Security: Jack Randall #4, page 16
“What if they change their minds? What if they no longer need us?”
“Then we pick our time and give them everything we’ve got.”
Debra swallowed. “Okay.”
“In the meantime keep an eye on the senator, she looks a little rattled. I don’t need her doing something stupid.”
Debra checked on the other woman. She was as pale as her fake tan would allow and staring out the window at the smoke without blinking. Her lip quivered and she gripped the edge of a desk with white knuckles.
“Yeah. Okay. I’ll babysit. If you hear anything about Jack—”
“I imagine Jack’s doing the same thing we are and thinking the same things we are.”
“Yeah. You’re right.”
A shout from the guard and the wave of his rifle sent them scurrying back from the windows. Debra led the senator to a seat on the floor against the far wall next to Beck the plant manager while Sydney took a seat next to Eric and Kianna on the floor. She checked him out again.
“Is he okay?”
“He’s stirring a little. His pupils are okay and the swelling isn’t too bad. I think he’ll be okay once he wakes up.”
Sydney eyeballed her partner’s bruised jaw. The terrorist had caught him just right with the butt of his weapon and Eric had dropped like a stone. Her medic experience told her the same thing as the girl had. He’d be all right after his nap, it was just a matter of how long he would sleep.
“Good. Listen, I need to get something from under his back. The next time that guard walks away I need you to roll him toward you, okay?”
Kianna nodded, confused but knowing better than to ask.
A minute later the chance arrived. The guard left the window and went to the bathroom. Debra nodded an all-clear and Sydney repeated it to Kianna. The girl grabbed Eric by his belt and shirt and rolled him up on his side. Sydney dug into his belt in the small of his back and pulled out something metallic.
It was not what she expected. Instead of a loaded Glock she held a tablet computer. She sighed heavily before hiding it in a nearby trashcan.
She eyed his sleeping face and shook her head.
“Dammit, Eric. What were you thinking?”
CANADIAN BORING MACHINE COMPLETES MASSIVE HYDROELECTRIC TUNNEL
—Daily Tech
—TWENTY-ONE—
THE HMS DRAGON
John Kirby, Captain of the HMS Dragon, had received many odd orders in his day, but none like today. They had just cleared the Suez canal into the Mediterranean and for some reason the home office was interested in the rusted hulk approaching them off their starboard side. The orders came with no explanation as to why he was to use his multi-million-pound destroyer to take pictures of a ship that looked as if it could sink at any moment. Regardless, his job was not to question.
“Any change?”
“Negative, Captain. Course and speed are the same.”
“Very well. Have them start filming at fifteen hundred meters.”
“Fifteen hundred, aye.”
The captain went to the angled glass to get a better look at the target. It was a container ship such as they had seen countless times. He scanned its hull with binoculars and then the bridge for any sign of them doing the same to him. A few faces looked back, one of them pointing and gesturing. Another joined him. This one was wearing black and sporting a beard. He watched them have a heated conversation before the captain joined them and spoke. The two men turned and immediately left the bridge. Odd. He watched until the ship was within five-hundred meters. A deckhand smoking on the rail casually waved to his ship and one of his sailors returned it. The warm waters of the Med narrowed and then widened as the two ships passed without slowing. He followed the stern until it was out of sight.
“Any issues?”
“Negative, sir. All three cameras functioned without incident.”
“Very well. Please have Mr. Owens meet me in the wardroom when he’s ready.”
The captain left the bridge and proceeded aft before descending a ladder and walking the short distance to his wardroom. He took his time and freshened his coffee before sitting down. The coffee was a habit he had picked up while on a joint exercise with the Americans. He found that he preferred it to his native tea.
His wait wasn’t long and his intelligence officer showed up with a stack of photos. He spilled them on the walnut table and the captain caught them before they could cascade over the edge.
“Sorry, sir. Just a little excited.”
“I see. So you have an idea why we’re here do you?”
“I do.” He shuffled through the black-and-whites until he found one in particular. It was a high definition shot of the two men he had seen on the bridge. Owens pointed a chubby finger at the man on the left.
“This guy. I’ve seen him before in an intelligence report. I can’t remember the name but I think he’s a bad guy.”
“A bad guy? Owens, you’re picking up bad habits from our American friends, just like your captain.” He raised his cup for reference.
“Yes, well, it works here, sir. I have my men running his face through the recognition software, but I’ll bet ten to one he’s on a watch list.”
The captain studied the face. The hooked nose and the dark eyes gave him clues.
“Arab? Not Pakistani or Afghani. Am I right?”
“Yes sir. If forced to I’d say he’s Jordanian.”
“Hmmm. So our container ship appears to be more than it lets on. Interesting. Put this all together for immediate transmission. I’ll slow us down a bit in the event they wish us to follow. Let’s see how they wish us to proceed.”
• • •
An hour later he had his answer.
Z080714ZMAR
TOP SECRET XXXX
TO: HMS DRAGON
Loiter and track target vessel to the extent of your detection range.
Report any change in course or speed.
Do not follow.
Do not be detected.
