by Dave Buschi
They probably had a protocol in place. A response plan. Vlad had been clueless in that department; didn’t have any details to share. Probably because it didn’t happen often. Particularly if this place was manned 24/7.
The other warehouses in the area probably dealt with it now and then. They made easy targets for industrious thieves. But not this place. The cars… the two visible guards. It was the type of place a thief would pass. Move on. Opt for easier pickings.
Marks left his spot and moved down the hill. He was being overly cautious in his approach. From where those men were, they’d need X-ray vision to see him. They were over one hundred and sixty yards away, and Marks was cloaked in complete darkness. Still, he wasn’t taking chances. He waited till he reached the heavier brush line down below before he rose from his belly-crawling position.
He rose to a crouch. He was in a good concealed area. On his feet now, he moved towards the road.
He tapped his earpiece. “Dark in five.”
“Copy that.”
Marks eyed the road. No vehicles either way. The men he’d seen were out of his line of vision. The side of one of the warehouses was all he could see now. He was in their blind spot. Marks counted down.
Four.
Three.
Two.
One.
Marks moved across the road, keeping low. In front of him were fields. Wide open fields. The asphalt gave way to grass. He moved stealthily seventy-five yards in. Then, like a wide receiver executing a deep comeback, he took a right and headed towards the target.
It was just over a football field length away. Dark structures. No lights. He closed that distance. He was sixty yards from the fence when the terrain dipped. He slowed. This was the retention pond area; its outer rim. There was no water, but the grass felt spongy. He moved slower. The fence was right up ahead. It loomed large. He covered the remaining yards and headed up the incline.
“At the fence.”
“Copy that.”
Marks took out his snips. They weren’t quite as good as heavy duty chain cutters, but they did the job… in about sixty seconds.
He could only hope that the noise hadn’t drawn anyone. He waited, pressed to the ground. Nothing. He peeled back the fence, making an opening about two and a half feet wide.
Ten seconds later…
“I’m in.”
44
MARKS moved forward quickly. The nearest structure was one of the warehouses. From up on the hill it had seemed small. Closer up it was considerably larger.
It was a pre-World War II looking structure. One whose time had come and gone. In the darkness, under the roof eaves, Marks was able to make out clerestory windows, some of which were broken.
As he got closer, he discerned that the side walls of the building were plain stucco. In spots the stucco had fallen off, exposing concrete block. It was hard to tell what the building might have been used for at one time. He crept up to it, till he was right up against it. There were no doors on this side. Just a tracking expanse of wall.
He went left, keeping alongside the building, heading the opposite way from the front gates and going deeper into the property. He caught a whiff of a faint odor, a chemical sort of smell, almost like bleach. He kept to the building.
Lip’s voice came through his ear mike. “I’m moving into second position.”
“Copy,” Marks whispered.
Lip was leaving the car. Plan was for him to find a higher perch where he could sit, observe and help secure. Marks looked over towards the fence and past it to the open fields. Towards the left was the road; it was invisible from where he was. Farther left, past the road, was the brush line, then the hill that Marks had come down. All of it was just a big blob of blackness.
Marks advanced. He made it to the building’s corner and edged around it. Just dark shadows upon black this way. He almost didn’t see the door till he was right upon it. He tested the metal handle. It was locked. He moved past it to the next corner.
Across a stretch of open field, about forty yards away, was an adjacent structure, running parallel. It was the second warehouse where the delivery trucks were parked. He could see the vehicles. Some were engine front in, others were backed up to the warehouse. There was a loading area with big roll doors along the warehouse’s side.
He saw a pile of something in the field, in-between the two warehouses. He used his night scope. It appeared to be a tarp over what looked like some old tires.
He shifted the scope, taking in the warehouse across the way. It was of similar construction as the one he was at now, except it looked to be better maintained. He moved his scope along the line of vehicles. There were eight trucks in all. The plates on the vehicles varied. He could make out some of them. One of them showed New York plates, another Texas, the next three were Virginia, and the last one he could make out had what looked like ONT on the top. A Canadian plate... Ontario.
Same looking trucks, but different plates? That normally wouldn’t be unusual for a trucking outfit that had various hubs throughout the country. But for this? This looked small time.
In his crouched position, Marks peered around the corner of the building. Down a ways he could see another loading dock area with big rubber bumpers around a raised platform. He just had an oblique angle, but he could make out some roll doors; all of which appeared to be pulled down. There were no trucks. All the action seemed to be at the warehouse across from him.
Marks did another pass with the scope. He did a complete one-eighty. All clear. He moved quickly across the field.
The smell of bleach became stronger. As he reached the building’s corner it assaulted him like a slap in the face. He spotted a pool of liquid near the warehouse’s base. It was on the concrete. There was an uncoiled hose and some large buckets, the fifteen gallon kind that painters used when they bought in bulk. There were also two industrial sized containers of bleach, which explained the smell. Their tops were off and they were on their sides. They appeared to be empty.
