Perfect Plan

The Second Major Event

A theft occurred at the Metropolitan Museum. A small ancient Egyptian statuette of a hippopotamus, made of blue faience and known by the nickname "William," was stolen from the museum. Despite the historical and cultural significance of the artifact, neither the NYPD, nor the local media, nor even city officials paid it much attention. Still, The New York Times and the New York Police Department did provide minimal coverage of the incident.

The New York Times published a few lines buried within its pages:

"On September 9th, an ancient Egyptian artifact - a blue faience hippopotamus statuette known as 'William' - was stolen from the Metropolitan Museum. The museum administration is offering a $30,000 reward for its voluntary return. Anyone with information is urged to call the museum using the contact details on the official website."

The NYPD also mentioned the event on its website in a brief notification:

"The NYPD reports that on the morning of September 9th, the Metropolitan Museum's administration filed a written complaint about the theft of an ancient Egyptian blue faience statuette in the form of a hippopotamus nicknamed 'William.' According to preliminary data, the crime was committed at night in just 50 seconds. The museum guard disabled the alarm and failed to report the incident to the police, assuming it was a false alarm, since the alarm had gone off twice earlier. Our specialists responded twice but found nothing suspicious. The identity of the perpetrator is still being established. The NYPD will report the findings of its investigation."

Envy is a treacherous thing. It can strike you at any moment, and you're not always equipped to deal with it - especially when you see others succeed, while you've accomplished nothing in life.

Larry Penn had been restless for days. He had just returned from a reunion in Provo, Utah - a small town where his high school class had gathered for their 20-year reunion. As is often the case at such events, everyone - some more, some less - had found success. They all showed up with beautiful wives, expensive suits, and luxury cars, their eyes glowing with confidence. Even Eric, the small, freckled guy with the squeaky voice who had once been invisible in school, showed up with a leggy brunette. Only Larry had no family, no career to boast of. He told everyone he was an art dealer - it felt too humiliating to admit he was just a tour guide. Well, not just any guide - he conducted tours in Chinese for Chinese tourists. Knowing Chinese was his proudest accomplishment.

Larry drove a beat-up old car he called his "rusty chariot." He lived on the outskirts of New York City in a rundown house in the middle of nowhere. His car was falling apart, and he knew none of it resembled success. He hadn't achieved anything. He didn't even finish university - he'd been expelled in his sophomore year along with his friend Eric. They had been late to a philosophy lecture they thought was a waste of time.

The young professor had said, "Scientists who study the mysteries of space ask if there's life on Mars. But we study the mysteries of existence - like which came first, the chicken or the egg."

"I've heard that a hundred times. He's so boring," Eric said, annoyed.

"Yeah, that egg-headed chicken with his nonsense," Larry chimed in. Both laughed loudly.

"What's so funny?" asked the professor. It was the question they seemed to be waiting for. A verbal altercation turned physical. One of them hit the professor in the ribs, and they both beat him badly enough that he spent a month in the hospital. The university's disciplinary board expelled them for misconduct. To this day, they blamed each other - each claiming the other started it.

That's how Larry became a tour guide. Meanwhile, Eric, thanks to his mother's family connections, had built a good life. He started out working in his uncle Josh's antique shop and eventually became an independent art dealer.

After the reunion, Larry couldn't sleep. He couldn't eat. One thought haunted him: How did everyone else find success while he was stuck in a dump like this? *Where could he get money -*a lot of money - enough to escape this mess and finally feel like he deserved more?

Sitting in his old house, Larry thought, I should take the car in for repairs - the brakes are acting up. He looked outside. It was raining. Tomorrow, maybe. Lazily, he grabbed the TV remote and switched to the news. They were talking about rising food prices. He clicked his tongue in frustration.

"Of course, they've stolen everything up top, and we're left in the mud." Water started dripping from the ceiling again. Muttering, he placed a bucket under the leak. Cobwebs hung from the ceiling corners. Then the phone rang.

