A Failure to Act, page 18
The old pallet of tiles had nothing of use and the LPG tank was empty. "Darn it," she thought.
Disappointed, she moved deeper into the space, finding an air compressor, rusted and seized, having seen better days. A smattering of useless air tools lay on the floor. She continued on.
In a corner close to the lunchroom door was a mound covered with dust and grime. She'd missed it at first, as it blended with the putrid floor. Dianne brushed away some of the dust, revealing a pair of coiled rubber tubes, one red, the other black, complete with brass fittings. Next to it, against the wall, there was a large red-painted steel cabinet that reached her shoulders. As she wiped the faded yellow sticker on one of the two doors, it exposed a ‘Flammable Gases’ sign. Things were looking up, except that both doors were locked.
"This couldn't be easy, could it?" she thought while looking for something she could use to prise the doors open. She found a flat steel tyre lever. Using an old cloth to dull any noise, she sprung the doors. Inside was a set of oxy and acetylene bottles. Clean, protected by the locker from the outside dust and filth, they were secured to a hand cart. Their gauges were still intact but showing empty.
She was about to move away when the small bronze spanner hanging from one of to the bottles caught her eye. "Try opening the valves on the bottle, you idiot," she chided herself.
Some years ago David had taught her how to weld with oxy gear, and it was all coming back. Attaching the tube spanner to the valve stem, she opened it. The gauge on the first bottle sprang to life, as did the second. The bottles were full! But there was no sign of any cutting or welding tips.
"No bloody good to me if I can't cut my way out," she thought to herself.
Dianne figured it must be almost time for the guards to check on her. She returned to the lunchroom, washed her putrid hands, cleaned her face and brushed off any obvious dust from the overalls and her feet. Satisfied she looked almost identical to when the guards saw her last, she made herself a coffee. Positioning herself so the table would keep most of the overalls and any new marks from view, she sat down just in time, as the door opened.
"You behaving yourself in here?" The implied threat was quite clear.
"No. I'm having a friggin' party and you're not invited. What d’you think?" Dianne leaned back in the chair, wanting to telegraph strength.
"Watch your mouth, bitch, or my mate and I might forget what the boss said and have a little fun with you. You sure looked tasty before you put those overalls on," the larger man replied as he leered at her breasts. Dianne realised her nipples had become visible through the clothing. The overalls’ harsh material and the cooler temperature in the room made them obvious to anyone looking or, in his case, staring.
She called their bluff.
"If Amy Devain knew you two had tried something as stupid as that, I’m betting they’d find your bodies in a river somewhere, missing your prized appendages. In fact, having met the real Amy today, I reckon she’d remove them herself and make you watch as you bled out." She paused then unzipped the overalls further, exposing just enough cleavage to taunt them. "So bring it on, boys!"
Dianne's bravado struck a nerve. The pair hesitated before leaving the room. As they exited the large man spoke, "By the way, I suggest you get some sleep. Plans have changed. They'll be back for you in five or six hours."
Dianne heard them talking as they closed and locked the door. "That bitch is right, you know. If we went near her we'd be dead."
Alone again, Dianne breathed a sigh of relief and pulled the zip up. She tiptoed to the door. From the sounds coming through the door, porn was their preferred pastime. While there she had a better look at the alcove. The wooden door was at the front of a short brick-walled corridor around half a metre long, leading back to the steel door and the old lunchroom. She figured the front offices were a renovation and the old steel door was the original workshop access door, now no longer required and left ajar behind a chair. The wooden door, a noise and dust isolator, was only added to match the office decor. With the smattering of a plan forming, Dianne knew she needed to work fast before they returned to check on her again.
She finished her coffee, waiting long enough to ensure there were no surprise reappearances by the boys next door, before moving back into the workshop. She needed to look at the gas cylinders again. As she did she brushed her hand against the wall and the build-up of years and years of dust covered her hand in a horrible black mess. Can't get that on any of this gear, she thought. She had a lightning hunt around for any other clothing that may have been there, but to no avail. She knew she couldn’t afford to give her captors even the slightest hint of what she was up to, and realised there was only one option. She removed the overalls, walked to the shower area, removed one of the knife blades from overalls pocket then hung them up out of the way. Looking down at the white underwear, she contemplated whether to remove them as well, but decided against it. If they found dirt on them it would be the least of her problems, as they would’ve already removed her outer garments.
As chilly as the workshop was, Dianne giggled. She could see the funny side of her prancing about the workshop topless, in a pair of briefs.
An idea formed as she remembered the boxes of paper overalls she’d seen earlier. Moving to them she removed a pair and, using the small blade, separated the top half. By cutting off its collar, the sleeves at the shoulders, and adding a taped pleat in the back for better fit, she produced a crude crop top. She put it on, drawing the two parts together, hoping the Velcro front seam was strong enough to hold it closed. The fabric was comfortable and surprisingly strong – strong enough to provide some needed support. She then picked up a second suit and put it on. The legs, complete with foot coverings, would allow her to move about without getting filthy. Clothing sorted, she could return her attention to the gas bottles and the job at hand.
