by Andy McNab
I got back to Tony, who was in the final throes of his coughing attack.
I gave him a couple more seconds to finish before we started back up to the hangar. ‘You okay?’
He gave me a slap on my arm. ‘Just old.’
54
I stood on the threshold where the shutter met the hard-standing, light spilling out past me onto the spot where they would land. I’d been straining to hear the familiar buzz, and it didn’t take long. Gemma rounded the corner, taking the same route as Tony and I had, but a lot lower. She was no more than two metres from the ground, and the first of the bulk bags was behind her on the second drone. Both machines slowed and began to drop even lower. I went out to help guide her down to the concrete, just as I had with Tony, but Gemma flew past me with a big smile on her face, her legs air-walking as she went deeper into the hangar. She wasn’t taking it seriously enough. But then again, when had she ever?
‘Catch up, lard-arse.’
The bulk bag flew past, nudging my shoulder on the way.
I ran behind them; it looked like she was being taken right to the door down to the tunnel.
I caught up just as Gemma’s boots touched the polished concrete and she was already unstrapping herself. The bulk bag landed next to us with a metallic clank and we made sure its claws were clear of the bag’s handles. The drones turned on themselves in the hover and exited the hangar. Seconds later the buzz had gone and all I could hear was Gemma, very excited, as she bent into the bulk bag.
‘That was sick as fuck!’
We lifted out the core drill, and the steel rig that was going to keep it in place at the bung. She’d pre-attached them for ease. The drill was a Husqvarna, reconditioned, sprayed blue, a big lump of steel, and heavy. It would cut out a core of concrete and leave a hole big enough for even Tony to get through. We lowered it down, careful not to mark the polished concrete.
Next out was the diamond core-drill bit, which was basically a bigger version of the DIY hole-saw you use to drill out a hole in a door if you’re installing a Yale lock, or make a hole in plasterboard big enough to pass a pipe through. Instead of steel to do the cutting, though, this thing had industrial diamonds for teeth. And instead of the bit being Yale-lock-sized, it was 600 millimetres in diameter and 500 deep, the size of a man-hole.
Tony came up the steps and joined us. He was pleased to see Gemma and the kit I pointed to. ‘So, as planned. Me and Gemma, we’ll move the drill. You’re sorting protection and power, right?’ I didn’t wait for an answer. ‘Let’s crack on.’
Gemma hefted the drill and the rig. As she waddled down the steps, the steel echoed as I rolled the bit towards the door, taking my time, trying to avoid scratches or gouges in the floor. When I reached the steps, I got in front of it and bounced it carefully down the first couple.
Tony disappeared to do his jobs. Before the drilling phase, he was to make sure that, while we were on the tunnel side of the doors, going down the steps into the tunnel and to the wall of the basement, we all wore rubber gloves, blue overalls, plastic boot covers, face masks and goggles. We needed to keep the hangar and the main house clean of dust and debris. If Skye was wrong about the ledger being in the basement, we could find ourselves searching for the ledger everywhere else. Every time anyone came up to the hangar, they would have to take off their protection, dump it in the plastic bin bags that Tony was going to leave out, do whatever they had to do outside in the hangar, and then, on the way back in, get their protection on once more, with a new set of coveralls, boots, gloves and face gear. Exactly the same would be happening going through the stud-wall and into Sanctuary: we’d take our protection off, go into the basement or even the house, leave no sign, and once we got back in, it would be kit back on, until we came up to the steel doors to go through the hangar, and then it was kit off. In Tony’s words: ‘What happens in the tunnel stays in the tunnel.’
This wasn’t an unusual practice for the team or on sites, particularly when working in an occupied house.
I bumped the drill bit down onto the steel grating in time to see Gemma finishing positioning the drill. The rig was an aluminium base-plate that held a stanchion, and an assembly made of flat steel, about a metre long, with ball-bearing runners, that the drill was secured to. The drill could then be positioned vertically to drill down into a floor or, in this case, horizontally into the bung.
