewelry and valuables in our vault.”
“The thing I can’t understand,” Nancy said, thinking out loud, “is why a thief would run the risk of breaking into the vault and then not take anything. Think of all the work to get inside, and all that was accomplished was an accidental switching of some jewels.”
“I can’t explain it,” Mr. Charles said. “But I do know that once there is a robbery, or if our customers hear about what happened, there’s going to be panic. People will be pulling their money out of here so fast that—”
“Excuse me, Mr. Charles.”
Nancy turned, startled at the sound of Ms. Kussack’s voice. She’d been so intent on what Alan Charles had been saying that she hadn’t heard her enter the room.
“I’m sorry to interrupt,” Ms. Kussack went on, “but I thought you all might like some coffee or hot chocolate.”
“None for me, thanks,” Mr. Charles replied. The girls shook their heads no.
“You don’t know what you’re missing,” the secretary said. “This is real Swiss chocolate. Once you try it, you’ll never drink any other kind.”
Mr. Charles smiled as Ms. Kussack ducked out of the room. “It really is good hot chocolate,” he told the girls, “but she sounds like a commercial sometimes.”
The smile disappeared as Mr. Charles got back to business. “This safe-deposit box switch has to be an inside job,” he said. “Only a few bank employees have access to the vault. And our security system would be virtually impossible for an outsider to crack.”
“How do safe-deposit boxes work?” Bess asked.
“It’s pretty simple,” Mr. Charles explained. “Each box requires two keys. The customer has one, and we have the other.”
“So for a bank employee to break into a box, he or she would need a copy of the customer’s key as well as the bank’s key,” Nancy concluded. “Do you keep duplicates of the customers’ keys?”
“Yes,” Mr. Charles said. “I have them securely locked in my private safe. And I’m the only one who knows the combination.”
“Are they in there now?” Nancy asked.
“That’s the problem,” Mr. Charles answered. “When I checked after the mix-up, the keys were gone!” He stood up and paced up and down in front of the girls, clearly upset. “I have to get this straightened out right away or it will be a catastrophe for the bank.”
“This is a mystery,” Nancy said. Pulling a small notepad and pen out of her purse, she made a few notes about what Mr. Charles had told her. “We’d better get started at once. Where exactly is the vault located?”
“In the basement,” Mr. Charles told her. “I’ll take you down there after we’re through.”
Nancy made another note on her pad. “What about video security?” she asked. “I noticed a camera in the lobby. Is there one in the vault?”
Mr. Charles nodded. “We keep the camera recording all night and review the videotape each morning, lint in this case the videotape was erased! I still don’t know how they managed to open up the camera. Its casing is made of solid steel.”
“What about the camera on the main floor?” Nancy asked.
“The tape was there,” Mr. Charles said, “and it hadn’t been erased. But there was no record of anyone entering or leaving the building. And the night watchman didn’t hear or see anything unusual.”
“Maybe the watchman did it,” Bess suggested.
“That would be pretty unlikely,” Mr. Charles said. “He doesn’t know any of the codes to open the vault, and there’s no way anyone could get in without them.”
“Do you have any suspects?” Nancy asked. “Any ideas at all about who it might be?”
Mr. Charles’s worried gaze met Nancy’s intent blue eyes, and she saw his expression begin to crumble. “No,” he replied miserably. “I’ve always trusted my employees. I was sure they were completely trustworthy. And now I find out that—that they’re not.”
Nancy couldn’t help but feel sorry for the bank president. “Well, maybe just one of them isn’t,” she said, trying to console him. Then she turned to Bess and George. “It looks like we’ve got our work cut out for us,” she said.
“Then you think you can solve this case?” Mr. Charles asked, glancing hopefully toward Nancy. “It sounds impossible.”
“Nothing’s impossible for Nancy,” Bess replied proudly.
“Before we start our investigation, we have a few details to work out,” Nancy said, ignoring the compliment. “If we’re going to hang around the bank for a while, we’ll need some sort of cover.”
“I’ve already thought of that,” Mr. Charles told them with a smile. “I’ll give you all jobs at the bank.”
“Won’t that look suspicious?” George asked. “Three new employees—especially such young ones—at the same time?”
“Not at all,” Mr. Charles said. “Many of our tellers are college students who work only part time. Bess and George, I’ll put you in our on-the-job training program. That’s run by our head teller, Maurice Grun. Nancy, since you’ll probably need more flexibility, I’ll just call you an intern. That way you can wander around and ask as many questions as you like.”
