Obsessed

by Ted Dekker

“Don’t worry, the city has upgraded,” Sweeney said. “This drain isn’t in use. They moved the street twenty years ago when they rezoned the neighborhood to accommodate the hordes of people who wanted to live by the sea in bliss. Part of the drain was rerouted, but this section was just cut off. This manhole is the only service entrance. Code. You can’t have a drain that’s inaccessible, even if it’s out of use. A piece of bureaucratic brilliance hard at work.”

  “How do you know all this? This is the only entrance?”

  “I designed two buildings to replace these two as part of an assignment for a design class. So you see, this building has sentimental value to me. I’m not here by accident. I chose it.”

  “But there’s only one manhole?”

  “It’s all that’s left of the old sewer system. Come on, let me show you.”

  Sweeney turned and plowed up the drain, bent slightly to keep the slime out of his hair. Stephen slogged after them. His mind was still suspended between the romance of their moment up on dry ground and the less-appealing sogginess here. There had to be another service entrance that led up into Rachel Spritzer’s apartment.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, we have arrived.” Sweeney spun around and spread his arms.

  “Where?” Stephen looked up. Nothing but slime. “What is it?”

  “Another drain,” Sweeney said, shoving the torch to his left. A round hole no more than eight inches in diameter exited the side of the sewer.

  Stephen looked at the hole, glanced back at a smiling Sweeney, and stared at the hole again, hoping this was not Sweeney’s answer. His mind fell free of any romantic threads that had kept it in suspension.

  “What’s this? It’s a hole,” he said.

  “Well said. A hole that leads into the basement of Rachel Spritzer’s apartment.”

  “But it’s tiny. I don’t see—”

  “It’s tiny now.” Sweeney had not lost his smile. “When we’re done with it, it’ll be big.”

  “How?”

  Sweeney lifted up his forefinger. “One word, my bohemian understudy. Jackhammer. Or is that two words?”

  “Jackhammer.”

  “Hammer by Jack. Exactly.”

  “You’re telling me that I just shelled out five hundred thousand dollars for you to point out a tiny hole that you expect me to take a jackhammer to?”

  Sweeney’s smile faded. He lowered his finger. “It’s more than a tiny hole. It’s the sewer. It’s a way into the basement! It’s love and passion and the pot at the end of your rainbow.”

  “It’s crazy!” Stephen’s voice echoed down the tunnel.

  “What did you expect, Groovy? A rocket ride? I said two days.”

  “No, I didn’t expect a rocket ride, although for five hundred thousand maybe I should have. You think we’re dealing with idiots up there? You saw how they sent those soldiers packing. The sound of a jackhammer pounding away down here will echo up every drain in the building. Every sink, every toilet, every shower, booming like machine guns. And even if they are deaf, the whole building could fall in on us!”

  Sweeney stared at him in silence, smile gone.

  “I told you he might not dig it,” Melissa said. “No pun intended.”

  “This can work, man,” Sweeney said. “Where’s your suck-it-up, I-gotta-have-it-at-any-cost desperation? I know these buildings. There’s only seven feet of earth and some concrete between us and where that drain takes a turn for the boiler room. That turn is buried in twelve inches of foundation directly below the coal room. I’ll admit, there are a few challenges—like the sound thing—but five hundred thousand dollars says that won’t stop us.”

  Stephen ran a hand through his hair and slopped through the muck in a half circle. Maybe he had expected a rocket ride and maybe he was overreacting to the disappointment. He wanted the safe, and he wanted it tonight.

  “How do we deal with the sound?”

  “Baffles.”

  “Brilliant. Baffles,” he said cynically. “Why don’t we tie some earplugs to a rock and throw it through one of their windows? Who wouldn’t turn down a free set of earplugs?”

  Melissa giggled. Sweeney looked hurt.

  “Sorry,” Stephen said. “I . . . I just wasn’t expecting this.” He stared at the hole. Seven feet. He’d never operated a jackhammer, but surely it could cut its way through seven feet in a day, depending on how much concrete they ran into. Maybe they could baffle the drain. Maybe with all their own hammering, the Germans wouldn’t hear. And if they did, they might have trouble identifying the source. Or they could be distracted.

