Scourge: V Plague Book 14

by Dirk Patton

  “We can’t fight our way in,” Lucas said gently. “We’ve already discussed that.”

  “No. I know that,” Rachel said, still shaking her head. “Not what I’m thinking. Lucas is right. This must be subtle. Something that isn’t going to make them nervous, or alert them that someone is coming after them. No stupid games with people that might betray you. I’m still kind of stuck on the whole contractor idea.”

  “What about it?” I asked.

  “If they need a contractor for something, that’s a good excuse for several people to be allowed inside.”

  “We’d be searched,” Lucas said. “No way to take weapons in.”

  “If you’re a contractor, you’ve got tools. Right?” Rachel asked, looking intently at him. “How much damage could you do with a screwdriver or hammer? Especially if they aren’t expecting it.”

  I glanced at Lucas and after a moment he nodded his head that she was right.

  “But how do we create a need for them to call a contractor, and how do we substitute our people?” I asked.

  “Second part is easy,” Lucas said. “We just ask the Chief Inspector to detain whatever crew is dispatched. It’s the first part that’s the problem. How do we make something break from out here?”

  “Power surge?” I asked. “Fry their electrical.”

  “Maybe,” Lucas said. “What else?”

  “The sewer!” Rachel suddenly blurted. “Brillard’s friend that works for the water company. Think he could cause their plumbing to back up? Toilets start overflowing and they’re going to be screaming for a plumber, and in a hurry to get him inside and working! And the best part is that it shouldn’t make them nervous, and we’re not depending on untrained, unknown people. At least not like the other ideas.”

  “That’s not bad,” I said after thinking for a few seconds. “That’s not bad at all! Lucas?”

  “Sounds better than hookers or spiders or knockout gas bubbling out of the loo,” he said after a brief pause. “Come on. Let’s go back inside and get everyone back together.”

  It only took a couple of minutes before we were all back in the meeting room. Tanner and Schmidt looked annoyed at having been interrupted, but I didn’t care. Rachel outlined her idea for the larger group and I was glad to see their expressions change from irritation to consideration.

  “That just might work,” Wellington said when she was finished. “Senior Sergeant. Give your mate a call. See what he has to say.”

  Without a word, Brillard stood and left the room, cell phone already in hand.

  “How many men would a plumber send for an emergency job like that?” Tanner asked while we waited.

  “Probably only one to start,” Wellington answered. “Think of that first one as a scout. Identify the problem and determine what it will take to fix it. If it’s a big enough problem, he calls in support.”

  “That gets us more men inside the building. And it’s plausible they’d need to be in different locations,” Lucas said. “Assuming we can pass the vetting at the outer perimeter.”

  “That is a problem,” Schmidt said. “I can create false database records for whoever is going in. Vehicle operator’s license, plumber’s license, that sort of thing. But I cannot ensure every record of someone who is already in the system would be scrubbed or updated. There are simply too many places a file may be stored.”

  “You’re saying I can’t go in?” Lucas asked.

  “That is precisely what I am saying,” Schmidt said with a single, sharp Germanic nod. “Nor can any of your men. Not unless you wish to risk being discovered, at which point the Russians will know they are under attack.”

  Before we could continue that discussion, Brillard returned to the room and resumed his seat.

  “He says it’s possible. Not easy, but possible,” he said. “He’s on his way here to speak with us. Should arrive in slightly more than an hour.”

  “Back to the previous conversation,” Lucas said to Schmidt. “Are you absolutely certain you cannot clean up all of an individual’s records?”

  The German heaved a dramatic sigh before answering.

  “As I have already explained, I cannot guarantee one hundred percent success. Records are routinely shared amongst different government agencies, insurance companies, the Defense Forces and many more. They reside on multiple servers. Allow me to demonstrate.”

  He leaned forward and spun an oversized laptop around to our side of the table. There was a soft click as he took a pic of Lucas’s face. Turning the computer back, he typed furiously for nearly a minute, then paused to review the results.

