by Stephen Cole
She looked at Jonah, away in a world of his own.
Will you?
Chapter Four
Blackland’s fort sat bathed in floodlights beneath the dark Texan skies like a deserted Hollywood set, ringed in by formidable fencing. Jonah watched from the cover of a stand of oak trees in this former ranchland. It was half two in the morning, the constant thrum of the cicadas was wearing on his already frayed nerves, and he wished he was waiting in the getaway car with Tye.
‘Another night, another breakin,’ he murmured, scanning the straggly bushes before him. Motti had gone ahead first, to scout out the fencepost-mounted CCTV camera and signal when it was looking far enough in the other direction for the others to join him – one at a time, to keep moving foliage to a minimum. Patch had already dashed over; and any time now …
At last a hand came up from the twitching foliage, twenty or so metres closer to the fort – and its first line of protection. The fence was ten feet high, marked into sections by concrete posts and crowned with extension arms from which lengths of razor ribbon were tautly strung. Keeping low, Jonah ran quickly and quietly across the scrub to join his friends. They were dressed all in black, as he was.
‘Fence looks a bit evil,’ Jonah noted, eyeing the vicious-looking razor wire.
Patch nodded miserably. ‘I’ve got a bad feeling about tonight.’
‘Our biggest problem’s the microphonic coaxial cable running between the fence posts parallel to the ground,’ Motti explained. ‘The cable converts any movement in the fabric of the fence into electrical noise. The noise is analysed by software that’s supposed to know the difference between wind, rain, little birdies and stuff, and an intruder breaking in …’
Jonah nodded. ‘I’m glad you said “supposed”.’
‘Thing is, over time, the sensors get jumpy.’ Motti turned away, checking the CCTV camera’s position again. ‘Which means a lot of false alarms for the security team. Which means …’
‘They make the fence less sensitive so they’re not being called out for nothing the whole time,’ Patch concluded.
Motti nodded. ‘Especially when the fence alone is a good visual deterrent – to anyone who ain’t us.’ Satisfied with the camera’s position, Motti stuck his hand up in the air again. A dark, slim figure clutching a bundle in both hands came scuttling from the tree-line towards them. ‘Con and a blanket. ’S all we need.’
Patch sighed. ‘I could get by without the blanket.’
Con closed the last of the distance and flopped down on the ground beside them. ‘Hello, boys.’
‘The posts are the weak point, Con.’ Motti was wasting no time on pleasantries. ‘Provided you don’t touch, kick or disturb the wire mesh directly attached to those posts, the alarm shouldn’t go off.’
Con looked doubtfully at the bundle she was carrying. ‘And the blanket is enough to stop me getting shredded on the barbed wire?’
‘It’s got a titanium foil lining,’ Motti assured her.
‘Well, it’s actually made from a titanium-aluminum-vanadium alloy,’ added Jonah. ‘Deals with razor ribbon, muffles the signals from RFID tags … A hundred-and-one household uses.’
‘Just sling it over the top and flip over,’ said Motti. ‘You won’t feel a thing.’ His eyes were back on the slowly rotating camera. ‘Now, it’s just as we planned. We’ll wait till one of the guards passes by – that should leave this section of the perimeter safe from the flatfoots for a bit. Then I’ll help each of you over the fence, one at a time.’
‘And wait for us as back-up out here till we signal,’ Con added.
Patch sighed. ‘Why can’t I be the one who stays out of trouble?’
‘’Cause you’re our indispensable locksmith who’s going to get us inside that fort,’ said Jonah. ‘And ’cause your glass eyeball is the safest place to carry the plastic explosive that’s going to take care of Blackland’s high-gain antennae – so no one will hear our stolen manuscript transmitting.’
‘See?’ said Patch. ‘All you’ve got is good reasons.’
‘Let’s just get on with it,’ said Con quietly. ‘As soon as the guard patrol goes by.’
Long minutes dragged by sweatily as they waited.
Motti scowled. ‘These clowns are crummier than I thought. It’s been thirty minutes and no one’s shown.’
‘I’ve got such a bad feeling about this,’ Patch told them again.
‘Let’s go over everything one last time,’ hissed Jonah, feeling unnerved enough already. ‘You can never be too sure.’
