Total pages in book: 767
Estimated words: 732023 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 3660(@200wpm)___ 2928(@250wpm)___ 2440(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 732023 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 3660(@200wpm)___ 2928(@250wpm)___ 2440(@300wpm)
That was why she’d tried to memorize the way the house manager’s hand had moved each time she entered the code.
After seeing her repeat the process of unlocking a door several dozen times, Alena was certain the code was six digits long and started at the bottom of the keypad.
She looked at the fingerprint powder. A six digit code, and five numbers. Shit. One of the numbers repeated.
This part of the plan was always the most unsure. Despite what the movies depicted, the number was rarely ever something personal. It was a random number, occasionally with a pattern for ease of remembering. She had a custom-built app that would spit out the most likely passcode for a given set of numbers, which it did by analyzing millions of currently active passwords.
It was a gamble, and one she’d hoped not to have to take. And now it looked like even her long-shot option was too long of a shot. The app might give her a right answer if she could give it the correct six numbers. With the added complication of one of those numbers appearing twice, and less time than she’d hoped, that option was out.
She had a Universal Software Radio Peripheral unit upstairs, disguised as a portable personal humidifier. The USRP unit used radio signals to disable alarm systems. She could try that, but it wasn’t a precision tool and she risked tripping a backup system.
Based on her intel there wasn’t a backup system, but since that would be the height of stupidity, she was pretty sure there was a backup, and her sources just hadn’t been able to find out anything about it.
The better option was to break in the old fashioned way, by outsmarting the physical lock. It might have been controlled by the electronic keypad, but there was a physical mechanism that kept the door closed. She had some magnets, metal plates, and a slim jim all tucked away inside innocuous items from her luggage.
Alena looked at the pad again as she turned to leave, some instinct telling her not to give up.
How many times could the wrong code be entered before the alarm went off? People were fallible, so it was extremely rare that a system wouldn’t tolerate a few failed code entries.
Even if she could enter the wrong code ten, twenty, or one hundred times, it was still extremely unlikely that she’d get it by plugging in random numbers.
Six digits in the master code. A master code that only a few people, including Alexander knew.
Alexander.
She swallowed hard. All the manipulation and lies to get to this point, it had better be worth it. Alexander was both tender and harsh, precise and emotionally complex.
Precise. He was precise, and logical.
0, 1, 2, 3, 5, 10…no that was one digit too many.
Some long-buried knowledge from high school math was jumping up and down, trying to get her to pay attention.
Did the numbers double? One doubled was 2, but two doubled wasn’t three…but that idea worked for five and ten.
Not double, but add. Add the previous two numbers together.
And start at the bottom of the keypad, with 0.
Alena smiled slowly as the buried memory came into focus. Math rarely had projects, and she’d loved projects, that enjoyment a precursor to what she currently did.
The one project she did remember from math was plotting out a spiraled seashell, using the Fibonacci sequence.
A mathematical sequence in which each number was the sum of the two preceding numbers, starting with zero.
She slid on a glove and reached for the keypad.
0, 1, 1, 2, 3, 5
The light blinked once, then turned green.
Hot damn, that worked.
Grinning, Alena carefully brushed the fingerprint dust off the number pad, then put the flowers back in position.
A minute later, she gingerly opened the parlor door and slid inside.
Now, so close to her goal and high on the fact that she’d figured out the code without having to use any of her nifty toys, her heart was racing, her whole body humming with adrenaline.
She resisted the urge to whistle the theme song to various heist movies. After all, she was a professional.
Looking around at all the beautiful art, she took a moment to mourn the fact that she wasn’t here for a painting or sculpture.
In the far corner of the room, Alena knelt, then popped the barrel off of the blowdryer.
Using only the light spilling in through the windows, she chose a section of floor that had clearly been repaired. She objected, morally, to ruining some long ago artisan’s handiwork by drilling through hundred-year-old hand-laid parquet.
Alena set the drill bit on a seam of two rectangles of wood, and started to drill. The tool had been specially built to be quiet, but it wasn’t completely silent. If anyone was up and walking by the door, they’d hear.
If she was caught right now she was probably screwed, so she held her breath until the drill finally broke through the floor, and the ceiling of the room below.