No Man's Land

by Sara Driscoll

  “Would a digoxin overdose show in an autopsy?” Meg asked.

  “Sure would.”

  “Then I’ll poke Craig to get us that information. Okay, McCord. What’s our list?”

  “Of the Allentown sites, you like the opera house best, Smaill?”

  “Yes. But after that, I like Bethlehem Steel. It will also take much longer to search because of how big it is. Let’s hit the opera house and then Bethlehem Steel. After that I’d say the hospital, the tool and die factory, and then the church. But I’m hoping we won’t have to search all those. Warren Roth needs saving now.”

  “Agreed. Brian, stay with us. Hawk’s okay with you?”

  “Good as gold. He and Lacey are snoozing in Lacey’s compartment. They’re wearing their vests, so they know they’re going to work and to rest while they can.”

  “Smart dogs.” Meg flipped to her map app. “It’s about fifty minutes until we get to Allentown. And I know it’s going to make the trip take longer, but I want to stop at Mr. Roth’s retirement community. Flash our badges, see if we can get a couple of pieces of laundry to use for scenting since there’s a spare key floating around. Having items with his scent will reduce the possibility of the dogs tracking the wrong person and will be more efficient in the long run. We need to cover as much ground as we can as fast as we can.”

  “Roger that. Lead the way, we’ll be right behind you.” Brian ended the call.

  Meg tucked her phone into the backpack at her feet and swiveled in her seat toward Smaill. “If the opera house doesn’t pan out, how hard is the steel plant going to be?”

  “Parts of it will be challenging, and it’s just plain big. But we have two dogs. Can we split them up?”

  “Absolutely. That’s standard protocol for us.”

  “Then let’s make two teams. Webb, you go with Meg, I’ll go with Foster. If anyone gets into trouble, then we’re there to lend a hand and will have gear on hand. McCord can decide who to go with. That way we can spread out and cover more ground.”

  “We can’t assume Roth is dead,” Meg said. “We have to run this as if we’re on the clock and it’s ticking down. Until the clock winds down to zero, we still have a chance to save him.”

  CHAPTER 8

  Infiltration: Trespass and entry into an occupied site.

  Saturday, October 27, 2:40 PM

  Bethlehem Steel Works

  Bethlehem, Pennsylvania

  They struck out at the opera house.

  A crumbling façade hid the beauty of a graceful interior of soaring ceilings adorned with gold-tipped Rococo flourishes. The main theater was still a sight to behold even with a faded mural ceiling; the remnants of a massive crystal chandelier; and the swag of what were once rich burgundy velvet curtains trimmed in gold brocade. Vermin had nibbled away the trim, and years of wear had taken the nap off the velvet, so the dull base weave bled through in patches.

  A search backstage, both above and below, as well as the public corridors and restrooms, revealed nothing to interest the dogs. The teams met at the broken rear door where they originally entered, and jointly agreed the site was clear. It was time to move on to Bethlehem.

  The area around Bethlehem Steel had seen a significant public makeover. Forty years before, the site had been strictly industrial—a sprawling iron giant located beside a river and sandwiched between a network of railway lines used to both pick up and discharge massive loads of materials. Now, the eastern end of the original property had been cleared to make room for a casino and outlet mall, while the land just south of the existing steel plant was converted to a concert stage adjacent to a visitor’s center.

  Wide parking lots surrounded the area, testifying to the expected crowds, but today, although the parking structure around the casino was full, the lots closer to the old steel mill and blast furnaces were mostly empty.

  “We’re lucky it’s late in the year for outdoor activities,” McCord said. “The place is mostly deserted.”

  “Did you look up as we were coming in?” Smaill pointed to the far side of the mill, where a raised concrete and steel platform hugged the south side of the property. “There’s a tour going on up there now, probably twenty or so people in it.”

  “As long as they stay up there, we should be fine,” Meg said.

