On Sunday they set the incendiary devices.
Phelps was responsible for these. There were two devices and they consisted of plastic jugs half-full of petrol, a timer and battery, two contact points a whisker apart.
Half-full to allow fumes to build up, Phelps explained. At nine-fifteen tomorrow morning a spark will jump across the contact points and pow, instant fire.
Wyatt nodded encouragingly. He knew how the devices worked but he saw it as part of his job to drop praise here and there, encouragement, to keep Phelps and Riding efficient and calm.
They put the devices in place at five oclock, the hottest part of the day, when the city sprawled heat-dazed and inattentive under the sun. The first incendiary went at the bottom of a four-metre-high pile of used tyres in a yard several blocks east of the bank. Lots of smoke and drama, Phelps said.
They set the second in a dumpster of rubbish behind a nearby supermarket. Flattened cardboard, paper, plastic sheeting, plywood, styrofoam packaging: it would cause plenty of panic but no damage.
That night they stole the getaway cars.
They lifted both cars from the long-term carpark at the airport. Travelling separately to the airport by bus at half hour intervals, they met at a side entrance to the carpark. Wyatt arrived last. What have you got?
Riding spoke softly. A fawn Camira.
Parking ticket?
He nodded. On the dash above the steering wheel, stupid prick.
When?
A jet was taking off. The sound thundered around them, so Riding waited. An hour ago, soon after I got here.
That was good. The owner was not likely to be back for it before Monday afternoon. What they needed now was a second car much like the first. Witnesses at the university who saw the changeover were more likely to confuse two cars that were similar in size and shape.
Theres no guarantee well find a match with a ticket inside. You two keep an eye on new arrivals. Ill scout around.
Wyatt walked into the gloom. He didnt want to spend too long here. There were few people about and it was dark, but even one person could be one too many. His shoes were loud in the gravel. Two minutes later he saw a ticket poking up from an ashtray in a soft-top VW. He unsnapped the top, pocketed the ticket, snapped back the flap.
He rejoined the others. Riding pointed. Cream Commodore.
Stubby bushes screened them. They watched the Commodore shunt back and forth into a parking bay. An elderly man got out and walked to the bus-stop.
When the courtesy bus had picked him up, they moved again. This time they were after numberplates. Not any plates but plates with a prefix and digits similar to each of the getaway cars. They found the first on a Toyota van, the second on a new Mercedes, and switched them with the plates on the Camira and the Commodore. Wyatt was relying on the owners not noticing the slight difference in their plates immediately. Meanwhile, if anyone took down the number of the Camira and the Commodore and reported it, the police computer would show a Toyota van and a Mercedes. It was a smokescreen, extra insurance, all part of the job as far as Wyatt was concerned. He looked at his watch: 8.26. This time tomorrow morning theyd have Nurse in their hands.