Lesson Learned- Mission Report 1

by G J Stevens

  Walking up to the concrete structure, I looked down past the rusted iron bars. I saw what I’d seen the last time, but this was my first proper look.

  Lining up the jaws of the croppers with the dulled chrome lock, I pulled up, twisting around to fix on a sound close by from the forest. An early morning dog walker perhaps, even though it would be the first time.

  “It’s only me,” said Lenart’s voice; not the last man I’d expected. I was ready for most things.

  Resting the croppers to the head of the drain, he walked between the trees and into the clearing with his palms out at his front.

  I left both guns in my pockets.

  “You’re with the Bureau, aren’t you?” I said. An educated guess.

  He nodded and let his hands drop. “You have me at an advantage?” he replied, his manner so different to what I’d ever seen.

  “Specialist. International,” I said. “You wouldn’t know even if I told you.”

  “You know about Frank then?” he said.

  I nodded. “How long have you known?” I replied, wary of any movement.

  He didn’t move. His feet stayed planted to the spot. “He’s been under surveillance for a year now,” he replied.

  “Just you?”

  “Just me.”

  “Celina? The kids?” I said.

  “It’s complicated. They know nothing,” he said with his voice staying calm.

  “What do you know?” I replied, pointing my head down the drain as I followed his gaze to the croppers.

  “Bad things,” he said. “What’s your plan?”

  “I have orders,” I said. “I’m closing the place down.”

  “I didn’t hear that,” he said.

  “They will be told. After,” I replied.

  “Okay, I get that. I’ve been asking for a task force to take this place out for a long while now. When does it arrive?” he said, looking around the forest, maybe half expecting armed police to jump out from the treeline.

  “I am the task force.”

  “A one-woman army.”

  “Something like that,” I said. “And now you,” I added. “You carrying?”

  He shook his head.

  I pulled the croppers from their rest and the lock pinged off, the bulk of the metal falling with a thud to the base of the ring.

  He came to the other side of the concrete and helped me pull up the grill, letting it come to rest after its hinged edge shrieked with each degree it turned.

  Looking back, I watched as Lenart held his hand out to steady me, but I put up my palm to decline as I rested my right foot on the first of the iron rungs fixed into the side.

  Step after step I lowered myself down, glancing between the dark floor and Lenart’s face smiling back.

  “I’m sorry,” he said.

  “What for?” I replied, looking up as I came head level with the top of the forest floor.

  “How I acted before,” he replied, peering down past me. “Part of my cover.”

  “Okay, and I’m sorry for drugging you,” I replied.

  He looked back with his eyes widening.

  “I thought that was Celina. Hah,” he said, laughing as he shook his head.

  “Can I ask you something?”

  “Of course,” he replied.

  “Why were you so nice to me suddenly?”

  He didn’t reply straight away. “I don’t know, or maybe I knew something wasn’t right.”

  The reply made little sense, but I moved lower and caught a draft of air I could only just notice, my attention on the thin metal I felt with hands out in front and into the darkness. My fingers were working over a louvred grill, the type you get for ventilation and not on a drain.

  “A ventilation shaft,” I said out loud as the pieces came together in my mind. I felt around the edge for some catch or release lever.

  Instead, I found four posi-drive screws that my fingers couldn’t get a purchase on. I looked up as I stood, half surprised to see Lenart staring back at me.

  “Can’t get through. Need more tools,” I said.

  He peered down, his eyes pinched as I rattled up the rungs of the ladder and out into the open before he could barely move out of the way.

  “You wait here. Protect this position.”

  “What with?” he replied, lowering his brow as he looked around.

  I hesitated, then chucked the Ruger to his feet. He pulled it from the grass, checked the chamber, the safety and the magazine just as I had done. He had some level of professionalism.

  “It needs a clean,” he said.

  I nodded.

  “Does it fire?” he said, and I nodded again, giving him little chance to pose any more questions before I ran at full speed to the house.

  Still no one was up. Brad nowhere, at least not in the garden or in the shed. With the screwdriver in my back pocket, I headed through the house, racking my brains for where I’d seen a torch before.

  Glancing at the computer, I moved the mouse and the screen lit. I typed in the IP address and tapped out a message.

  You could have warned me about the friendlies.

  I turned.

  Lenart came through the door, his breathing heavy.

  The computer chimed to signify a reply. I turned back to the screen and closed the browser with a click, turning straight towards the door and the gun pointing in my direction.

  No friendlies.

  39

  “That explains a lot,” I said standing to my full height.

  “Explains what?” he replied, his eyes tightening to a squint as he let the door close at his back.

  “I almost had you figured out.”

  “How so?” he replied

  “Your office in town doesn’t know who you are,” I said, watching the twitch of his eyelids. “Your car doesn’t have enough mileage.” His eyebrows almost jumped this time.

  “Huh.”

  I could only just hear his reply.

  “You only do enough miles to go around the corner to the factory each day,” I said, fixing him with my stare as he smiled.

  “You scheming little bitch,” he replied. “It hasn’t done you any good though, has it?”

  I shrugged. “You’re not Bureau then?” I replied, moving my left foot forward a step.