Adml Winchester sends. GSTQ
“I guess that answers that,” Captain Kirby said. He had been hoping for orders a little more exciting. He stuffed the message into his uniform pocket and addressed the bridge.
“Con, slow to steerage and come about heading zero-nine-zero. Maintain tracking of target vessel, report any change.”
The captain stewed in his chair. Watch and report was worse than taking pictures, but orders were orders. Whoever the guy was in the picture, he hoped it was worth it. In about an hour they would lose track of the ship once it hit the canal. After that he assumed it would become someone else’s problem.
THE TUNNELS
Jason opened his mouth to speak but Jack shook his head. The man outside the cage paced back and forth and glowered at them as if he were looking for an excuse to use his rifle. They had been prodded at gunpoint down the tunnel where they had joined other captives. The noise level had dropped as machines were shut down and vehicles were stopped. Eventually the sound of the massive boring machine had faded to silence and its crew was shoved into the room to join them. Jack counted a total of twenty-four plus himself, Greg, and Jason. About equal to the number of terrorists he had seen so far.
Jack shared a look with Greg and weighed their options. They hadn’t been searched. Why he was not sure and could only guess that it was due to the workers being searched every time they entered. Still, his and Greg’s personal weapons were not enough to overpower the rifles and handguns he had seen the terrorists carrying, especially with hostages in the mix. He eyeballed the cage gate. It had a simple lock welded to the frame. No key and no way to lock it without one. Good. Something to keep the tempted worker honest, no doubt some of the tools stored here would fetch a good price on eBay. He examined the many cabinets out of the corner of his eye but most were closed and offered no clue as to what they had inside. One was painted bright yellow with PAINT and FLAMMABLE on the door. The plywood floor put them on a level surface and he wondered what was underneath.
A nudge from Greg brought his attention back to the bulkhead door. It was half open, blocking the view of the outside tunnel but he could hear shouting on the other side. A worker tumbled into the room. His nose was twisted and bloody.
“Inside,” the terrorist ordered. He waved his rifle at them to move them away from the door. The man pulled himself to his feet just as another man arrived, the one with the limp, he produced keys and unlocked the cage. The straggler was kicked into the room and his coworkers caught him.
“That is all of them.”
“You are sure? No more hiding?”
“I checked their names off the work roster.”
The skinny man turned and addressed his prisoners, “If you try to leave you die!” He fired a round into the wooden floor for emphasis and the men jumped back. The man with the limp added a chain and heavy padlock to the door before they exited the bulkhead door.
“Fucking Mustafa!” one of the men swore.
“Never should have hired the bastard,” another said.
“Wait a minute, “Jack said. “One of them is a worker here?”
“Who the hell are you?”
Jason said, “He’s with me, guys. He’s from Homeland Security.”
“You’re a little late,” the man said. “But yeah, the guy with the limp is Mustafa something, we call him King. He got shot up in Iraq and the boss got him a job with us. He was okay to work with, just always had an attitude.”
“Never thought the fucker would do this,” another said.
“Well he did,” Jack interrupted. “Is there anyone else out there? Someone hiding maybe?”
The foreman clembed up on the workbench and looked them over, counting in his head and on his fingers.
“We’re all here.”
“Okay. Let’s work on getting out of here. Where’s the nearest way out?”
Jason pointed up the tunnel. “The elevator. But I’m sure they shut it down, or at least have it locked. The tunnel entrance is a good, what, two kilometers the other way?”
“Closer to three,” the foreman said.
“Will that elevator handle us all, Jason?”
“Weight-wise it’s no problem. Can we all fit in the damn thing? That’s the question.”
Jack turned to the foreman. “What do you think?”
“It’ll be tight, but we can do it. But how are we getting to it? First we have to get out of this cage. If we try cutting that chain or this door and they see us we’re dead.”
Greg pointed to the cabinets lining the wall. “What’s in those?”
“Parts mostly. Hydraulic and pneumatic cylinders. Hoses and fittings. Oil. Some tools. Fasteners. Nails, screws and what-not. Scrap metal. There’s some paint and solvents in the yellow cabinet but not much. That’s about it.”
Greg looked at the floor. It was held down by standard decking screws.
“Any screwdrivers?”
THE CONTROL TOWER
“Eric, wake up.” Sydney shook him gently while watching the terrorist through the glass. They had shut the door, making it harder for her to hear what they were talking about. Fortunately, that worked both ways.
“Eric!” She shook him harder and he stirred. Another shake and his hand came up to his head.
“There you are, dumbass. Don’t say anything loud. How do you feel?”
“My head hurts. What happened?”
“The terrorist leader knocked you in the head with his pistol. You remember?”
Eric looked around. Kianna watched the confusion play out on his face.
“Vaguely. We were at the dam, in the control room.”
“A concussion?” Kianna asked.
“Maybe,” Sydney said. “Eric, you kept pecking at the damn keyboard after they came in and he hit you. You remember?”
Eric rubbed his jaw.
“Yeah,” he sighed. “Skinny bastard. Him and a few more. I established the link right before he hit me.”