"Hey, Larry, buddy, how's it going?"

"Hey, Eric… not great," Larry started, but Eric cut him off.

"Listen, I've got something for you - if you're in, you'll earn big. Let's meet. Not something to talk about over the phone."

Thirty minutes later, Larry was standing at the entrance to Sky, a rooftop restaurant atop one of the city's tallest skyscrapers. He knew this place: luxury, exclusivity, the kind of place most people never experience. On the terrace, Larry breathed in the fresh night air, sensing that tonight would be different.

Eric sat at a table, wearing a suit that could cost a corporate worker several months' salary. Larry took a seat across from him, and they ordered dinner. Eric began explaining the idea. This was an once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. The Westcar Papyrus - an ancient Egyptian artifact that had never left the Berlin Egyptian Museum - was coming to New York for a short 15-day exhibition. It would draw every lover of ancient Egyptian art like a star on another continent.

"In a week, the Metropolitan Museum will host the Westcar Papyrus for just 15 days," Eric said.

"Wait, how do you know that? Did you read about it in the papers or online? I didn't tell you…" Larry asked, suspicious.

"Don't ask. I just know. The point is, we need to take that papyrus. There's a buyer offering more money than you can imagine. You do it right, and you get your share."

The client Eric mentioned was none other than Hugo Kaiman

Six months earlier, in Lord's living room, Hugo Kaiman had learned that the Westcar Papyrus had once belonged to the Orlando family.

"You know, Hugo," said Lord Orlando, "I have a mission. The Westcar Papyrus once belonged to my family. My great-great-grandfather led an expedition to Egypt and found this magical papyrus. In 1920, a German Egyptologist named Karl Kluger claimed he wanted to study it and lived in my grandfather's house for three months. Years later, another American scholar discovered the papyrus had been swapped. Kluger took the original to Germany. Now it's in Berlin. I want it back. Can you arrange that?"

"Of course, Lord Orlando. I'd love to help. But we need to plan this carefully."

Taking Hugo's advice, Lord Orlando used his connections. The Metropolitan Museum negotiated with the Berlin Museum to borrow the Westcar Papyrus for 15 days as part of German Cultural Month in New York. Hugo, in turn, contacted Eric - he had recently bought a Degas "Ballerina" painting from him for Lord Orlando. Hugo's plan was to avoid using professionals to keep the operation discreet. The risk was high; it could either succeed or fail completely.

 ***

"How big a sum are we talking about?" Larry asked, burning with curiosity.

"My dear Larry," Eric said, "with what my client's offering, you could live the rest of your life like a king. Your cut is a million dollars. How's that sound?"

Larry's palms started sweating. He wiped them on his pants and rubbed his knees.

"Now tell me - how's the security setup at the Met?" Eric asked eagerly.

Larry took a sip of water, his mouth suddenly dry. A middle - aged Asian waiter with a stylish haircut brought two plates of lobster bisque. Neither man touched their food. When the waiter left, Larry began.

"They're planning to display the Westcar Papyrus in the Egyptian Hall, next to the 'Queen's Face.'"

"What's the "Queen's Face"? Speak plainly."

"You don't know? You call yourself an art dealer?" Larry teased.

"I'm not just a dealer - I'm a specialist," Eric replied smugly and dug into his soup.

"Well then," Larry said, pausing to collect his thoughts, "the "Fragment of the Queen's Face" is not just an artifact - it's a mystery. Its origins are still unknown. It draws scholars and enthusiasts like a magnet."

He dipped a crusty piece of bread into the creamy bisque.

"Now that's what I'm talking about," Eric said with satisfaction.

"Eric, how are we supposed to pull this off? The museum is tightening security - modern alarms, extra guards… It won't be easy."

"That's your job. Figure it out - if you want that million," Eric snapped.

"With that kind of money, I will figure it out. This is an once-in-a-lifetime chance."

