John’s wife’s family consisted of a bunch of Bible thumpers who didn’t like football. How they grew up in Texas and could think that football was an oafish game with too much violence, he’d never know. They would honestly rather watch a movie or sit around and talk about their church doings than watch a game.
Now John didn’t mind church doings, but those were conversations best left for when there wasn’t a football game to watch. A man had to have priorities after all, John mused as he adjusted the security monitors. If he turned the monitors to just the right angles, he could see them without having to turn his head too far from the television or move too much in his reclining office chair.
Branker’s, the security company John worked for, was a great company. They understood their employees’ needs. They expected you to watch the security cameras and keep an eye on the place, but they also provided satellite TV, coffee, and a refrigerator full of cold cuts with all the fixings, two kinds of bread, a dozen or so types of canned soda, fruit juice and if he got lucky, a few cans of Lone Star beer buried in the back. The supervisors all knew about the beer, but they didn’t say a word as long as you didn’t drink too much or get caught by the refinery guys. Of course, you had to have all the paperwork done right and on time, but that was a piece of cake.
“John, you take care now. You’ve got my number if there are any problems.” Will Davis, the plant’s security supervisor reminded him as he stepped to the door on his way out for the holiday. “And don’t forget to drive the perimeter now and then. Those damn kids have been cutting the fence and stealing gas from tank twelve again, okay?”
“Yeah, sure, I’ll keep an eye out for them. How many guys are working in the plant over the holiday?” John asked.
“There’s only a crew of three techs and a new trainee. I think the trainee is from Qatar or somewhere. Rumor has it he’s part of the merger that everyone is talking about. Their shift ends at eight this morning and then you’ll be completely alone until Friday at six a.m. The company gave the whole production staff the holiday off. They must be trying to raise the price of gas by reducing production or something,” Will joked.
“Oh, hey, don’t try teaching the new kid about beer, okay? Where he’s from, they cut off your head if you have a beer, and that’s exactly what the company will do to you if you try to give him one. Got it?” Will asked bluntly, knowing that John liked beer a lot and thought everyone else should like it, too.
“What? Do I look stupid or something?” John replied.
“No, I just know how you are about beer and football. Don’t think you fooled me by volunteering to work a triple. I know you’re just trying to escape that wife of yours and her family,” Will replied with a smirk on his face.
“Hey, I just wanted to let the other guys enjoy the holiday. After all, they have kids and everything; plus, you forced me to work, remember? I lost the drawing and got stuck again,” John said with a knowing look on his face. “Don’t slip up and mention it at the Christmas party, okay?”
“Sure, whatever you say. Your pain is our gain. Have a happy Thanksgiving,” Will chirped as he pulled the door closed behind him and walked away.
“Free, free at last!” John sung out loudly as he settled into his chair, flipped on the TV and started channel surfing, even before the picture was clear. He propped his feet up on the edge of the desk as he set the sleep timer on the TV. Then, with a fluid crank of his neck from the far left to almost straight ahead, John quickly scanned all of the security monitors one last time, ensuring they were aligned perfectly for his viewing pleasure.
After a quick glance at the clock—5:00 a.m.—he flipped the switch to kill the dozens of buzzers and bells of the security system, opting instead for flashing lights. He then punched the electronic gate locks to his left, locking down the plant so no one could enter or leave. He leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes for what he hoped would be a few hours of decent sleep before the games began.
Moving with deliberate slowness, a dark blue, three-year-old, four-door Toyota Camry crept down the alleyway in the industrial park that bordered the refinery’s western edge. The car had four men crammed inside, each one dressed in a black combat jumpsuit, a black ski mask and dark gray latex gloves.
The car stopped a hundred feet from the spot they had chosen to enter the refinery. The man seated behind the driver climbed out and moved quickly to the back corner of the car as the driver popped the trunk. Pulling a glow stick from his pocket, he cracked it, shook it, and then dropped it in the lightless trunk, illuminating it with a dull green glow. He drew a .22 caliber target rifle from the trunk that had a sound suppressor attached along with a 20x night scope with tinted lens. The tint would allow him to look right at light sources without hurting his eyes. Closing the trunk lid, the man braced himself so he could aim and fire, which he did— five times. The man’s aim was true, taking out the three, one thousand watt halogen security lights spaced fifty yards apart along the fence line and the two security cameras twenty yards behind them.
As soon as the lights winked out, the other three men exited the car, leaving it running in case they had to quickly escape, and retrieved their weapons along with a large duffle bag from the car’s trunk. Together, they walked along in the deep shadows of buildings, towards the spot in the fence line where they had chosen to cut through. Under a waning quarter moon and dressed in their black combat jumpsuits, the men were almost invisible in the now unlit alleyway.
Each man carried a nine millimeter Uzi machine pistol and a small Mag-Lite flashlight. The flashlights were fitted with small hoods that forced the light beam to point downward, protecting against stray beams that might draw attention to their actions. Crossing the open space between the buildings of the industrial complex and the refinery fence, each man swept his field of vision, making sure it was clear.