  “Oh, I am. Stand still,” he said, his voice back to the flat tone I’d known for the last few weeks. “At least that’s one of my jobs.”

  I nodded with a grin rising.

  “Why the fuck are you smiling?” he said as I sensed the anger building.

  “Now I understand why I’ve been sent here. We couldn’t trust the Bureau to get the job done. They know about you.”

  His eyes flared wide, but soon returned to a squint. “I know what you’re trying to do, but it won’t work.”

  “I’m proof, aren’t I?” I replied, my grin getting wider. “Ally had you figured out. I take it she didn’t know. She almost gave you up without realising you were working for Frank. Nosey old pervert was what she called you, I think.”

  He smiled in reply and I could guess he wasn’t thinking about his job.

  “Smart kid, but not smart enough. I didn’t figure you out,” he said, continuing as I didn’t reply. “Only Frank knew what I was doing. We had a chat and formed a pact. I would be an observation post from the outside.”

  “And protect him from the Bureau. In return for what? Money?”

  He nodded. “And a few other perks.”

  I felt the bile rise in my stomach and he smiled at my reaction.

  “And you started being nice to me because Frank had a word.”

  “Maybe,” he replied. “Anyway, this arrangement was never going to be forever. He just needed a few more weeks.”

  I turned to see Brad coming through the kitchen door, his face missing all the shock and surprise that should be there when you walk into a room and see someone holding a gun.

  “You, too,” I said, remembering the screwdriver still in my back poc
ket.

  “I’m afraid so,” he said. “We all have our own interests to look after.”

  “And your part, Brad?” I said, switching my look between the two.

  “He watched when I couldn’t be here. It had to look like I went to work each day,” Lenart said.

  I nodded. “But instead you went to the factory.”

  He shrugged.

  “And Celina?” I added, preparing myself for anything he might say.

  He laughed. “She had a role.”

  “More continuous coverage?” I replied.

  “No, hers was a little more specific,” Lenart said.

  It was Brad who filled the silence that followed.

  “She was here to keep him happy.”

  Lenart laughed again. “A perk.”

  “Are you married?” I replied, the words slipping from my mouth.

  “God no,” he said, moving back in disgust.

  “Why would she?” I replied, mirroring his twisted expression. I watched him look down at himself and smile. He looked up, his right eyebrow raised and lowered.

  “We have something over her,” Lenart said, going back to the squint.

  I nodded, inside feeling like I should grab the screwdriver and plunge it into his crotch. Somehow I managed to keep my voice level as I spoke. “Makes more sense,” I said, forcing a laugh. “The kids?” I replied.

  “Look, this isn’t confession time. Yeah, they’re mine. She had to look after them, too. Enough questions,” he said, raising his voice.

  “And still you brought me in?” I replied.

  “I’m not a monster. I wanted her to enjoy her life too. Enough.”

  “I hope you both know that your involvement is just as bad as what Frank's doing down there,” I said, turning to nod in the general direction of the factory.

  Lenart shrugged and I guessed Brad was doing the same. I didn’t have a chance to do much else as I glanced to the sound of footsteps at the top of the stairs.

  Celina.

  Lenart looked her way and I heard the moment she saw the gun; the moment the breath pulled from her lungs.

  “What’s going on down here?”

  “Go back upstairs,” Lenart said as she came further down, looking wide eyed with her head snapping between me and the gun pointed in my direction.

  “What the hell are you doing?” she said. “Brad, what’s going on?”

  Brad shrugged his shoulders.

  “Go back up or you could get hurt,” Lenart said.

  Celina continued to flow down the stairs.

  “Celina,” he added, his voice growing more urgent.

  “What’s she done? Where the hell did you get a gun?” she said, almost at the bottom step.

  “You won’t understand.” His gaze was back on me when he spoke.

  I took my chance to speak.

  “Did you know he works for the government?”

  “Did,” she replied.

  “Still is,” I said.

  “Shut the fuck up, bitch,” Lenart blurted.

  “Lenart,” Celina shouted back, and I spoke again.

  “He still is, but he’s double crossed them and now he’s on the wrong side of the law in a huge way.”

  “What’s this all about, Lenart? Why is she saying that?” Celina said, moving closer to him.

  Lenart spun the gun around and Celina stopped in her tracks. His face grew as alarmed as hers and he went to bring the gun back to bear on me.

  I didn’t wait, my hand grabbing the screwdriver from my back pocket and I threw it, letting go of the long metal shaft before the gun could arc through the curve.

  His hands reacted to the pain in his chest before his brain had time to process the new object embedded there. I heard the dull thud of the striker hitting the bullet I’d used the pliers on to empty of smokeless powder.

  Celina leapt for the gun as it fell from his hand, catching it before it hit the floor.

  Lenart fell to his knees, his back angled downwards trying to look at the orange handled driver poking from his chest with his hands moving towards the foreign object.

  I turned, ducking as I saw Brad’s arm swing in my direction. The Ruger clicked, useless in Celina’s hands.

  I rose, springing up, launching a double-fisted push up through his jaw to smash his mouth shut.