“Sounds good,” Nancy agreed. “Well, I guess we’re ready to start our ‘jobs.’ The first thing I’d like to see is the vault, but it will look too suspicious if all three of us go. Maybe Bess and George could start their training with Maurice Grun while you and I go down to the basement.” Nancy tucked her notepad back into her purse, and the group followed Mr. Charles out of the office. They nodded to Ms. Kussack as they hurried past her desk, then walked out into the dim, endless hallway and down the stairs.
But as they arrived for the second time that day in the lobby, it was no longer the hushed, calm place they’d seen before. A crowd of customers gathered around one of the tellers’ windows. Nancy couldn’t see what they were looking at, but she heard crashing noises and the sounds of heavy metal objects being thrown to the floor. Then a woman’s voice pierced the hubbub, echoing across the lobby.
“I hate you!” the woman screamed. “I’ll hate you till the day I die!”
2. Ransacked!
Mr. Charles pushed his way through the crowd toward the scream. Nancy motioned for George and Bess to stay back. If all three of them moved together, they’d blow their cover as strangers who’d just happened to get jobs in the bank at the same time. She squeezed between the people, trailing after Mr. Charles.
Peering through the Plexiglas that separated the lobby from the tellers’ area, she could see a few of the tellers holding a man and a woman apart. Metal boxes and money were scattered all over the floor.
“You’re a rat, Maurice Grun! A two-timing, two-faced rat!” the woman screamed. She struggled to break free from the arms that restrained her. Though the woman’s voice was incredibly loud, she herself was petite. Nancy’s gaze took in the slim, attractively dressed young woman with the fire in her eyes. The man she spat her words at was also young, but balding, and there was a sheepish expression on his face.
“Come with me, Nancy,” Mr. Charles instructed as he hurried through a side door leading into the tellers’ area. “What’s going on?” he boomed, taking control of the situation.
The tellers sprang apart at the appearance of the bank president, while the furious woman and the sheepish man glanced at him uncomfortably.
The man stepped over the mess of boxes and money, nervously biting his lip. “I’m sorry about the disturbance, Mr. Charles,” he muttered softly.
“Would you like to explain yourself, Maurice?” Mr. Charles asked, looking almost as angry as the woman had a moment before.
“I’d rather not,” Maurice said. “I mean, I don’t think I should. It’s a personal matter.”
“Jill?” Mr. Charles asked sharply, turning upon the young woman.
By now there were tears streaming down her face. She could barely speak, so she just shook her head no.
Mr. Charles stared from one to the other for one more furious moment. “Okay,” he said, frowning. “I can’t force you to explain. But I’m warning you—your behavior is extremely unprofessional. If you both weren’t excellent employees ordinarily, I’d fire you immediately for this. And if you can’t control yourselves from now on, you’d better start looking for new jobs.”
Suddenly the fire was back in Jill’s eyes. “That’s the best idea I’ve heard all day,” she said passionately. “I quit!” So saying, she dashed over to one of the teller windows and snatched her purse out of a drawer. Flipping her hair angrily over one shoulder, she stormed out of the tellers’ area and out the bank’s huge double doors. As the sound of the slamming doors echoed through the bank lobby, everyone just stared at one another, looking a bit stunned.
Nancy was the first to recover, but she knew she couldn’t say anything or she’d blow her cover as a new intern. In a moment Mr. Charles took charge. “Ladies and gentlemen,” he addressed the customers through the Plexiglas, “I’m very sorry about this disturbance. Our staff will be able to assist you shortly.” Turning to the tellers, he instructed, “Back to work, everybody. Maurice, I want you to pick up those cash boxes and make sure every dollar is accounted for.”
“Yes, sir,” Maurice replied, looking embarrassed but glad to have held on to his job. Obediently, he stooped to pick up a box, then began scooping money into it.
As his fingers flew through the bills, Nancy studied the head teller closely. He was such a nervous person. Was it just because of the fight, or did he have something else to feel guilty about? What could he have done to upset Jill so much, and why was he so secretive about it? Maybe there was a link between this incident and the mix-up inside the vault. Nancy made a mental note to follow up on the incident.
“When you’re done with that, Maurice,” Mr. Charles added, “I have two new teller trainees for you, Bess Marvin and George Fayne.” He pointed to the girls, who were standing on the other side of the partition.
Maurice looked up over his shoulder at Bess and George. “Yes, sir,” he told Mr. Charles with a nod.
“And this is our new intern, Nancy Drew. I was just in the middle of giving her a tour when your... disagreement interrupted us.” Mr. Charles’s tone was disapproving. “Come on, Nancy. Let’s hope we’re not interrupted again.” Still looking angry, Mr. Charles turned his back on Maurice and led Nancy out.