  The group walked along the rail lines, just outside the shiny, new chain-link fence separating the freshly paved parking lot from the rail land. During the drive from Allentown, McCord had selected a place for them to park, far from the abandoned steel mill, upriver behind a cold storage facility closed for business on the weekend. They were able to bend down an old section of fencing for the humans to climb and the dogs to easily jump over. From there, it was a brisk walk for a mile and a half down the packed gravel railway bed lining the tracks, skirting lines of boxcars, their gazes fixed on the tall rust-brown smoke and burn-off stacks towering over the complex. Everyone shouldered a backpack: Meg and Brian wore their standard go bags with everything they and the dogs needed for a prolonged search, McCord and Smaill carried tools and rescue gear, and Webb shouldered his paramedic pack in case Roth required medical assistance.

  “Does anyone know what we’re looking at?” Brian asked. “I don’t know anything about industrial sites.”

  “I spent the last part of the trip boning up on this place and how it functioned,” McCord said from the middle of the group, raising his voice to be heard. “Anyone else?” When no one spoke up, he said, “Looks like it’s a good thing I did. Okay, we’re looking at what little is left of what was once a massive steel plant.” He swiveled and pointed behind them. “All the way over there, back to where we parked? That was originally Bethlehem Steel property. They razed huge sections of casting and storage buildings when they built the casino, the mall, and the rest. But they kept the iconic blast furnaces, the gas-blowing engine house, and one of the machine shops. The engine house is that long structure under the tour platform. Twelve tandem eighty-foot engines built in the 1890s that ran seven days a week, three hundred sixty-five days a year until the plant closed in 1998.”

  “They sure don’t make ’em like they used to,” quipped Brian.

  “No kidding. If I get fifteen years out of a washing machine I buy today, I’ll be lucky. Anyway, those engines pumped and compressed air for the blast furnaces. But I’d put searching that structure lower down on the list. One end of the building is open to allow visitors on the upper tour platform to see right in; it’s unlikely anyone could be inside unnoticed. However, there is a lower level, so I wouldn’t take it right off the list, just move it down toward the bottom. The machine shop is now part of the National Museum of Industrial History, so that’s even lower down the list since it’s open for visitors as we speak. That leaves the blast furnaces.”

  Meg scanned the twisted mass of pipes, tanks, and smokestacks rising into the sky. “I assume that’s what’s in front of us?”

  “Yes. Blast furnace primer in sixty seconds so you know what we’re walking into. You can’t make steel until you can make iron, so the point of a blast furnace is to mix and melt down the materials—ore, coke, and limestone—to make molten iron. You see the main structures that have those massive pipes and what looks like a cage at the top of them? Those are the blast furnaces. On the far side from us, each blast furnace has a steeply sloped ramp, or elevator, where carts full of the material would be pulled to the top of the furnace and then dumped in. The air from the gas-blowing engines would first go into those triplets of huge hot blast stove tanks for heating and then would be injected into the furnace about a third of the way up. As the materials drop through the heated furnace, they melt, producing waste gases that rise and are drawn off by the giant pipes you see up top, and then the molten iron pools in the bottom of the furnace. The waste gases go through scrubbers to clear out the particulate matter, and then the hot air is sent back into the blast stoves for reheating and then into the furnace again. Any residual waste gases are vented out through those tall
smokestacks.”

  “Sounds like hot, miserable work,” Smaill said.

  “Oh, it was. But this is the company that first figured out how to mill I-beams. There’d be no Golden Gate or George Washington Bridges without them. Or the Empire State or Chrysler Buildings. Or the Hoover Dam. The steel for all of those projects came out of these five furnaces.”

  “Could someone be inside one of those furnaces?” Webb asked. “Are they accessible?”

  “I don’t think so. If the company needed access, they shut the whole furnace down and decommissioned it to get inside. These things are tightly sealed and pressure tested. There’s no door in.”

  “So how does the molten metal get out?”

