Operation Barn Owl

The world was still when she awoke, in the way it can only be after snow has carpeted it in its hoary sheen. For a long while she lay still, cocooned in the warmth of her blankets, watching the flakes steadily march towards the ground to join the layer that already grew there. It was too early for the sun to have fully risen, and the dim light of the early morning made for an even more otherworldly sight. It was one of many reasons she didn’t have curtains or blinds; to wake up to views like this. Even if such an indulgence was a risk.

She allowed herself a few more minutes of watching in silent reverence before sighing and rolling out of bed to reluctantly begin the day. First, she braved the cold and icy reality of the world outside so that her roommate, who happened to be of the four-legged variety, could do his business. He hadn’t encountered snow often, so it took him much longer to go about relieving himself than it typically did. She scowled and stamped her feet, as much in irritation as to keep warm. She’d gambled on the fact that he was usually efficient, and as a result she’d opted to leave her winter coat inside. Gambled, and lost.

“C’mon Edgar, go potty,” she urged in a falsely bright voice, a tone intended to put at ease. Edgar, a mutt she’d named for the grouchy old man who frequented the coffeeshop she was fond of, sniffed the snow delicately, crouching in one spot only to immediately reevaluate and continue examining the snowy yard carefully for the perfect place to drop a deuce.

“Go. Potty.” She snapped after a few more fruitless minutes of Edgar’s indecision, in a far less controlled tone. Her thin silk shorts and Steeler’s tee shirt did little to keep out the winter wind driving the flurries to and fro with increasing speed. Edgar, unfazed, regarded her solemnly, seemingly chastising her before finally squatting and committing to the deed. She rolled her eyes, though not without a pang of guilt. It wasn’t his fault this was going to be a bear of a day. As they headed inside, she gave him a reassuring pat on the head and was rewarded with an affectionate nuzzle from a snow-cold nose.

Ensconced once more in the warmth of her small home, she beelined for the kettle. Edgar sat whining faintly by the stairs. He knew full well he wouldn’t get breakfast until the French press was brewing coffee, so his muttering was halfhearted. She went through the familiar motions of their routine, trying unsuccessfully not to let her mind race with the thoughts of what today would bring. What would have to be adapted.

The roads would be closed, at least for the better part of the morning. They were fairly far south, and the locals were unused to dealing with snow. It was doubtful that they’d have people plowing the roads, and given how much snow was already piling up, plows would be essential in order to get people back on the road. Or a significant amount of snowmelt. And she needed to be on the road. Driving may pose certain threats, but walking eleven miles in the snow, doubtless leaving footprints, was a far cry from low risk.

She glowered at the kettle, waiting for the water to boil and for the kettle to click off so she could fill the press and get Edgar fed. Planning would be easier once she had caffeine and he was settled with some food. She checked her watch; 6:48 a.m. Plenty of time.

Finally nestled in her favorite armchair, clutching a mug brimming with coffee, she ran over the plan in her mind again. The winter storm was a recent development, and as such it hadn’t factored into her original scheme. Today was crucial. Originally, today was the only window of time in which her target would be within reasonable reach with relaxed security protocols. She already had a buyer lined up. She didn’t know a lot about him, which is how she preferred it. She never knew a lot about her clients, and they knew about as much about her, but she knew enough about this particular customer that she didn’t relish the idea of the deal falling through. Having to explain why she failed, to him and his two overly burly bodyguards.

The first thing she had to figure out was whether or not the exhibition was even still happening today. It had been scheduled for this afternoon, 2-4 p.m. at the local library. She’d memorized the schematics to the building weeks ago and had run through dozens of practice rounds using the vents. She had wanted to practice with the vents until she felt as at ease using them as an escape route as she would walking out the front door. Despite her marked discomfort at being in such a small space, the maneuver had gone off without a hitch every time. But that was just one piece of an increasingly difficult puzzle.

She had six solid plans. Six solid combinations of entry and exit points, ruses and disguises, carefully weighed risks and benefits. She had three additional backup plans that she liked less; they weren’t as secure and relied on luck and timing, which was not her preferred manner of operation. Ideally, she wouldn’t have to use any of the backups, but not a single one of her nine plans in total provided for a snowstorm taking hold of an ill prepared town. She wouldn’t be in this mess if they were in a proper city; a snow day doesn’t shut down New York, she thought bitterly to herself. Though at least in Suburbia security protocols were considerably more relaxed than at the Met.

She checked her email, the library website, Instagram, everything she had access to. No updates concerning the exhibition. She’d assume it was on, then, and hope that the roads were open well before two. Walking would be a last resort, though one she would stoop to if need be. Maybe the snow would be in her favor. Some people might not be able to come into work, namely guards hired specifically for the exhibition. Five out of her six good plans, and all of the backups, involved her striking before the event anyway, before the artifact was on display and hundreds of people were staring at it. Maybe a snow delay would work in her favor, further loosen already lacking security measures.

From somewhere in the forest outside, a barn owl cried. Edgar, startled from a food-induced stupor by the sound, stumbled clumsily to his feet, ears cocked. Satisfied by the ensuing silence, he laid back down at her feet. She checked her watch again. 7:54. Bit late in the morning for a barn owl to be active, and definitely later in the morning than she’d meant to sit accomplishing nothing. She gave Edgar one last scratch behind the ears before heading upstairs to prepare.

