by G M Eppers
“We could just turn them off,” suggested Sylvia half-heartedly. She had her tech in her hand, but hadn’t let go yet. Her tone told me she already knew the answer.
It was a tempting idea, but I shook my head. “No. Old habits die hard. We can’t risk someone forgetting or being tempted if it gets bad in there.” Ha, ha. If, I said. “And if there’s a homing beacon app in the things, it might work even with the power off.” Who was I trying to kid? I had to believe, in my heart, that all this was being overly cautious. That the big conspiracy we were discussing was as much an invention as my demon Butte had been. At the same time, it was a risk we simply could not take. We hadn’t voiced a decision, but it seemed clear that we were going to break into the storage building. It was foolish, but what choice did we have? Our credentials were meaningless. There was suddenly no infrastructure behind them. We couldn’t count on local help at any level. We didn’t really need to say it out loud. And we couldn’t waste any more time. Ms. Vertucci might be alerting her comrades at this moment, and we had no idea who was included in that. But it almost definitely included someone inside that storage building. I could picture her at the microphone, lighting up another cigarette, smug, assured, and confident, calling her Mafia contact and hoping for Brownie points with the bigwigs.
“But we won’t be able to communicate,” Sylvia objected.
That thought had certainly occurred to me, and it was just as terrifying as almost every thought I’d had for the last twelve hours. I was getting really tired of being terrified. What had happened to the easy, relaxing gab fest on the day of the physicals? Sure, I’d been scared then, but scared of Nitro is one thing. Scared of the Mafia is another. “We won’t have to,” I said. “We’re staying together.”
Well, that was a plan, right?
“What about my phone?” Butte asked. “Miss Chiff doesn’t have my contact information.”
“But WHEY does,” I said. And WHEY was also in question, even if it was far less likely.
Butte tossed his phone on the center of the seat. And pulled out a second one from his shirt pocket. He pointed to his discarded phone and said, “work phone,” then pointed at the other and said, “private phone.”
“Private phones?” Oh, we so had to change how we did things. I gave Butte the okay to bring his personal phone and he slipped it solemnly back into his shirt pocket, giving it a little tap for luck.
So once again we climbed out of the van. We still had our guns with extra ammunition, stun guns, and handcuffs, but the HEP belt felt light around my middle. I was also a little concerned about our physical preparedness. We’d been running on adrenaline most of the day, and I was the only one that had had a full night’s sleep, more or less. Well, let’s just say I was rested. Or had been this morning. There’d been food available on the plane, but none of us had had much of an appetite and we’d been too keyed up to sleep. I knew I was beginning to feel the effects, though I would never say anything, and it had to be worse for the others. The fact was there was no time to eat or sleep. We had to do this and we had to do it now. It wasn’t the first time we’d had to forgo sustenance and rest and probably would not be the last, but it seemed particularly unfair just now. I focused on the idea that there would be plenty of time to eat and sleep after we got Billings, Roxy and Nitro back and kicked some Mafia butt. Shouldn’t take more than an hour or so, right? Go in, get out, no problem. Butte pushed the button to lock the van and I felt what a convicted criminal must feel when those cell doors close and lock for the first time as our phones and walkies were locked inside. “Sylvia, I’m guessing the best way in is in the back. With the sun setting, that back door is almost entirely concealed. Or is there a way up and over?”
We walked slowly toward the storage building, resisting the urge to run in headlong. Out on the Mediterranean, the light fluffy clouds had gathered at the horizon and were now tightly packed, resembling a distant mountain range. A storm brewing, possibly. That could mean nothing, or it was a factor that might come into play later. If it was a storm, for example, these guys would not be able to escape us by running onto a boat. They’d never get out of the harbor. And they wouldn’t be able to take off if there was a chopper pad on the roof. We had a better chance of taking them if they couldn’t outrun us. It wasn’t charitable, but I hoped for a hurricane. It would match the raging storm in my head and maybe equalize the balance of power. “There is an up and over, but it might expose us,” Sylvia said. “There’s a camera on an angular vent up there. I saw it on about the third circuit around. It may or may not be active –I didn’t see any light--, but I don’t think we should take that chance. And even if there is a camera focused on the back, they’ll have a hard time spotting us, especially if we space ourselves out.”