Marks went around the wet area and moved towards the trucks. The first one was parked engine in. Marks touched its hood. It was cold. He checked the driver’s door and it clicked open. Not wanting to trigger the cabin’s interior light, he didn’t pull the door out. He looked through the window, trying to see if there was a key in the ignition. There wasn’t. There was some paper on the seat and a GPS device on the dash. No visible key. He stepped off the running board.
He went around the truck and proceeded forward. The roll doors of the warehouse were newer construction and were all pulled down. The loading dock was just above waist high. He moved past the rubber bumpers, going from truck to truck, keeping low. He checked each cab, moving in-between trucks. Bingo. Fifth one down had keys in the ignition.
He moved on, past the last of the trucks to the one with Ontario plates. Pay dirt again. It also had keys in its ignition and its cargo door was open.
He checked it out. The cargo hold was empty. Make that almost empty…
He saw something funny in the darkness. He pulled his moon beam from his vest and shone it towards the funny part. The thin beam of his flashlight illuminated what appeared to be a ribbed metal sheet that was propped against the wall. There was also a long dark shadow on the floor of the cargo hold.
Marks stepped up into the hold to get a better view. He was careful with his moon beam. He killed the light till he was deeper in.
He flipped it back on and saw what had created the shadow. On the floor was a hidden compartment. The ribbed metal sheet that was off to the side was sized about right. By the look of it, it would fit seamlessly to cover the hidden compartment and would blend in with the cargo hold floor.
The hidden compartment was split into two unequal sections. A thin board was used as a divider. The first section was smaller and shallower and had two nozzle connections like you’d see for a gas line. The adjacent section was bigger and deeper. Its dimensions were roughly two feet deep, two feet wide, and six feet l
ong. That part of the compartment was covered in some sort of fabric. There were two vents towards the end where the smaller section was. Except for those vents and gas nozzles, the whole thing resembled the interior of a coffin.
Marks put his moon beam back in his vest. He stepped out of the hold and down to the ground. He looked under the truck. The wheels, undercarriage and visible part of the axle gave no indication that there was a hidden compartment. It was somehow incorporated into the steel frame. He looked down towards the other trucks. Same models. Same undercarriages.
He moved away, heading towards the building’s corner. As he did so, something to the left caught his eye. It was tucked to the side of the loading dock. On the concrete, lying flat, were two stainless steel tanks. Their tops were painted green. They looked like CO2 tanks, but as he got closer he corrected that assessment. They were oxygen tanks. Their nozzles were outfitted with adapters. The length and size of the tanks looked to be a perfect fit for the smaller compartment he’d seen in the truck.
Not gas lines then. Oxygen lines. Marks put the last two dots together. These guys were secretly transporting live cargo.
Human cargo.
45
THE girl was cowering in the back of the cage like the others, in the shadows, beyond the cast of the cold fluorescent lighting. The man known as Antonoff looked at her with disgust. Like an animal, he thought. Not a girl anymore. Just an animal. Only two days in here and she was already filthy.
“Stick your arm out.”
She didn’t seem to hear him. Antonoff spit on the concrete floor. “Bljad. Stick your arm out!”
He fumbled with the keys. The girl was in a fetal position hugging her arms around her naked body. Off to the side, on the concrete floor, was a stainless steel feed bowl. Her food was untouched.
“If you make me come in there, I will beat you dead.”
The girl heard that. She whimpered like a dog now. She crawled over to the bars. “Please,” she said. “Don’t hurt me.”
Antonoff sneered. “Arm out.”
Tentatively, her body shaking, she stuck her hand out through the bars. Her small hand just fit through. Antonoff grabbed her thin feeble wrist and held it fast. He looked at her, in her eyes. There was cold unvarnished fear in them. She looked away.
“Look at me,” he said.
She looked up.
“Keep your arm there. If you move it, I come in and cut it off. Understand?”
The girl trembled. Her whole body seemed to shake. Under the cold white light every bit of her nakedness was revealed. Dirt and bruises were on her pale skin. Her chestnut colored hair was matted and hung down in clumps, covering her small breasts. She was sitting on her bare behind with her legs splayed to the left, trying to cover herself with her other hand.
“Do you understand?” His eyes bore into her.
She nodded. He took out the syringe and inserted its hypodermic needle into the vial. He slowly pulled the plunger back to fill the syringe with a milky solution. Her eyes widened, but she didn’t move her arm.
“Antonoff!”
Antonoff turned around. It was Gori. “What?” Antonoff said, irritated, speaking Russian now.
“Let me see that,” Gori said back in Russian. He strode over and grabbed the vial from Antonoff’s hand.
“Imbecile,” Gori said. “This is not for her.”
“What do you mean?”
“We’re not killing this one. She is being shipped alive.”
Antonoff looked over at the ice buckets that were outside the door. “What about those?”
Gori shook his head. “You need to listen. You are lucky I stopped you. Rudnitsky would not be pleased.”
Antonoff frowned. Some of the fear he’d seen in the girl rose in his own belly now.
Gori laughed. “Not to worry. Our secret. Da?”
Antonoff nodded.
