Undeclared War (16 page)

By 3
P.M.
, 1500 hours in Reaper's log, the traffic on the highways increased considerably as the local rush hour began. By 1530 hours, the traffic on the highway ramps below the SEALs was bumper-to-bumper. Traffic was heavy, but nothing was going on at the Factory that Reaper or Bear could see.

At 1613 hours, Reaper was watching as a brown UPS truck pulled up to the front of the Factory. The driver stopped on the street and walked up to the two sets of double doors underneath the big Factory sign. With his clipboard in hand, the delivery driver knocked at the doors and waited.

Reaper was watching the driver through the Nikon camera attached to the big Celestron scope. As Reaper continued to watch, the delivery became more interesting as the man just kept standing at the doors. Even after repeated heavy knocks, it was a few minutes before someone finally came to see who was there. Either the cameras in the parking lot couldn't see the front doors or the person on watch
didn't care that anyone was there. Sloppy security was something that particularly interested Reaper. He continued to take pictures and watch the scene.

Whoever had come to the door wasn't the man the driver wanted to see. The doors closed in his face and again, the driver just stood there. The little show in front of the Factory was at least something to watch and helped keep Reaper's attention up. Then there was some action at the door that grabbed Reaper like a hand at his throat.

The front door of the Factory had opened and Steven Arzee was standing there in what looked like a fancy bathrobe.

“Son of a bitch,” Reaper said quietly.

Bear had been watching the delivery through a pair of binoculars. The limited magnification of the glasses did not give him as clear a view of the man standing in the door as Reaper had through the big Celestron.

“What?” Bear said softly.

“That's him,” Reaper said. “That's Arzee signing the clipboard.”

“That's him?” Bear said. “Sure doesn't look like much, does he?”

Reaper continued to concentrate on the action and ignored Bear's comment. Bear looked over at his friend and could see Reaper taking pictures. The concentration in the SEAL's face was obvious as he watched Arzee walk back into the building. As the front doors closed, Reaper snapped a last picture of the scene, his finger steady and firm as he applied pressure to the shutter, the same firm pressure he would have used to pull the trigger of a rifle.

“We found him, Bear,” Reaper said. “We've got him.”

“What do you want to do now?” Bear asked. “Go after him or what?”

“We maintain surveillance,” Reaper said. “Let's see what else shows up.”

Bear could tell that his friend was hoping for a sign of his family. It was going to be a long night.

Bear took over the watch at the bottom of the hour. The UPS truck was long gone and there hadn't been any more action at the target. Then, at 1645 hours, a white passenger van pulled out of the single-story structure at the southeast corner of the Factory.

Swinging the big Celestron scope over on its tripod mount, Bear aimed it toward the corner of the Factory fence that had the powered gate. Twisting the deeply knurled silver focusing knob on the back of the scope brought the scene into sharp clarity. Centered in the middle of the scene was the van that had pulled out of the garage and stopped.

Lying to Bear's left, Reaper could also see what showed on the bright LCD screen in the back of the digital camera. Every little detail of the van was in clear view as it stopped at the electric gate. Bear snapped a number of pictures of the van, paying particular attention to the vehicle's license plate, the driver—who couldn't be seen through the darkened window except as a slight silhouette—and a magnetic sign stuck to the side of the van's door. It didn't look as if anyone else was in the van except the driver.

“Check this out,” Bear said in a quiet whisper. “They're running some kind of bus service.”

Reaper had his binoculars pulled up and focused on the van.

“What does the sign say?” Reaper whispered.

“Golden Casino Tours,” Bear said. “What the hell does that have to do with a nightclub for the young crowd? They don't go to casinos for the most part.”

“Sounds like something they might be running on the side,” Reaper said as the van passed through the now open gate and turned to the west. “Did you see anyone get out or use a hidden touch pad outside the van to open that gate?”

“Nope,” Bear said.

“So they must either use a remote control opener or someone inside the garage used a switch,” Reaper said.