  “Martin, Lucas Marion,” he read from the screen. “There are currently one hundred eighty-three separate entries for you that contain a photo. Military records. Property records. School records. Marriage announcement, to name only a few. What I just did is exactly what the Russians will do. Now, see what happens when I repeat the process.”

  He went to work again, then turned the screen so we could see.

  “One hundred ninety-seven records this time,” he said, tapping the number. “And if I do it again, the number will be different. Perhaps more, perhaps less. It does not matter. Due to the variety of server technology, as well as whether a server is available or not at the moment of my search, the results will consistently be inconsistent. I can remove or modify all records I find, but I cannot be certain I’ve found every record. One miss and a discrepancy will be noticed by the Russians.”

  “I go in.”

  I’d spoken quietly and intentionally didn’t look to my left to see Rachel’s reaction. Schmidt looked at me a moment, then took my photo with his laptop’s camera and ran another search. After several long minutes, much longer than it had taken to find multiple records of Lucas, he turned the screen around and pointed at a string of text. Zero results found.

  “Can’t do this by yourself,” Lucas said.

  I could tell by his tone that he wasn’t happy. But I could also tell that he was agreeing it was all that made sense.

  “I know where I can scare up some more Americans that shouldn’t be in any Aussie database,” I said.

  “One of them’s sitting next to you,” Rachel said, gesturing at Schmidt.

  He glanced at Wellington, who gave him a nod, before taking her photo and starting a search. It ran for nearly as long as mine and also returned no results.

  “Lucas,” I said quietly. “Call your boys and tell them to turn around. When they get back, my guys will hit the road. By the time they arrive, we’ll have all the details worked out.”

  “Excuse me, but exactly who are ‘your guys?’ ” Wellington asked.

  “SEALs and some Delta,” Lucas answered for me.

  “I’ve listened to everyone,” Wellington said. “And while I agree we must take action, I’m rather uncomfortable leaving the fate of my country and its people in the hands of foreigners. No offense.”

  “None taken,” I said, completely understanding his sentiment. “But it doesn’t seem as if you have an option.”

  There was a long silence.

  “Nothing my lads and I can do that he can’t,” Lucas finally said. “I’ve told you the stakes. I’ve seen that the virus is here with my own eyes. Saw what it has already done to our wildlife.”

  Wellington stared at him before turning to me.

  “If this goes bad, and the nerve gas is released…”

  “Millions of people will die,” I said, finishing his sentence. “I’m only too well aware.”

  “And if that happens, and the PM gets word that Americans were involved, what do you think will happen then?” Tanner asked.

  “If this goes wrong, it won’t matter. There won’t be any Australians or Americans left. You think the Russians aren’t going to hit that button the moment they realize what’s happening? They’re going to wipe you out and take your homes. Then, we’ll be next.”

  Everyone was quiet when I finished speaking. Lucas looked around the table at each of them and
nodded.

  “Right,” Wellington said, breaking the silence. “Lucas, are you sure you’re onboard?”

  “As he pointed out, we appear to have no other choice.”

  “Very well,” he said after another stretch of silence. “Make your calls and get things arranged with your men. You have our support.”

  He stood and walked out of the room, the other three quickly gathering their possessions and following. I turned to look at Lucas and couldn’t contain a shit-eating grin.

  “Marion?”

  “Go bugger yourself!” he grumbled.

  31

  “Sure, mate. I can do it, but it isn’t going to be easy.”

  We were back in the meeting room, listening to Brillard’s friend from Sydney Water. His name was Ethan Turner, an older man dressed in jeans, work boots and a heavy canvas shirt. With thick, callused hands and a permanently tanned face, there was no mistaking him for an executive. Actually, I was relieved to have a man who looked like he knew what he was doing rather than a conference room warrior.

  “What’s not easy?” Lucas asked.