“We’re staying together,” I said.
She sighed heavily. “If we all bunch up at that back door, someone’s going to see us. This many can’t hide in the shadows, not even at dusk. The rest should stay around the corner and we should go in one by one, with the usual exception,” she said, referring to the twins, “and gather right inside the door. That’s as close to together as I want to get for this entry. And we’re screwed if there’s surveillance inside the door, anyway. If something happens, whoever is inside has to make enough noise to alert those waiting, who will have to find another way in. Without communications, that’s the best I can come up with.”
It was a crappy plan, and we all knew it. There was no way to allow for the risks involved. In addition to guards and surveillance, there could be booby traps. We didn’t know how many hitmen were in the building or where they were located. The first one through the door could be walking into an ambush, and it would be up to the rest to observe and respond, like the worst trial and error experiment ever. “Okay,” now it was my turn. I had to determine who to send in first. Who to basically sacrifice to the gods of chance. You’ll never guess. Go ahead, try. “I’m taking point. Sylvia, you’re last.”
“Why?” She, like the rest, wanted to go first. We couldn’t all go first, and I had dibs. Dibs is one of the fringe benefits of being a leader. Dibs is short for Delegating Is Bull Shit.
“Because you’re the best at finding alternate routes. You don’t come in unless everyone else is already there.” She pouted, but nodded all the same. The rest of you can do Eeny Meeny Miney Mo or play Rock, Paper, Scissors, or arm wrestle. I don’t care. Butte, I want you to pick a moving buddy. You’re not as experienced at this stuff as we are.”
“Sylvia, you okay with a shadow?” Butte asked a little shyly. I would have thought he’d want to go in sooner, but he explained, “I’ll defer to experience. There’s too much at stake. And bringing up the rear is still a lot of responsibility, isn’t it? Someone has to call 911.”
“911 in Italy is actually 112,” said Badger. “Or 113. Unless the building is on fire, then it’s 115. And 118 if someone skins a knee.”
“I’m not going to remember all that.”
“112, then,” I suggested impatiently. “It’s all-purpose. But only as an absolute last resort.”
“Got it,” Butte replied. This worked out well. He, after all, was the only one who still had a usable phone. Getting authorities involved was risky, but at a certain point someone was going to have to take that risk.
By this time, we’d arrived at the south wall. I’d thought the building was brick, but up close I could see it was simply painted wood. Red, but old and cracked. Like a Seurat painting, up close, you could see the dots, or in this case, bare wood peeking out from the chipping paint. It reminded me of the wall of a barn. We huddled out of sight of the most likely locations for cameras, around the corner. I leaned forward to look at the black patch of shadow that marked the alcove of the door. It was quiet. The setting sun gave everything a soft, orange glow, glinting off the outer wall of the metallic dumpster like a flame, the light vanishing almost immediately inside the alcove. The country was getting ready for bed and I stifled a yawn. I could not afford
to get sleepy now. The adrenaline had picked a fine time to come up dry. I took a deep breath of the fish-infested air and incredibly I detected the distinctive odor of Limburger. It was still mild, but it was closer now. I leaned back again. “Sir Haughty, do you smell that?”
“Limburger,” he said with a nod. “No more than two weeks old at most. It’s likely they expect to ship it out one way or the other before it matures.” Whether they planned to truck it out overland or ship it by, um, ship, we couldn’t know, but they wanted both routes open before they made their move, and the overland route was proving very difficult to clear. We pesky CURDS people were decidedly in the way. They might even be planning a route by air, I thought. Somewhere a pilot and steward were wearing starfish under their wings. We knew how to find them now, if only we knew who to tell. Once again, our isolation hit me full force and I had to shake my head and focus.
