‘I’ll wait for your call, good luck,’ said George. Cam looked at him.
‘Thanks. Won’t be long,’ he said with a hint of sarcasm.
He moved quickly round to the corner of the car, but didn’t get between the car’s red rear lights and the front gate. He wanted to keep the illusion that the car was still moving. He reached over the boot and opened it, still keeping the rear lights on display. He retrieved his rucksack, quietly closed the boot then hid in the small ditch by the side of the road. Cam watched the car drive off, leaving him alone in the cool night breeze.
He swung his rucksack over his shoulders and pulled the shoulder straps tight. He pulled his balaclava from his pocket and pulled it over his head, slipped on his black sealskin gloves, connected his belt round his waist, the holster attached to his thigh with an elastic strap. On the elastic strap was his magazine-holder, and into this he slipped two full magazines.
Once ready, he started off. At a fast run he headed to the general area of the disarmed fence. It was a lot farther than the previous nights. It took nearly twenty minutes’ run at a good speed to get there. Every so often he had to stop and lie flat on the ground to allow patrols to pass. As he approached, he identified another gorse bush to hide in. He crawled into it and pulled out his binoculars.
He watched a few patrols go past. He was waiting for a dog section; that way the next patrol would be at least ten minutes, and hopefully not a dog section. In preparation for the infiltration, he placed a set of rubber-handled wire cutters and a handful of zip ties in his pocket.
‘Now, go.’ He crawled out of the bush and ran for the wire. On arrival he skidded to a halt, looking to both sides for any movement that might make him retreat back to the safety of the hide. It was clear. He cut the wire with the cutters, from the ground up. Not too high, then off to one side – again not too far. The hole was just big enough to slide the rucksack through, then crawl after it.
He was in. He replaced the fence as best he could and secured it with the zip ties, trimming them to hide the fact the fence had been tampered with. Hopefully the next few patrols would not notice. He quickly surveyed his work. It looked good. With that he was off, running as fast as he could for the shadows of the nearest building as he swung his rucksack on to his back. He found a small shack near a doorway that would give him good cover; he got inside and waited in the shadows.
After fifteen minutes he got what he was waiting for. The next patrol was about to pass the cut fence. He watched as they closed in on the damaged wire. He held his breath as they walked right past. He sighed with relief, he would’ve liked to have had a dog unit pass to make sure his entrance was unnoticed, but he couldn’t spare the time. He looked at his watch, hidden underneath an old cut-off green t-shirt sleeve. The sleeve was wrapped twice over his watch to hide the glowing face – an old trick from the jungle. He had to move immediately.
He had studied the schematics of the plant – he had spent hours memorising the doorways, corridors and outer areas that he would have to move through. He had also downloaded the maps to his phone, just in case he had to adapt his plan. After all, a plan never survived first contact. He had decided to enter through one of the outer buildings – one connected to the block that contained Bell’s office.
Keeping close to the wall he ran, hunched over. He needed to make it to the edge of the building. He peeked round the corner and saw the unobservant patrol turning and disappearing into an alleyway. Once they were out of view, he followed. The door was just twenty or thirty metres away from his current position.
Cam skidded to a halt at his chosen entry point, and after a quick look at the door he reached for his lock-pick set. Al had supplied him with a professional set of picks, and with them he could pick this standard lock in seconds. When he felt the final pin of the lock settle into place, he slowly turned the handle. The door opened a few inches. The outbuilding was deserted and he slipped inside the cluttered, dirty room. As the door clicked shut he looked for a suitable hiding place – not a problem as the large room was strewn with debris.
Crouching under the wreckage of an old set of filing cabinets resting on a broken table, he waited and listened. It made sense to stop and wait after tampering with things such as fences and doors. He had to be sure he hadn’t triggered any alarms or left any traces of his movement.
‘Five minutes should be enough,’ he thought. It was time to go. He stood up and took in his surroundings. The room was a large, open space, with a high ceiling, probably two storeys high. It was full of old office furniture, piled high. It was obviously a storage room for the offices in the next building. Cam walked around the tables and cupboards through the dusty warehouse to the eastern side of the room.
‘Damn it!’ Cam stood and looked at the combination lock that was keeping him out of the building he needed to get into. He looked desperately around the warehouse for an alternative entry point – maybe a vent. Then an idea occurred to him. He stooped down and took a handful of dust from the floor, turned and knelt down in front of the key-pad.
It was only a mechanical lock, not electric, so it shouldn’t be alarmed. He held the dust in the palm of his outstretched hand took a deep breath and blew the dust on to the small metal keys. He then moved his face closer to the dust covered key-pad and blew again. The dust cleared from the lock – apart from five keys. Luckily the last few people who had used the door had had greasy fingers to which the dust had stuck. The still dusty keys were C, 4, 2, 8 and 0. The way through the door would be to put these numbers in the correct order.