As the steel rolled towards her and the noise echoed round the tunnel, she turned and gave me a thumbs-up. ‘No problems here. It shouldn’t take too long.’
The drill itself looked like a DIY power tool, only five times bigger. All it needed now was power, and the drill bit.
Tony was close behind me, dragging the bulk bag with one hand and unspooling the power cord with the other. The bag contained all the bits and pieces we needed, including tarpaulins to keep the dust down and replacement protection for the team once we came back from Sanctuary and re-entered the void.
Tony had connected the cable to a socket by the steel doors, but before we spent time attaching the core-drill bit and making any final adjustments, Gemma still had to check for power. The tunnel’s lights working meant nothing: power might have been cut in an unoccupied building for safety reasons.
Tony coughed up some more dust as he pulled out the blue nylon tarpaulins to go under and over the drill.
Gemma connected the power and the drill whined into life. She beamed. ‘Fucking excellent.’
The pitch changed as she adjusted the speed. Dry core drilling depended on knowing the behaviour of the material you intended to drill, which in turn dictated the amount of pressure you put on the bit as it was cutting, and that dictated the speed of the cut. Get any of these three things wrong and the bit will become too hot and fracture, or the diamonds rendered blunt so Gemma wouldn’t be cutting into anything. She had to get the pressure and speed correct for this type of concrete, and always keeping the core-bit warm, never hot, because that’s when the problems start to happen. But that was why she was here: master of form.
I announced I’d go and fetch the next lot in, and left the pair of them to get on with their jobs. By the time I was running back towards the hangar, Gemma and Tony were pulling on their protection. All was good for phase two, getting through the bung.
As I reached the stairs, the first grinding of the bit in contact with the concrete echoed deep down in the tunnel. I called the Js while taking deep gulps of stale air.
‘You’ve still got one up there, checking the area? Checking the roads?’
It was Jamie who answered. ‘Chill. All good.’
‘I’ll chill once we’re the fuck out of here. I need Warren.’
‘Sure.’
It took a few seconds, but he was soon on the Samsung.
‘All’s good, mate. We have power, no need for the gennies.So, the next wave needs to be you and Charlotte.’
‘Okay.’ He sounded more efficient than excited or laid-back.
‘You need to show the Js which bags to bring in as soon as they drop you off. We’re going to need your bag and the holoport. The rest can wait until we have the ledger.’
He muttered another ‘Okay.’ But this second one wasn’t sounding so efficient.
‘It’s okay, Warren. All is good, mate.’
The phone vibrated. It was a message coming in from one of the Templars’ numbers.
‘Got to go. I’ll see you in a couple of minutes.’
I took the call. It was Casper. ‘How far are you?’
‘We’re cutting the bung now.’
There wasn’t any time for congratulations: he was under pressure. His tone carried worry. I’d only heard it coming out of him once, and that was yesterday.
‘I’m trying to pick up Skye. She thinks Castro’s team are watching her and that they’re suspicious. I need to get her out of the Bay area. Mr Mani and Jon are waiting with the holoport. If the pick-up goes wrong, we’re going to fight our way back to Atherton. We need to get to Mr Mani. You need to s
et up your holoport for her. Everything that happens here is for you. Remember – at any cost.’
Charlotte and Warren entered the frame of the hangar and the buzz got louder as they flew towards me.
‘I understand. But what does that mean for us? Do they know we’re here?’
‘The only thing that matters is the ledger.’
I turned away from Charlotte and Warren and had to put a finger in my ear as the drones got closer and the hangar magnified the buzz.
‘I’ve got it. Casper – good luck. I hope Skye’s okay.’
There was a pause. ‘I do too. She’s my wife.’
He cut the call.
As Charlotte and Warren stood waiting for the bags, the drones turned on themselves to leave the hangar.
‘When they come in, you need to get them the other side of the door. Keep them out of the hangar. Get your protection on and I’ll see you down there.’
I slapped a not-so-happy Warren on the arm. ‘That okay, mate? That sound good?’