‘OK. Con’s the lightest and the most agile,’ said Motti, ‘so she’ll go in first. Patch, Jonah, if either of you set off the alarm, give the guards the biggest chase you can – buy Con time to get the manuscript. Once you’re inside, stick to the shadows and tread careful. There should be dome cameras inside the grounds – faster and more accurate than the CCTV out here, and most likely hooked up to a Video Motion Detection system.’
Jonah nodded. ‘Actively analysing any pixel changes in the video pictures the cameras transmit. If they pick up a disturbance big enough to suggest an intruder, the alarms kick off.’
‘But we didn’t find no records online for Blackland buying infrareds to help light them,’ Motti reminded them. ‘He’s got this whole ain’t-it-pretty-floodlit thing going down, showing off his property, lots of bright light – which means stronger contrast in the shadows. Stick to those and it should be too dark for any pixel changes to matter.’
‘We hope,’ said Patch.
‘Just get in through the first goddamned door or window you come to, OK?’ Motti produced a two-way radio handset. ‘Jonah, you got the RT. Signal when you’ve got that manuscript. I’ll let off a signal flare through the fence, bring security running this way. You’ll hear it go boom – that’s your cue to make for the main gates. Tye will smash them open with the pick-up so you can get on board with the goods.’
‘And meantime you double back through the woods to the road so we can collect you on our way back to San Angelo,’ Jonah concluded.
‘Cinch, innit?’ said Patch without enthusiasm.
They went on waiting. Another twenty minutes. Jonah saw a light go out at one window, like the fort was giving them a crafty wink. There was still no sign of security in the grounds.
‘I don’t like this,’ said Motti under his breath. ‘How long we gotta wait for these a-holes to do their job?’
Con shrugged. ‘I say we move now.’
‘And what if you’re still scrambling over that fence when some old guard turns the corner?’
‘I will try to land on him, yes?’ She looked at Motti. ‘It’ll start getting light in less than two hours, then the mission will be compromised. Get me in and I’ll scout around, then come back and tell you how things stand.’
‘Guess we don’t got much choice.’ He looked at Con. ‘OK, on my signal.’
Con took a deep breath. Jonah held his, as the camera slowly swivelled away from their intended stretch of fence.
Then Motti broke cover – ‘Now!’
He and Con ran to the nearest fencepost. As Con unfolded the blanket, Motti formed a stirrup with his hands. Jonah watched admiringly as she stepped lightly into it, launched herself upwards and placed the blanket over the razor wire to smother its bite. Then she calmly pulled herself up like a trapeze artist, barely brushing against the chain links, and flipped herself over. She landed sure and safe while Motti sprinted back into the bushes like a man caught short.
As the camera swivelled back to look their way, Jonah ducked out of sight with Patch and Motti. He strained to hear anything from Con over the measured thrum of the cicadas and the pounding of his pulse in his ears.
Finally her voice floated to them through the shadows beyond the fence. ‘I think it’s clear.’
‘Your turn next, geek,’ breathed Motti, eyeing the camera. ‘Move.’
Jonah felt sick with nerves as he followed Motti to the fence, but it was like jumping out of
a plane – there was no going back now. You just had to do all you could to survive the fall.
Motti made a stirrup again, and Jonah hoped that he wouldn’t put his foot in anything else. He clutched at the razor wire through the blanket – praying it wouldn’t take his fingers off – and with Motti giving him a bunk-up was able to haul himself up and over. His foot caught against the fence post and he braced himself for the sound of alarms – but the impact must have been within tolerance. He scrambled down as lightly as he could, hit the ground the other side a little awkwardly. Wincing, he stared around for any sign of security but caught only a glimpse of Con as she turned and ducked behind a large, decorative bush clipped to resemble a pyramid. He staggered over to join her, to wait there for Patch.
Then he saw what Con was looking at, and had a shock of realisation at what was propped up against the tight leafy wall of the pyramid: the body of a security guard, arms splayed out, his navy uniform soaked with blood.
Jonah’s guts twisted like a wrung cloth. The thick stub of a crossbow bolt was protruding from the man’s chest.
‘The woman who killed Budd and Clyde,’ Jonah blurted, staring wildly all around. ‘She’s been here. She wants the manuscript.’
