Henchmen (11 page)

“I’m in,” Jessica says while we’re all sitting around the living room.  “One hundred percent.  I don’t know what happened to my dad, but someone broke him and someone needs to pay.”

“I’m glad to hear that,” Eve tells her.  “What prompted your decision?”

I immediately start doing the throat cutting sign that everyone knows means “drop it,” but Eve ignores me.

“I saw my dad today,” Jessica tells her.  Her eyes are hard when she says it and they’re lit from some fire inside of her.  I had figured she was tough when she took out that Yakuza asshole, but she looks dangerous now.  Dangerous and unpredictable.  Those are two traits I don’t like to see in people I work with.

“How was he?” Eve asks.

Jean joins me in the throat slicing gesture and both of desperately hope Eve will drop it.  We both know she won’t, but hope springs eternal.

“Gone,” Jessica says.  “Grimy and dirty and gone.”

“You don’t know what happened to him, you know,” Eve says.  “It could have been completely innocuous.  He might have simply decided he liked heroin.”

Jessica glares at her for a moment before deciding it wasn’t an insult.  “This wasn’t just heroin.  Someone broke him and I want to know who and why.”

Eve nods and points at me.  “What happened?”

“Found her dad,” I say.  “He didn’t look good.”

“Where was he?” Eve asks.

“Cemetery,” Jean says.  “That one down by the university that all the homeless hang out in.”

“Should we bring him here?” Eve asks.  “Would it help?”

Jessica’s got her head in her hands.  “It won’t help.  He’s gone.  Whatever that guy was, he wasn’t my dad.  Not anymore.”

Her eyes are red and puffy from crying and she still looks like she’s in shock.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Eve says.  “But I promise you a measure of revenge.”

Jessica nods and the barest smile crosses her lips.  Like the rest of us, she’s pissed and Eve found a way to use that.

“Jacob, what’s our weapon status?”

“I got hold of a handful of suppressed Walthers,” Jacob says with a huge grin.  “Complete with subsonic ammo.  You won’t have much range and the silencers won’t last forever so stay out of any firefights, but they’ll be great for killing guards.”

Most people don’t realize this, but there’s really no such thing as a silenced weapon.  Guns can be quiet, and legally quiet, too, but they’re nigh impossible to make silent.  The suppressor on the barrel of the gun allows the gas to quietly dissipate. Subsonic ammunition means there’s no sonic boom from the bullet.

“Nice work,” Eve says.  “What’s the status on converting the Anodyne material to body armor?”

“Good to go.  I got a guy to make some vests for us,” he tells her.

“Excellent.  Frank, how are we getting in?”

“The roof was spec’d as a helipad, so that’s our best bet to get in.  The door up there should still work,” Frank says.

“Who the hell puts a helipad on top of a one-story building?” I ask.

“Idiots,” Frank says.  “They didn’t grease the right palms, so even though they’ve got a helipad they’re not zoned to have one and that can’t land a helicopter on it.”

“How’d you find out there was a helipad up there?” Jean asks.

“I waited in line most of the day and asked for the blueprints.” Frank tells him.

“Where?” Jean asks him.

“Downtown, city planning,” Frank says and yawns.  “I spent three hours sandwiched between a guy with a pompadour and an immense woman wearing tights.”

“I’ll rub your back later,” Jean tells him.

“Anything else we should know?” Eve asks.

“The tights were floral,” Frank says.

Eve closes her eyes and I can almost see her counting to ten.  I’m not sure what she expected when she found us all but I’m sure we’re a pain to deal with sometimes.  Like that time Jacob decided he was a Cradle of Filth fan.

“About the building,” Eve says.

“Not that I can tell.  It may or may not have been built according to the blueprints, and it may have changed over the years, but it’s the best we’ve got right now,” Frank says.

“Okay.  How do get on the roof?” I ask.

“Grappling gun,” Frank says with a grin.  “I’ve always wanted to try it out.  Once we’re on top, we just need to open the door and we’re in.”

“Open the door and we’re in?  I’ll believe it when I see it,” I say.

“Steven, you have so little faith,” Frank says.

“You have no idea,” I tell him.