"Exactly."

After their meal, Larry kept repeating to himself on the way home: "One million dollars. One million dollars." He had two days to come up with a plan and tell Eric how he would make it happen.

 ***

Two days ago, in a gloomy New York apartment, the phone rang. Robert Lee, a specialist in security systems, picked up - yes, some people still used landlines. On the other end was Larry Penn.

"I've got a job," Larry said. "We need to steal the ancient Egyptian artifact known as the Westcar Papyrus. Do it right, and you'll make serious money." His voice promised riches, and Robert was intrigued.

Larry had met Robert three years earlier at the gym, where Robert walked across the bridge to DUMBO twice a week. One day, there was a scuffle between some regulars. Larry, tall and broad-shouldered, had defended Robert. That's how their friendship began. Robert, of medium height and build, was a Vietnamese immigrant who had taken an American name - a common practice.

They met at the gym at 7 p.m., then headed to a local pizza place called Papa Pizza on the corner. It was late, and the place was nearly empty. A young couple was paying at the register, and an old man was finishing the last slice of his pie.

They ordered a large cheese and pepperoni pizza. Robert opened a bottle of coconut water - his favorite since childhood. Larry set down a mug of black tea, added two thin slices of lemon, and no sugar. Robert drank deeply, savoring the flavor, as they began to plot the heist of a lifetime.

***

Nine years ago, when Robert Lee first arrived in the United States, he initially lived in San Francisco. Like many immigrants who didn't speak English, he survived on odd jobs at first. Learning English was difficult for him; he couldn't seem to grasp it. But he had other skills. Robert was good with technology - he could easily repair a TV, refrigerator, or washing machine. He worked wherever he could, doing everything from cleaning public toilets to working on construction sites.

Despite all the challenges, he managed to save up enough money to complete an electrician training course. He first got a job with a company that installed intercoms and later switched to a company that specialized in security systems. Robert was a fast learner and a diligent employee. He was eventually assigned to a special team responsible for installing alarm systems in luxury villas. Most of these complex systems were ordered by newly-minted millionaires from Silicon Valley for their mansions.

Robert's work wasn't hard, and the pay was good. All those millionaires were young - some ran tech companies, others owned their own startups. Robert was always amazed: they're half my age, and they live like kings. What makes them so special?

One day, while installing a system in one such home, he met a massive, bald man named Rex, an immigrant from Nicaragua who worked as a bodyguard for the wealthy homeowner. The homeowner was rumored to be the head of a mafia group known as "Bormann," said to be the one supplying Silicon Valley's elite with contraband goods.

Among immigrants - despite their differences in nationality, race, and religion - there was an unspoken brotherhood. They were all chasing the American Dream, each believing they would pull the "golden ticket." Rex, more pragmatic and realistic than most, would often tell fellow immigrants:

"Brothers, remember this: don't trust anyone. They'll sell you out the moment it's convenient. If you don't want to be sold - sell first."

Rex would occasionally supply Robert with high-quality goods - branded clothing, smartphones, laptops. Robert resold them to other immigrants and lived large - at least by his own standards. He had a favorite phrase he'd learned easily: "America is heaven on earth."

But one day, Rex offered him a job that paid $25,000. Robert had to disable the alarm system in Mr. X's house. Rex and his crew planned to break in and steal money from the safe. Mr. X's personal assistant, who had seen the safe's contents, estimated it held about a million dollars. The assistant let Robert and the safecracker into Mr. X's house.

Robert did his part: he disabled the main alarm and the one in the room with the safe. The safecracker did his job, too - opened the safe in 15 minutes. The assistant took the money. But because none of them were professional criminals, the job fell apart.

Mr. X had three black Tibetan Mastiffs - huge, lion-like dogs. The assistant knew about the dogs, of course - he had seen them often when visiting Mr. X's house.