Gori pointed to the number on top of the cage. “Twenty-nine. Use other vial. Clear liquid.” He handed the vial he’d taken from Antonoff back to him, and gestured down the row of cages. “This vial is for twenty-two; the boy. But make sure to wait. Shipment is not for a few hours.”
Gori looked at the redhead and grunted. “Hmmtt. I hope she cleans up nice.”
Antonoff grunted back. “Chush’.” He squirted the contents of the hypodermic needle onto the concrete. His lip curled into a sly smile. “Think we have time?”
Gori smirked. He looked around. “Sure. Always time. Which one you thinking?”
46
MARKS heard him before he saw him. It was a faint sound, a crunching of gravel. Not like from a car, but from someone walking. It was coming from a ways off.
From a crouched position, Marks peered around the edge of the warehouse. About thirty yards from him was a man striding across the yard. He was alone. It was one of the men he’d spied from the hill that had been smoking a cigarette.
The man headed towards the building with the cars parked in front. Marks watched as the man went past the vehicles and up some steps. He went to the door and disappeared inside.
Marks keyed on the large structure. Its casement windows were blackened out, but around the edges of some of them, whiteness peeked through, indicating that lights were on in the building. Near the building’s far corner was an exterior metal fire stair. It seemed to stop just short of the roof. There were three landings that had doors; one that accessed each level.
He focused on the windows, going from one to the next. Top ones were dark; no light spilling through the cracks. One of them near the top landing was slightly open; its top casement flipped out.
He logged that little detail.
He did a pass on the yard, scanning for guards. The man hadn’t been followed. There was no movement. None at all. Marks used his scope on the darkest areas, passing over the adjacent structures. There was no one lurking in the shadows. The two sedans and four SUVs were dark and empty.
Marks tapped his ear. “Babel, you have eyes?”
Lip’s voice came through, soft and low. “Big and round.”
Marks looked up towards the hill. There was nothing visible up there. Just blackness. Score one for Lip. Knowing him, he was farther off than where Marks had been. He was probably near the trees, far to the right.
“What’s your coverage?” Marks said.
“Full Monty. You owe me some pants.”
Marks refrained from using a snappy comeback. “Any company my way?”
“Only one. Up near the gates. Building between you and him.”
That would be the guy he’d seen, the other one who’d been smoking. Marks fingered his weapon. “You seeing the party?”
“Yep. Looks like a regular convention.”
“I’m going to check it out,” Marks said.
“You got an invitation?”
“Just got one, back at the trucks. They’re rigged to transport live cargo.”
“Understood. Am I live?”
“Not yet. I’ll tell you when.”
“Copy that. I’ve got your six.”
Weapon in hand, Marks moved towards the building.
47
HE didn’t go to the front door. Instead his route took him towards the metal stair in the rear. Infiltration 101: given an opportunity between two entry points, one being low and the other high, always opt for the high one. The roof was optimum when available. Targets, ensconced in their little domiciles, never expected a hit from above.
In this case, roof access wasn’t assured. Getting on the roof may be problematic, and the access hatch may be secured. But there was a good fallback option: the open casement window on the third story landing. Both those breach points fit the bill. Go in high.
Marks reached the exterior stair. He went up the metal treads carefully so as not to make noise. That proved a challenge. The stair was old and rusted. The support points that were attached to the brick were loose in spots, which created some wobble.
He hugged the wall, keeping his weight over the ins
ide edge of the treads. He passed the first door and went up the next run of treads. The stair was better secured in this part. No wobble. No creak.
One more run took him to the second floor landing. He examined the door. It was metal. Had a handle with a cylinder lock beneath. Next to the door was the window. Its glass panes were painted black. He could hear voices, faint, coming from inside.
He went up the next run. His view of the property increased as he went higher. He scissored back and reached the next landing. He was right beneath the top landing now. His view could take in the fence. He saw the pole lights up front. Saw the gate and the road onto the property. The front building was still in-between him and the guard. He couldn’t see the guard.
Lip’s voice came through his ear mike. “Vehicle. Just turned now.”
Marks looked towards the road. He had a clear view towards the right. Nothing that way. He tapped his ear. “From the exit ramp?”
“Yep. Van by the look of it.”
Marks considered going back down the stairs, but nixed that idea. Movement was a dead giveaway. Even in darkness, eyes could pick it up. Better to be still. He laid himself flat on the metal grating, as tight to the building as he could get. It afforded him a sliver of a view. He could just barely see the gate.
He saw the headlights before he saw the vehicle. Two beats later, the vehicle pulled into view. It stopped at the gate. The vehicle was one of those vans that didn’t have windows in the back; there was just the passenger’s window and a big roll door along the side. The van was dark in color and there weren’t any markings on it.
The driver leaned out and used the intercom. Moments later, the big metal gates rolled out of the way. The van drove in.
Marks’s view was cut off by the front building. The vehicle appeared to be heading towards the warehouses. Confirmation on that… it briefly came back into view, before it disappeared in-between the two warehouses. He caught a glimpse of the driver and a man in the passenger seat. Judging by the glow of the headlights the van was parking by the loading dock. Seconds later those lights winked off.