Cracking Radula will take some planning, but nothing overwhelming.  Frankly, given what we know - which is jack shit, really - there’s not much planning we can do.  We need to get in with a minimum amount of fuss and make a wireless setup to get data back to Jean.

“Well, that covers weapons and entrance,” Eve says.  “How do we get from the fence to building?  Didn’t you guys say there were cameras?”

“There are, probably night vision at least,” Frank tells her.  “We need to cover up and make sure whatever guards are in there are focused on something else.”

“Could we stage a fight on the sidewalk?” Jacob asks.  “People always watch a fight.”

“The guards would just call the cops and be done with it,” I say.

“Yeah, but when Albuquerque’s finest show up and start shooting it would provide a hell of a distraction,” Jacob says.

“You do realize they’d be shooting as us, right?” Jean asks.

“Doesn’t have to be us fighting, bro.  We find a couple of homeless guys and pay ‘em to fight.”

“That is the most despicable thing I’ve ever heard you say,” Eve says.

“Much obliged, ma’am,” Jacob says.

“Bum fights wouldn’t keep them occupied long enough,” I say and immediately regret it.  I glance at Jessica but she’s lost in thought and doesn’t seem to have noticed.  “We need something that will last.”

“We could start a fire,” Jean says.

“What are we going to set on fire around there?” Frank asks.  “The movie theater?  A fire would just draw more eyes, anyway.”

Everyone stops talking and stares into space.

“Jessica,” Eve finally asks, “are you sure you’re in?”

“I’m in,” she replies.

“I’ve got an idea, but I doubt you’ll like it,” Eve tells her.

Jessica eyes her, one eyebrow raised.  “What is it?”

“How do you feel about motorcycles and bikers?”

“I like motorcycles, why?” Jessica asks.  Recognition slowly spreads over her face and she wrinkles her nose.  “Oh, God,” she finally says.

“We’ll need to get you some leathers,” Eve says.

“What’s going on?” Jacob asks.  Slowly he, too, gets it.  “Far fucking out, man.”

“There are a lot of bars around there,” I say.  “It’s not hard to believe a couple might feel a bit randy after a night of drinking.”

“I am not having sex with someone I barely know,” Jessica says.

“I wouldn’t ask that,” Eve says.  “I would never ask that.  What about acting like you’re about to have sex?  We won’t need long to get in.”

“It’s just a show,” Frank says.

“And let’s face it, girl,” Jean pipes in, “you’ve got it going on.  I don’t even like girls, but I’d watch that show.”

Frank punches Jean in the arm and shoots him a glare.  “You’re not helping.  Jessica, we need a distraction and you and the hairy mountain over there are the best bet.  No one would believe Eve and Jacob together; they’re too outlandish.  I can cut the security, but I need a gunman and Steven’s the best bet.  We need Jean to hack their computers.  Jacob can shoot and blow things up, but this has to be quiet.”

“Wait a minute,” Jessica says.  “Why do I have to be a distraction?  Why can’t I just go in with you guys?”

“First,” Eve says, “the rest of us worked together before so we’re comfortable doing this.  Second: You’re stunning and any man would probably watch you make out with an ape if they thought they might see your tits.”

“Yeah,” Jessica responds, “but I don’t want to make out with an ape.”

“Jacob’s not an ape, per se,” I interject.

“Sure I am.  But I’m the ape who gets to make out with the hottie.  This must be how King Kong felt,” Jacob says.

“Jessica.  We need you to do this.  You don’t have to kiss him or fondle him or anything else, and if he gets too out of control you have my permission to castrate him,” Eve says.  “If you’re not up to castrating him, tell me and I’ll rip his nuts off myself.”

Jacob leans back, grinning.  “I think I’ve got the best job here.”

“Jean.  No offense, but you’re not much of a fighter.  I want you to stay outside, hidden somewhere.  We’re going to connect a wireless link on the inside.  Once the feed is up, you crack that network and steal everything that’s not tied down,” Eve says.

“I’ll have my hands down its pants before you can say ‘roofies’,” Jean grins.