“Can't see into the garage door from this angle,” Bear said. “But it could be a pressure plate or hose on the ground.”

“Don't think so,” Reaper said. “That van had to sit there for a while, as if someone had to try to find a remote. A pressure switch would have opened the door much faster and started as soon as the van approached.”

While the two SEALs whispered their conversation, the powered gate began rolling shut. As the gate closed, other cars started arriving and pulling into the fenced-in parking area to the east of the Factory building.

“Looks like someone is starting to show up,” Bear said quietly.

Most of the half-dozen vehicles that arrived over the next fifteen minutes only had a single person in them. Several older sedans had a pair of women
stepping out of the doors, one had three ladies leave it. Both Reaper and Bear figured that they were looking at the wait staff arriving for work. The fact that most of the people who got out of the cars were young women reinforced that thought.

“Maybe just a bartender and a bunch of waitresses,” Bear said.

“Probably,” Reaper replied. “But that guy who drove the Mustang looks a little big to be a bartender. I figure either a front door screener/greeter or maybe a bouncer.”

A quiet grunt was all that came back from Bear in the way of an answer.

Time in the hide went by, as did the local traffic on the highways. A few more vehicles had pulled into the Factory parking lot. Arzee may have left in the van, but Reaper didn't think so. Deckert's research and contacts had not been able to come up with a home address for Arzee. Even the address on his Corvette's registration was given as the Factory. Arzee probably had his living quarters someplace in the old auto plant and didn't leave them. It didn't make a difference now, Reaper knew that he was going to have to raid the place they were watching.

To stage a covert raid, they had to continue the surveillance. How things worked at the Factory, who went where and what went on when the place closed, would be vital information. So Bear and Reaper kept their position and watched. Rotating on a thirty-minute schedule kept alert eyes on the target—one of the men watching while the other rested.

They drank sparingly from the backpack contain
ers. Staying hydrated was something both SEALs had learned a long time ago. The oatmeal and chocolate bars would be enough to keep the hunger pangs at bay. Movement had to be kept to a minimum. So they had no chance to get up to take a leak, and no place to do it anyway. Peeing on the side of the building might not seem like much, but the smell could easily catch the attention of a curious guard. The only option remained to simply gut the situation out.

Watching the action at the target helped Reaper and Bear ignore their discomfort. Customers had started to show up, at least cars came in and mixed couples of young people got out and headed into the Factory. Each car was noted and photographed. The same procedure applied to each couple. Then, at 1845 hours, a vehicle showed up that hadn't been expected.

“Hey, Reaper,” Bear whispered, “check this out. That casino van is back.”

Reaper was already looking at the big white passenger van as it pulled up to the gate. The van rolled into the driveway, a clear view blocked by the closed gate. It sat there for a few moments without either the gate moving or the van doing anything.

“Look, the sign is gone,” Bear whispered.

Reaper had noticed it, too. The sign about “Golden Casino Tours” wasn't on the side of the van. When the vehicle had left only a few hours earlier, there had been signs on both front doors—the side away from the SEALs visible for a short time as the van drove west. Now, the sides of the vehicle were clean.

As both SEALs watched, the driver's side door of the van opened and a man got out. He walked up to
the gate and yanked at it. The gate jerked and started to roll open.

“Somebody needs to do their preventative maintenance,” Bear said.

“Be sure to get shots of the side windows of that van,” Reaper said.

“Already on it, Chief,” Bear said.

When the driver opened the door and got out of the van, the interior dome lights came on. The van was in the shade of the building and the inside light made it possible to see through the screened windows. Inside the van, people filled every seat. Checking the screen of the digital camera after the van passed into the garage and the gate closed, Reaper and Bear were able to count four silhouettes for certain, with a possibility of one or two more.

“Now why would they try to slip people into the club though the side door?” Bear asked.

“And why take the signs off the van to do it?” Reaper said.

“Curiouser and curiouser,” Bear replied.