“So you’ve begun your work here with a bang,” he said as he and Nancy walked over to the staircase. Nancy was glad he’d used the word work instead of investigation. Sound seemed to travel in the bank, and a lot of people were around to hear. In fact Nancy was quickly getting the feeling that this was a very difficult place in which to keep a secret—even though there seemed to be plenty of them.
“Whoever said banks were quiet and sedate never was in this one,” she quipped.
Mr. Charles smiled but his brow wrinkled, showing how upset he really was. “Well, they ought to be quiet.”
Nancy lowered her voice as they reached the curved marble staircase that led to the basement. “I’ll make sure it gets back to being that way.” She grasped the polished brass banister as they hurried past an electric eye. It beeped as they stepped in front of it. “I’ve got to tell you, I’m no expert on bank security,” she commented. “How is the vault set up?”
“It’s pretty simple,” Mr. Charles answered, “and it’s so secure I can’t believe anyone actually got in. There’s only one way to get down to the basement—this staircase. At the bottom of the steps there’s a gate leading to the security desk. A guard is posted there nine a.m. to five p.m. Then there’s another gate. You need a special key to get through it.” He jangled his overloaded key ring. “Behind that is the vault. Inside it, a video camera keeps twenty-four-hour security.”
The end of the stairway’s curve gave Nancy her first view of the vault. Behind the first gate a gray-haired man in a blue uniform sat behind a high mahogany desk. He was lean and muscular, a fit sixty years old. When he saw Mr. Charles and Nancy, he hopped out of his seat and hurried over to open the gate. As soon as they entered the small area, he closed and locked the gate behind them.
“Nancy, I’d like you to meet Larry Jaye, our vault attendant. Larry, this is Nancy Drew. She’s going to be an intern here.”
Larry gave Nancy a friendly smile and shook her hand. “Welcome!” he said warmly. “You sure did pick the right bank to intern in, young lady. We’ve got the nicest people I’ve seen anywhere. And I bet you’ll learn a whole lot from Mr. Charles. He may be young, but he knows everything about banking from his daddy and his daddy before him—”
“Uh... Larry,” Mr. Charles interrupted, looking embarrassed. “I’ve brought Nancy down here to show her how the vault works. Would you be kind enough to help me?”
“Why, sure,” Larry agreed. He pushed a thick bound notebook toward them. Nancy saw that the book was open to a page with a list of signatures on it. “You know I’m going to have to ask you to sign this,” he said, nodding to Mr. Charles as if they’d been through this countless times before. “You may be the president and all, but rules are rules.”
Mr. Charles smiled as he signed his name. “Everybody signs,” he explained to Nancy, handing her the pen. “It’s one of our many security precautions. That way we know everyone who enters or leaves the vault.”
Nancy quickly pulled out her notepad and jotted down a reminder to check the names in the book later. Then she signed her own name in the security log. Mr. Charles used a cylinder key to unlock the second steel gate. Behind it was a steel wall with a huge metal door in the middle of it. The door stood open, and as she stepped through it, Nancy judged it to be about two feet thick.
“This here’s our vault,” Larry said, with a touch of pride.
He gave the door a gentle tap, and it swung smoothly and silently until it was almost all the way closed. Larry stopped it with two fingers before it shut completely. “You’d never believe this door weighs as much as it does,” he said. “Moves just like a feather.”
Nancy stepped to the door, tapping the metal wheel on the front. “Is that a combination lock?” she asked.
“You got it,” Larry confirmed.
“So to open the vault, you just have to know the combination?”
It was Mr. Charles who answered her. “No,” he said. “You need a second person to turn off the alarm.”
Mr. Charles pointed to a small metal pane next to the vault door, with numbered buttons set up in a grid, like on a push-button phone.
“You have to punch a special numerical code to disarm the alarm,” he told Nancy. “If the code isn’t entered within one minute of unlocking the vault, an alarm sounds and the police get over here fast.”
“Let me get this straight,” Nancy said. “To break in, you’d need to get past the cameras and the guards in the lobby, have the key to both the first and the second gates, then use the special codes to unlock the vault and turn off the alarm?”
“Right,” said Mr. Charles. “And nobody knows both the code to the vault and the code to turn off the alarm. Not even me. That way, no one person can open the vault alone,” he explained. “We call it the dual control system.”
“Keeps everybody honest,” Larry agreed.
“You’d think with all that security it would be impossible to break in,” Nancy said. “So who knows the door combination?”
“I do,” said Larry.
“And just one other person,” Mr. Charles added. “Our assistant branch manager, Evelyn Sobel.”
“And who knows the alarm code?” Nancy asked.
“I do,” Mr. Charles replied. “And Maurice Grun, our head teller.”