It’s true.  He’s not much of a fighter.  He can crack a computer like no one else I’ve ever met, but I once saw him get his ass kicked by 13-year-old girl he was trying to muscle.  True story!  We were at the Walgreens on Central once, loading up on supplies (aka cigarettes and beer), when the girl in front of us took too much time to check out, asking questions about what kind of Pokémon cards or some shit they carried.  Jean tells her to hurry the fuck up.  She turns around, looks at him, and punched him square in the balls.  While he’s lying on the ground holding his nuts, she goes back to what’s she was doing. I’m standing there trying hard not to laugh my ass off, and get him up off the floor at the same time.  Frank was pissed, but even he thought it was funny when I told him the whole story.

Eve points at Frank and me.  “I’m going in with you guys.”

I don’t care who you work for, or what you do, but it always kind of sucks when you have to work with your boss.  It’s a well-known fact that productivity goes down when the boss spends too much time with the staff.  Everyone tends to get nervous when the head honcho is around.

On the other hand, if the lead starts flying, I can hide behind Eve and not get shot.  Try that with your boss sometime.

Time is short so Eve and Jessica disappear to look for Jessica’s new costume.

Frank and I each get a fancy new vest courtesy of Anodyne’s research and development division.  Eve’s already bullet-proof, so she’ll probably just go with something in basic black.  Jacob dresses in his leathers and usual biker accoutrements. Jean tries to look like anyone else wandering around town.  Jessica gets a leather vest and pants, courtesy of the local Harley shop.

I must admit, she’s stunning.  I warn Jacob that no matter how tight her outfit is, I will absolutely guarantee there is something sharp hidden about her person.  He’s still spending too much time thinking about sticking something inside her to worry about what she’ll stick inside him if he’s not careful. 

Oh, well.  His loss if he pushes his luck.

Albuquerque at 2 a.m. is relatively quiet, but not dead quiet.  The ‘Gentlemen’s Club’ down the street is close to closing time. As we drive to Radula, we see people drunkenly driving home, racing motorcycles down San Mateo or making out in the parking lots of various buildings.  The police usually go after the street racers, who never seem to realize they’re an obvious target.  Damn kids. 

We take different cars in case something terrible happens. Jacob and Jessica are on Jacob’s hog. Frank, Eve and myself are in Frank’s ’65 Lincoln Continental, and Jean’s in his beater ’04 Civic.  Jacob’s bike is a traditional monster of a Harley, with pipes that shake the pillars of heaven when he revs the engine.  He was in - well, Hog heaven - when Jessica hopped on the back, and they tore off.  Honestly, I was kind of surprised he didn’t just turn right and head off toward a better life in Gallup. 

Jean’s Civic looks like a bone-stock Honda, but the suspension is stiffer and the engine has been modded eight ways to Sunday.  His car doesn’t have neon underglow, NOS stickers, or a huge rear wing, but it’ll move like it’s got a jalapeno up its tail pipe when he punches it.  I rode with him one day and he floored the engine getting on Interstate 40.  It felt like someone was sitting on my chest.  I don’t know what was more frightening - his driving, or his constant top-volume Mariachi music.

Frank’s ride is a head-turner, but the ride is like marshmallows wrapped in silk, and he only listens to jazz.  I used to kid him that a car like his needs Mancini’s “Peter Gunn Theme” playing constantly.  Yes, it has suicide doors in the back.  Yes, it gets about three gallons to the mile. But the ’65 Lincoln is an absolutely amazing vehicle.  Someday, I need to get one myself.  The back seat even has enough leg room for Eve, which is a rare thing these days.

Radula is dead quiet.  I mean, no more so than the place was during the day, but the dust has different tracks, so someone has been around.  Jean’s wireless receiver doesn’t have a huge range, so he finds a dark, quiet parking lot, kills the lights, and waits.  His car doesn’t seem threatening, so hopefully the police will ignore him in favor of the tricked-out rockets on the main drag.

Jacob and Jessica hit next, pull up across the street from Radula.  He guns the engine a few times to let everyone know he’s there.  Jessica gets off, still grinning.  I don’t know what it is about motorcycles, but I defy anyone to go for a ride and not smile.  There’s something about bikes that reduce your stress.  Ever wonder why bikers are generally so easygoing?  Ride a motorcycle, and you’ll find out.  One of these days I hope to learn to ride one myself.