“People first. Then Uber.”
“You don’t have to tell us,” Badger said. “I checked the signals on the GPS before I turned off my phone. They appeared to be centrally located inside the building. They’re all together.”
“That’s the first thing to go our way since we got to Europe,” I commented. “Thanks, Badger.” I slipped quietly around the corner and inched along the wall toward the alcove.
When Billings was little, he loved to play Hide and Seek. He preferred hiding, but I don’t think he trusted me to find him. He thought I’d amuse myself for an hour or so before checking the closet or behind the couch. The truth was, he was a darn good hider and it really took me that long to freaking find him. Once, I found him in the clothes dryer and had to tell him that was off limits in the future, and I explained why. He was okay with that. Once he’d used a spot, he almost never went back to it. In fact, I knew where not to bother looking by where he’d hidden before. And still it would take me ages to track him down, until he couldn’t hold in the giggles. We tried it the other way, with him seeking, but he didn’t find that as much fun. I had a harder time hiding, I guess. Even though I’m a small adult, I’m still much bigger than a six-year-old and couldn’t fit in as many places. He didn’t find seeking very rewarding. But he could sit still and quiet in the dark for a very long time listening to me ransack the house. This was just like a game of Hide and Seek, and I tried to remember that as I crept along the wall. It had taken a long time, but I would find him, just like I always had. The problem was, this time he probably was not going to giggle.
Soon, I was in the dark zone, and I stopped for my eyes to adjust. At first, I couldn’t even see the dumpster unless I looked back, and I didn’t want to bump into it. It would make noise and probably give me a bruise. There were other obstacles, as it turned out. A number of large wooden crates were stacked next to the dumpster, and a large cardboard box had collapsed well into the alleyway. I edged around it and found the door, hoping that it wasn’t locked. But of course it was. There was a deadbolt and a locking knob.
Pulling out my gun, I checked to make sure the safety was on, then turned it around and used the butt end as a hammer. Rather than hitting the knob, which would have made quite a bit of noise and taken longer to break, I hammered at the wood around it. There was still noise as the wood slowly began to crack, but not as much as metal hitting metal. Note to anyone thinking of buying locks: a lock is only as good as the material it’s attached to. The wood was very old and dry and splintered more with each strike, and I added a bit more force each time. I had to keep checking the safety before each hit as well. I’d look really stupid shooting myself trying to break in to a wooden storage building. If CURDS didn’t collapse after this, I was going to strongly consider asking for an all-purpose tool for our HEP belts. The belts would only hold so much, of course, and I didn’t want to turn us into a team of MacGyvers, but our toolkit did seem a bit insufficient just then. After a moment, I stopped to listen in case a guard or sentry would come running to investigate. But it was quiet, and I went back to hammering. The handle broke away from the door first. Then I moved up to the deadbolt. After just a little more damage I was able to grasp the edges of broken wood carefully and pull the door open, leaving the handle set and deadbolt hanging, still attached to the door frame. I didn’t notice it then, but later I would find a number of splinters in my fingers and would require a round of strong antibiotics. Rusty hinges squeaked and the bottom of the door scraped against the ground.
No one jumped out at me and the inside was dimly lit. It could just as easily have been blinding, so I considered myself lucky on that account. The door opened into a hallway that extended about 30 feet, then became a T junction. The walls were off white, and uninterrupted. No other doors in sight. Not even a wall switch. The single bare bulb must be controlled elsewhere. I stepped inside, flipping the gun in my hand and releasing the safety in one smooth motion. I gripped it with both hands, the gun elbow relaxed and loose and the other locked straight. I walked forward a few feet to wait for the others to follow me, watching the T-junction for company.
I had time to realize that the feather on the dart was tickling my earlobe, and thought that at least I was finally going to get some sleep.
