by Rick Pine
The terminal wasn’t anything like Casey was expecting, especially given what he had seen so far. It essentially looked like a gas station, just with bigger pumps, and much larger hoses. There was a roof with several support beams holding it up above the tankers, and six bays for filling, lined up next to each other. In between each bay was a large pump with a number of fat pipes that connected to the tanker’s assembly.
There were just three tankers parked in the six available bays, with each one connected for filling. One worker ran between the three trucks, monitoring the process and furiously scribbling readouts from the dials onto his clipboard.
Roy turned his car around and reversed it next to the terminal.
“Ready, boys?” Nicolas asked.
Everyone got out of the car without replying. Roy flicked open the trunk. Inside was an arsenal of goodies. Nicolas pulled out several FBG-1S rifles and handed one to each of them. That is, except Casey.
“Don’t I get a gun?” he asked.
“Do you have a license?” Nicolas asked.
Casey just stared at him. Of course he didn’t. They knew that. And he was pretty sure they didn’t care, either. He was just taking another opportunity to ridicule him, put him in his place and let him know the pecking order. Casey knew exactly what he was doing. But he wasn’t here to make new enemies, and had to focus on Billy.
“Just fucking with ya,” said Nicolas. He reached into the trunk and pulled out a Smith and Wesson SW2065, the Mafia’s favorite, and passed it to Casey. “You’ll have to work your way up to the big toys.” Nicolas grinned and handed Casey a box of ammo. “Don’t use it all at once. And try not to miss.”
Roy handed Casey the clipboard from the guard. “Go check with that guy, see how much longer.” Roy pointed over to the worker single-handedly filling up the tankers.
Casey approached the worker, who was frantically trotting between the three pumps. “Hey there. These are our tankers. How much longer before they’re done?” he hollered.
“I dunno, twenty minutes? Maybe more.” He scurried to the next machine and Casey tried to keep up. “There should be three people doing this. If I screw up we all go bang. So please, leave me in peace.” He looked up, and Casey offered an awkward smile.
Casey noticed the sweat on his brow. It’s an autumn evening, and not that warm, he thought. He seems nervous.
He walked back to the car where the others had decided to eat their packed up sandwiches without him. Charming.
Little Franky threw him a wrapped up sandwich. Casey opened it and for once wasn’t disappointed. Fresh salad and real turkey? He felt like he’d won the lottery. It’d had been years since he’d eaten something that was both fresh and resembled something that might have once lived. No expense spared for the Cosa Nostra.
Shortly after finishing their sandwiches, another car pulled up. Its three occupants got out, also wearing Northern Territory Gasoline Co. uniforms. Each one had a slightly more rotund stomach than the last, and all had matching bald heads.
“You must be the drivers,” Casey said.
“No shit,” said the first.
“Well, everyone’s here now. Time to get the party started!” Casey’s optimism was masking his true feelings. He couldn’t have felt less optimistic about this mission if he’d tried.
♦ ♦ ♦
Nicolas had been talking to the drivers for the last five minutes about the logistics. He’d given each one a numbered flash drive to plug into their navigation system. Each had a preplanned route that they must stick to, no matter what. Nicolas would travel in the cab with the driver who held the flash drive labeled “1”. Little Franky was with “2”, and Casey was with the last driver. Roy had agreed to follow behind Casey’s tanker as backup.
Casey’s attention was averted when he noticed the worker had finished disconnecting the tankers from the terminal’s filling stations. As the worker turned and walked away from the tankers he put his hand underneath the rear section of the tanker next to the wheel arch, before withdrawing his hand and continuing to walk away.
Casey burst through the group, pushing one of the drivers to the ground as he did, and accelerated to a full sprint towards the worker who was currently two-hundred feet away. The worker checked his shoulder one last time, only to see Casey closing the distance. He dropped his clipboard and papers and began to sprint away.
The worker was at full sprint in a matter of seconds and quickly changed direction, turning right into a maze of pipes. The pipes varied in size but ran parallel to each other.
Casey turned the corner to see him sprinting next to the rows of pipes. The man was fast, but somehow Casey was gradually catching him up. He’d thought about pulling his handgun out and taking a few shots, but he knew that anything over seventy-five feet would likely miss, even with his steady hand. Factor into that a moving target, and it would be practically impossible. The kind of feat only achieved in the movies. Knowing his luck he’d hit a pipe and blow the place up. It wasn’t something he’d risk, at least not today.
Casey was now just ten feet away. The fleeing worker looked over his shoulder to see Casey was now much closer than he’d have liked. To their right was a horizontal row of pipes just a few feet wide and at waist height. Above that was a second horizontal row at head height. Every ten or so feet was a support from the ground up to the top row, which held the two rows steady.
Casey felt his lungs burn, as they’d been running flat out for what seemed like an hour but in reality was only a minute.
The man timed his jump perfectly. Launching himself feet first, Fosbury Flop style, he jumped through the gap between the two rows of the pipes, just skimming the last pipe as he passed through to the other side, narrowly missing the next upright support. Before Casey could react, his momentum carried him several yards past the worker.