Cam tried various combinations of the numbers, pressing the C key in between tries. After the sixth attempt the door opened. As he inched it further open, the light from the other side streamed into the darkness of the storeroom. He was in. Now the real work began. He had to ascend four floors of the artificially-lit building, and then get into Bell’s office, all the time avoiding anyone wandering the corridors. He hoped that they would be having another meeting like last week, they would then all be in the same room and easy to take out.
Chapter 26
Cam had the route burned into his mind, straight forward along the first corridor. Take a right and enter the stairwell. Up two floors, then out into the corridor again, almost double back towards the other end of the building and into the second stairwell. Up the final two floors, then Bell’s office was on the west side of the block.
Cam could do nothing more than walk normally through the building. He would be listening carefully for movement, but if someone caught him by surprise he might be able to get away with it if he didn’t act suspiciously. He removed his balaclava to try to appear that he belonged there. He knew it was a long shot, but there was nothing else he could do.
All was going well until he was half way up the first set of stairs. He stopped. Someone was coming. Whoever it was had just entered the stairwell, exactly where Cam had been just seconds previously. They were climbing the stairs towards him. Cam bounded up the stairs two or three at a time – anything to put some ground between himself and the person behind him. He burst out into the corridor at the top of the flight of stairs; he had no time to look. He had his back to the wall as he looked back down the stairwell. The sound of someone climbing had gone; they must have only gone up one floor. Cam was never in any danger. He sighed with relief as he checked out the new corridor that he found himself in. He had to get to the other stairwell, all the way along the other side of the building. Then he heard another person coming towards him.
This time the person was walking down the corridor, in the direction he needed to go. He had to act fast – they were about to round the corner and literally bump into each other. In desperation he opened the nearest door and stepped inside. The room was dark and it took a few seconds for his eyes to adjust to the low light. His heart sank as he realised he had nowhere to go; he had chosen to hide in a stationery cupboard.
/> There was nothing more he could do but wait and hope that the person making the footsteps outside his useless hiding place wasn’t after a stapler. As the person approached he drew his pistol from his holster strapped to his thigh. Then almost immediately replaced it. He couldn’t kill an innocent person; if they found him he would just grab them, pull them into the cupboard, knock them out and wrap them up in scotch tape. After all, there was plenty of it on the shelves around him, he joked to himself.
His luck was holding out, the person walked right past. Another sigh and he cautiously opened the door and quickly made his way to the second stairwell. This time he made it to the top without any problems. This was it, he thought. He could see Bell’s office. The door to his office was half frosted glass with his name in black print across it. He now saw Bell’s title; he was a manager of something Cam had never heard of. He could see his light was on – Bell was in there.
Cam crept up to the door and looked through the corner of the frosted glass. He could see a figure sitting at a desk illuminated by a desk light. Bell must be catching up on some admin. Cam needed time to think, and he couldn’t do that in plain view in the corridor. The next room along had a male toilet sign on the door. ‘That will do,’ he thought. Cam opened the door, bit by bit; it was dark inside until the automatic light came on. That meant nobody was in there, or the automatic light would have been on already. He made for one of the cubicles and locked it behind him.
He looked all around as he considered his next move. Above him the ceiling of the toilets was made of soft white mineral fibre squares. He stood on the toilet seat and moved one of the panels to one side. Standing on the cistern he looked into the darkness of the compartment above the toilet room. If he reached up he could grab some metal piping and pull himself up into the roof space. He pulled himself up with all his might, disappearing into the hatch he had created in the roof. Once clear of the roofing partitions, he swung his feet on to the area that was strengthened by the partitioning wall. Carefully balancing where he imagined the wall to be, he replaced the panelling to conceal himself in the crawl space above the ceilings.
He found himself in a very precarious situation. With the panel back in place he moved his attention to the other side of the wall he was resting on. He knew if he put his weight on any wrong section he would fall straight through it and go crashing to the floor. He wanted to get a look into Bell’s office, but the only way to do that would be to prize up one of the roofing panels and look in that way. There was one panel that was much smaller than the rest; it was in the corner of the room and had been cut to size. That would be the one he would lift, and with it being smaller, it would be far less likely to break or make a noise as it was moved. He also had to be aware that as it moved it would drop dust and scrapings on to the floor. But with it being in the corner of the office, and behind where Bell was sat, that would hopefully go unnoticed.
Cam inched his way along the top of the wall towards the small panel. Once he lifted it away he could lower his face to the hole in the roofing. He now saw Bell; he was still working away alone in his office. The room below was a well-decorated, good-sized office; it was furnished to a high standard. On the other side of the room was an en suite bathroom, with the door almost closed. That was the next place Cam needed to get to. From that room he could wait for everyone to gather – or at least take out Bell. If he could get rid of the leader, perhaps the cell would fall or disappear from the face of the earth.
Cam once again reached up for the pipes that ran the length of the building. Gripping with his hands, he raised his feet and wrapped them too, around the pipe. He carefully climbed horizontally along the pipe, trying to be as quiet as he could. Grime and dust had settled on the top of the pipes and had congealed into a slippery mess, making it hard to grip. He wouldn’t have been able to hold on much longer when he eventually made it to where he presumed the private bathroom was.
