by John O'Brien
By the time I reach the fence, my elbows and knees are raw from dragging myself across the ground. Through the links, I make out the shape of the small exit building a hundred yards on the other side. The plan was to signal with clicks on the radio that I had reached the fence, however, with the ability to speak to Robert over a distance, I open up and inform him. He’ll then relay the information to Lynn. The radio will be used as a backup just in case.
Of course, thinking of it in that way is just redundant. Aren’t all backups used just in case? I think, lying next to the fence.
Weird thoughts filter through my mind at the oddest of moments sometimes. It may be my brain taking a break from the focus or stress. Whatever it may be, I’ve had some of my weirdest thoughts while out on missions.
Removing a chemical spray can from my pack, I set to work on the links next to the fence pole, spraying the corrosive liquid on the mid-point between the intersecting links. Keeping one eye on the cameras a couple of posts away in both directions and my other on the field, I spray upward for a few feet before directing the liquid horizontally.
Finishing, I separate the broken links quietly. Although the odds are pretty slim, there is a chance they have microphones attached to the cameras so I have to maintain silence. I push the fence slowly inward and crawl through the opening. Kneeling on the other side, I hook the separated links back to their counterparts making it appear that the fence is unbroken.
Pulling my pack on, I run toward the small, square building that serves as an entry, or exit, to the escape tunnel. Fortunately, the entrance is faced away from me so I quickly make my way to the rear. Crouched against the concrete brick wall, I listen for any sounds that might signal that I have been caught. There is nothing except a very light breeze that flows across the grass stubble.
Removing a folding pole ladder attached to my pack, I inch around to one side of the building and extend the ladder to the roof. Ascending quickly, quick being relative with trying to keep the ladder from sliding to the side, I climb onto the roof, pulling the ladder up behind me.
Crawling across the sloped surface, I make my way to the front and peer over the edge of the peak. There isn’t any light illuminating the front and directly below me is a stationary camera within reach. Looking closer, I see that the camera is connected with a coaxial cable which will make the connections easier. I roll out of my pack and remove one of the switch assemblies that I made prior to leaving.
The switch has one small length of coax with a quick connect end attached to one of the input/output ports. A small recording device is also attached. The whole assembly, even with the recorder, which I attach to the wall alongside the switch, is small.
Leaning over the edge of the roof, I remove the protective covering from permanent, double-sided mounting tape and place the switch assembly and recorder against the wall behind the camera. No one should notice anything out of the ordinary. They’ll think the contraption is part of the camera system, unless they are IT techs who will notice that the switch and its associated gear is not part of the original system.
With everything in place and hidden for the most part, I unscrew the coax cable connected to the camera making sure that I keep pressure so that the signal isn’t interrupted. I then quickly remove the coax cable I was holding in place and slide the quick connect cable from the number one switch port to the back of the camera while placing the end of the original cable into the single main port on the back of the switch. The whole move takes less than two seconds which shouldn’t trigger an alarm. There may be a small blip on the monitor in the security room which may or may not be noticed. I quickly screw in the original cable and push back from the edge.
With one hand on my M-4, I lay still and listen. If the blip was noticed, a security team will be sent to investigate. It wouldn’t be in my best interest for them to emerge from the door and look up to see my smiling face as I fuck with their camera. Emitting small breath plumes, which I cover as best as I can within the fold of my elbow, I wait fifteen minutes, which should be more than long enough for anyone to show up. There’s nothing but the darkness surrounding me and the cold of the roof that seeps through my layers of clothing, chilling even the dry suit.
Inching back to the edge, I insert the reconfigured network sniffer and connect it to the mirrored port. Harold said it should almost instantaneously configure itself, but I give it a few seconds. Removing the sniffer, I insert the recorder into the same port and watch the small display to verify that it’s picking up the video feed, noting that the video isn’t sending time and date information as part of the data. That will most likely be displayed by the video system in the security room itself. The fact that the camera isn’t rotating makes it much easier as I won’t have to clip the video to present a continuous path as it goes through a looped playback.
I set the recorder to ‘record’ and let it run for a minute. Moving the recorder to an open port, port two, I set it to do a looped playback. Now the tricky part. I plug the sniffer into the switch on port three while pulling the cable from the camera, which I reattach to the mirrored port as per Harold’s instructions.
The small display on the recorder shows the low-light image from the front of the building with small differences in the heat showing up from a thermal overlay. If it all works correctly, I should be able to work on the door without being seen and the system will still show that the camera is online and sending video. Satisfied, I place electrical tape over the small recorder display and, with my chest hurting from hanging over the edge of the roof, I move back and wait for any response.
Either I really fucked up and the security team is laughing so hard that they can’t move, or the contraption is functioning the way it’s supposed to. Regardless, no one comes to investigate.
Giving it another measure of time, I climb down from the roof, smooth over my tracks, and edge toward the front, keeping my senses tuned to the area around me for any sound out of the ordinary. I especially watch the door looking for the barest hint of movement. With a deep breath to calm my racing heart, I hug the wall toward the steel door leading inside.