Chapter Three
When I came to, it was pitch dark. The first thing I noticed was that my shoulders ached like the proverbial Dickens (how much did he ache, anyway, and why?) and my wrists and hands were close to numb. The second thing I noticed was that I was unexpectedly vertical. I moved my wrists and found that I was hanging from some kind of pipe, which I grabbed onto to take the weight off my shoulders. I must have groaned, but I don’t remember for what happened next was too exciting for words.
“Hey, Lady. You awake?”
It was Billings’ voice, and it was the sweetest music to my ears I could possibly imagine. But ‘Hey, Lady?’
Fortunately, I got the message before I blurted out a response. Billings was using CURDS Capture Protocol, a set of rules taught at the Academy the way other schools taught calculus or art appreciation. Something meant to be purely academic, with little or no practical use in the real world. Rule Two of the CCP was not to use any names or titles in conversation to avoid giving your captors inadvertent information like who is in charge or that you have a personal relationship with a fellow captive. Facts like that can be used against you. Rule One is to always assume your captors are listening, even if they are not in the room with you. Which means that Rule Two applies all the time, even when you are hanging in total darkness. There are 84 rules in all, most of which deal with very specific and rare circumstances. But the fact that he was invoking them meant he had reason to believe that our captors did not know who we were. It might seem like an impossibility. They kidnapped us. You’d think they’d know why. However, as a general rule in these circumstances, our captors were not the top guy. The top guy would never get his hands dirty, and it was highly likely that the top guy would not share all the details with his subordinates. Said top guy would prefer to make an entrance. In the meantime, the ignorance of the underlings could be a very useful tool. Billings had alerted me to all this in just those four words.
“Hey!” I responded, having a hard time keeping the joy out of my voice. The ache in my shoulders was lessening now that I was holding onto the pipe, but I knew it wouldn’t go away entirely. And my hands were starting to tingle back to life with their own stinging pain. The best thing to do is not to dwell on it, I remembered. Distract yourself. “What the heck is going on here?”
“I don’t know.” He sounded close, but there was virtually no light at all. It had been dusk when I entered the building, so at least a couple of hours had passed. Perhaps more. Roxy and Nitro had to be here as well. I could hear chains clinking and wooden rafters creaking. “I’ve tried. They haven’t asked me any questions, as far as I can tell. They just keep speaking Italian.” Well, I was pretty sure I knew what this was all about, but it had all been figured out after Billings was taken, so he was still clueless. And I couldn’t tell him. That would be against the CCP
, though I wasn’t entirely sure which number rule it was.
“Who is ‘they’?” I asked.
“They didn’t use any names. Two men. I was asleep when they brought in the other woman, but I saw them bring in another man. He was unconscious, too, just like when they brought you in.”
That would be Roxy and Nitro. “Anyone else here? Or is it just the four of us?”
Billings said, “as far as I know, it’s just us four. Unless they brought in someone else after it got dark. But I didn’t hear anything. I was dozing a bit, though. And if he or she is still unconscious we wouldn’t know the difference. They sure like knocking people out.”
I nodded, even though he couldn’t see me. “Tranquilizer dart. I just had time to realize it before I passed out. Never heard it coming.” I’d flagellate myself later for that. The way Nitro had been taken should have been a huge red flag. And I hadn’t had time to make any noise to warn the others, either. I was kind of surprised it was just us. I could easily picture a regular assembly line of captures in that hallway as one after another came in and got darted then carted away. You’d think the collection would be complete by now.
“They took my shoes,” said Roxy, suddenly. My head swiveled instinctively. She was on the other side of me somewhere. She made it sound like they had taken a limb rather than her bargain sky blue Christian Louboutins.
“And my … belt,” said Nitro from a little further off, avoiding any admission that it was a special kind of belt. His belt would include his field medical kit, too, as well as the gun, cuffs, walkie, phone and ammunition. Say goodbye to those precious pharmaceuticals. Even if we got away, they got plenty of high value merchandise in this deal. The cost of it all would probably come out of my next several paychecks and right now I felt bad enough about the whole thing that I wouldn’t even object. I felt I deserved to work for free for a year.