Jessica is quite the actress - she gets off the bike like a cat.  There must be a class or something that women take, because she manages to make getting off that bike a show, like a Mötley Crüe video.  I won’t say it’s a wholesome show, but it certainly is a good show.  She sways her hips and strokes her hands up her body to pull off her helmet.  She struts back to the bike and drops the helmet in Jacob’s hand.  Jacob is completely in her spell.

“Keep it in your pants.  We’ve got work to do,” Eve says, breaking my reverie.

“Damn,” says Frank, “she is good.”

“Yeah,” Eve says.  “Let’s get going.”

“OK, folks, let’s do a comm check,” I say.

“Loud and clear,” says Frank.

“Online,” says Eve.

“I am bored out of my skull,” says Jean.

“I’m here,” Jessica reports.  “Keeping my eyes open.”

“I’m sorry, what was that?” asks Jacob.

I seriously hope anyone inside is just as entranced as I was.  Okay, okay, this wasn’t the most professional moment of my short evildoing career, but Jessica put on a hell of a show.

We sneak around back, silent as clumsy ninjas.  Fortunately no one trips over trash, or sneezes.  Maybe we’re just lucky.  We make our way around back, and cross our fingers that no one notices.  The fence is electrified, but Frank considers that a minor inconvenience.  A few minutes, and he’s got a neat hole made in the fence that everyone fits through easily.  We creep across the yard, trying to keep in the shadows.  There’s not much in the way of light here, so that part’s not so difficult.  The cameras probably have night vision, so our hoods are up and masks are on to prevent any contrast showing. 

So far no alarms have gone off, at least not that we can hear.

Frank’s custom grappling hook makes a slight sneezing sound and the hook gently arcs to the helipad.  I’ve always been terrible at climbing ropes, and I’m slightly embarrassed when I slowly get to the top.  Frank went up the rope like a monkey and Eve made it in two quick pulls.  I was the only one that looked like a total klutz.

The door is right where we expected it to be, and is just secured with a single padlock.  Every security solution has a weakness.  Every damn one of them.  This is because security is designed and implemented by people, and people are inherently flawed. 

Most of the security is fine.  The door is solid metal. The hinges face inward, and the latch holding the padlock is securely welded to both the door frame, and the door itself.  This is what kills me: all that work, and they put a basic Wal-Mart special padlock on to hold it shut.  At least it’s hardened.  Eve grabs the padlock and twists, and the whole thing warps and breaks.  As she’s reaching to open the door, Frank stops her.

“This is too easy, even amateur.  We’re missing something here,” he says.

“Like what?” I ask.

“Why would you go to all the trouble to put this whole thing together, and then secure this door with a shitty padlock?” he asks.

He pulls out some kind of tool that I swear is a leftover prop from
Ghostbusters
. Turns out, I’m not too wrong. 

“This will check for electromagnetic emissions, the kind you tend to see when there’s an electrical circuit around the door.  If you break the circuit, an alarm sounds.  I built this out of a
Ghostbusters
toy I found at a thrift store. I call it Mr. Thingy,” Frank says.

He moves Mr. Thingy around the door jamb, and the lights stay off.  On the bottom right of the door, opposite the door hinge, the arms rise up and the lights go ballistic.  Fortunately, he disabled the sound chip, or everyone in town would know we’re up here.

“There we go.  Hidden at the bottom. It looks like a simple connection alarm.  If we break the connection, something bad will happen,” he tells us.

“Something bad?” Eve asks.

“Something bad,” Frank confirms.

He pulls some metal out his chest pocket and works it through the jamb.  “This will keep the circuit closed, even though the door is open,” he tells us.  He finally gets the metal into place, bends the edge, and tapes it to the door.

“OK, let’s hope that was all.”

Hope?

He puts his hand on the door, takes a deep breath, and gently pushes the door open.

I hadn’t realized my eyes were closed until I opened them.  Don’t laugh - everyone does it.  Granted, closing your eyes in a tense situation makes about as much sense as hiding under your desk when a nuke is going off across town.

Frank steps to the door and sprays something into the air just inside the door looking for lasers. Nothing shines in the smoke, so he motions us all forward.

“Everyone,” Eve says into the radio, “we’re going in.  Let’s keep quiet until you get the all-clear.”

A smattering of “Rogers” and “okey-dokeys” fill the airspace.