The first man had already knelt down next to the fence and was busy making a visual sweep of the area inside the fence, when a second man knelt next to him. The second man began cutting the fence wires with bolt cutters which he had pulled from the duffle bag. This was the same spot they had paid a local Hispanic gang to cut through several times in the last three months. Once the wires were clipped, they pulled it open further, spreading the opening until it was big enough to allow them to step through easily.
They moved quickly to the large gasoline storage tank closest to them, which held over one hundred and twenty thousand gallons of gasoline. It took only a brief moment of searching to discover the small relief valve, similar to a hose bib on a residential house. The bib allowed the refinery workers to access the tank for test samples from the bottom of the tank without having to start the large pumps required to stir the tank and pump the gasoline out of the top.
They quickly filled eight collapsible, five-gallon plastic containers, which they had brought with them in the duffle bag. Each man reached into the bag and pulled out two small packages, which they slipped into their pockets. Then they each grabbed two of the containers of gas and walked off in different directions into the refinery. They left the valve on the tank open, purposely flooding the nearby area with gasoline.
In the security office, John was leaning back in his office recliner with his feet propped up on the console in front of him, trying to sleep. With his eyes closed, he didn’t see the blinking red lights in front of him. If he had, he would have been alerted to the break in. If he had, he might have saved his own life. If only he hadn’t been so intent on saving his energy for game time.
“Yousef, have you finished the calculations for the formula?” Grant Ortiz, the night supervisor, inquired as he walked up to Yousef’s work station. Yousef, a student from Qatar in his late twenties, was a stereotypical Muslim male. He had a brown complexion, a full black beard, black moustache, bushy black eyebrows and thick black hair. The fact that he carried a few extra pounds clarified for Ortiz that he had never really had to work for a living or had to worry about where his next meal was coming
from. Yousef‘s father supposedly was a close relative of some sheik in Qatar who was connected to the rumored merger between Oxytriad and some Middle East conglomerate. If it happened, Yousef was to be a manager. Ortiz, who stood six foot six and weighed over three hundred pounds, clearly intimidated five foot eight, bespectacled Yousef. It was evident by the nervous shifting he did each time Ortiz approached his work station.
Ortiz had been an oil field worker for fifteen years before becoming a chemical engineer. At thirty-five, he could see the future wasn’t working on the rigs but at the refinery. The refinery had better hours, a lot less stress, less heavy labor, a far better paycheck and a pension, too. So he had gone back to school and earned the degree he needed to make the switch.
“I do not think I fully understand the process. I cannot seem to get the formula to work,” Yousef replied in Arabic accented English, while glancing over his shoulder towards Ortiz. He was really looking past Ortiz, to the clock on the wall behind him. He needed to stall a few more minutes.
“Don’t understand?” Ortiz’s anger flashed and his voice volume rose. “Didn’t that fancy English school teach you anything about formulas? Aren’t you supposed to be a chemical engineer? Shit, boy, my ten-year-old son can write that formula, test it and add octane in his sleep!” Ortiz shouted before he got control of himself and offered to help Yousef, yet again.
“I’m going to show it to you one more time. Shit, man, at this rate, you’ll be qualified at the end of your tour here to clean toilets and that’s about it. Now pay attention, damn it!” Ortiz roared, his frustration getting the better of him again. Ortiz did his best to hide his contempt for the rich young Arab, but at times, his patience just plain ran out.
Yousef did his best impression of someone who was interested, but his mind was racing, counting down the time to when he was to act. He wondered if the others had been able to accomplish their tasks or if he was going to have to perform the secondary plan on his own.
Just then, Yousef’s two coworkers entered the lab. They were grad students from Pakistan. Seeing Ortiz hunched over Yousef’s work station yet again caused both of them to snicker. It was obvious that Yousef had made another mistake.
“What the hell are you a-holes looking at?” Ortiz roared as he noticed the other two young men.
“Oh, nothing. We just can’t help but wonder how a Cambridge education can leave a person so lacking in skills. Perhaps it is because one must actually attend classes, not merely have a parent pay for them,” the taller of the two snickered as they stepped back out the door, leaving the lab. Ortiz glanced at Yousef who was looking down, apparently avoiding the confrontation.
“Good God, man, don’t you have anything to say to that?” Ortiz asked as he looked at Yousef who was looking down and mumbling something to himself. “Yousef!” Ortiz raised his voice several decibels to get his attention.
“Well, I…” Yousef stammered as he looked up and then quickly looked away.
“They are eating your lunch, buddy. You’ve got to stand up for yourself in this life. Now pay attention. Look here, now you add…” Ortiz continued speaking but Yousef didn’t hear a word. He glanced at the clock again and saw it was finally time to act. Quickly he reached around to his lower back with his right hand which was away from Ortiz and retrieved a small, semi-auto 9 mil hand gun. It was tucked in his belt under his lab coat. He brought it up quickly, pressed the small barrel against Ortiz’s temple and fired. The big man never even realized what happened.
“I think I will stand up for myself now.” Yousef stated, completely dropping his mild-mannered façade. He pushed his chair back from Ortiz’s body, leaving it where it fell—slumped over the desk.