  The idea began to take root. Imagine breaking in through the bottom of the safe itself. Like breaking into Fort Knox and taking a hundred million dollars’ worth of bullion, only this would be legal. At least the taking part would be legal. The breaking-in part could be a problem.

  Stephen grunted.

  “I’m telling you, Groovy. This is a lot smarter than going in dressed as a woman.”

  “You know about that?”

  Sweeney winked. “You looked marvelous, although I’ll admit it was a bit dark and we were a ways down the street. We saw your exit. The Vega gave you away.”

  “You know my car?”

  “Melissa figured that one out.”

  “Man. You think anyone else saw me?”

  “If they did, they couldn’t have put it all together. Your secret’s safe with us.”

  Stephen stared at the hole. This idea might actually be the smartest thing he’d tried yet, though that didn’t necessarily put it in the brilliant category. He leaned over and peered into the hole. Couldn’t see the end.

  “Seven feet. Man, wouldn’t that be something if we pulled it off. Come up under them like that. Ha!”

  “I said I could get you into the building, and I can. That much we definitely will pull off. Whether or not they will be standing over the hole with guns is another issue altogether.”

  It could work. Stephen stroked the stubble on his chin. It really could. In fact, in its own way, it was brilliant. Braun would never expect it.

  “Okay,” Stephen said, turning from the small drain. Nervous anticipation swept through his nerves. “How do we get power down here?”

  “Groovy,” Sweeney said.

  30

  Los Angeles

  July 24, 1973

  Tuesday Afternoon

  ELECTRIC JACKHAMMERS DON’T FALL OUT OF THE SKY UPON request. This is what Stephen learned Tuesday morning.

  Nor do cashier’s checks for four hundred eighty thousand dollars, but the fact that Stephen had the bank make it out to the Los Angeles Museum of the Holocaust seemed to earn him some respect. “I’m having a stellar year,” he told them. “I need the tax break this donation will give me.” Donating such a large sum to the same museum his mother had selected seemed fitting.

  He walked out at nine thirty with thirty thousand in cash—twenty for Sweeney, ten for operating expenses—and the cashier’s check, to be sent posthaste to the museum.

  The jackhammer, on the other hand, proved more difficult. They weren’t available at the local five-and-dime, and the only rental company that had an electric one ready to go was all the way out in Riverside. By the time Stephen finally made it to the shop, rented the beast, and returned home, noon bells were ringing. Half a day and they hadn’t even started. Meanwhile, Braun was tearing through the walls next door.

  Stephen parked in the alley behind the abandoned building and climbed out. Sweeney approached and threw open the back door.

  “You get it?”

  “Got it. The manager assured me it would cut through concrete like butter. You get the extension cords?”

  “Ready to go, man. Lights blazing, just waiting on you.”

  Stephen popped the trunk, and they gazed upon the mammoth rig together. Bold black letters that had once read “Sledge Master” were worn thin in some spots and off in others. Streaks of crusted tar ran down one side. The bit looked as though it had eaten one too many
nails.

  “He said the gas one would be better ’cause it’s heavier,” Stephen said.

  “He doesn’t know that we’re digging up, not down—carburetor wouldn’t work at that angle. Besides, without ventilation, the exhaust would kill us.”

  “You sure we have enough power?”

  “I blew a fuse not three minutes ago testing it. Sparky’s live. Let me give you a hand with this.”

  They hauled the tool out of the trunk, each on one end. “You have any idea how this works?” Sweeney asked, squinting in the noon sun.

  “No. Don’t you?”

  “Seems awful heavy. I can’t imagine what the gas one must weigh.”

  “But you do know how these work, right?”

  “What I do know is that we’re standing still, and my arms are about to drop off. It vibrates, right?” He chuckled. “Just pulling your leg, man. I could operate this monster in my sleep.”

  “This isn’t funny, Sweeney!” Stephen felt a trickle of desperation leak into his mind. What if it didn’t work? He stumbled backward for the door and stepped through. “Just how many times have you worked one of these?”