He sort of nodded.
‘See you down there, then.’
Charlotte followed me to the other side of the doors, where I started to pull on my protection.
‘Everything okay? Who was that?’
Once I’d got my legs through the blue coveralls and the drill was grinding away in the background, I stepped closer to her. ‘It’s Casper. Skye is his wife. Can you believe that? She thinks she’s been found out.’
Charlotte’s face clouded. ‘What about us? Are we safe?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Shit.’
I put my hands on her shoulders and made sure she was looking at me. ‘It means nothing yet. We still have to get on with the job. We must get the holoport up, and we must find the ledger.’
She nodded, but I could see the doubt.
‘Charlotte, it’s all going to plan this end. We have the drones up. We’ll know if any problems are heading our way. We’ve just got to push on. We’ve got no choice.’
A gentle buzz entered the hangar and Charlotte turned back towards the tunnel. ‘I’ll see you down there.’
Pulling up the hood of my overalls and placing the shaped fibre mask over my mouth and nose, I headed for the tunnel.
55
From where I stood at the bottom of the stairs, it looked as if Gemma and Tony were in a world of blue tarpaulin and grey concrete dust at the bung. We needed the sheets to keep the dust down as best they could – Gemma hadn’t been able to get hold of an extractor and collection bags in time.
Both were dressed the same as I was, in full protection now I had my safety goggles on. As I got closer I could see Tony was trying to make sure the top cover was kept in position to stop the worst of the dust flying everywhere, and yet more tarpaulins were spread out on the steel grating to catch the dust ball. It looked like a losing battle: both of them were covered with a layer of light grey concrete.
Gemma went on to her knees, lifted the top tarpaulin and disappeared beneath it, holding it over her head as she checked the drilling. Tony was well into another coughing bout as I arrived.
I leant into him to make myself heard over the racket of the drill. ‘I can do this, mate. Why don’t you change over with Warren?’
His words were as muffled as mine probably were. ‘Don’t worry about it, son. There’s enough of this crap in me already.’
I slapped him on the arm. ‘Not long now.’
I ducked under the sheeting next to Gemma to see the core bit turning into the concrete, maybe about 200 millimetres in. It rotated with a high-pitched, crunching screech as the diamond teeth cut their way through, creating plumes of dust.
She had to yell: ‘Quarter of an hour tops. Piece of piss.’
As I leant in to her and shouted, she wiped her dusty goggles with her fingers so she could keep focused on the drill bit. ‘Bringing the kit down. Back soon.’
I left her to it and pulled myself out of the covering and stood up to have another shout at Tony, who was still almost mantling the drill with the tarpaulins. ‘Fifteen.’
I got a nod and a cough in reply as I headed for the stairs.
I pulled off a glove and slowed my run when I was about halfway between the bung and the steps, and sent a message to the Js: We still have a drone up?
Within three seconds they replied: Chill. Still cool.
Closer to the steps, I could look up and see Charlotte and Warren putting their protection on, with all the kit now stowed our side of the doors.
I took the first two steps up to them and would only have had to raise my voice a little over the distant drill. I shouted anyway: it always seemed harder to communicate with these things covering your mouth.
‘Close the doors. Keep the dust in.’
A couple more steps up and there was another vibration. It was Casper. I stopped, pulled my mask down below my chin, and pressed the Samsung hard against my hood. There was a lot of background noise from his end this time. He was in a vehicle. I had to push the hood into my other ear with a finger to hear.
The background noise was Skye. ‘Take the right – next right. It’s there – there. Then right again. Immediate right. Quick. We’ve got to be quick, before they turn.’
There was no reply from the driver.
‘Casper?’
He was clearly nearer the car’s mic but his voice was still hazy.
‘Listen in. I’ve got Skye. We’re heading for Mr Mani’s but we’re being followed. How long have you got left?’
Skye was still giving directions, her voice much edgier than it had been yesterday. ‘The blue Dodge – it went straight. Now turn left somewhere – it will take us to the freeway. First left.’