  “There’s a clay plug blocking a port at the bottom. When it’s time, they drill the plug and the metal pours out. Pure molten iron is heavy, while the impurities, the slag, is lighter, so they literally skim the slag off the top and divert it to a separate collection spot. From what I understand, those two materials are collected underneath the furnaces. So we’re going to need to search both levels.”

  “Got to get in first,” Meg said. “Look at all these No Trespassing signs. In a place like this, there’s got to be security we’ll need to get around. I’m kind of worried we might get tagged.”

  “Maybe we should give Craig the heads-up,” Brian suggested. “Not to clear our way ahead of time, there’s no time for that, but in case we get caught.”

  Meg glanced over her shoulder at him and nodded in agreement. “That’s a good idea.” She pulled out her phone and speed-dialed Craig. When he came on the line, she explained why they’d chosen that location on the drive up and their concerns about security. “If we find Roth here, security is going to find out when we call in ambo and local PD support. I know we’re here on our own time and not on an official case . . .”

  “You get caught, or you find Roth, I’ll clear the path for you. You’re both carrying ID?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good. Just try not to get caught. I’d rather call security and report you found a kidnapping victim than have them call me to bellow about my teams.”

  “Understood. Thanks, Craig.” Meg hung up. “He’ll bail us out if we need it. But let’s try not to. Okay, we’re coming up on it now.” They’d followed the rail lines behind the closed section of the property, and now Meg scanned the back of the stories-high metal structures and brick buildings that were part of the blast furnace complex. “I don’t see any cameras. I see security lighting but no eyes in the sky.”

  “I don’t either,” Smaill said. “They likely use security patrols. It would be nearly impossible to effectively install security cameras in a place like this. Too complex, no uniform straight walls. Too many places to hide.” He indicated the four-foot chain-link fence. “They didn’t even try very hard here. They could have made this fence five or six feet high.”

  Webb flicked the thick, twisted wire pairs that topped the upper line of the fence. “Guess this is supposed to be a deterrent?”

  Smaill let out a bark of a laugh. “Not to us.” Then he stopped and looked down at the two dogs. “But what about them?”

  “That’s nothing,” said Brian. “Meg, parkour style?”

  Meg took in the two dogs, bright eyed and standing at attention. “That’ll work.”

  “Here?”

  Meg leaned over the fence and looked up and down the fence line. “Here’s as good as anywhere. I’ll go first.” She shrugged out of her pack and thrust it into Webb’s arms. “Hold this.” Planting the toe of her boot into the fence, she quickly climbed it, hopping over the jagged top and landing lightly. She held out her arms to Webb. “Bag?” He tossed it to her, and she set it down a few feet away while quickly scanning the area for any sign of a security patrol. “Toss me your bag,” she said to Brian, and then put it with hers out of the way. “Okay, do it.”

  Brian turned his back to Lacey and bent over, bending his knees slightly and bracing his hands on them. “Lacey, over!” The German shepherd retreated a few paces and then bolted for Brian, leaping onto his back and using him as a springboard to sail over the fence and land beside Meg.

  McCord grinned at the dog prancing happily around Meg’s feet. “Nice. More graceful than any of us.”

  “They tend to be. Hawk, over!” Meg commanded.

  Hawk followed Lacey over the fence to land staring up at Meg with a happy grin and his tongue lolling from his mouth.

  “Toss me your packs, then you guys are next.”

  Two minutes later, the group gathered behind one of the blast furnaces, the second in the long row of five.

  Meg pulled out her cell phone. “First off, everyone’s phones on vibrate. We’ll need to communicate between the teams, but the last thing we need is someone’s phone blaring ‘The Boys Are Back in Town.’ ”

  “Hey!” protested McCord. “Why am I the one giving us away?”

  “Because you’re an easy target. Now, let’s stay in the same teams as at the opera house so each team has rescue gear in case anyone runs into trouble. I think we should start at the one end and work our way down the line.”