Rex waited outside in a black van. As soon as the crew stepped outside with the money, the dogs came charging. Terrified, all three fled. Robert was the first to reach the van.

"Those dogs are monsters!" he said in a shaky, tearful voice.

"Where are the others?" Rex growled.

"I don't know!"

"Go check!"

"You go! I'm not going out there. Those things aren't dogs - they're man-eaters!"

"What the hell?! I said go!" Rex shouted.

Robert curled up in the corner of the van, making it clear he wasn't moving. Eventually, he was forced out to see what was going on. At the gate, he saw the safecracker dragging Mr. X's assistant.

"He's hurt! Start the van!" the man yelled.

One of the dogs had sunk its teeth into the assistant's leg. The safecracker barely pulled him free. The money was scattered and left behind in Mr. X's yard.

After that incident, Robert fled San Francisco and moved to New York.

***

They brought the cheese pizza, and to Robert's surprise, it was loaded with cheese. They each grabbed a slice - it was still hot.

"Alright, Larry, spill it. What's the job?" Robert asked, biting into the cheesy slice.

"Listen, there's a client who's ready to pay a mountain of cash. You wouldn't believe the amount. We need to take the Westcar Papyrus from the museum. It's going on display at the Met next week. Robert, you need to disable the alarm. If you do it right - you get $100,000."

"How much? A hundred grand?" Robert repeated.

"Yeah, one hundred."

"Listen, Larry, disabling the alarm at the Met won't be easy. I'm sure the system is complex. I'll need the museum's electrical schematics. If you can get me the wiring diagrams, I'll see what I can do. The money's good, I don't want to turn it down."

"And without the schematics? Can't you manage?"

"No, I can't do it blind. Talk to the museum's electrician - there must be one."

"Yeah, there is. I'll have to cut him in, then."

"So what's your plan, Larry?"

"I don't have one yet. I don't know how we're gonna pull it off."

"Larry, this has to be thought through. We can't mess it up."

"I'll disable the alarm, but what then? Are you just going to walk in and grab the papyrus?"

"I don't know, Robert. Don't ask me!" Larry snapped.

"If you don't know, why are you even doing this?"

"Because I need the money! I really need it!" Larry slammed his hand on the table.

"Alright, calm down. We all need money. Let's go to my place and talk this out."

"You're right. Finish your drink. Let's take the rest of this pepperoni pizza with us."

"Leave the pizza" said Larry. Robert ignored him, carefully stacking the remaining slices of cheese pizza on top of the pepperoni and closing the box. "Now we're good."

It was already dark outside. The air smelled like autumn.

"Cold already… I should've worn a hat. I hate the cold. It was so warm and nice in San Francisco," Robert mumbled as he followed Larry to the rusty car.

It was a 10-minute drive to Robert's place. They made it in 9, riding in silence, each of them deep in thought.

Robert lived on the 5th floor of a 12-story building in Chinatown. Larry headed toward the elevator.

"Elevator's out. We'll take the stairs," Robert said.

"Figures. This elevator's always out. How do you even live here?"

"People get used to it," Robert shrugged.

A heavy iron door creaked open. The first thing that caught the eye was the worn-out wallpaper, faded from age. The carpet on the floor was stained and worn. Dusty bulbs cast a dull light. The room was nearly empty—just two armchairs with filthy armrests, once stylish furniture. A cracked coffee table sat in the corner. An orange lighter lay on it. Larry picked it up and tossed it in the air, then dropped into an armchair. Robert placed the pizza box on the table.

"Nice antiques, Bobby," Larry joked.

"Just old junk. I should really clean up one day."

"You want something to drink?"

"What've you got?"

"Homemade kombucha."

Robert returned with two glass bottles, handing one to Larry.

"Here's what I think, Larry: I'll disable the alarm. But who's going into the gallery? You?"

"No, I can't. I'm too tall, too bulky, and I work there - they'll spot me instantly. You're slim and not too tall. You'll go in and take the papyrus."