  “Well, first off, gotta get into the sewer and make my way to where the building’s tied in. Then, need some way to seal up the pipes that drain into the main. Big building, so they’re probably ‘bout a third of a meter in diameter. Need to plug ‘em, and need something that will support the weight of all the water that’s going to back up above the blockage. But as I said, we gotta get there.”

  “What’s the problem?” Lucas asked.

  Turner leaned forward and thumped a heavy finger on the paper map that Brillard had used to draw the Russian security lines around the target building.

  “These bloody bastards set up a perimeter a long ways from where we need to be, which is here,” he said, indicating a point immediately adjacent to the building. “Normally, I’d just pull up to where I needed to go in, yank a manhole cover and climb down. But I’m guessing we can’t do that.”

  He paused and glanced around the room, receiving several nods.

  “So, that means I gotta go in out here somewhere,” he said, pointing at a spot a couple of blocks away from the Russian line. “Main sewer line’s a meter and a half in diameter, and that’s a long fuckin’ way.”

  “Four feet? That’s it?” I asked, looking at the distance that would have to be covered.

  “Little over five,” Turner said, eyes boring into me. “Don’t you bleedin Yanks do math?”

  “How far is that?” Lucas asked quickly, cutting me off before I said something to offend the man.

  “ ’Bout half a K,” Turner said after peering at the map for a moment. “Long goddamn ways to walk all hunched over, lugging equipment while shite and piss are swirling around your ankles. And gotta wear a breather down there or the methane’ll kill you quick.”

  “What kind of equipment will you need?” I asked.

  “You tell me,” Turner grumbled. “My job’s to keep pipes open, not clog ‘em up! Never thought about nothin’ like this before.”

  “Air bags,” Tanner said, drawing everyone’s attention.

  “What?” Lucas asked.

  “Police use them when we need to make a forced entry and can’t use a pry-bar. Made of Kevlar reinforced canvas with a high-pressure gas cylinder attached. If you’ve got a gate, or a steel security door, slip one into the opening and activate the inflator. They’ll pop just about anything open when they fill up, and they’re tough as hell. Little less than a meter across when full, so they should wedge in nice and tight.”

  We all looked at Turner who was already nodding his head.

  “Long as they don’t deflate, that should do it,” he said.

  “Not until someone opens the release valve,” Tanner said.

  “How many will we need?” Lucas asked.

  “I’ll look it up when I get back to the office,” Turner said. “It’ll be on the building permit.”

  “Ten,” Schmidt said, turning his laptop around.

  Turner peered at the screen, which was displaying a digital copy of the document, then glared at the German before nodding his head.

  “There you go,” he said, then looked at Brillard. “You sure this is gonna get those red bastards out of here? This could cost me my job if anyone figures it out.”

  “Like I told you, Ethan. This isn’t a game we’re playing here.”

  “Tell that to the missus if I lose my pension.”

  “Once the pipes are plugged, how long for the plumbing in the building to back up?” Lucas asked, getting the conversation back on track.

  “Depends,” Turner said. “How much water they puttin’ down the pipes? Doin’ laundry and takin’ showers will fill ‘em up in a hurry. Flushin’ toilets, not so much. Only about three and a half liters per flush. If it was me, I’d do it at night.”

  “Why?” I asked.

  “People get outta bed in the mornin’, what’s the first thing they do? Take a piss. Everyone in the buildin’. That’s a lot of flushin’. Then, most people shower first thing. More water, and lots of it. Is the buildin’ full?”

  “Yes,” Brillard answered.

  “Well, I’d expect the ground floor would be swimming in their upstairs neighbors’ shite before lunch,” Turner said with a big grin.

  “What about the upper floors? Will it eventually back up to them, or all come out on the ground level?” I asked.

  “Lowest plumbing drains only,” he said. “Once they start overflowing, then gravity will make sure it don’t go any higher.”

  “That doesn’t get us into the penthouse,” I said, looking around the table.