  “A systematic search is the best way to go,” said Brian. “But to make the best use of the teams, let’s start at opposite ends and work toward the middle. Each team clears a furnace and then moves on. We’ll meet at that one.” He pointed at the middle furnace and then dropped his hand to indicate the open lower level with large railcars underneath as if ready to catch their precious cargo. “Looks like we can gain entrance through the lower level.”

  “Sounds good. Okay, Brian—you, Lacey, and Chuck take the near furnace. Todd, McCord, and I will head for the far end, and we’ll take it systematically. If you need to make contact, text first in case we can’t get it right away. Then we can do a voice call if the coast is clear.”

  “Works for me,” Brian said. “Come on, Lacey girl, let’s see who we can find.” He shouldered his pack, and then he and Smaill headed toward the easternmost furnace.

  “Hawk, come.” Meg headed west, with Webb and McCord falling into step beside her. They stayed close to the buildings, constantly watching for any sign of movement and listening for the slightest sound that might indicate a security patrol. They ducked under heavy metal scaffolding and around railcars and debris, darting between buildings until they made their way to the end. They had just cleared the last gap between furnaces when the sound of radio static buzzed through the quiet. Meg held up a fist for the men and gave Hawk the hand signal to hold as they all froze, barely breathing.

  “Jack, is Larry in yet?” The man’s voice held a note of disgust.

  A radio crackled, then a disembodied voice said, “He just called in. Said he’ll be another fifteen.”

  “Goddamn it. Of course he’s late again. I’m going to do one more round past A and B, then I’ll circle back to clock out. Tom out.”

  “He’s coming this way,” Meg hissed.

  “Inside, quick.” McCord ran toward the lower level of the furnace, disappearing between an I-beam coated in layers of dripping, solidified iron and a railcar holding what looked like two massive upside-down bells.

  “Go!” Webb whispered as he gave her a push to follow McCord. “I’ll make sure the coast is clear.”

  Meg gave Hawk’s leash a tug and then ran with him to follow McCord. She ducked past the railcars and ran deeper into the building.

  And was swallowed by darkness.

  CHAPTER 9

  Seccers: Urbex slang for security guards.

  Saturday, October 27, 3:08 PM

  Bethlehem Steel Works

  Bethlehem, Pennsylvania

  Meg slowed as the gloom closed in around her, far inside the lower level with open daylight seeming miles away. She tightened up on Hawk’s leash and ducked under a metal staircase to crouch down, holding as still as possible. She strained to pick up any sound, but she heard only her own heart beating in her ears and her grating breath. Laying one hand on Hawk’s back
, she felt him quiver beneath her touch but otherwise remain motionless. She leaned out just far enough to see the entrance, feeling relatively secure there was no way anyone could see in far enough to spot her.

  A dark form strolled by, transecting the distant block of light. After about forty-five seconds, the figure passed by again, this time in the opposite direction, and disappeared from view. Meg sank down beside Hawk, waiting until she could be sure the security guard was gone. A full minute passed, then she heard the scuff of a boot and “Meg? Webb?”

  Meg stood and peered out again. Her eyes were becoming acclimatized to the lower light levels, and instead of blackness, now there were only shadows. “Here,” she called quietly.

  McCord popped out from behind a bank of heavy iron pipes with labeled valves. “Where’s Webb?”

  “Here.” Webb stepped forward, framed by the light. “I stayed closer to the entrance to keep an eye on him. But he just passed right by, never even looking in. He went to the end of the property, turned around, and came back. If we assume this is furnace A, he’s circling the one next to us and then heading to the security office, wherever that is.”

  “Hopefully not near the far end of the complex, or he may trip over Brian. But I’m going to let him know security is out and about, just in case.” After sending Brian a quick text, Meg dug in her backpack to pull out the dirty sock sealed in a zippered bag, opened the bag, and offered the sock to Hawk. “Hawk, find Warren. Find.” She loosened the leash and then stepped away to let her dog scent the air. He moved through the lower level in straight lines, telling Meg he didn’t have the scent yet.

  He stopped momentarily beside one of the railcars with the giant vats and gave a curious sniff.