‘But how?’ Con straightened, her catlike eyes almost accusing. ‘How did she know it was here? You said the laptop –’
‘Morell must have told someone – or what about that guy Saitou he was going to employ. Maybe the bow-woman works with him, or she found out somehow, or …’ Jonah’s voice trailed off as he pointed past the glare of a floodlight to where a tree stood in stark silhouette. A dark figure lay at its feet, as if blown from its branches. Jonah stumbled straight through the bright orange spill, no longer mindful of intruder alarms, adrenaline pushing him forward. Security had been torn apart; here was another guard, peaked cap pulled down over his face, lifeless hands locked uselessly around the bolt in his ribs as if he were still trying to pull it out.
Jonah turned away, sickened. ‘I think we can guess what’s happened to the rest of the patrol.’
‘The question is,’ said Con slowly, ‘has she been and gone – or is she still here somewhere?’
They both jumped as Patch scrambled through the bushes to join them. ‘Lovely,’ he muttered. ‘I’m guessing this pair ain’t just sleeping on the job.’
‘Unless someone tried to wake them by firing a crossbow at them,’ said Jonah darkly, pulling his walkie-talkie from his back pocket. ‘Motti, can you hear me?’
‘Don’t tell me you found it already?’ Motti’s voice spat from the handset.
‘All we’ve found are two dead guards,’ Jonah reported.
‘And trouble,’ Patch added, grabbing Jonah’s arm, pointing behind him.
Jonah saw that a figure had appeared from round a corner of the fort some thirty metres away. Through the fierce floodlit glare it was impossible to make out detail, but he wasted no time shoving Con and Patch behind the tree in case the intruder was armed.
‘Motti, we’re not the only trespassers here,’ Jonah spoke into the radio tersely. ‘Looks like the bitch with the crossbow. Get on to Tye – we may need back-up.’
Patch nodded. ‘Or a ride out in a hurry.’
‘Roger that,’ said Motti gravely. ‘Watch your asses. Out.’
Jonah peered out from cover to check on the figure – in time to see it vanishing back round the corner.
‘Come on, we must follow,’ Con snapped, setting off in the same direction.
‘Why?’ Patch hissed. ‘This whole thing’s gone belly up, Con. You heard Motti, we should watch your arse. Our arse, I mean – or arses … Whatever!’
Con kept moving. ‘Whoever we saw, they might have the manuscript, or know where it is. If we can find out who they are, there may be a bonus for us, yes? Besides, there’s one of them and three of us.’
‘Yeah, until they shoot a couple of us dead like the guards,’ said Jonah pointedly. Even so, he found himself jogging alongside her, and Patch was following close behind, clutching the foil blanket close as if for comfort.
As they rounded the huge stone corner Jonah glimpsed the figure dart in through a doorway. ‘Could be a trap,’ he said, pulling on Con’s arm, holding her back. ‘Ambush. We don’t know how many of them are inside.’
‘Let’s surprise ’em.’ Patch carried on running round the outside of the fort walls, and Jonah and Con followed. ‘We’ll get in through the next door we come to and set our own ambush.’
‘Could work,’ Con admitted.
They soon came to a plain wooden door beside a dark window. ‘This is the east wing … so if those plans we saw are accurate,’ said Con, ‘this should be a utility room.’
While Patch rushed to study the lock, Jonah peered in through the glass and clocked a sink, an industrial-size washing machine and a drier just as big. ‘Bang on, Con. Patch, how’d you rate the lock?’
‘Fifteen pin,’ Patch reported, reaching in his pocket for a bunch of keys. ‘Five pins on three sides. Good security rating. Unless you get busy with a home-made bump key.’
Jonah kept watch anxiously, praying the Crossbow Girl stayed well away. ‘A what key?’
‘Bump. It’s like a blank key, cut deep, can fit inside a certain type of lock, yeah?’ Patch inserted a key as if to demonstrate, then pulled a screwdriver from his other pocket. ‘When you hit the key in the lock, only the top pins are bumped up, creating a gap between top and bottom pins. At which point …’ He twisted the key as he cracked the screwdriver against its base, pulled down on the handle – and the door opened.