Casey came to a complete stop and turned to see the man getting up, now covered in dirt and dust from the floor. Casey’s maneuver to the other side of the pipes was not nearly as elegant, choosing to jump head first with his arms stretched in front of him through the narrow gap. Casey felt the pipes rub against his belly as his momentum carried him sliding over the pipes. He got to his knees and stood. He lost sight of him for just a split second, and Casey ran a few yards to where the man had landed just a moment ago. He saw the shoe prints in the fine gravel leading off between two of the storage tankers to Casey’s left. He cautiously followed the trail.
The rows of tanks had an approximate three foot gap between them, which was enough room for Casey’s ample shoulders, but only just. He walked quickly, following the footprints. He knew if the worker had run in a straight line he would still be in view, which meant he’d turned. Casey stopped at an intersection, looking left and right. He was in the middle of the field of storage tanks, and he estimated around six tanks were on each side of him, with each tank having a diameter of around 20-feet. Casey looked straight ahead and began walking briskly to the next intersection. The marks on the floor turned to the left. Casey looked, but he was nowhere in sight. He paused to think for a second and get his bearings, as he constantly turned his head looking.
Casey concluded that he was zigzagging to lose him. Smart idea, but that would slow him down. There were three sides to the grid of tanks that he could be aiming for. Straight on would lead him further into the facility, which would mean more people and would make it easier to escape. It would also mean he was more likely to run into another Mafia-friendly worker and increase his odds of capture. Casey was sure he was running with somewhere in mind on a preplanned escape route. If he ran to the end of the row to Casey’s right he’d arrive back at the terminal and have to face Nicolas and the crew. That just left the left-hand side of the field of tanks. Given that was the first turn the worker had made, Casey was sure that was the end goal.
He turned to the left and started jogging through the narrow gaps in a straight line. If he just followed the footprints he’d always be behind. He had to trust h
is gut and head for the end of the row, and hope he was there to watch the man emerge from the maze of tanks.
Casey exited the field of tanks and looked around. No sign of him anywhere. He began to walk briskly toward the far end of the row, hoping to intercept him. Still no sign of him anywhere.
There was a sudden loud bang! Casey immediately looked to the fire station, which was opposite the field of tanks. Every refinery had its own fire station with specially equipped machines, so seeing a fire truck was not a surprise. But this one had just hit the back end of a flat loader, bouncing off it as it hurtled toward Casey at full speed. Casey dove out of the way as it flew past at a terrifying pace.
Casey leapt up and drew his weapon, firing a shot at the rear tire, hitting his mark with the first shot. The tire exploded, sending the fire truck into an unshakable swerve. He watched as the truck snaked across the refinery’s internal road before turning sharply and toppling over under the momentum of its own the weight.
Casey sprinted towards the overturned truck. He couldn’t see it, but he knew from the sound that the worker had just kicked in and shattered the truck’s windscreen. Casey arrived just in time to see him climb out from the cab. Casey fixed his gun on the target, knowing he needed him alive. Nicolas was certainly going to want to interrogate him.
“Don’t move!” Casey yelled as he moved around the truck to accost the man face-to-face. “Hands up, and don’t test me... I will shoot!”
He didn’t respond, but obliged by slowly raising his hands.
At that moment Casey felt immense pain as his legs were taken from underneath him. The man jumped in and stomped on Casey’s hand, and pulled the gun from him. Now lying on his back, Casey looked up to see both the worker and his accomplice, who was still holding a length of steel pipe, jump into the back of a slow-moving flat-loader.
Casey leapt up and gave chase, but it was too late. They sped through the west gate, visible in the distance, and rode off into the sunset, literally.
♦ ♦ ♦
Casey walked slowly back to the terminal. Each driver was now in their respective tankers and looked all set to go.
“Where is he?” asked Nicolas, already knowing the answer.
“He got away,” replied Casey.
“You sure? Or did you let him escape?”
“What!?”
“For all we know, you’re here to sabotage the mission. Gotta admit the timing of it all is a little convenient. Showing up the day before and all.”
“Fuck you! I’m here for Billy, and that’s it.” Casey was smart enough to know where their suspicions would lie. Having Roy follow behind his tanker, babysitting him, was proof enough they didn’t trust him. Not that he blamed them. He didn’t trust them, either. “He put a tracker under the back of the tanker. Probably got one on all of them.”
“I know, Sherlock. We scanned them after you left. Which, I might add, was part of the plan anyway. We left them on the floor where they were. So as far as they’re concerned the tankers never left the facility.”
“They’ll have people watching for when we leave,” said Casey.
“Of course they will. Anyway, we’ve put our own trackers on the tankers, as per the plan. Remember? We need to know where they go if taken, so if you’re not dead after this, then follow the signal. Roy will be tracking them from the car. If you don’t make it to the destination, then radio Roy and he’ll pick you up.” Nicolas pulled a satellite radio out of his pocket and handed it to Casey. “It’s already set up. Now it’s time to go, so don’t miss your ride.”
Casey checked his watch as they drove through the refinery gates. 17:21. It was going to be a long evening.
Chapter 17
Casey rubbed the backs of his legs, which were still stinging like hell from the steel pipe.
