The electronic lock released the door latch with a loud click. Eric smirked and put the rigged key card into the breast pocket of his close-fitting, black jacket. Without the correct access codes the state-of-the-art security system should have barred him from entry; but fortunately for him, the manufacturer did not take the security of its own computer network too seriously and so Eric had been able to compromise the system's software. He made sure the silent alarm had not been triggered with a short glance at his mobile, then pushed the heavy door open a crack and slipped through. For a moment he paused motionless on the other side and listened carefully, but apart from the pounding of blood in his ears everything remained quiet.
The cone of light from his flashlight danced over the dark gray marble when he unerringly crossed the old mansion's foyer, then turned left until he stood in front of another door. Behind it, a steep flight of stairs led down to the cellar. Meticulously, he closed the door behind him, switched on the lights and waited patiently until his eyes had adapted to the sudden brightness, then unhurriedly walked down the narrow steps. At the foot of the stairs he paused to get his bearings. On the right hand side, a passage opened to the small room that housed the security system's server rack, with a generous wine cellar located to the left, and straight ahead, at the end of a short corridor, a massive steel door beckoned him.
"One thing after another!" he admonished himself and turned to the server rack first. Its primitive lock did not put up any serious resistance and a few seconds later he pulled out the keyboard tray, then his gloved fingers flew over the keys when he entered a string of commands into the system's console, disabling all of the connected alarms. In due course, the program would delete his back door into the system and remove all traces of his nocturnal visit, but in the meantime he could look around at will.
When he routinely called up a list of all reporting points connected to the system, Eric was in for a surprise. The configuration had been substantially upgraded with respect to the original plans he had gained access to. An entire network segment had been added. Another query provided him with the location data for the new sensors but since he had only a text console available, Eric had to strain his excellent spatial ability to interpret the data.
He whistled softly through his teeth because, apparently, treasures were not to be found beyond the vault door at the corridor's end alone. It seemed there existed another, rather generously sized basement room that, interestingly, was missing from any official plan of the house. Judging from his many years of experience with his clientèle, such caches often held more lucrative booty than the official safes or vaults, to which inquisitive tax inspectors or other public servants could demand access at any time. In addition, his involuntary benefactors often preferred to tacitly accept the loss of assets stored in such places rather than bother the authorities with their theft.
One thing was strange, though. Why had the sensors, which according to the listed device IDs also included cameras and microphones, been placed inside the cache? Eric frowned. He recalled what few facts his research in the run-up to the break-in had brought to light about his current victim, Prof. Dr. Reinhard Hartmann. He was a middle aged physician and art dealer, fabulously wealthy, well-established and well-connected in the highest social circles for many years, yet he was always careful to avoid any publicity. This morning he had departed for Eastern Europe, which incidentally was the reason for Eric's unannounced visit to his castle-like home. What would such a man want to keep secret from the authorities?
Visions of stolen art treasures filled Eric's mind, for although they were difficult to unload, potentially they were very profitable as well for someone with the right set of connections; yet probably still nothing that would justify the surveillance equipment he had stumbled upon. On the other hand, notable individuals who had come to wealth by rather dubious means happened to be prone to certain forms of paranoia...
Further speculation clearly was not letting him make any headway. He envisioned the coordinates of the reporting points until he was positive where he had to look. The rear wall of the wine cellar was occupied by a head-high, apparently continuous shelf, but Eric knew better now. About three strides from its left-side end, he began to systematically examine the rows of dusty bottles of red wine, then while scanning the Burgundy vintages his efforts were rewarded. The layer of dust on a 1995 Corton seemed much less pronounced than that on adjacent bottles and using his flashlight, he discovered a nondescript, narrow slit in the wall behind it.
His hunting instinct was stirred. Without hesitation, Eric pulled out the rigged key card and inserted it in the slot. A subdued clicking sound proved he was on the right track. Experimentally, he shook the wine rack to find that a meter-wide section could effortlessly be pulled forward and swung aside. In the masonry revealed behind it, the outlines of a narrow rectangle could be discerned and when Eric pressed against it, the camouflaged door swung open silently, granting access to a small, apparently empty chamber only dimly lit from behind. The actual treasure had to be stored beyond the heavy steel door that was set into the rear wall facing the entrance. When Eric entered the chamber, the lights suddenly switched on. He flinched and instinctively took a step back, his shoulder colliding with the door frame before he could recover his composure. Cursing softly he rubbed his aching shoulder.
All of a sudden his elation was gone to be replaced by a certain uneasiness. Normally, he could not be discomfited so easily, but in his considered opinion this night had brought enough surprises already, and Eric hated surprises. In his field they usually indicated a lack of planning and thus rarely boded well.
He vowed to proceed more cautiously, and looked about thoroughly before he made the next step. The steel door that controlled entry to the next room appeared to be very sturdy, but fortunately was secured by another electronic lock that in all likelihood would succumb to his virtual master key just as easily as had the others so far. At eye level, there was a narrow observation slit covered by a panel that would allow Hartmann to visually inspect his treasures without having to open the door. The treasure chamber would have to wait, however, because true to his resolution not to rush ahead, Eric first turned to the flat metal cabinet that occupied the vestibule's narrow right side wall.
He opened the cabinet's door and unexpectedly found himself faced with an assortment of weapons that would put a SWAT team's arsenal to shame. In addition to guns of all calibers, it contained menacingly looking, automatic weapons whose possession was not covered by any firearms license he knew about, as well as a taser, several knives and even a Japanese looking, very sharp sword.
Eric was mystified. Either the good professor was one of those gun nuts who figured to survive World War III well-armed in his own private basement bunker or he spent his spare time as some sort of masked avenger like Batman. Both ideas seemed equally absurd to Eric. Yet he could not picture Hartmann as a trigger-happy mobster either; in those spheres of society one rather bent the law, if necessary, instead of breaking it, no doubt out of respect for "its majestic equality, forbidding the rich as well as the poor to sleep under bridges, to beg in the streets, and to steal bread." (Anatole France)
Thoughtfully, he closed the weapon locker. It was time to risk a look into the compartment beyond the steel door and so with a vague sense of unease he slid aside its cover and peered through the observation slit. At first, Eric believed he was confronted with the laboratory of some modern day follower of Dr Frankenstein, but as his eyes became accustomed to the dim light and he was able to pick out further details of the equipment distributed over the entire room, he realized his mistake. What he really faced was for all practical purposes the modern, clinical-looking version of a torture chamber.
Eric let his eyes roam slowly around the spacious, white-tiled room. Some type of treatment chair, resembling those found in a dentist's surgery, took center stage. Steel brackets for fixing the "patient" suggested that the treatment would be carried out regardless of any attempt to offer resistance. Right next to it was a couch, also equipped with analogous restraints as well as metal leg-rests akin to those of a gynecological chair. Near the right wall stood a wide table with a stool in front of it; the technical equipment arranged on the table top looked as though it might actually belong in a lab. In the semi-darkness, a solid steel cage could be seen at the room's rear end, and the left wall was graced by a metal lattice from which numerous chains hung, as did others from the surprisingly high ceiling where an electric hoist was installed.
Eric tore himself away from the sight of the room beyond the heavy steel door and deliberated. Hartmann undoubtedly pursued an exotic hobby and the effort he had put into disguising his 'hobby room' suggested that this was far more than just the playroom of a closet sadomasochist.
