The War Gate

by Chris Stevenson

  “You are too awesome,” she said, examining it. The owner of the tag was an employee named Rita Levy, a redhead. It couldn’t have been better if it had been custom made. She put a smear of glue on her photo, glued it over the other, and clipped it to her collar.

  “This might take some time,” she said. “I’m going to get the layout of the building, so I’ll know the location of all the doors, security areas, and executive offices. I’ll try to rig a door or window for access.” She produced a pair of large toenail clippers. “Will these cut a small sensor wire?”

  “Sure, in a heartbeat. Why are you going to rig a door or window? You can go right through them.”

  “Because you’re coming with me tonight.”

  ###

  They arrived back at the theater in two hours. Avy had toured the plant from one end to the other, including the basement. She was glad that she had. The place was a maze. She stopped counting doors after the figure reached three digits. She suspected there were at least two guards assigned to the graveyard shift, both of them stationed at opposite ends of the plant. There were over twenty-five clock stations, which meant they were on the move every hour, covering every square foot of the property. It was not known how many tens of thousands of square feet the plant comprised, but she felt certain that a few guards would have trouble covering all of it in a speedy manner.

  Her greatest discovery was the dress of the plain-clothes security officers. There was no doubt they were the same types she had seen out by the lake. Recalling her visit to the plant years ago also jogged her memory. The double-breasted Pasquale suits were a dead giveaway. They looked like hit men instead of genial security officers. She wondered if their appearance at the park had been a coincidence or if they somehow had decided to follow her. If so, there was no need to reveal that information to Sebastian, causing further panic.

  They waited until night to make the trip to the Cyberflow property. Shutting off the vehicle's headlights beforehand, they pulled into a dark corner of the parking lot. The plant building looked gray in the black of night, illuminated by a sliver of moon. Light spilled from only a few of the office windows.

  Dressed in dark clothing, soft-soled sneakers, and wearing latex gloves, they inched their way through a small row of trees. Avy led the way, knowing where a basement window stuck out just above the surface on a wall. The window had fly hinges. She had cut the alarm wire and opened the lock during her previous visit. They crouched when they reached the window.

  She kept her voice low. “This is your way in. Stay put until I come around to find you.” He nodded, ducked down, then squeezed through the small opening. She continued down the wall until she found a steel entrance door. She summoned the emotional surge, then stepped through to the other side. She now stood in a long corridor that smelled of fresh paint. It was poorly lit. She pulled out a small penlight, keeping it at her side just in case. She crept down the hall, stopped at an intersection, then made a right turn. She entered the second door down the hall. Sebastian stood next to a snack machine, eating an apple pie.

  “You idiot,” she whispered. He looked at her, offering a helpless shrug.

  They stepped into the main hallway. She counted doors, and made another turn, hugging close to the wall. She froze in step when she heard the distant chatter of a handheld radio. The words were indistinguishable. They hurried on.

  Before long, she entered the door she was looking for. Filing cabinets banked two of the walls. The main floor was occupied by four long tables laden with scrap paper and pencils. It was the Employee Records Room. Avy found a cabinet with the correct alphabetical listing. Sebastian made quick work of the thumb-sized lock, snapping it open with a screwdriver. She flipped through the files and pulled out Drake’s personal folder. Sebastian rigged the lock, disguising the fact that it was broken.

  They exited the Records Room, Avy in the lead. She followed the blueprint in her head, remembering how many turns and stairwells to take to get to her destination. At one point she became lost, doubled back, then tried again. They found Drake Labrador’s executive office on the third floor, after spotting his personalized nameplate glued to the center of the door. It was locked. Sebastian, producing a pick wire, nudged her aside. He had it open in ten seconds. They stepped inside.

  She’d been in Drake's office once before, but it had been three years ago. It hadn’t changed much, except for one addition—a tall, gray standup safe sat in the corner. She whispered to Sebastian, “Don’t worry about the safe until we find a key or combo number.”