  “Awake or in my sleep?”

  Stephen stopped. “You’re kidding, right?”

  “Relax, dude. How hard can it be? We plug it in and chop away.”

  The desperation swept in like a wave. “If this doesn’t work, I swear I’m going to strangle you.”

  “Watch the steps.”

  They struggled down the stairs, into the basement, and into the coal room. Both were sweating steadily by the time they set down the jackhammer.

  Melissa scrambled up the ladder and stuck out her head. “You get it? Wow, that thing’s huge!”

  “Get the rope, honey.”

  She came back up with a coil of rope, which they tied around the handle. “I’ll guide it from below,” she said.

  “Not a chance. This thing drops, and it’ll crush you like a ripe tomato,” Sweeney said.

  “And we’re supposed to dig up with it?” Stephen asked.

  “Have faith.”

  They were doomed.

  They managed to lower the jackhammer into the hole and lug it up the tunnel, which Sweeney had strung with several lights while he was gone. Stephen felt his frustration grow with each step. “I swear, Sweeney. There’s no way this is going to work. Maybe I should let you do this while I try something else.”

  “Something else like what?”

  “I don’t know, but we’re running out of time.”

  “Did I ever tell you I graduated from UCLA with honors?”

  “Meaning what?”

  “Meaning I’m not an idiot.”

  They came to the hole, and Stephen looked up at a contraption that hung from the sewer’s ceiling.

  “What’s that?”

  “That’s my genius at work.” They propped the jackhammer against the wall.

  Stephen examined Sweeney’s creation. The rig was pieced together with ropes, pulleys, and springs, all anchored into the concrete above by three large screws. It looked like a huge spider dangling from a web.

  “I’m not a mechanical engineer, but I did take several engineering classes,” Sweeney said. “The way I figure it, those three anchor bolts I’ve secured into the concrete will hold a hundred pounds without a problem. Maybe twice that. But we’ll have a lot of vibration, and the last thing we need is for the whole thing to come crashing down with one of us under it.”

  “Ripe tomato.”

  “Exactly. The beast will hang on two ropes that pass through these pulleys and then attach to this spring, which will absorb most of the vibration. Presto. In my sleep.”

  A grin crept across Stephen’s face.

  “And you doubted me,” Sweeney said.

  “Okay. Never again. Let’s try it.”

  “First, we try the jackhammer.”

  The extension cord was strung from the ceiling with the lights. Melissa plugged the jackhammer in and eyed them. “Who goes first?”

  “I will,” Stephen said, stepping forward. His confidence was making a comeback. He dragged the machine upright and examined the two levers, one right, one left. Seemed simple enough. A single knob switched the power on. This done, he stood the jackhammer at an angle in the water, braced himself, and pulled the right-hand lever.

  Nothing.

  Panicked, he grabbed the left-hand lever.

  An awful scream filled the tunnel, and the jackhammer started to jump. The power was fierce, like a bull desperate to buck its rider. Stephen hung on for dear life. The beast bounced away from him, jerking madly down the slippery floor.

  Sweeney was yelling something, but the noise swallowed his words. Didn’t matter, Stephen knew what he should do. He should let go. But if he let go, the whole machine might fall down, land in the water, and fry its circuits.

  It was quick thinking, not panic, that made Stephen hang on to the jackhammer gone berserk. He slipped and splashed in a scramble to keep up with the apparatus, which continued to race away from him.

  It died suddenly, and he nearly over ran it. Shrieking laughter echoed down the tunnel from behind. He spun and saw that the cord had come unplugged.

  “Quiet!” he yelled.

  Melissa lifted a hand over her mouth. “I’m sorry, it’s just . . . my goodness.”

  “They’ll hear us!” Stephen yelled.

  Of course, that was ridiculous. They were about to pound a hole up their noses with a machine that screamed like a banshee. A little laughter was nothing.

  Stephen suddenly began to cackle. Melissa removed her hand and laughed out loud. Sweeney howled. For a solid minute, they were incapacitated with relentless laughter in the bowels of the earth.