‘Nice work,’ Jonah muttered, as Con nudged Patch aside and stepped in first, heading for the inner door. ‘Con, wait, if Crossbow Girl is armed and ready to go –’
She turned back to him impatiently, pulled down the neck of her black top to reveal a phosphor cap pressed to her collarbone – a small glass ampoule that would ignite with a blinding flash under impact. ‘They can’t hit what they can’t see.’
But as she reached for the handle of the door, it swung open towards her – quickly followed by a fist. Con gasped as she was sent sprawling backwards with no time to react. She knocked into Jonah, who fell back against the large porcelain sink, knocking detergent everywhere. They guessed what we were trying, he realised, came to head us off. Before he could turn, he heard the sickening smack of two more blows finding a mark on Con’s body.
‘Get off her,’ Patch yelled.
Jonah saw the man who’d sneak-attacked Con in silhouette against the bright oblong of open door, lunging forward to grab him. He grabbed a bottle of cleaning fluid, wrenched off the cap and squeezed the contents into the man’s face. Jonah caught a snatch of South African accent as the man let stream with some colourful swearing. Wash your mouth out, he thought grimly, squirting a blast of bleach down his attacker’s throat. The man choked and retched, wiping ferociously at his eyes, and Patch hit him as hard as he could on the jaw. Jonah followed up with a kick to the stomach that sent the man staggering back into the corridor.
Con was on her knees, holding her ribs, and Jonah crouched down beside her. ‘You OK?’
Con spat blood on the floor and nodded silently. But behind her, outside in the grounds, Jonah caught a glimpse of movement. A figure in black was running towards the house. A girl, gripping a crossbow.
‘Quick!’ Jonah grabbed Con by the wrist and hauled her away, Patch narrowly beating them out of the room and into the large, marble-floored hallway. Jonah heaved the heavy door shut behind them, just as a bolt slammed into the wood with a splintering thunk. There was a key in the lock and he turned it just in time, as the handle jumped from his grip, worked furiously by whoever was on the other side.
Jonah looked round quickly. They were in a hallway. The fort was as old-fashioned inside as out, only gloomier – it was all antique dressers and grandfather clocks and grey walls displaying old swords and rifles.
Their attacker had already recovered, ignoring the disinfectant dripping f
rom his clothes, looking mad as hell. He was maybe in his late teens, as big as a bull, a tanned, toned powerhouse with blond hair and glaciers for eyes. ‘We’ve been waiting for you to show …’ His South African accent was curt. ‘Coldhardt’s little assholes.’
‘As far as we know he’s only got the one,’ Jonah shot back, tensing for a further fight.
‘My name’s Sorin.’ The guy smiled, red tongue flicking against ice-white teeth. ‘And you are Jonah Wish, Patrick Kendall and Constance Beatty.’
Jonah didn’t have a smart comeback; like Patch and Con he found himself shifting uneasily at the namecheck. Then the door shuddered under a large blow behind them. Jonah and the others moved away.
‘It’s all right, Sadie,’ he shouted, ‘I’m on it.’
Con glared at him. ‘Who are you people? Who do you work for?’
Sorin only smiled – as he darted towards them with incredible speed. But Con was just as fast as she snatched the phosphor cap from beneath her top and hurled it down in his path. Jonah flung up his arm as the yellow flare bit away the shadows. Sorin recoiled, shouting in pain and anger – as another huge thump saw the utility room door almost sheared from its hinges.
‘Move,’ snapped Jonah.
‘Wait. That asshole called me Constance.’ Con flew forward, into the smoke. Jonah heard the crack of knuckle on bone, ceramics breaking. A few anxious seconds later Con re-emerged, stuffing a Rolex into her pocket. ‘One less creep to worry about.’
‘Make that one more!’ Jonah shouted as the door to the utility room gave way. He grabbed the radio from his pocket. ‘Motti, we need back-up. Hostiles in east wing. Get Tye and get here –’
The masked girl with the crossbow, presumbly Sadie, burst out from inside – and then skidded and landed flat on her butt.
‘Ha!’ Patch waved the blanket like a victory flag as he chucked an empty bottle of liquid soap at her head. Jonah realised the soap itself had been carefully spilled all over the floor.