I drew in a deep breath. Penhaligon had whispered the tree’s location to me alone. There were probably several reasons why he did so, and they all revolved around trust in some fashion or another. I’d carried his secret as far as I could, but I couldn’t do this alone. I needed help, and the people who showed up to stand beside me deserved better than to go in blind. They deserved the truth. “It’s being held in the Arnold Arboretum.”

  There was a moment of stunned silence before everyone started speaking at once.

  “Harvard? You want to steal from Harvard?”

  “Do you have any idea how much heat this is going to bring?”

  “The University is going to have a collective fit. They’ll be calling every federal agency they can to investigate.”

  “It will be like the Isabella Stewart Gardener Museum all over again.”

  I held up my hand, slowly closing it into a fist until the conversation dropped off. “We’re doing this people. I’m aware of the implications. Anyone who wants off this train can leave now, but if you stay, then we need to focus. Understood?”

  There was a long silence before heads started nodding.

  “Now, it’s not as bad as it sounds. Right, Auggy?”

  Auggy made a so-so gesture. “It’s pretty bad.”

  I glared at him. “But there are some things in our favor, right, Auggy?”

  Auggy cleared his throat. “Uh, right.”

  “Why don’t you start by taking us through the Arboretum?”

  “Sure, so for those who might not know, the Arnold Arboretum is Harvard’s botanical research institute. It’s the Disneyland of plants. Every green thumb’s dream. They’ve got it all, and if they don’t have it, they can get it. Two-hundred and eight acres of lush greenery.”

  “Last time I heard it was open to the public,” Easton said.

  “For sure,” Auggy said. “Most of the outdoor areas anyway. The rare samples, or those tagged for specific scientific research, are a different story. They’re housed inside the Hunnewell Building.”

  “I know that building,” Tobin said. “I thought it was the visitor center?”

  “It is,” Auggy said. “It’s also home to most of the administrative offices, as well as one of the most exclusive museums in the entire northeast.”

  “Exclusive how?” Warman asked.

  “It’s invitation only,” Auggy said. “The big wigs keep it closed to the public and only allow a select few inside each year. The crème de la crème. Mostly potential donors and political figures.”

  “If it’s that exclusive, then how did you gain entry?” Easton asked.

  “Didn’t I say?” Auggy asked. “I used to work there. Briefly.”

  “You quit?”

  “That’s one way of saying it. Another would be to say I was canned for falling asleep a couple of times. Also, I may have smoked some samples I wasn’t supposed to, but no one could ever prove that.”

  “Christ, almighty,” Easton said.

  “Doesn’t matter why,” I said. “Point is, Auggy’s been inside.”

  “Sure have,” he said. “Employee appreciation night. We spent a whole fifteen minutes inside before they ushered us out.”

  “Oh, well, in that case.” Easton leaned back in his chair and rested his ankle on his opposite knee. “By all means, continue.”

  “Stuff it, Easton,” I said. “The museum is real enough. And Penhaligon believes the White Oak is inside.”

  “Oh, it’s there,” Auggy said. “I totally remember seeing it.”

  My mouth tightened, and I tried hard not to grimace.

  “Suppose for a minute he’s right,” Warman said. “How do we get inside?”

  “That’s the good news,” Auggy said. “The security system inside isn’t any more advanced than you would find at a high-end tech store. All the usual bits are there, but they keep them low key. Something about electromagnetic fields potentially affecting the plant samples. Plus, I mean, who’d really want to steal a bunch of plants or historical junk?”

  Who indeed.

  “The problem isn’t with the security system,” I said. “We’re going to trigger that no matter what. If we had a month to plan, maybe we could come up with some sort of workaround, but we’re only going to get one shot at this, and it has to be now. Which means a smash and grab is our only viable option. Now, good news, the nearest police station is a seven-minute drive. That gives us more than enough time to get in, snag the tree, and get out. Provided we don’t waste time.”

  “Who’s going inside?” Warman asked.

  “Just Auggy and me.”