  She went straight to the large walnut desk. The desk drawers were unlocked. She would start from the top side drawer, then work her way down. The first drawer was disorganized chaos, papers and report folders lying in helter skelter disarray. She tucked anything that looked written in Drake’s hand in her pants pocket. She rifled the next drawers, sifting through the scatter. She picked out slips that looked like personal notes, then shoved a small address book into her pocket. Opening up the belly drawer revealed piles of candy wrappers, condoms, cotton swabs, gas receipts, pink slips, memos, clips, rubber stamps, and other flotsam. She tore a few top sheets from a yellow legal pad, believing them to be recent notations.

  She wasn’t quite sure what evidence she was looking for. Anything that would incriminate him for something would be a boon. Proof of tax evasion, manipulation of funds, insider trading, sexual discrimination, harassment, forgery, blackmail, or any other suspect documents were ripe for a court case that would bring prosecution against him.

  She found a heavy, gold ring in a corner pocket. It was set with a cat’s eye. On the back was a tiny inscription. She had to use a magnifying glass and her penlight to see it. It read, I’ve Got My Eye On You, Baby—Love, Avalon. It was most likely a gift from her mother to her husband, Tom. She felt a sudden revulsion knowing that Drake had such a sentimental keepsake sitting in one of his junk drawers. She wanted to take it but decided against it. She gave it a small kiss, then put it back where she found it.

  “Psst.” Sebastian motioned to her. He stood next to the safe. The vault door was wide open.

  She crept to the safe, cocking her eyebrows in surprise. He smiled, handed her a journal, the equivalent of a man’s diary. She looked around the room, noticing the dim outline of a photocopy machine. She signaled for him to watch the door while she began copying pages.

  She turned the copier on, beginning the task. The machine wasn’t that loud, but anyone close enough to the door might pick up the slight cycling noise. Her motions became automatic—push, lift, flip, push, then repeat in a steady rhythm, fast enough without fumbling or dropping the journal to the floor. It was a race to copy everything she wanted to while not knowing the precise time the guards would make their rounds. She cringed when the photocell flashed, spilling out an explosion of light. Since the large viewing window was wide open against its blinds, anyone patrolling the parking lot might see strange flashes within one of the executive offices then come running. Intruder alert!

  When she finished the last page, she hurried to the safe. After throwing the journal in, she eased the door closed.

  Sebastian waved his arms, then put a finger to his ear. She froze, listening. She could hear heel strikes in the hallway, along with another noise that resembled a door rattling. A guard was on his rounds checking the doors! Panic swept over her. There was no way out of the office save for the main entrance. She might have enough time to hustle up the feeling to Gate-Walk, but Sebastian had no way out except into the arms of the approaching guard.

  She waved him over behind the desk. They stooped to crawl under it. Cavernous in size, it was an easy fit. She knocked a container over and brushed her nails against a small space heater. It gave out an annoying ring. She flicked her penlight on, cupping the light. The cramped space revealed a plastic jar of Vaseline along with a bottle of cough syrup or mouthwash, she couldn’t decided which. The objects nauseated her. But what else could have been expected from a disgusting
scum bucket like Drake Labrador?

  The office doorknob rattled, and then opened. A voice broke the silence. “Son-of-a-bitch. Yeah, right. I don’t think so.” Soft pads across the carpet, the voice again. “You tell us to keep the electric bill down, but you can’t even shut off your own shit, never mind locking your own goddamned door.”

  Avy grimaced. The copy machine was on. There came a click, then the fading whine of the machine, followed by soft footpads. The door closed. She put a palm on Sebastian’s forearm, signaling him to stay where he was. There was no hurry to leave. She hadn’t heard the retreating steps of the guard down the hall and was uncertain if he’d left. They waited for five minutes in silence, then crawled out from under the desk. There were no hallway sounds.

  Avy placed an ear against the door, smiling to Sebastian in relief. He nodded, clearly understanding that it was safe. She turned the knob the wrong way, rattling it. Tried again. The mechanism gave an audible click. She eased the door open, motioning for Sebastian to follow. When they stepped out, Avy looked both ways down the corridor. What she saw on the left made her go bone-cold still. The guard had just turned. Dropping a cigarette to the floor; his eyes met hers. He reached inside his coat jacket.