We step into the landing of a small stairway.  I cover the stairs in case anyone happens by.  As Frank gently closes the door, we notice about four pounds of plastic explosives attached to the inside of the door, presumably connected to the electrical circuit.  Hell of an alarm system.  Frank tapes the door closed so we don’t have to worry about it opening at a bad time.

The landing is small, only about six feet on each side, with a basic set of stairs going down into a dimly lit corridor.  I lean over the edge and peer down into a short hallway that extends in either direction.  We’re probably still outside the main security system.

Eve, being the only one of who’s bulletproof, goes down first.  She hits the bottom and nothing happens; either there’s no one down there or no one’s taking the bait.  She listens for a moment, shrugs and motions us down.  I go first, gun still drawn, and Frank follows.

The corridor is lit with regular fluorescent lights, most of which are turned off.  The décor is standard-issue government contractor bland - all posters about “America!” and “You can’t untell a secret” and other crazy shit.  They’re all faded and tattered.  Apparently, Radula has fallen on hard times of late.  Probably whatever fuckup they had back in the day trashed their reputation enough that they’re barely keeping up.  Someone’s tacked up a sign complaining about the current President. Typical.

You can tell this was once a hot-shit place, but the carpet is worn down, and the paint is scratched up. The whole place looks like it was decorated in the early 1990s.

We quietly creep down the hallway, but so far the place is silent as a tomb.

“Shit. If I’d known this place was wired back in 1993, I wouldn’t have spent so much fretting about getting in,” Frank says quietly.

“Let’s find the network and get Jean plugged in.  It shouldn’t take him much time to find what we’re looking for,” Eve says.

We keep walking around, listening for the tell-tale sounds of a server room (computer fans, cold air and random beeps), until we hit on a door labeled “Server Closet.”  It’s convenient when they put a sign on exactly what you’re looking for.  The door is locked, but Frank seduces it open in less time than it takes most people to open a door with keys.

Inside, we find a setup that was probably state-of-the-art at one point, but has been upgraded piecemeal over the years with hardware found on eBay and Craigslist.  They actually still have an old Cathode Ray Terminal (CRT) plugged in, and the network seems stuck at 100Mb/s.  I had faster stuff at my old house.  I pull the wireless link out of my pocket and connect it to the network using a spare Cat5 cable I find on a shelf.  Plug the link into a nearly overloaded power strip, and it’s up and running.

“Jean, you should be coming online soon.”

There’s a slight crackle and he says, “Got it.  I can see inside their network.  I’ll grab what I can.”

“Let’s find out what else is around here,” Frank says.

The place is still quiet.  The inside is a single corridor that wraps around the building, with a few doors that go further into the interior.  One of them was the server closet; another leads to a break room; and the last is a heavy door with a combination lock and handle with five buttons underneath the handle.  This is probably the vault.  For the uninitiated, the buttons under the handle are a push-button combination lock.  The order and combination you push the buttons in is the combination to the lock.  For instance: press the top and bottom buttons at the same time, the second from the bottom button and the first and third buttons at the same time to open the lock.  Usually you open the combination lock then the button lock to open the door.

Locks like this are nigh unpickable.

For the time being, though, we need to find out who else is in here.  The main lobby is almost on the opposite side of the building from where we came in.  There’s one guard, asleep, in front of a bank of monitors that showed us from the second we walked down the stairs. 

Good thing he’s tired, or we’d be pretty fucked right now.

He’s your typical rent-a-cop from one of the local rental places.  He’s wearing a black uniform and boots to make him seem intimidating, with a Glock on his hip.  The guard is overweight, balding and, from the smell of the room, badly in need of a bath.  He’s also snoring like an exhausted pit bull.  Frank cracks him in the back of the head with his pistol, and the wannabe lawman is out cold.

No one else is in the place.  The video recorder is under the desk, so we pull the drives and head back to the vault.

Like I said, the locks on these doors are basically unpickable, so you either need to know the combination, or have some heavy tools and free time.  Eve punches the door and it falls off its hinges, making about as much noise as you’d expect from an eight-foot-tall metal door falling off its hinges.  She brushes the dust off her shirt and calmly walks inside.

Frank grins and follows her.  I take one last look around and follow through.