  He and Tobin started to protest, but I shut them down quick. “It’s not a debate, people. This is how it has to be. Two people can move faster than three. Auggy knows the tree’s location, and I’m not going to stand back and watch anyone else go in my place. Any more than that and we might not make it out in time.”

  Easton raised his hand. “You said that was the good news. What’s the bad?”

  I motioned to Auggy. “Tell them.”

  He took a deep breath. “Skarrson.”

  There was a moment of confused silence before Easton asked, “What’s a Skarrson?”

  “Not what. Who. His full name is Eyvin Skarrson. Former military with a bad attitude. The Arboretum hired him two years ago when they realized they couldn’t turn the place into Fort Knox without disturbing the plant life. He lives on-site, and he knows one screw-up means he’s out of a job. So he takes it seriously.”

  “Meaning that as soon as the alarm goes off, he’ll be breathing down your necks,” Warman said. “You got a plan for him?”

  “Working on it,” I said. “Wouldn’t mind some help. Anyone got any bright ideas?”

  There was a second’s delay, and then all eyes turned toward Easton, who rolled his eyes. “Of course.”

  “Come on Mister Mercenary. You’ve probably planned a hundred of these things. Wow me.”

  “More like several hundred,” he said and sighed. “I assume you want to avoid violence?”

  “At all costs.”

  “Then you’ll need to rely on guile. Distraction. We know the alarm is destined to be tripped, so why not use that in our favor?”

  I leaned back in the chair and considered. “Keep talking.”

  Easton started talking, and we listened as he laid out his advice. Warman and I added in little bits here and there, and half an hour later, we had the makings of a plan. It wasn’t the most cunning thing I’d ever heard, but there was a simplicity to it. Furthermore, there was a chance it might even succeed. The question was whether or not we had the skills to pull it off.

  “Point of order,” Easton said. “Even if we’re successful in acquiring the White Oak sample, we still need to get it to the tower’s entrance which, according to you, we can’t find without a guide.”

  “All true,” I said. “I’ve already put the word out.”

  “And?”

  “Nothing yet.”

  Easton crossed his arms. “Meaning this could all be for naught.”

  “Maybe so, but a guide won’t do us any good if we can’t get inside. So let’s focus on what we can do and take it one step at a time.”

  Warman cleared his throat. “One thing you left out. How are you going to get close enough to the main building without setting off any alarms in the first place?”

  “By going undercover,” I said.

  “As what? Bushes?”

  “Not exactly.” I turned toward Tobin. “How many extra gardener uniforms do you have?”

  The Arnold Arboretum. Friday, August 7th 0415hrs.

  We slept in the office.

  Kind of.

  The memory of the wraiths were still fresh in everyone’s mind, and there was a lot of turning and tossing interspersed with the occasional mumbling or muttered cries as bad dreams circled the room. Warman and I alternated watch, with Easton volunteering for the third shift. In theory, it should have allowed each of us to net four hours of shuteye, but I couldn’t quite bring myself to rest under Easton’s care and ended up sleeping less than two.

  Not good, but it would have to be enough.

  The sun was still down when I rose from beneath my desk. My eyes were gritty, and my head was pounding, but I forced my feet to carry me into the bathroom, where I did my business and cleaned up as best I could. Then I drank a large cup of water and downed a leftover slice of pizza that had hardened during the night. By the time I finished, Warman had risen, and the two of us roused the rest of the party, making sure everyone got some water and something to eat.

  It was still dark when we emerged from the building and made our way into the parking garage. I kept my head on a swivel as we walked down the aisle, but there were no signs of wraiths or anything else. The city around us was still asleep, and we kept our voices low so as not to wake her.

  We’d hammered out the details of the plan the previous night, and Easton and Warman left without a word, off to play their respective parts. Tobin, Auggy, and Alberad came with me, and we loaded up in my car and headed south into Dorchester.

  Tobin’s apartment didn’t allow commercial vehicles, so he rented a storage unit just outside of town to store his lawn care tools and equipment. There was no security to speak of, and we pulled silently inside and parked.