Internally, I feel both numb and anxious. The conflict of emotions stems from maintaining my entire focus on the next step while also feeling the anxiety of knowing that I could be discovered at any moment; the racing heartbeat, senses tuned so fine that even the noise of grass bending under a boot sounds loud, nervous sweat oozing from pores. Without the ability to force the mind to focus, those emotions would run wild, causing fingers to slip and fear to escalate.
Taking out a flashlight, I shield it, letting only a thin beam of light exit. Shining it in the crack of the door, I see a metal strip a couple of inches above the bottom. Actually, it’s two strips of metal in contact with each other. If these two strips separate, it will trigger an alarm, or at the very least, it will display an alert.
Taking my steel slim jim, I run it behind the latch and ease the door ajar, opening it only far enough so that the latch won’t re-engage, and so that the magnets at the bottom of the door stay in contact. Taking a thin set of calipers, I place one of the small magnets Bannerman located in the narrow jaws and tighten it enough to hold it in place. Easing the doors open so that the metal strips remain in contact, I gently slide the calipers in the gap behind the door-side contact. Luckily the door opens outward or this would be impossible. Any slip here and it will be over. The facility will be alerted and my ass will be hanging out over a very large cliff.
As I draw the door open more, I move the magnet in the caliper along frame-side contact, slowly replacing the door sensor with the magnet. The magnet rotates slightly and, with a click, it snaps onto the metal strip set into the jamb, completing the circuit. Opening the door barely wide enough, I slide through the gap and step inside.
I gently ease the door closed behind me. The sensor on the door will move the magnet I placed out of the way while keeping the circuit closed. The magnet is likely to stay attached to the door or metal
frame. It won’t fall off so it shouldn’t be noticed by anyone unless they happen to look very closely.
With the faint click of the latch, the outside world is shut off, at least from my mental perspective. Crouching with the door at my back, I let out a sigh. I wasn’t sure that I would have been able to make it this far. Now that I’m inside, I know that each step will take me closer to a point of no return. I pretty much came to that point when I jumped out of the 130, but now each step takes me closer to situations where I could be caught.
Ahead, concrete stairs descend to a small landing before continuing down to the right. Concrete-poured walls rise to either side, joining with a slab overhead. Except for a faint glow of light emanating from somewhere down the steps, it’s dark. I look to the top of the door searching for a camera but don’t find one. I’m pretty sure I don’t have to worry about night runners here, but I open up just in case. There aren’t any around that I can sense. I take a few moments to calm my rapidly beating heart. I forgot just how much I hate being inside of buildings.
Looking at my watch, I note that I have plenty of time before the dark of the night ends. I still have a ways to go, along with the probability that there are more difficult security measures to beat. A few deep breaths bring my heart rate down but the underlying anxiety remains.
Rising, I test my pack and gear to ensure that there isn’t any sound that issues forth from movement. With my carbine held at the ready and hugging the wall, I begin descending the steps. Near the first landing, I place my mirror at the corner and look around.
The stairs continue down to intersect the end of a hall where a very faint amount of light is being cast from some source farther along the corridor. Close to the ceiling, on the near side, large conduits are anchored to the slabs of concrete overhead. At my end of the hall, the conduits continue through the wall. Step by step, I start down, my senses tuned for any sound, for the movement of a shadow showing in the faint light.
The stairs and hall have the musty scent of not having been used in a long time. It also has the distinct smell that all concrete rooms and stairwells seem to possess. Although the air is chilly, the stairs and hall are dry and I feel a hint of warmth. At the bottom of the stairs, I look around the corner once again using the signal mirror.
At the far end of the hall, about thirty yards away, there’s another steel door with a keypad next to it. In the corner on the far side of the door, twin floodlights cast a brilliant light down the hall that reaches almost to the stairwell. I see another stationary camera positioned above the door. The conduits, which are almost directly overhead, continue down the length of the hallway and through the far wall. At intervals, steel rods hang down from the ceiling to hold brackets that are supporting the steel pipes.
Three of the conduits are large ones placed side-by-side with others running between or on top. Several smaller ones are held by brackets as they run along the wall. I look for placards that might indicate what they are being used for but don’t see any from my vantage point. I guess I’ll just have to take the risk that none are being used for hazmat waste or radiated water. It would make it a little difficult to hide if I glowed in the dark.
The pipes themselves look in good shape, and I don’t see any leaks dripping from seams or attachment points. The brackets also look to be in good condition. Backing away from the corner, I extend the ladder from one of the steps to the conduits. In my youth, this wouldn’t have been much of a problem, however, it’s all I can do just to keep the ladder steady as it wants to roll to the side. Scaling it, which is much like trying to make it across a rope bridge, I manage to get to the pipes without bringing them down or tumbling into the hall.
Slowly easing onto the pipes, I test to see if they’ll support my weight. There is only a faint creak as I lie across the rounded surfaces. From this vantage point, I’ll be out of view from the camera over the door. For that matter, I’ll be out of sight from anyone or anything below provided they don’t look very closely through the small gaps. Resting for just a moment, I remove my handgun and screw on the suppressor, replacing it in the holster designed to carry it with the suppressor attached.