The exhibition in question was a historical “experience,” according to the brochure, focused on the Anglo-Saxons. Her target was a bronze sword pommel, gilded in a layer of gold and inlaid with various precious stones. Worth thousands financially and perhaps much more historically. Supposedly it had belonged to some famous Anglo-Saxon conqueror. There would be other valuable artifacts there that she’d try and nab if she had time, but her main focus was the sword pommel. Relatively easy to conceal.

Increasingly anxious, she checked her watch once more. 9:07. She’d arrived at the library with little trouble on the road, despite the snow, and had breezed in through the front doors, swiping her identification badge to clock in for her shift. Or, for any rate, Helen DeLumel’s shift. She’d swiped the badge from the pottering librarian two days ago, confident it wouldn’t be missed until she was next scheduled six days from now. Last night, she’d hacked into the system and put Helen’s name on the schedule, so she wouldn’t set off any security measures by clocking in. Just in case, she’d also ensured Helen would be unable to come to the phone today. It really was marvelous how long sleeping drafts could knock someone out for, especially little old ladies.

She was reasonably certain she wouldn’t’ be scrutinized too closely by any of the library staff. They operated on an A shift/ B shift schedule. Helen belonged to the A shift, and the exhibition fell on a B shift day. That left only one potential risk, an Amanda Hawley. Amanda was an A shift librarian who’d been pulled in to help with the exhibition. Blonde, mid-forties, green eyes, short build, fond of wearing plaid and drinking herbal tea. She was fairly sure she could avoid Amanda, and even if not, there’d be so many extra people milling about with the exhibition on that’d she’d just be another face in the crowd. It wasn’t as if she’d go around introducing herself as Helen. And just in case she couldn’t avoid Amanda on her own, she’d laced all the tea in the breakroom with laxatives.

9:22. Right on schedule. She had opted for plan number 2, code name Operation Barn Owl. She’d dubbed it thus after the screech of the owl near her house this morning, choosing to claim it for luck. She never worked with anyone else, or ever wrote her plans down, so the code names were purely for her amusement. And internal organization.

She’d selected Operation Barn Owl because it had the fewest variables. It did, however, have one unpredictable factor that she would be forced to accommodate as the day wore on. Despite her extensive research, she had no way knowing ahead of time how often the security guards on duty would switch throughout the course of the day. If they would. She was familiar with the technology of the casings and the safes that the artifacts would travel and be displayed in. She had the necessary tools for dealing with them. She knew which rooms the artifacts would be kept in, and which vents led to them. The guards, and their rotation, were the one last piece of the puzzle to put into place.

9:34. She made her way to the second floor, where the sword pommel was likely being kept in is climate-controlled safe. She’d debated just taking the whole safe, but scrapped that idea once she’d decided to make her exits through the vents.

As she walked, she reminded herself to turn her face away from the security cameras. She was wearing a wig, colored contacts, inserts in her shoes to make her taller and glasses to further muddle her features, but there was no point in giving the police more to work with than she absolutely had to.

11:39. She marked the two security guards outside the room from her vantage point in the vents, as she had for the past couple of hours. Cameras weren’t legal to have in public restrooms, so she’d soundlessly entered the vents from the ladies’ room. Cat-like, she positioned herself across from the room and watched until she overheard an exhibition staff member telling the guards that their relief would be there soon. This was the moment she’d been waiting for: the end of a shift, when the defenses of the security guards were lowered, with the end in sight. She didn’t want to strike when there was a fresh crew, alert and ready to go.

Silently, she crawled her way to the vent leading into the room holding the pommel. In her practice runs, at her fastest and quietest it took her 42 seconds. She made it now in 38, without sacrificing any of her stealth for speed. She dropped to the ground of the room and wasted no time in striding to the safe in the center of the room. She punched in the six-digit code while simultaneously inserting the master key she’d designed for safes of this brand. Her key was able to fit any keyhole within a given brand of safe, and she had four more like it at home, each specified for use on different brands of safe. Sucking in a breath, she opened the safe. The sword pommel sat gleaming in the center of a veritable pile of priceless artifacts. Quickly, she snatched up the pommel and a few other expensive looking objects.

Instantly, alarm bells rang out through the library.

Later that night, sipping tea and cuddling with Edgar, she decided Operation Barn Owl had turned out to be one of her more memorable heists, though she’d definitely have to lay low for a while. If for no other reason than just to soothe her nerves. The payout from this job should be enough to set her and Edgar up nicely for a good long while, and smooth any ruffled feathers.

I really do have the worst luck, she mused, or maybe the best. A fire alarm sounding right as she lifted the treasure from the safe was pretty rotten luck, especially because she’d been forced to scramble gracelessly back into the vents after shutting the safe, as the guards had burst through the door (as soon as they could unlock it) in order to remove the valuables to safety. Turns out, Amanda had burned popcorn in the breakroom microwave. Amanda had evidently been trying to eat something that would, for lack of a better turn of phrase, firm up her bowels. The fire alarm had set everybody on edge, but even so she’d gotten out and back home to Edgar with little difficulty. She’d doubled and tripled back to ensure no one was following her home, just in case. She needn’t have worried though, because no one had even realized anything was missing from the safe until just before the exhibition started. She’d meet the buyer tomorrow, and with any luck her disguise was good enough that she could go to the library dressed as herself in order to pick up the book she’d put on hold.

All in all, it was a good day.

As she and Edgar watched the snow falling in the moonlight, a barn owl shrieked in the distance. She sent out a silent thank you.