At four forty-five, the three men stood beside the large hole in the floor of the dilapidated kitchen of the café. None of them had slept for two days and they were running on pure adrenalin. Pedro called time on the job.

“We’ve hit ninety of the one hundred and twenty boxes on our list. I’m guessing we’ve landed well over a hundred million dollars. The lorry is bulging, so I suggest we get the hell out of here.”

Sebastian took a long drag on his Marlboro, the first cigarette he’d smoked in two days. “Cousin, we’ve filled our boots, so it’s time to say goodbye to the Café Torino.”

Pedro turned to Ricardo, who was holding the van keys in his right hand. “Let’s go, and, Ricky, drive carefully. We don’t want to get pulled over by the police.”

Two hours after the bank raid was discovered, a phone call was placed on an encrypted line from an office in Buenos Aires to an impressive skyscraper block six thousand miles away in downtown San Francisco.

Richard Franklin, CEO of the Franklin Pharmaceutical Corporation, reached for the receiver of the red phone on his desk that hadn’t rung for over two years. There was only one person in the world who had the number.

“What’s up, Matias?”

There was a short pause on the line as the caller gathered his thoughts. Then, a cold, heavily accented voice broke the silence. “Señor Franklin, Box 1321 has been stolen in a bank heist that took place over the weekend. We will, of course, focus our entire resource into recovering it as soon as possible.”

The line went dead.

Chapter Two

9 January 2012

Buenos Aires

Chief Inspector Nicolas Vargas of the Buenos Aires Police Department stood in the middle of the safe depository, surveying the wreckage. He had already made a return trip through the hundred-foot tunnel, connecting the bank to the café, so he knew exactly how the thieves had pulled off the most daring robbery of the decade. He bent down and carefully picked up one of the ninety broken boxes that were strewn across the floor of the vault.

At forty, Vargas was one of the youngest and brightest chief inspectors on the city force. He was an impressive looking man. His six-foot-two frame and boyish film-star looks were complemented by a natural charisma that matched his physical attributes. Three years earlier, his life had been brutally derailed by a personal tragedy and, ever since, his mental energies had been focused entirely on his work. This intriguing, high-profile robbery was a welcome new distraction. He placed the box back on the floor and turned to Marcelo Morales, the general manager of the bank.

“Interesting M.O. The drilling on each lock is remarkably neat and precise and, by the look of things, they only targeted the largest boxes. Do we know exactly how many they hit?”