I waited for her to finish. ‘We’re nearly through the bung. Another thirty minutes, tops.’
‘Okay.’
Skye was back. ‘Left – go left there, the drugstore. There – there!’
Casper’s voice was laboured as he fought to control the wheel. ‘Be quick, James.’
The call went dead.
Charlotte and Warren were now all protected up, looking down at me.
I put the Samsung away as I climbed the remaining steps. ‘They just want to know how long – all good.’
Warren’s voice was muffled behind his mask, but it was clear to him that I was lying. ‘All that shouting didn’t sound like that to me.’
He picked up his bag as I put my mask back on to cover my lies.
‘It’s all okay, mate. Couple more minutes and you’re on.’ I touched his shoulder as he moved down the stairs. There was no answer and no reaction to be seen under his mask and goggles.
Charlotte’s face wasn’t so hidden: she ripped her mask off to confront me.
‘He’s right, isn’t he?’
‘Casper’s got Skye. They’re heading to Parmesh’s now. But they’re being followed.’
I grabbed her hands, as if that was going to help anything. ‘But it’s okay. They’ll get to Parmesh’s no matter what. I know it. I also know we’ll get the ledger. Okay?’
It took a couple of very long seconds before I got a slow nod. ‘Good. See? I promised, didn’t I? I promised I wouldn’t lie to you again. But nothing to the team, yeah? It would freak Warren out. You can see what he’s like at the moment. They all just need to keep focused on the money. Whatever happens, we’ve got to work around it. What else is there to do? We’re here.’
We parted hands and she repositioned her face-wear. I got a muffled answer from her. ‘So let’s just get on with it, then.’
‘Yep, exactly.’
She headed down the tunnel and I followed after checking that the doors were firmly closed.
56
By the time I reached the bottom of the stairs and was able to look along to the bung, the drill had stopped and a very happy Gemma was emerging from the tarpaulin.
I ran towards them. Gemma stood up and gave Tony a high-five. ‘Fucking sick, or what?’ She then dug down into her kit as Tony se
t about folding up the tarpaulin, keeping as much dust on the inside as he could.
Gemma brought out bottles of L&P, a local fizzy lemon drink.
‘We have to keep moving,’ I shouted. ‘Just a quick swig. Let’s go. Got to keep on it.’
By the time I got to the bung I was breathing heavily, sweat falling down the sides of my face. I checked out the cut, or what I could see of it. Just over two-thirds of the bit was inside the bung. Gemma knelt down to join me, drinking with her goggles over her eyes but her mask around her neck.
‘Right.’ She looked at Warren and me. ‘As I bring the bit out, you two get either side of it and take the weight. Once you’ve got it, I’ll take the bit off the drill, then you two get the core out on a new piece of Tony’s sheeting. Like I told you, yeah?’
She coughed, her throat still dusty, and took a final gulp to clear it. ‘Right, let’s get on with it.’
Warren and I gripped either side of the drill, as Gemma put the drive into very slow reverse for a couple of seconds before trying to pull the drill back.
Charlotte had to help her. Dust had collected in the rig’s runners, making it difficult to move. Eventually the core-bit started to appear.
Warren and I bent with our arms under the bit as it emerged, and Charlotte gave a final pull as she powered down. ‘Here we go – ready!’
And out it came, to reveal a perfectly circular bore hole cut into the bung, and beyond that, the darkness of the void. The bit was still supported by the rig, but the weight of it tugged us down and we had to brace our legs to give some extra support. The concrete cylinder was warm.
Gemma got herself in front of the drill, to disconnect the bit. ‘Steady – it will drop once it’s free.’
She was right. The drill came away and we took the full weight. We shuffled like badly trained removal men towards a tarpaulin away from the mess and Charlotte began to fold down the drill rig. We manoeuvred the bit onto the sheeting and tipped it upright so the teeth were on the tarpaulin, then pulled upwards and twisted the bit to reveal a perfectly cut core of concrete. It looked like a very fat anti-parking bollard.