He found a strong part of the ceiling on which to place his feet and slowly lowered his weight on to it. When he found it able to bear his weight he wasted no time on lifting one of the panels. Below him he saw a clean, modern bathroom. Lowering himself through the hole in the ceiling of the bathroom, he felt around for the sink to rest his foot on. With both feet now on the rim of the sink, he closed over the panel from where he had come and stepped down on to the tiled floor. So far, so good.
Now he could wait for the best time to strike. Hopefully all four would meet again like last week – but he was not sure if it was a regular meeting. If not, Bell would have to do – the rest would either flee the country or he would get them at home. He had seen where they all lived and between him and George they would not pose much of a problem.
He checked his watch – he had made very good time. They still had a couple of hours left of their shift. Cam had really thought it would have taken much longer to get that far, but there he was, in Bell’s office and ready to go. It’s just a matter of time now.
* * * * * * *
Cam sat listening, the time passing slowly. All he could hear was Bell continuing his administrative duties. Cam wondered if it was Torness business or something more sinister. The lights in the en suite bathroom were still off, and the door was ajar by only a few inches. This gave Cam the advantage of being able to hear everything but still remain undetected.
He only hoped that Bell would not need to use his private bathroom, if he did Cam would be exposed and would be forced into taking early action – his mission would only be partly successful. It was now fast approaching one in the morning – not long before their shift would be over. Cam was now concerned that what he witnessed last week was not a regular event. If this was the case, he would have to settle with only Bell. Then between him and George they would have to systematically hunt down the rest of them. This would not be ideal as it would be messy – he would prefer to get it done in one go.
Cam started to remove his rucksack; he only needed his pistol from now on. Remaining in a crouched position, he set down his pack and leant it against the toilet. He then returned to his previous position by the door. He sat against the wall, still listening.
Cam could feel his plan slipping away; he was running out of time. It was fast becoming time to take out Bell, get out of the station, call George, arrange a pick up and start what would become a long night. With one last glance at his watch he stood up and prepared to start the first part of his task. It was now half past one.
The meeting was not happening.
Cam placed his feet shoulder width apart, left foot forward, a classic shooting stance. Still hid behind the partially closed door, he raised his pistol as high as the closed door would allow. With his left hand on the edge of the door he focused all his attention at the area where Bell was sitting at his desk. He visualised the man through the wood of the door – he could see in his mind the man, unaware that he was about to die.
‘OK, on the count of three,’ he thought. One. He shifted his position slightly into a more comfortable stance. Two. A feeling of nervousness washed over him, this was it. Three!
Knock, knock, knock. Cam froze. That was definitely the sound of someone knocking on the glass of the office door. Next came the sound of a chair leg scraping along the floor, then footsteps.
‘Ah Doug, come in.’ The office door closed with a clatter. ‘Drink?’
‘No.’
‘Doug, I’ve been thinking about our um, situation. Phil’s little problem is going to make things very difficult for us. We have to decide on a course of action.’ Cam stood as still as a rock.
‘The plain fact of the matter is that we can no longer trust him.’ Cam realised this was the visitor; this was Doug Roberts. ‘Should I do it now? I could take them both down,’ Cam thought.
‘I suggest,’ Doug continued, ‘that we get rid of Reilly and concentrate on Palmer.’
‘Mmm, I agree,’ said Bell. �
�Take care of it; prepare Palmer for the next one.’
‘Good, consider it done.’
‘And Doug, I want it done soon.’
Cam knew he should be doing something, but instead he remained where he was, his hand still on the door. He thought there might be still more information he could get from this conversation. But this hope was dashed when he heard the door to the office closing again. ‘Damn it.’ Cam knew he had missed his chance. He listened as Bell walked across his office floor. He had walked to the other side of the room. The clink of ice cubes falling into a glass was unmistakable. Bell was pouring himself a drink.
‘His back must be towards me.’ Cam tried to picture the office layout he had seen from the roofing crawl space. ‘Let’s do this thing!’
Cam increased his grip on the edge of the door and pulled it towards him. As his eyes adjusted to the light of the office, he levelled his pistol at the figure a few metres in front of him. Bell spun round and saw the assassin in the doorway. The only thing Bell could do was throw the glass at his assailant. The ice-filled glass struck Cam on the side of his forehead. The makeshift weapon bounced off the wall and shattered on the floor as Bell launched himself at Cam, rugby tackling him to the floor.
The broken glass crunched underneath the two men as both fought for the advantage. Bell was strong but not strong enough and Cam managed to fight his way on top of him. Cam had him pinned to the floor and forced the barrel of his silencer into the temple of Bell’s head. He groaned as the pistol pressed harder and harder into the side of his head. Cam began to take up the pressure of the trigger, Bell was only a few pounds per square inch away from death.
Sterling Page 17