  Before she’d had a chance to react, the guard had assumed a combat stance, pointing a pistol at her forehead. The air over his head swirled with a cloud of tobacco smoke.

  “Freeze or I’ll cap your ass,” said the guard, backing up a step. He cocked his head, looking at the papers hanging from Avy’s pants.

  “You losing a little stuffing there?” he asked. “Looks like I’ve got me a couple of cat burglars. What’s in those pockets?” He brought his handheld radio up to his jaw, then spoke with a nervous urgency. “Hildegard, be advised that I have two in custody over by Mr. Labrador’s office. You copy that?”

  Sebastian stepped to Avy’s side, throwing his hands up in the air. He said, “Give him the paperwork, sweetie. He’s got us cold. Give him the whole batch.”

  Avy rolled the paperwork up into a tube. Sebastian stepped to her side when she leaned forward to hand it over, watching the guard shift to extend a hand. Just when the gun dipped down, Sebastian’s hand rose up, two playing cards wedged in the crook between his fingers. With the snap of his wrist, he pitched them into the guard’s eyes. The guard howled and stumbled backward. Sebastian leapt, snatched the gun out of his hand, then kicked the man’s legs out from underneath him. The guard’s ass hit the floor with bone-jarring thud.

  “My eyes.” the guard gasped. “I can’t see!”

  Sebastian bent over him, using swift hands to remove the guard's belt. He looped the guard’s hands behind his back, then secured them with a knot, using the belt. Then with a deft stomp, he crunched the radio under his foot. “That’s what you get for pulling a gun on my girlfriend.”

  The two ran down the hallway at breakneck speed. Avy’s heart knocked in her chest. She hoped the high anxiety state would not cause her to going flying through the next door she entered. She wasn’t up for being spirited away to another part of the building, or dumped in the parking lot. She had to get Sebastian out. Everything else was set on an alarm that tied in with the local police station.

  Avy got Sebastian to the basement window, then ran to the same door she’d entered. She went through with an excess burst of energy, ending up on the other side sprawled in the grass. Sebastian got to her in three strides. Together they ran to the car through the shaddows.

  They pulled out of the parking lot, tires squealing. To shake off any pursuers, Sebastian made several evasive maneuvers down some side streets. He eased off the pedal after a few miles, slowing to a law-abiding speed. They decided to go to her motel room in the belief that the theater might be too “hot” for a hideaway. He took the long route around town. When they arrived at the Flat On Your Back Motel, he parked in back to conceal the vehicle.

  Once inside her room, they collapsed on the bed, chests heaving for breath. Avy could hear the blood rushing through her ears while she stared up at the ceiling. It took them more than ten minutes to regain their composure.

  “That’s the first time I’ve seen playing cards used to fend off a gun,” she said. “I hope you didn’t blind him for life.”

  “I didn’t have much of a choice. He had the drop on us.”

  She giggled, finding the whole episode hilarious, in a dangerous sort of way. “What else do you have up your sleeve? Mr. Magic Man?”

  He turned to her, giving her a sly wink. There was mischief in that look, she thought. It wasn’t clear if the danger had prompted it or if it had been the pure adrenalin rush. But a moment later, they found themselves wrapped in each other’s arms, cracking the damn of passion they’d held in check. Avy unclenched her hand, dropping the tube of papers. Soon they were thrashing amongst the pages, smearing them with body oil and sweat. She found Sebastian to be adept in another area of magic that delighted her. He brought her to peaks of pleasure that had her clenching the bedspread white-knuckled. He took her on a few side trips that gave her the shivers, prompting her to curse with an exhilaration she’d never known. The man acted the part of the giver too. At one point during some vigorous thrusting, she screamed her wild abandon so loudly, the occupants next door had tossed objects against the wall to silence the two.