"Okay, but how are you getting me into the museum?"

"I don't know yet. I haven't figured that out."

"Don't stress - I've got it. We stage a broken sewage pipe. I go in as a plumber."

"You want me to break the pipes in the museum bathroom?!" Larry shouted.

"Calm down. Talk to the real plumber - maybe he can help. We might have to cut him in too."

"I'll be splitting the money with the whole Metropolitan staff at this rate! Do you even know what my classmates are driving? All of them in fancy cars - Mercedes. Their wives are model material. Each has at least three kids. And me? No cat, no dog - nothing. Just a rusty junker and a string of women from dating apps. I used to be the coolest guy in school. Every girl in Provo wanted me. I'll show them all. I will show them who Larry Penn is!"

Robert listened silently, then said:

"Let's keep the emotions out of this. We'll pull off the job, and your life will change for the better."

"Now you sound like one of those Chinese philosophers. What are you, Confucius now?"

"No, I'm not Confucius. I'm just a little guy, like you, who wants to live with dignity. My dad used to say, 'He who can read complex hieroglyphs will earn with his mind.' I didn't study, so now I live like this - scraping by in a rat hole." His voice trembled with sadness and bitterness.

"Alright, let's stop arguing. Any ideas how we're doing this?" Larry asked, calmer now.

"Talk to the electrician and the plumber. Tomorrow we'll all meet back here. Everyone involved. 7:30 p.m."

"Yeah, 7:30. Got it. By the way, got a picture of the papyrus? What does it even look like?"

"No photo. Come to the museum during the exhibition - I'll get you in. Staff get guest passes for friends and family. Use that. You'll see it for yourself. But let me tell you about it…"

Larry was a great storyteller - an experienced tour guide who genuinely loved his job. He often received enthusiastic applause from tourists.

***

A long time ago, thousands of years ago in Ancient Egypt, there lived a great Pharaoh named Khufu. He built golden temples and colossal pyramids that reached toward the stars. No one knew how he did it. People feared and worshipped him.

One day, Pharaoh Khufu held a feast in his palace, inviting storytellers, astrologers, and wise men - each hoping to amaze him.

Some sang sad songs of love and loss. Others made him laugh with witty tales. Some read the stars to foretell the future. Pharaoh rewarded them all with golden dinars.

Then, an old wise man in worn robes, named Haset, stepped forward. Bowing, he spoke:

"O greatest of rulers, I had a dream I must tell you. A priestess named Ramisa, the most beautiful and wise woman ever created by Amun, will bear you three sons. Blessed by the god Ra, they will become pharaohs. They will build a mighty kingdom and expand your rule. Legends of your Golden Dynasty will echo for millennia. These sons, blessed with secret knowledge from the gods, will possess wisdom, strength, and dominion over all peoples."

"Believe this or not, the choice is yours, mighty Pharaoh," Haset finished, bowing.

Pharaoh stopped him: "If your dream comes true, you shall be my sons' tutor. If not - I'll cut out your tongue!"

Luckily, the dream came true. Ramisa gave birth to three sons, as foretold. They became the founders of Pharaoh Khufu's lineage, known as the Golden Dynasty. Haset lived the rest of his days in comfort, never lacking anything.

The papyrus tells this legend. But parts of it remain undeciphered. They say whoever deciphers the ancient hieroglyphs will gain access to the secret knowledge of the gods.

Larry noticed Robert's captivated expression. Smiling, he added:

"That's the piece of paper we're after, buddy. It's an honor to steal a papyrus that holds secret, undiscovered knowledge."

"You told it so well, now I want the magical papyrus myself. But we'll need serious preparation."

"Agreed," Larry yawned. "It's late. I'll talk to the guys and see you tomorrow at 7:30."

"Yup, 7:30 sharp. See you."

And with that, Larry drove home in his rusty chariot under the midnight sky.