“Hmm,” Nancy murmured thoughtfully. That piece of information made her even more suspicious of Maurice than the commotion upstairs had. So Maurice knew the alarm code. If he was working with someone who knew the door combination—either Larry Jaye or Evelyn Sobel—he’d have access to the vault. Of course, that didn’t explain how he could have gotten the safe-deposit boxes open. Nancy remembered he’d need both the bank’s and the customer’s key. But at least she had a theory.
“Larry, will you excuse us, please?” Mr. Charles asked. “I’m going to take Nancy inside the vault.”
“Yes, sir, Mr. Charles,” said Larry, hurrying back to his desk. “Nice to meet you, young lady.”
Nancy smiled at the guard as she followed Mr. Charles into the vault. Larry Jaye certainly seemed like a nice person. She hoped he wasn’t one of the people involved with the break-in. She’d have to meet this Evelyn Sobel as soon as she could.
Once inside, Nancy gazed around her at the scene of the crime—or the future crime! The two side walls were covered with hundreds of steel drawers of different sizes, and more boxes flanked the vault’s door. Even the ceiling was steel, with naked light bulbs hanging down from it at regular intervals. The vault’s floor was made out of the same solid white marble as the rest of the bank’s. In the rear wall, also made of steel, were three doors.
“What’s behind the doors?” Nancy inquired.
“Those are cubicles where box holders can view their belongings in private,” Mr. Charles explained. Once again he pulled out his key ring, then opened the middle cubicle. The small room was wood paneled, with a wooden counter and a single chair. “In here, customers have complete privacy. Unless they choose to tell us, we have absolutely no idea what they keep inside their boxes.”
“So there could be almost anything inside these boxes,” Nancy said.
“That’s right,” Mr. Charles answered. He and Nancy stepped out of the room, and he relocked the door. “By the way, smile for the camera.” He pointed at a security eye mounted near the ceiling.
Nancy took a good, hard look at the camera, encased in its black metal box. It looked invulnerable. “So somehow they opened that up and erased the videotape?” Nancy asked.
“Yes, and I have no more idea of how they did that than how they got through the locked doors and special codes,” Mr. Charles said. “Oh, and Nancy, our vault has one more special feature. If it’s opened at any time other than during normal business hours, the door is set to remain open just five minutes. After that, the alarm goes off and the door slams shut.”
Nancy pulled out her notepad and pen and began to write. There was a lot of information she didn’t want to forget. She didn’t get very far with her notes, though, because suddenly Elaine Kussack, Mr. Charles’s secretary, came rushing into the vault, breathless.
“Mr. Charles!” she cried. “I’m so sorry! I just can’t believe it!”
“What’s the matter, Elaine?” asked Mr. Charles.
Before she could answer, Larry Jaye came rushing in after her, carrying the leather notebook. “Now, you wait just one minute, ma’am!” he shouted, waving a pen. “Nobody gets inside this vault without signing in.” Larry turned to Mr. Charles. “I tried to stop her, Mr. Charles, but when I unlocked the gate, she just barged through.” He glared at Elaine Kussack.
“That’s fine,” Mr. Charles said, taking the notebook and signing Ms. Kussack’s name quickly, but all his attention was on his secretary. “Now tell me what happened.”
“Oh, Mr. Charles, I’m so sorry,” Ms. Kussack sobbed. “I should have been there to stop it.”
“Stop what?” Mr. Charles asked, his face growing worried.
“Mr. Charles,” she said, her voice shaking, “your office has just been robbed!”
The Telltale Glove
“A robbery!” Mr. Charles gasped. He shot Nancy a worried look. But in the next instant he switched his tone back to the cool, professional one Nancy had grown used to hearing. “Don’t worry, Elaine,” he said reassuringly. “I’m sure it wasn’t your fault. Let’s go upstairs and find out exactly what happened.”
Nancy had to admire Alan Charles. Letting his own worries show would have been a very bad thing for the bank just then, and he had covered up admirably. What’s more, he was smoothly getting her and Elaine away from the guard in order to discuss the break-in.
Taking his secretary’s arm, Mr. Charles steered her out of the vault. Nancy followed him past the guard’s desk.
“Uh, excuse me, Mr. Charles, sir,” Larry called after them. “Hate to bother you.”
“Yes?” Mr. Charles turned, a slightly impatient edge to his voice.
Larry pushed the leather-bound notebook across the desk toward them. “Rules are rules,” he said with an embarrassed smile, “and all of you have to sign out.”
Mr. Charles signed the book quickly, followed by Ms. Kussack. As Nancy followed suit, she couldn’t help but notice Larry’s care with his work. After all, the safeguards needed to be followed in order to keep the vault secure. They had to be completed, even during an emergency.
Larry opened the outer gate, then locked it once more after they’d passed to the other side.