  When it was over, they lay in a tangle of flesh, chests heaving, breaths hissing between their teeth. She now had a better understanding of the “amazing” connotation in his name.

  This was the passion she had been looking for all along. The first time she felt wanted—safe in the arms of a man who desired her. She had become one with Sebastian, achieving that bond of trust. Now there was someone who would cherish her for however long it lasted. She never wanted it to end, and thought her heart could explode from the joy of it at any moment. He spoke to her after a moment of silence.

  “Avy, I’m so damn in love with you I think I’m going to lose my mind.”

  At those words, Avy cried. She’d never felt so happy in her life.

  Chapter 11

  His chief of security called him at three-thirty in the morning. Drake hopped in his Mercedes and made it down to the plant in thirty minutes flat, running three stop signs on the way. A break-in at Cyberflow was unheard of. No one had ever been caught trespassing or loitering on the property. His security outlay was horrendous, with one exception—he had kept minimal personnel on the graveyard shift to cut expenses. Now that he thought about it, he could kick his ass up around his neck for cutting that expense. He wondered if anything had been picked up on his security cameras. He felt certain he had one hundred percent surveillance on the property that covered all areas. Unless somebody had neglected to switch out the tapes. If that were the case, they wouldn’t have a job the next day.

  He stormed into his office. Five security men were standing, one seated. The seated man held an ice bag to his forehead. Auggie gave the injured guard soothing shoulder pats.

  Drake plopped in his high-back chair, glaring at the gathering. “Anybody who wasn’t an eye witness or who wasn’t directly involved, get out!”

  The room cleared except for the seated man and the security chief. Drake looked at Auggie. “What happened to him?”

  “He caught a couple of cat burglars on the third floor. One of the suspects threw some playing cards in his face. Nearly blinded him when they hit him in the eyes.”

  Drake couldn’t resist. “Got dealt a bad hand, did you? Tell me it was aces and eights. Please tell me that, you fucking moron! You’re packing heat, right? You’re telling me some guy throws paper in your face and gets away? That’s what I pay you three-hundred a week for?”

  “I’m sorry,” said the injured guard. “I had them cornered and was about to make an arrest. Then all of a sudden, I’m on the deck. You see, I was on my clock rounds shaking doors when I came upon your office. I discovered the door open. I went inside to find the copy machine running. I shut it off, locked the door from the inside, then ste
pped out into the hallway to have a smoke. A few minutes later, these two come creeping out of your office.”

  “Who came creeping out?” asked Drake.

  “A guy and a gal, I think. They were dressed in black, carrying sheaves of paper. I pulled my piece, then called for backup. The next thing I know, I’m laced up on the floor with my hand-held busted in pieces. The warehouse guard, Hildegard, found me ten minutes later. We did a sweep of the property, but found that the suspects had vacated the premises. With my eyes the way they were, I couldn’t see all that well anyway.”

  Drake looked at his safe. A wave of nausea came over him. He hadn’t been in it for a few days, but did remember locking it with his last visit. He next thought about the desk drawers, wondering if they contained anything incriminating. The mixed company in the room prevented him from any cursory examination at the moment.

  “I was wondering if I could be excused,” said the injured man.

  “You’re excused for good,” said Drake. “You heard me. Don’t sit there with your mouth agape like a sea bass. Get your knees in the breeze. You’re finished at Cyberflow.”

  The injured man, former security officer, past proud member of the Hollywood Mafia left the office, closing the door with a soft click.

  Drake dialed the combination on his safe while Auggie looked on, a trickle of sweat running down his cheek. The CEO of Cyberflow opened the safe, then looked inside. Two rows of small cardboard boxes took up the back half of the safe, stacked to the top. In front of them lay sheaves of papers, folders, receipts, notes, and other spillage. He picked up his brown journal, and paged through it, not remembering if he had thrown it in or if it had been placed there with care. The thought that anyone had opened his safe to copy documents seemed ludicrous. Who would dare pull such a stunt?

  Drake looked over his shoulder. “Why are you standing there with your thumb up your butt? Haven’t you got anything to say?”