I begin inching along the conduits. I have to move slowly so I don’t create any movement which will be picked up by the camera. There’s also dust on the very tops which I have to be careful that I don’t send down through the cracks. With the flood lights, I can be pretty sure that the camera is capturing video in the visible spectrum with maybe a thermal overlay. Any sway of the pipes or dust falling down from them will be noticed.
Reaching the first bracket with the steel rod attaching it to the ceiling, I maneuver around it, keeping to the wall side. I am placing my pack ahead of me with each movement similar to the way I traversed the field. My M-4 is secured to my back. If I need a weapon, which will be a short-lived time, I’ll use the handgun strapped to my leg.
I slowly make my way toward the door. It’s not too far to crawl, but it still takes a bit of time. I feel the dust in my nose and keep having to wipe it to prevent a sneeze. The inside of my mouth feels chalky with the grit and it’s annoying to say the least. The anxiety within grows as I draw closer, expecting the door to open at any moment. Not that they could see me, but it opening will mean that my entrance has been noticed.
Reaching the wall, I rest for a moment. The nervousness and effort of crawling has taken a little out of me. I’ve come to the next phase of infiltrating the bunker. I just have to get by the security door and then I’ll be in the main facility.
The camera is just to the side of me. I’ll have to lean out over the pipes in order to reach it, but it shouldn’t prove to be more of a challenge than the one outside. Readying another switch and recorder, I stretch out and place them on the wall as before. I have to take care that I don’t cast a shadow from the lights either across the lens or on the floor below.
While readying the equipment, I keep an eye on the top of the door just scant inches below. If someone were to walk through, I’d be readily visible and in a precarious position. My only hope in that case would be to drop down, draw my handgun, and begin firing. I may or may not get them; but in any case, my sojourn, and our plan, would come to a quick end.
I make the switch with the cables and pull back to the top of the conduits. I check that I’m not casting a shadow against the wall and wait knowing that there’s a greater chance that a reaction team will respond to this latest glitch. They might have overlooked one from the outside, but there’s no way—providing it was seen—that they’ll ignore a second one from a different camera. The switch, sniffer, and recorder are well camouflaged behind the camera and look like part of the system, at least to the casual observer.
Due to the thick walls and door, my only warning is the sound of the latch clicking. The hinges creak as the door swings open. Pressed flat on my stomach with my head turned to the side, I hold my breath and mentally wedge tighter between two of the large conduits, hoping to hell that my shirt tail isn’t hanging down between them. I imagine feeling the tug and ‘Hey, what do we have here? You okay up there, buddy?’ I told you my mind goes into strange places at the oddest of times.
With the opening of the door, voices in mid-conversation carry loud and clear just a foot and a half below.
“…told him the system was buggy but he said, ‘Just go check it out. It’s not like you have anything else to do.’ You know how Walsh is,” one voice states.
“I know, I know. But it isn’t like there is really anything for us to do,” a second voice says.
“Okay, Walsh, we’re here. What do you want us to do?” the first voice says.
“I can see you,” I hear a voice that sounds like it’s coming over a radio. “Do you see anything?”
“That depends on what I’m supposed to be looking for. There’s just a bunch of wires,” the first voice replies.
“Okay, it looks like it’s working. Go check the outside one,” the radio voice says.
“Really? Com
e on Walsh.”
“Just go check it out.”
“Okay, fine. I’ll go smile pretty for you.”
“You know this is because I cleaned him out last time. He still owes me so he’s…”
Oh fuck, the camera. If they go check out the camera, there isn’t going to be any pretty smile for Walsh, I think, feeling things start to go sideways.
The group heads down the hall toward the stairs and outer door, the boots heavy on the concrete. It sounds like there may be five or six of them, but I don’t dare lift my head or risk the mirror to find out. The conversation fades and dies out as they turn the corner and enter the stairwell. Once they are out of sight, I reach over and unplug the cable to the camera and quickly replace it, hopefully causing a glitch in the system that the reaction team will respond to before making it outside. Taking some electrical tape, I quickly cover the small screen of the recorder and fold back into my position waiting for them to return.
The sound of footsteps in the hall is there before I know it. They aren’t running steps, so I don’t feel that they are alerted but I remain tense. There’s the chance that they will still head outside and check on it. I can’t keep pulling the wire; that was a one-attempt-and-done kind of maneuver; unless I want to see what the afterlife is like, and I’m not all that eager to find out right now.
“Okay, Walsh, we’re here. What do you want?” a voice says as the footsteps halt almost directly below me.
“The camera flickered again. What do you see?”
“I see the same damn thing that I saw a minute ago.”
“Okay, well, it’s still working. I’ll just write it up,” the radio voice says.
“Do you want us to still check the outside one?”
“No, come on back. It’s obvious we’re having the same problem that we had on the east wing last week.”
“Okay, we’re on our way back.”
“You had better hope that the cards haven’t been moved or that you peeked,” the leader’s voice says, now directed at one of his teammates.