The tankers were still together in convoy. Leading was Nicolas’ tanker, which had been given the original name of ‘Tanker 1’. Little Franky’s ‘Tanker 2’ followed, and then Casey in ‘Tanker 3’, with Roy bringing up the rear a couple hundred yards behind.
The first ten minutes of the seven-hour ride were silent, until Nicolas came over the radio. “Okay, I’m turning off at the next exit. Don’t follow, keep to the plan. Follow you’re own preplanned routes, got it?”
“No problem,” Little Franky replied over the radio.
Casey radioed in too. “Got it”.
The roads were empty at this time of night. Though they had gotten a lot quieter over the years, as gasoline prices had risen and taxes on luxuries like cars had increased, most people chose to walk or cycle if they could. They certainly wouldn’t drive around at night without some serious protection, or balls, for that matter. The Last Patriots gang would find them for sure, come sundown, on these back roads. Highways were generally safe, but when you got off the main roads you began to take a risk. It wasn’t something that they had to worry about too much near the Orchard and in Romney. It was a farming community, and farmers carried guns. So The Last Patriots just didn’t bother. They were idiots, but they weren’t stupid.
Five minutes later the radio came to life again. “This is my exit. See you back at base, men.” There followed a pause as the tanker in front peeled off and turned onto their own route before Little Franky spoke again. “Try not to shit yourself, Casey. Roy will look after you. And if you get too scared of the dark, ask that driver of yours to turn the light on and sing you a lullaby.”
“Fuck you, Franky,” Casey replied.
“He’s just jealous, Casey, he doesn’t get to suck his momma's tit tonight,” came another voice over the radio. It was Roy. Casey laughed, as did Dave, the driver of Casey’s tanker.
Several more minutes passed. “What’s the ETA?” asked Casey.
“About midnight,” said Dave. “Mind if I eat?”
“We aren't supposed to stop, and they’ll know if we do,” replied Casey.
“Oh, I know.” Dave took a hand off the steering wheel and pulled out a lunch box from under the seat. “I’m always packing, me”.
They both smiled at each other. Dave put his hand in the box and pulled out a sandwich. “Want one?” he asked, handing it to Casey.
“Thanks.”
Before Casey could finish unwrapping it the radio came alive. It was Nicolas, and he was panicked. “They’re here!”
♦ ♦ ♦
“How many?” Casey asked, not bothering to ask who Nicolas was referring to in his radio transmission. There was radio silence for a moment. No doubt he was readying himself and giving the driver instructions.
Then the radio silence was broken. “Need us to come get you?” said Little Franky.
“No, stick to the plan. Stay on your own course. I ain’t giving up easily,” Nicolas said, sounding nervous.
“How many?” Casey repeated. The more information Nicolas gave up to them the better chance they stood, assuming the IA used the same tactic to hijack each truck.
Nicolas remained silent.
“Casey, what do you think?” asked Little Franky over the radio.
“There’s nothing to think. We stick to the plan. We have to assume they’re armed,” he replied. “Roy, you going to head over to support?”
“No,” replied Roy.
“Why not?” asked Little Franky.
“He ordered me not to. Even if his tanker was hit. He said he was the best shot and you guys would need me more.”
“That’s not too smart,” said Casey, knowing full well that he was the best shot. But then they didn’t know that.
Nicolas broke his radio silence. “They’re armed. There’re maybe ten of them. They disabled the truck. I’ll radio you when I’m safe. The tanker is lost.”
“Fuck!” yelled Little Franky.
“Roy, you tracking him? What’s his position?” asked Casey.
“I don’t know, I lost it a second before he radioed,” replied Roy.
“Well, where was the last known signal?”
“Just outside Merrillvil
le.”
“Call Mr. DeLuca, or whoever, and get someone there to him, Roy,” Casey ordered, finding himself taking over command now Nicolas was likely dead. It was a position he was used to. And to his surprise, there was no protest from Little Franky or Roy.
“We’d better put our foot down and get as much distance as possible between us. Make it harder for them to catch up,” suggested Little Franky.
“Good idea. Assuming they are only using one crew,” Casey acknowledged. The radio fell silent again as they all pondered that thought.
Ten minutes passed before anyone spoke again. The lack of radio communication from Nicolas probably meant he was dead. They wouldn’t find out for sure until help arrived at his last known location.
Dave took one hand off the wheel and pointed to the onboard navigation. “Look at that.”
Casey shrugged his shoulders, unsure what he was pointing to. “What’s wrong with it?” he asked.
“They have us turning off the highway, only to rejoin again a few miles later. What’s the point?”
Casey thought for a moment. It did seem odd. He knew they plotted a somewhat unconventional route in order to confuse any onlooking IA spies, but joining the same highway just a few miles later did seem strange. If they ignored the route and lost the tanker, then Casey would be blamed. Worst case, Billy stays put and he gets himself locked up as a traitor. If Billy’s freedom wasn’t at stake then he might risk it. But it was. “Keep to the route. Let’s just be careful and stay alert.”
“If you say so. But I don’t like it,” said Dave.
“I don’t like any of this, no offense, but we need to stay on route. We’ll both be blamed if something happens and we ignored orders.”