The two SEALs returned to their vigil over the front of the Factory building. As the sun set, it became possible to see lights on through the windows on the east side of the building. Only a few lights shone through the upper floor windows, but the shades kept any details from being seen.

The only other activity after the arrival of the white van was an increase in the number of customers. By 2045 hours, it was dusk and the sun had just set. An hour later little had changed, although now some couples were leaving as more arrived.

“You know, Reaper,” Bear said as he stood his
watch on the Factory, “there's only one way to really get more information on that place.”

“And what is that?” Reaper said in a soft voice.

“One of us is going to have to go in there,” Bear said.

“I know, but it isn't going to be the safest thing in the world to do,” Reaper said. “Neither of us look like the average customer.”

“No,” Bear agreed, “but there have been a few bikers in the crowds going in. I could blend in pretty well with them.”

“You're volunteering?” Reaper asked.

“You already said that Arzee knows you,” Bear said. “So you sure as hell can't be the one going in, and I'm the only other one up here from what I can tell.”

Reaper knew that Bear was right. One of them had to go in to gather information from inside the place and Bear was the logical choice. Even though Reaper didn't like the thought of letting his friend face possible danger without immediate backup at hand, he had to agree with Bear's logic.

“Okay, you go,” Reaper said finally. “But you get back out and up here by 2300. If you don't, I'll come in and get you in spite of them recognizing me.”

“Don't worry, Sweetie,” Bear said with a grin. “I'll be back before the streetlights go on.”

“Just get the fuck out of here,” Reaper said with a smile.

Bear slipped out from under the tarp and went back off the roof by the same route they had used to climb up. Inside of fifteen minutes from Bear's leaving, Reaper heard a Harley's powerful engine being started and driven away. As the engine noise disap
peared, Reaper was left alone in the darkness with his thoughts.

After about ten minutes, Reaper noted the arrival of a big motorcycle at the Factory. The bike slowed at a corner, then roared up to the entrance to the parking lot, turned in and stopped. As Bear climbed off his bike, he signaled Reaper that he was all right in his own personal style—he scratched his ass and then waved his hand in the air.

“Clown,” Reaper said quietly to himself, smiling as he did so.

No new customers showed up after Bear went into the Factory. Two couples left the club, one at 2150 hours, the other at 2207 hours. Neither couple appeared rushed in any way, so Bear probably hadn't raised a ruckus inside the place.

The last couple to leave appeared in anything but a hurry. They openly showed their feelings toward each other while in the parking lot. When they finally got to their car and climbed inside, the vehicle sat there for a while.

Reaper resisted the urge to swing the big scope around and see exactly why the windows of the car began to fog up so heavily. He didn't think that Bear would have done the same thing on his watch.

The silence of the night was broken by the crunching, grating sound of a steel door being opened—the steel fire door at the head of the stairway leading down into the warehouse underneath him. Someone was coming out of the warehouse and onto the roof.

Reaper could do nothing as he listened to footsteps crunch in the gravel. Then the footsteps clanged as they moved onto a steel grate. The sound
was coming from hard-soled shoes on iron steps, and the only iron steps on the whole roof led up to the billboard platform, the platform that Reaper lay hidden beneath.

The steps grew louder as they clanged across the steel grid, then stopped. The tarp over the hide muffled the sound somewhat, but whoever paused up there had to be only a few feet away. Reaper heard the click of a lighter being flicked to life, then the sound of someone taking a drag and exhaling loudly. Somebody was taking a smoke break while looking out over the highway. And they were standing directly over Reaper's hide.

Reaper forced himself to relax and settle down and resumed his watch on the Factory. Now it became urgent that he spot Bear before he tried to return. Reaper's watch read only 2220 hours. Bear still had forty minutes to go before he was supposed to be back at the OP.

The minutes dragged by slowly. There was a “tink” sound and then a tap on the tarp almost on top of Reaper's head. Reaper thought the smoker must have finished his break and tossed away his cigarette. The sound of the shoes once more clanging across the grate and down the steps proved he was right. The door once more crunched shut and it left Reaper alone on the roof.