The gas bottle trolley wheels were like new, rolling across the floor silently. Dianne manhandled it around the corner from the lunchroom door and out of her captor's view. Then, dusting off the coil of hoses, she fitted a hose to each of the gauges on top of the bottles, ensuring the brass fittings were tight. Grabbing the roll of 40mm plastic tubing she’d seen under a bench earlier, she placed it on top of a box of the heavy duty plastic tape and carried both back to the lunchroom door. Still needing to be careful about the dirt, she leaned through the door and put the box on the floor. It had been under the dust cover and was clean, leaving no dirt on the clean floor. Then, moving back to the shower, she removed the paper suit and washed her hands and face before putting the red overalls back on. Hiding the paper suit behind the door, she returned to the lunchroom. Time was now of the essence.
Dianne moved across to the steel door, checking that it would still close. Her original concerns about making noise were no longer an issue as the volume from the office had increased somewhat as the men enjoyed their entertainment. Unravelling the plastic tube Dianne weighted it at the steel door and extended it out. It was just long enough to reach out into the workshop. Using her blade, Dianne cut the brass fittings off the other end of the gas hoses. Squeezing the plastic hose into an oval allowed her to insert the gas hoses and use the tape to seal the join. She returned to the room and began tearing off long strips of the plastic tape. Shifting to the wooden door she used several lengths at a time to seal around the doorway, making it airtight.
Positioning the matches she’d unpacked earlier on the door, then taping the strikers on either side of the match heads to the adjacent wall, she ensured enough pressure to ignite them when the door opened. Satisfied that the wooden door was now sealed and 'armed', she started working on the steel door. She cleaned the dust off the door and the surrounding walls and floor, so the tape would stick. Closing the door, she squeezed the plastic tube, making it thin enough to fit under the bottom of the door, leaving about 100 mm of the hose protruding into the void. She sealed the door, using a screwdriver to squash tape into the sizable gap between the door and the steel frame before covering it with several additional layers of tape.
Confident that both doors were now sealed, she opened the valve on the gas cylinders to flood the void between the doors. After checking to see there were no leaks on her side, she returned to the workshop. She retrieved the tyre lever used earlier and slipped it into a tool pouch in the overalls, then collected one of the old air tools before walking back to check the cylinders. Willing the gas to move faster, all she could do was wait. Once they were empty she closed the valves, returned to the steel doorway and cut through the plastic tube, pushing it under the door, sealing the hole and the cut tube with tape.
"Last thing I want is a flashback," she muttered under her breath, dragging the leftover tube out into the workshop. Returning to check the door for leaks she noticed the time on the clock radio. Realising she had a problem, thought to herself, 'No. Not yet!'
Dianne had been so consumed by the need to get everything done that 90 minutes had passed. The men in the office would be in any minute to check on her. She hurried out of the room and into the workshop, hoping their entertainment lasted a few minutes longer. With everything in place and no time left for second thoughts, she took a deep breath. Knowing she only had one shot at this, she threw the air tool through a workshop window directly above the offices.
The noise of the glass breaking and the air tool landing on the roof above startled the men into action. One dragged at the door, and feeling the tape’s resistance, pulled harder before putting a foot on the wall for leverage. He was about to ask for help when the door gave way, dragging the matches with it. The gas ignited, exploding, before it could escape the confines of the corridor. The force rocked the building and shook the wall behind which Dianne was sheltering.
Her fire training taught her that LPG expanded to 270 times its volume in a gaseous state when ignited. She’d counted on the oxy acetylene having a similar effect. The explosion's concussive force had, as she'd hoped, channelled the entire force to the weakest point on the steel door and concrete walls – the opening wooden door.
Dianne ran into the lunchroom and found the steel door intact, with smoke coming from underneath it. It hadn’t buckled. Quickly tearing the tape off, she opened it, unsure if there was fire or what state her captors may be in.
The guard who opened the door had taken the full impact of the blast and lay dead on the floor, two large wooden splinters lodged in his chest and throat. The second guard, conscious but dazed, stood between her and the exit. Dianne hurdled an overturned desk, drawing out the tyre lever from the overalls as she did, and slammed it against the side of his head with such force that he dropped to the floor, unmoving.
With the guards now out of the picture, Dianne could appreciate for the first time the carnage caused by the explosion. Glass from the windows and bits of broken furniture were now strewn across the footpath.
"Thank God there were no pedestrians around," she thought as she looked for some footwear. The guards' feet were enormous, but she was about to grab a pair of their boots when she sighted the remains of her belongings. No gun and her clothes gone, but her shoes were still there and she slipped them on. Now able to navigate the debris safely, she stepped out of the wreckage onto the street, feeling the crisp, cool air fill her lungs as she looked around, only to be knocked to the ground from behind. She rolled, avoiding the other man now approaching her. Unaware of a third guard, she figured he was a late arrival. Now on her again he wrestled with her, trying to gain control. Dianne slipped out of his grip and, having left the tyre iron inside, knew she would have to fight her way out. The man rushed her again, this time more prepared. Again avoiding the onrush she delivered a hammer-like elbow to the man's head on the way past.