  Dazed, he swung wide, clipping me on the shoulder, but the blow still had enough force to send me to the ground. I watched as he stumbled toward me, pausing only as a vase came out of nowhere and shattered at his temple.

  The round exploded from the Bersa in the time the smashing pottery had given me to pull it free from my pocket.

  He was down and wasn’t getting up. Hierarchy or just self-defence, I wasn’t sure which.

  I turned, the Ruger out in both of Celina’s hands pointed at Brad.

  She turned as I did. With it the Ruger came in my direction.

  Not her too?

  Ignoring the gun, I looked instead at Lenart.

  Celina's glassy-eyed gaze followed, as did the gun.

  I stepped to her side and she let me take it. I ejected the dead round and pushed it back into my pocket.

  Celina couldn’t take her eyes from Lenart’s face, drained and pale as he lay on the floor with his eyes wide.

  “You need to get out of here. Take the children and go.”

  “They’re at a friend’s house. What the hell's going on? You. Him. Brad? I don’t get it. None of you are who I thought you were,” she said, for the first time looking towards me.

  “I am who you thought I was, but I’m not an au pair. I work for an organisation connected to your government. I’m here to find a terrible man and bring him to justice.”

  “Lenart?” she said, her voice rising.

  “No. Frank Bukia, but Lenart and Brad were working for him.”

  She held her breath, then stumbled with words that wouldn’t come out. “What… What is Frank doing that’s so bad?”

  “I won’t tell you and I never want you to find out, but you must trust me.” I paused.

  She didn’t move, giving no indication of what she might do.

  “I’m one of the good guys and if I succeed, the good guys will win.”

  She was silent as Lenart gurgled his last breath.

  “Why should I trust you?”

  “You don’t have to. I wouldn’t in your situation. All you have to do is get the kids and yourself away from this place and do it as fast as you can.”

  “I want to call the police.”

  “You won’t be able to. Not yet. They won’t respond.”

  “What have you done?”

  “Not me. Frank has them all sewn up. He wants to handle everything his own way. I’ve got to go, I’m afraid, and I don’t think I’ll ever see you again.”

  She stepped forward as I moved towards her and leant in for a hug. She didn’t hesitate.

  “There’s something I need to tell you,” she said. “The reason I’m here. The reason I’ve been with Lenart all this time.” Her voice sang in my ear.

  I pulled back, holding the tops of her shoulders and looked her in the eye.

  “I don’t want to know. You’re free now,” I said, and she pulled me tight to her chest.

  As we separated, she turned her head and planted her lips on mine. We held there for a long time.

  “Go,” I said. “You won’t want to see this,” and bent down to pull the screwdriver from Lenart’s torso.

  40

  Back at the ventilation shaft within ten minutes, I threw the croppers into the tree line and the loose screws to the dirt floor of the shaft. The stainless-steel grill followed the croppers like a frisbee; then, after it went three different layers of cardboard-edged filters.

  Inside the tunnel darkness filled the space. But what else had I expected? I’d been distracted from the search for the torch.

  The push of air had grown stronger and filled with a fast, metallic whine as it sent my hair backwards. Curling
into the tunnel by angling my shoulders, I closed my eyes to keep away the dust I unsettled. As I pushed forward, holding the screwdriver out at my front, it led the way, probing the concrete, sweeping left and right.

  When it felt like I’d shuffled a good distance, but with no view or change to the ground at my knees, I could only tell my progress as the screwdriver touched something solid ahead, before slipping to the side and jumping forward to alarm against what I guessed to be spinning metal fan blades.

  Pulling back to let the echo die and whilst keeping hold of the screwdriver, I crept my hands forward along the edge of the curved wall until I touched at the cold metal.

  My fingers crept towards the centre and soon found another wire mesh grill barring the way.

  With most of my caution abandoned, I felt all around the edge of the grill, setting the screwdriver on each of the four screws holding it in place, but I still had to figure out some way of stopping the fan.

  Before I released the last two screws, I backed out; squinting at the brightness outside, I scrabbled around in the undergrowth to find the croppers from where I’d thrown them.

  I had the grill off and at my back within a moment. Covering my face with my upper arm, I launched the heavy croppers forward, their bulk crashing against the thin metal. The push of the wind dropped, but took up a heartbeat later.

  With great care, my fingertips moved as close to the whine as I dared, but try as I might I couldn’t find the croppers.

  Backing out of the tunnel again, I moved to the entrance to let the light penetrate so I could figure out my next move. The little amount of light coming past showed me the croppers had been spat out and lay on the other side of the blades, out of reach for another attempt.

  A thought of shooting at the blades flashed into my head. Then came the sight of my dead body, killed by flying shrapnel.

  Instead, back out of the shaft, I found the widest and thickest log from the undergrowth, but had to return to the surface to find one small enough to manoeuvre into the tight space.

  Shuffling my feet along the shaft, I pushed the log out in front, moving to sit when I drew close to the blades. Pushing with my feet, the log attacked the blade in a shower of splinters, peppering around me as the fan ground to a sudden stop, groaning as it fought against the wood.