“What link?”
“To my tablet.” He opened his eyes now and looked at her. “Please tell me you have it.”
“It’s in that trashcan next to you.” He moved to get up and she stopped him. “Not now. Tell me where your gun is.”
Eric examined the bottom of the desk he was lying next to while he tried to remember. “Oh, it’s in the trashcan with my ID.”
“Really?” Sydney straightened up and looked through the glass. The trashcan sat at the knee of the terrorist leader. The man was too intent on the screen and keyboard in front of him at the moment to look down and notice, but that could change at any minute.
“Shit. We need that gun.”
“I have something better,” Eric said.
“What? A bottle of nerve agent? You’re killing me here.”
“Give me my tablet, I’ll show you.”
THE TUNNELS
Jack watched Greg and the others work on the screws with the one screwdriver they had been able to find. It was slow going. He had lined up the others along the cage wall to hide the men on the floor from view should one of the terrorists come back.
“Where should we go after we have access?” he asked Jason.
The engineer ran a hand through his already mussed hair and looked up and down the crowded tunnel before replying.
“We only have three options. Well four if we’re suicidal. There are two elevators to the north, but like I said they may not be big enough to hold us all. They make some noise too, so they may hear us before we get to the top.”
“And?”
“They can override the controls from down here. Or cut the power and leave us hanging in the shaft. There’s no escape ladder. We can’t climb out if we get stopped.”
“What’s the other option?”
“Enter the finished tunnel and make for the entrance.”
“They’ll have it guarded for sure. What else? Can’t we go south?”
Jason made a face. “To the inlet valve?”
“What?”
“The shaft at that end takes a dip before it climbs, like a sink drain, only it’s not to make a water seal, it’s to control the speed of the incoming water. Right now the tunnel is half full of some seriously cold water, and then it’s a four hundred meter climb to the top. There’s a climbing rail embedded in the concrete, but unless you have the gear and some climbing experience, you’re not getting out that way.”
“Is there gear there?”
Jason shrugged. “Should be. I used it a few days ago.”
“You’re a climber?”
“I dabble. You?”
“Only if I have to.”
Jack grimaced at the thought and Jason read his face. Climbing for fun was something Jack could never wrap his head around. He wasn’t a fan of high places. It was an ingrained fear that he had struggled with his whole life. Jumping out of planes or being STABO’d out of the jungle had never bothered him. It was the edge. That last step off of solid earth into nothing but space that made his body rebel. Staying on that edge for hours and hours was something he had no desire to do. He hid it as best he could, but it was still there no matter how much he tried to cover it.
“Elevators then. Tell me about them. Try to think like me.”
“Okay? Well, what’s there to tell? They’re just big-ass elevators. A steel cage with a hydraulic motor that runs it up and down. There’s no counterweight or anything like in a building elevator, just a pulley at the top and a pulley at the bottom with a cable run through them hooked to a pair of big hydraulic motors. If the power is cut the magnetic brakes engage and the thing is locked in place until it’s manually reset. The motors are down here so the controls are, too. The pumps that supply the pressure are big and noisy, if we use them we need to be fast. Even if I disengage the governor it’ll still take about a minute to get to the top. If somebody tries to get in that way they’ll hear ’em coming way before they get here and then it’ll be shooting fish in a barrel.”
“Okay, so exit only. And it’s too quiet right now to use them?”
“Yeah. This is creepy-quiet right now. I’ve never been down here with it this quiet before.”
“What about communication?”
“Obviously a cellphone is out of the question. We have landlines run down to the maintenance tunnel that connect to the control room, but that’s it. No outside lines.”
“Where?”
“There’s one every couple hundred yards. Wouldn’t they disconnect them though?”
“Maybe. Tell me about this worker that’s helping them.”
“I don’t really know him, just what I’ve heard, but he’s an Iraqi I think. Lost his family and his leg to some friendly fire. Somebody in the company gave him a job after he came to the States for treatment. That’s all I know.”
“Well, in my line of work that’s called motive. What’s his job here?”
“Drives a lift for the drilling crew. Works with the hydraulics and keeps them running. They’ve been working on those weak spots I mentioned earlier.”
“Okay.” Jack watched the last screw being removed. The men pried up a corner of the flooring before Greg could stop them.
“Wait.”
“What? Let’s get the hell out of here!”
Jack stepped in before the men got frantic.
“Hold on. If we use the elevator now they’ll hear us before we get halfway to the top. We need to come up with a plan first.”
“He’s right,” the foreman said. “We need some noise to cover it up.”
Greg asked, “Any ideas?”
Jason stepped into the circle of men. They all towered over his small frame and regarded him with some amusement.
“Jason?”
“Yeah, I’ve got an idea. But you’re not going to like it.”
“New law may tighten power plant security.”
—CNET News
—TWENTY-TWO—
PORT COLBORNE HIGH SCHOOL
The tires of the big truck crunched over broken glass and bits of debris in the parking lot. A few car alarms were still going off and DeAngelo had to shout to make himself heard.