He staggered but straightened, turned and approached again. "I hope that's not all you have, lady," he said, and lunged again. This time Dianne waited for the approach and delivered a spinning back kick to the man's torso. This rocked him backwards with enough force to allow her to make a break for it. She slipped on a shard of glass, which caused her to overbalance and fall over. Before she knew, her assailant was on her, his vice-like arms holding her in a massive bear hug, restricting her movement.
He repositioned himself and stood up, literally dragging her with him. Dianne tried everything she could to get this gorilla off her, to no avail. She panicked as his hands moved to the crook of her neck and into a choke. The pressure and lack of air were affecting her, and she felt herself slipping towards unconsciousness. Desperate for a way out she twisted again, trying to work loose, with no success. Dianne felt something solid between her leg and his. With consciousness fading she reached, trying to locate the object. Her lungs gasping for air and feeling somewhat faint, her hand found the screwdriver she'd used earlier in the overall pocket. This was her last chance. Drawing on everything she had left, she slid the screwdriver from the pocket, reversed her grip and drove it backward towards the man's groin. She buried it deep before repeating the action in a flurry of rapid strikes to his legs. The pressure eased then stopped altogether as the man released her. He staggered backwards, clutching his right leg below the groin. Still struggling to breathe, Dianne followed up with several roundhouse punches and kicks, sending the man to the ground.
The volume of blood escaping from the wounds suggested that the screwdriver had struck his femoral artery and he would bleed out without help. Self-preservation kicked in and she hurried down the street, trying to put distance between her and the building. David, she had to reach David, kept running through her head. She was running on adrenaline now and knew she’d have to find safe refuge before it waned.
"Dianne!"
Aware of her name being called, she checked to see if she was still being pursued, not sure if she could fight them off again. She was relieved to see a familiar face – a cop, safety.
Calling "Dianne, get in!" from the window of a dark 4WD was Steve Jones, phone planted to his ear. She ran to the car and jumped into the passenger seat as he drove off.
Jones talked on his mobile as he drove. "Yes, I have her. Three down. In transit now." Jones hung up the phone.
Dianne's breathing returned to normal as the realisation she was out of danger sunk in.
"God, Dianne, do you ever leave without making a ruckus?" Jones’ attempt at humour made her smile, but she sensed an uneasiness about him.
"You know me – just a party girl. If it's quiet I'll get the joint jumping, although total demolition is a first, even for me."
"I never thought that all those years of playing pranks on people with oxy-filled balloons thrown on open fires at Millers Farm would lead to this.” Dianne’s nervous laugh belied her sense of relief.
“Can I call David please?"
"Not at the moment. He's gone dark, checking out a lead. That call I made was a message for him when he gets back."
"OK. But how the hell were you here, anyway?"
"Just a coincidence. I was collecting some evidence for another case and had just pulled up at the lights when I heard the blast and saw the windows blow out. I hightailed it down here only to see you, of all people, emerge from the carnage and start wrestling with that bloke. I was about to get out of the car to help when he went down."
"Yeah, well lucky you did. Where are we going?" Dianne realised they weren’t heading towards any police station she knew of.
"David set up a new safe house that few know about, especially after you went missing. Even I don't know the location. I'm taking you to a handover and another team will take you to it. David might be there if he got the message in time," Jones replied.
Dianne sensed stress in Jones. She gathered her thoughts, then wrote it off to the stress of the last 10 minutes. She sat back and relaxed, knowing that was safe and she’d soon be back in David's arms. Jones turned down a dimly-lit side street where another dark SUV sat in the middle of the road. Dianne tensed but Jones flashed his lights and the vehicle ahead responded.
"OK, time to swap,” Jones said, stopping the car just short of the other vehicle. They exited the car and walked towards the other vehicle.
Jones had turned off his lights but those of other car were still on, making the figures exiting the vehicle somewhat obscure. As they emerged, Dianne understood just how much her situation had worsened. Amy Devain and a few henchmen appeared in the headlights.
Turning to run, she found herself facing Jones who was holding a Glock 9mm. She stopped in her tracks. Jones, knowing Dianne’s capabilities, had positioned himself far enough from her so he could shoot before she reached him, and she knew it.
"You prick, Jones! This isn't over by a long shot."
Dianne's mind raced. She kicked herself for not picking up on what she’d sensed was out of place. How could he have known there were three men down if he'd just stopped at the lights and never seen the inside of the building? Then she realised, as she remembered the fight in the street, there was a dark car opposite the building. He’d dropped the third guy off. Jones was up to his neck in whatever was going on.
Her thoughts were interrupted as Devain spoke.
"You, Dianne, are one enormous pain in the arse. If I hadn't needed your disappearance as a distraction you'd be dead now. In just a few hours you’ve managed to either kill or make useless three of my best men, destroyed my building and exposed a distribution hub that I’d hidden from your lot for years.