  We exited the car and made our way over to the unit. I’m not sure who noticed the broken lock first, but once we slid the door up it became obvious that someone, likely the wraiths, had been inside.

  They’d turned the place over good, but left the uniforms mostly intact, along with most of the yard equipment. Tobin’s face tightened, but to his credit he didn’t complain, and we gathered what we needed and loaded it up into the trailer. Once that was finished, we dressed quickly, layering the gardener uniforms on overtop our clothes. Tobin had some old hats lying around, along with heavy workmen gloves. I used my knife to remove the uniform logos. Their absence would stick out if anyone stared too closely, but it was better than someone recalling it later and making the connection.

  Once we were dressed and the trailer locked, we settled in to wait. It wasn’t long. Less than fifteen minutes by my watch, before a familiar looking white pickup truck pulled in behind us.

  We’d debated during the night’s planning but ultimately concluded that we couldn’t risk returning to the Berkshire Village Apartments to retrieve Tobin’s vehicle. The chances that the wraiths were watching, or that they might have placed some sort of hidden tracking device, was too high. Luckily, Warman had a truck capable of towing the trailer, and we’d switched out his license plate with one of the vehicles from impound before departing. We’d managed to match the vehicle model, if not the year, although the VIN numbers wouldn’t match if pulled over. Not much we could do about that. That’s the thing about disguises. They usually don’t hold up under scrutiny. They’re meant to help you blend in and pass on by without anyone ever looking twice.

  Warman parked beside the open unit and changed into his gardener’s uniform while we attached the trailer to the back of the truck. Once that was done, we loaded back up. Tobin went with Warman, while Auggy and Alberad remained with me. My vehicle sputtered when I turned the ignition key, and for a brief moment I feared it wasn’t going to start, but then something turned in the engine and the exhaust wheezed like a lifetime smoker as it rumbled to life. The tension in my chest eased a fraction of an inch, and I whispered a small prayer of thanks as we pulled out of the lot and onto the roadway.

  The Arnold Arboretum was located south of downtown, in the Jamaica Plain neighborhood. It was a bit of a drive, but honestly, I was grateful. Boston has a long and sordid history with museum heists. Had the Arboretum been located in Cambridge proper, it would have been… I won’t say impossible, because that sounds negative, but let’s settle on monumentally more difficult. Jamaica Plain, however, was far enough from the city that, should things go sideways, we’d have a better chance of getting away clear.

  Not that I was planning on it or anything. Just playing the “what if” game in my head as we drove.

  The sun peeked its head over the horizon about the time we crossed onto Washington Street via the Arborway. Up ahead, Warman slowed and pulled to the side of the road. I pulled in behind him, and Auggy and I exited the car as Alberad moved up to the driver’s seat.

  “I’ll be close if you need me,” he said. “Never more than a couple of streets away.”

  “Good,” I said. “Circle the block but try not to attract any notice.”

  He nodded and pulled away from the curb. I watched my car putter off down the road. Technically we could have all fit in one car, but having a backup getaway vehicle nearby seemed like the sort of thing that could come in handy if things went sideways.

  And let’s be real. When haven’t they gone sideways? I’d yet to encounter a case, Blue Moon or otherwise, that goes down without at least a minor hitch or three. And this was no ordinary case.

  Once my vehicle disappeared, I pulled my hat low and Auggy and I made our way up to where Warman had pulled over. The doors unlocked as we drew close, and we climbed up inside.

  The truck started moving, and I settled back in my seat, watching through the window as the early morning sun cast its rays through the surrounding trees, painting the leaves with strokes of orange and red.

  There were multiple entrances to the Arboretum, and we’d eventually settled on the South St. entrance. It was further from the Hunnewell Building than I would have liked, but it was also the least likely to have a camera.

  It was still too early for the morning commuters, and we rounded the winding roadway in solitude, the nearby maple, beech and conifer trees standing in quiet congress as we passed. A low stone wall ran the length of the property, its stone body traveling adjacent to us before it ended near the entrance gate.