The small report from the gun caught the two grad students off guard as they walked down the hall. Neither had recognized the muffled sound as that of a gunshot, but they had stopped and were listening for the sound to repeat. They were only a few dozen steps down the hall when Yousef exited the lab and walked briskly towards them, his eyes never leaving his targets.
“Did you hear something?” the taller of the two grad students asked as they started to step towards Yousef.
“Hey, what’s that on your lab coat?” the shorter grad student asked out of curiosity.
Yousef didn’t answer, not having comprehended the question as he continued to move quickly forward towards the two young men. The two men stopped and stood rooted in place, clearly perplexed by Yousef’s lack of response and his hurried approach.
When Yousef had closed to within ten feet, he raised the gun and fired twice, rapidly. He hit both men in the chest and they collapsed to the floor. Large red spots had already begun growing on the chest of their lab coats as he stepped past them. He didn’t bother to look down at the two men. He knew they were dead or soon would be, so he continued down the hall to the elevator. Standing in front of the silver mirrored doors of the elevator, he noticed the blood spattered on his lab coat’s left shoulder and understood why the small Pakistani had asked his question.
He rode the elevator to the ground floor, whereupon exiting the elevator, he walked briskly towards the main entrance and the security room. When he reached the edge of the security room’s door, he stopped. He slipped the gun into the pocket of his lab coat and gathered his composure. After a moment, he stepped in front of the door and banged solidly on it.
“Help me!” he yelled as he slammed his hand on the door again and again. He could see the guard through the large glass window in the door, sleeping in his recliner with his feet up, just as he had anticipated.
“What the hell?” John scowled as he was startled from his sleep. He bounced out of his chair and stood on wobbly legs, trying to get his bearings. He first looked at the monitors and saw that two of them were black. “Shit!” he exclaimed. Then he noticed the flashing lights. “Shit!” he exclaimed again.
Yousef continued to bang on the door. “Help! We need help!” Yousef called out, not giving John time to think. He needed John to follow him outside to the relief valve station by tank twelve so he could unlock the emergency relief valves. The fact that John would be carrying more than a hundred keys made the task of finding the right ones quite difficult and the only reason Yousef didn’t shoot John as soon as he opened the door to the security office.
John lurched as quickly as he could around the desk towards the door, on his still sleep-stiffened legs, catching his foot in some wires under the edge of the desk and nearly tripping. In his effort to extricate himself from the tangle of wires, John gave his foot a strong yank and the wires gave way, allowing him to stumble forward. He pulled the door open and shouted at Yousef, “What? What’s wrong?”
“I was getting a sample for Dr. Ortiz, when these men jumped me and started hitting me!” exclaimed Yousef, pointing towards the blood on his lab coat. “I think we can catch them if we hurry. They are stealing gasoline.” Yousef then turned and headed down the hall, not giving John a chance to question him further.
John strode into the hallway after Yousef, failing to push the panic button, which set off the alarm at the local police substation. “Where were you when they jumped you?” he called out as they started running down the hallway towards the refinery access door.
“I was over by tank number twelve. There were probably three or four of them,” Yousef replied over his shoulder.
“I’d better call for backup,” John stated as he clicked his radio buttoned on his shirt pocket. “Shit, it’s not working!” John exclaimed and then realized that the cord he had tripped over was the connection for the radio. It dangled loosely under the console. He slowed down and came to a stop as they exited the building and entered into the refinery yard. “Hey, where are you hurt?” John asked as his sleepy brain finally started to wake up.
“It was over there,” Yousef started to move towards the maze of piping running off towards the tanks.
John took a few more tentative steps, then stopped as the door closed behind him. “No, I mean whe
re are you bleeding from?” John asked as he reached half-heartedly for his side arm.
Yousef stopped, quickly whirled around and pointed his gun right at John’s forehead.
“What the…” John’s voice trailed off as he froze, unsure what to do.
“Move, towards tank twelve,” Yousef commanded.
“I don’t under…” John’s voice stuck in his throat.
“Shut up or I’ll kill you!” Yousef snarled viciously as he prodded John forward by wiggling the gun in the direction he wanted him to go.
From the shadows emerged the four men that had broken into the refinery twenty minutes before. They formed a semi-circle around John and Yousef. As John began walking forward, Yousef fell in behind him, prodding him forward with the muzzle of his gun.
“Who are you guys?” John asked sheepishly.
“Shut up, move!” Yousef prodded him, poking him in the ribs with the muzzle of the gun.
“Hey, I didn’t see anything! Take all the gas you want. I won’t tell anyone anything. Just don’t kill me,” John begged as he was roughly shoved forward again by Yousef. “Look, I’ve got a family. They really need me. I’m the only one that works. Come on, talk to me. Don’t kill me.” John continued to beg as he stumbled over the graveled walkway in the dark.
“Stop,” Yousef commanded and John complied. He glanced around and saw that he was standing in a couple inches of gasoline which was escaping from tank twelve. There was a large black duffle bag saturated in gasoline lying under the tank’s test valve.
Reprisal!- The Eagle Rises Page 8