  Everyone was quiet, Turner looking at us with a confused expression on his face.

  “Look, mate,” he said. “Don’t know what you got planned, and don’t much care. But I can tell you this. If there was raw sewage backing up on the lower level, any plumber worth his salt is going to want to check all the buildin’s pipes before he’s willin’ to say it’s fixed. Don’t know no one that would risk their reputation like that. Call it good, collect the money and leave, then find out there was a problem upstairs that he missed? He’d be out of business in a hurry.”

  I looked at Lucas. He was staring at the table top, thinking. I stayed quiet and, after a long stretch, he raised his head and nodded. Glancing around the table, I received a nod from everyone else. Turner picked up on our silent consensus and grinned.

  “So, what you blokes calling this?”

  “Excuse me?” Wellington asked.

  “This,” Turner said, flapping his hand at the map. “You know. Like a name for the mission.”

  “We hadn’t really thought about it,” Wellington answered, obviously trying not to roll his eyes.

  “Well, how ‘bout Mission: Shite?” Turner asked, roaring with laughter.

  “Operation: Poop?” Rachel asked with a smile.

  I shook my head and stood up to take Dog for a walk.

  32

  Seconds after Igor and Irina were concealed beneath the floorboards, they heard the barrack’s door crash open. Heavy boots stormed in, the guards shouting for the men to stay in their beds. They couldn’t tell for certain, but it seemed as if there must have been a whole platoon that was moving on the floor above their heads.

  The noise continued for a long time, and frequently the section of flooring they hid beneath was walked across. Every time the heavy footsteps sounded directly over them, Irina shuddered in fear. She was terrified of what would happen if the guards discovered a woman. Igor pulled her to him, wrapping his big arms around her, the pistol gripped tightly in his right hand.

  Eventually, they heard the guards talking amongst themselves, but the voices were too muffled for them to understand what was being said. After several minutes of this, there was a shout and the sound of hurrying feet heading for the door. Irina let out a quiet breath, reaching up to push open the hidden door. Igor stopped her, whispering in her ear.

  “They will let us out when it i
s safe. We do not know that all of the guards have left.”

  She nodded, feeling foolish for almost having made such a mistake. Nodding, she snuggled tighter against Igor and listened intently for any sound of danger. Ten minutes later, there was another crash as the door burst open, more feet charging into the barracks. The guards coming back, hoping to catch any rule breakers by surprise. Apparently, the prisoners were used to this tactic and had all remained quiet and in their bunks. The guards retreated quickly, slamming the door on their way out.

  Half an hour later, there was a scrape above them. Igor quickly concealed the pistol beneath his coat, but kept his hand on the butt with the muzzle pointed up. One of the boards was lifted and they looked up at Mikhail’s smiling face. The opening was widened and Igor climbed to his feet, taking a long look around the room before bending and lifting Irina out of the hole.

  “Is this normal?” Irina asked Mikhail.

  “There is no normal, here,” he cackled. “Only what satisfies the guards at any given moment. But something has happened to excite them. It is cold and the wind is blowing. When it is like this, they prefer to remain in their heated barracks and drink Vodka.”

  “Any idea what alerted them?” Igor asked.

  Mikhail shrugged, then turned away as a fit of coughing racked his frail body.

  “No way to know,” he said. “It could have to do with the men you killed, but I don’t think so. Murders aren’t common here, but even when they do occur, the guards have always been happy to accept the most plausible explanation. They do not really care if we all kill each other, only that the number of prisoners they count matches the records.”

  “You said there had been an escape when the siren sounded,” Irina said. “You don’t seem to think that’s it.”

  Mikhail shook his head.

  “That’s what the siren is primarily for. But this seemed different.”

  Igor stared at the old man, then shook his head.

  “We do not have time to waste speculating about what the guards are doing. Before the alarm, we were talking about finding a prisoner named Shevchenko. You said you never heard of him. How do you plan to find him?”