  Warman pulled the truck right up close. The gate was wrought iron, attached to twin stone posts and held shut by a heavy chain. “Chloe?”

  I reached down by my feet and found the heavy bolt cutter. I slid it over the center console, and Warman nodded his thanks and exited the vehicle. A handful of steps carried him over to the gate, and he brought the ends up and clamped them around the chain’s body. His forearms flexed, and the chain broke with a loud metallic clang. Warman dropped the bolt cutters and unwound the broken chain, tossing it aside before pushing open the gate.

  With the way clear, he retrieved the bolt cutters and returned to the truck.

  A lone bird whistled in the distance as we pulled inside and followed the roadway north, past Bussey Hill and the Explorer’s Garden. Five hundred feet from the Hunnewell Building, we pulled over beside a small grove of tulip trees.

  We exited the vehicle, and I noted the empty parking spots out front of the Hunnewell Building as Warman and Tobin unlocked the back of the trailer and began handing out our equipment.

  We’d kept it light. Trimmers and long handled leaf rakes, along with a couple of backpack style garden sprayers. All things that didn’t look out of place but that could be loaded up in hurry and, if necessary, discarded quickly. I ended up with a backpack sprayer, and once we had our equipment, we closed up the trailer and got to work.

  Seriously.

  In order for our plan to work, we needed to become part of the scenery. To blend in, as it were. And the only way to do that was to play the part.

  The trimmer and weed whackers sang their mechanical chorus as Warman and Tobin made their way around the nearby shrubs. At the same time, Auggy set to raking the fallen leaves, gathering them into small piles for pickup, and I began spraying down the adjacent trees and bushes. The backpack was loaded with water, we didn’t want to hurt the trees after all, and I emptied the majority of its contents as I walked, making a point to lighten the backpack.

  We passed the better part of an hour this way, and gradually, Auggy and I made our way closer to the Hunnewell Building, until we were eventually working around the base. I glanced at my watch several times, silently counting down until the timer reached exactly 07:04 A.M.

  “Showtime,” I whispered, just loud enough for Auggy to hear.

  He nodded, and purposefully turned his back, poking at the ground with his rake.

  I started counting down from twenty in my head but only made it to twelve before an explosion ripped through the Arboretum.

  It was loud, with a capital L, and the blowback almost sat me down on my butt. More importantly, it cut through the nearby trees and the Hunnewell Building, rattling the doors and window as a heavy gout of flame rose in the distance, followed by an ugly black smoke cloud.

  “Holy crap,” Auggy whispered beside me.

  I shared the sentiment. The plan, such as it were, called for Easton to set off the remainder of the fireworks that I’d used to flush Auggy from the trees two nights past. Evidently, he’d taken it upon himself to improvise. I wasn’t sure what he’d just detonated, but it sure as heck wasn’t fireworks.

  Regardless, it had the intended effect.

  The door to the Hunnewell Building burst open, and a heavyset man came racing out. Eyvin Skarrson was on the other side of fifty and had the sort of muscularity that comes from decades of heavy lifting. They weren’t pretty muscles, like Easton had. They were the kind that came through heavy use, twisting wrenches and, when necessary, people. Dressed in a brown, sweat stained shirt with camouflage pants tucked into honest to God combat boots, he came out snarling, a heavy pistol holstered on his hip.

  He paused at the top of the stairs, scanning the environment, and immediately focused on the pair of us. “Hey, you two! What the heck do you think you’re doing?”

  I shook my head. “That wasn’t us, boss. Our crew is all over here. It came from that way.” I motioned in the direction of the explosion, and he followed my fingers, eyes narrowing at the smoking plume still billowing in the distance.

  “Stupid kids,” he said. “Better pray I don’t find them.” He raced down the stairs and over to the parking lot. An olive-green golf cart occupied the first spot. He leaped inside and brought the engine to life before turning and stabbing at me with a thick finger. “Stay here until I get back. You understand me?”