The Chase by Clive Cussler

wouldn’t be stupid enough to try robbing a bank in a city the size of Salt Lake. He wouldn’t get past the city limits before the police shot him down.”
    Ruskin nodded toward the vault. “Very impressive repository.”
    â€œThe very finest vault west of the Mississippi, built especially for us in Philadelphia,” Ruskin said proudly. “An entire regiment armed with cannons couldn’t break inside.”
    â€œI see it is open during business hours?”
    â€œAnd why not. Our customers enjoy seeing how well their deposits are protected. And as I’ve mentioned, no bank has ever been robbed in Salt Lake City.”
    â€œWhat is your slowest time of day?”
    Cardoza looked puzzled. “Slowest time of day?”
    â€œWhen you have the least customer transactions?”
    â€œBetween one-thirty and two o’clock is our slowest time. Most of our customers have gone back to their offices after their lunch hour. And, because we close at three, a number of customers come in for late transactions. Why do you ask?”
    â€œJust curious as to how the traffic compares with our bank in New York, which seems to be about the same.” He patted the suitcase. “I’ll leave the money in the case and pick it up tomorrow.”
    â€œWe’ll close shortly, but I’ll have my head clerk count it first thing in the morning.”
    Cardoza pulled open a drawer of his desk, retrieved a leather book, and wrote out a deposit slip for the half-million dollars. He handed it to Ruskin, who inserted it into a large wallet he carried in the breast pocket of his coat.
    â€œMay I ask a favor?” Ruskin inquired.
    â€œCertainly. Anything you wish.”
    â€œI would like to be on hand when your clerk does the count.”
    â€œThat’s very gracious of you, but I’m sure your bank has accounted for every dollar.”
    â€œI’m grateful for your trust, but I would like to be present just to be on the safe side.”
    Cardoza shrugged. “As you wish.”
    â€œThere is one other request.”
    â€œYou have but to name it.”
    â€œI have other business to conduct in the morning and cannot return until one-thirty tomorrow. And, since your business is slowest then, it should be a good time for the count.”
    Cardoza nodded in agreement. “You’re quite right.” He stood and extended his hand. “Until tomorrow afternoon. I look forward to seeing you.”
    Ruskin held up his cane as a good-bye gesture, dismissed Cardoza, and left the office. He walked past the security guard, who didn’t give him a glance, and swung his cane like a baton as he stepped onto the sidewalk.
    He smiled to himself, knowing that he had no intention of returning to the bank merely to count the contents of the suitcase.

9
    T HE NEXT AFTERNOON, R USKIN WALKED TO THE BANK , making sure he was seen on the street by the passing crowd and stopping in shops to browse, making small talk with the merchants. He carried his gun cane more as a prop than for protection.
    Reaching the Salt Lake Bank & Trust at one-thirty, he entered and ignored the guard as he turned the key in the front entrance door, locking it. Then he turned the sign around in the window so that it read CLOSED from the street and pulled down the window shades, as the guard sat there in his bored stupor, not realizing that the bank was about to be robbed. Neither Albert Cardoza’s secretary and the tellers nor the female depositor standing at the counter took notice of the intruder’s unusual behavior.
    The guard finally came alert and realized that Ruskin was not acting like a normal bank customer and might be up to no good. He came to his feet, his hand dropping to the holster holding his .38 Smith & Wesson revolver, and asked blankly, “Just what do you think you’re doing?” Then his eyes widened in alarm as he found himself staring into the muzzle of Ruskin’s .38