  “It works,” Stephen finally said.

  This sent Melissa off again, so much so that Stephen and Sweeney both eventually suggested she’d laughed enough. What would they do if she had a hernia down here? Call an ambulance?

  It took them another twenty minutes to hoist the jackhammer into place and fill the pipe with as much insulation as they could stuff up it. The baffling wouldn’t stop noise from traveling through the ground, but at least it wouldn’t pound through the pipes.

  They still had one major test. The hammer was designed to operate with gravity doing the hard labor, like a sledgehammer. Pound at a rock hard enough and long enough, and it would break down. But with the weight now suspended from the ceiling, and only Stephen’s or Sweeney’s strength to bear on the hammer, would the device exert enough force to break up the concrete?

  “Ready?”

  “Go for it,” Sweeney said.

  Stephen braced his lower body against the wall behind him, leaned into the jackhammer, and pulled the lever. The tunnel filled with that awful scream and the machine pounded furiously. Stephen had to clench his jaw to keep his teeth from clacking.

  “Come on, baby!” he grunted.

  First a chip. Then a tiny chunk. Then a very small slab dislodged and splashed into the water. Stephen let up on the lever. His ears rang. All three stared at the damage. It wasn’t much, but it was something.

  “Yeehaa!” Sweeney bellowed. “Am I a genius, or am I a genius?”

  “I need earplugs,” Stephen said.

  Sweeney grabbed some insulation, tore off a piece, and stuffed it into his ears. Thirty seconds later, they all had pink fuzzballs sticking from their ears. Stephen pulled on the gloves Sweeney had purchased with the rest of the supplies, and set himself up again.

  “Ready?”

  “I am,” Stephen said and pulled the lever.

  The progress was slow, and he had to swap out with Sweeney every ten minutes to realign his jarred bones, but slowly the jackhammer chipped away a two-foot circle of concrete around the small drainpipe. Melissa periodically went up to the fourth floor to see if the Germans were peering out the windows or putting their ears to the sidewalk, seeking the source of any noise they heard. The afternoon passed without any sign of them.

/>   The first foot took ten minutes—nothing but gravel packing.

  The next foot took three hours.

  Stephen let off the lever and squatted, exhausted. His sopped shirt clung to his chest. He pulled off the goggles and painter’s mask Sweeney had insisted they wear, and looked up at the hole. Maybe fourteen inches. They’d cut through the sewer wall and were into some rock.

  “We’re not going to make it,” he said.

  Sweeney looked into the hole. “Sure we are.”

  “You’re the genius; do the math. You said seven feet.”

  “If I remember right. Could have been nine.”

  “Seven times three is twenty-one hours of straight digging. I don’t think I can last that long. And I doubt the hammer will either. I think it’s already slowing down.”

  “Not a chance. We’ll have to start letting it cool down every now and then, but—”

  “And there’s another problem. You said the last foot would be solid concrete. Even if we get that far, the last bit will be three hours of straight banging on the foundation. The whole building will echo like a gong.”

  “Not necessarily.”

  “Necessarily.”

  “You’re way too moody, man. Have I let you down yet? I told you I could get you in, and I intend to.”

  The likely outcome of his situation suddenly struck Stephen. He was in a drainpipe under an apartment complex, digging his way into the basement to break into a safe. San Quentin was full of people who’d executed far better plans.

  “Okay, here’s the truth,” Sweeney said. “The digging will get much easier as soon as we hit the gravel base. These buildings are set on footers that run deep, but here in the center it’s all gravel, designed to give with the earthquakes. Digging through the gravel will be quiet, but you’re right about the noise when we hit the concrete. We’ll have to set up a distraction.”

  “A distraction.”

  “You’re repeating me. Once we break through, you nab the box and we immediately fill the hole with quick-setting concrete. No one ever knows we were even in there.”

  Stephen was surprised by Sweeney’s forethought. He stood up. “You can do that with quick-set? How long will it take to dry?”

  “Couple hours. Won’t matter, we’ll scatter coal over it—unless someone sweeps the room within a couple of hours, we’re home free.” He grinned. “See?”