by Andy McNab
I came out of the bathroom and wrote myself a shopping list of supplies that I was going to need and checked how much money I had. There was enough for today. I could always get more out tomorrow.
I wasn't worried about Kelly. She had loads of food and was half-asleep anyway. I turned up the heat on the air conditioner.
She'd soon be drowsy.
I said, "I'm going to go and get you some coloring books and crayons and all that sort of stuff. Shall I bring back something from Mickey D's?"
"Can I have sweet and sour sauce with the fries? Can I come with you?"
"The weather's terrible. I don't want you catching a cold."
She got up and walked to the door, ready to drop the latch without me having to ask.
I went downstairs and walked to the Metro station. The Washington Metro is fast and quiet, clean and efficient, everything a subway should be. The tunnels are vast and dimly lit, somehow soothing, which is maybe why passengers seem more relaxed than in London or New York and some even exchange eye contact. It's also about the only part of the capital where you won't be asked by a seventeen or seventy-seven-year-old Vietnam vet if you can spare some change.
I got out after seven or eight stops and one transfer. The place I was looking for was just a few blocks away, but it was in a neighborhood I bet didn't feature in anybody's vacation brochure. I was used to the Washington where those who had really had. This was the part of town where those who didn't have had absolutely nothing.
The single-story building was set back from the road and looked more like a supermarket than a pawn shop, with a front that was at least fifty yards long. The whole facade was glass, with bars running vertically. The window displays were piled high with everything from drum kits to surfboards and bedding. Fluorescent-yellow posters promised everything from zero percent interest to the best gold price in town.
Three armed guards controlled the doors and watched me enter.
Looking along one of the aisles to the rear, I saw a long glass showcase that also formed the counter. Behind it were more than a dozen assistants, all wearing similar red polo shirts. It seemed to be the busiest department in the shop.
Then I saw all the handguns and rifles behind the glass. A sign announced that customers were welcome to test fire any weapon on the range out back.
I went to the camera department. In an ideal world, what I was looking for would be something like a security camera, with a long cable connecting the camera itself to a separate control box that also housed the videotape. I could put the camera in position on the roof, leave it where it was, and hide the control box elsewhere, maybe inside the elevator housing.
That way it would be easier for me to get to it to change the tape and--if I couldn't tap into the power lines--the batteries, and all without having to disturb the camera.
Unfortunately I couldn't find anything like that. But I did find something that was almost as good: a Hi-8 VHS camera, the type favored by a lot of freelance TV journalists. Certainly I'd be able to change the lens to give me more distance.
I remembered working in Bosnia and seeing guys running around with Hi-8s glued to their eyes. They all thought they were destined to strike it rich by selling the networks "bang-bang" footage.
I caught the eye of one of the assistants.
"How much for the Hi-8?" I said in my usual bad American accent.
"It's nearly new, hardly out of the packaging. Five hundred dollars."
I smirked.
"So make me an offer," he said.
"Has it got a spare battery and all the attachments for external power?"
"Of course. It's got it all. It's even got its own bag."
"Can I see it working?"
"Of course, of course."
"All right--four hundred, cash."
He did what every plumber and builder throughout the world does when discussing prices: started sucking air through his teeth.
"I'll tell you what: four-fifty."
"Done. I also want a playback machine, but it can't be a
VCR."
"I have exactly what you want. Follow me."
The machine he retrieved from the back of a shelf had a hundred-dollar price tag. It looked about a hundred years old, complete with dust. He said, "I'll tell you what--save the trouble: ninety dollars and it's yours."
I nodded.
"I also want some lenses."
"What kind are you after?"
"At least a two-hundred-millimeter zoom to go on this, preferably Nikon." I worked on the basis of one millimeter of lens for every yard of distance to target. For years I had been stuck in people's roof spaces after breaking into their house and removing one of the tiles so I could take pictures of a target, and I'd learned the hard way that it's a wasted effort unless the result is good ID-able images.
He showed me a 250mm lens.
"How much?"
"One-fifty." He was waiting for me to say it was too much.
"All right, one hundred fifty dollars. Done--if you throw in two four-hour tapes and an extension cord."
He seemed almost upset at the lack of a fight.
"What length?"
More haggling. He was dying for it.
"The longest one you've got."
"Twenty-foot?"
"Done." He was happy now. No doubt he had a forty-foot.
I came across a Wal-Mart a couple of blocks short of the Metro. I ducked inside and wandered around, looking for the items I'd need to set up the camera.
As I moved down the aisles, I found myself doing something I always did, no matter where in the world I was:
looking at cooking ingredients and cans of domestic cleaner and working out which would go with what to make chaos.
Mix this stuff and that stuff, then boil it up and stir in a bit of this, and I'd have an incendiary device. Or boil all that down and scrape off the scum from around the edge of the pot, then add some of this stuff from the bakery counter and boil that up some more until I got just a sediment at the bottom, and I'd have low explosive. Twenty minutes in Safeway would be enough to buy all the ingredients for a bomb powerful enough to blow a car in half, and you'd still have change from a ten-spot.
I didn't need any of that today, however. All I was after was a two-liter plastic bottle of Coke; a pair of scissors; a roll of trash bags; a mini Maglite flashlight with a range of filters; a roll of gaffer tape; and a tool kit with screwdrivers, wrenches, and pliers--twenty-one pieces for five dollars, and an absolute rip-off; they'd last about five minutes, but that was all I'd need. That done, I grabbed some coloring books, crayons, and other bits and pieces to entertain Kelly. I also put a few more dollars in Mr. Oreo's pocket.
I entered the Metro and found a bench. Lights at the edge of the platform flash when a train's approaching; until then most locals sit chatting or reading. There was nothing else to do so I started a connect-the-dots picture in one of the coloring books and waited for the lights.
The rain had stopped at Pentagon City, though it was still overcast and the ground was wet. I decided to do a quick check of the target while I didn't have Kelly.
Cutting across the supermarket parking lot, I headed for the highway tunnel and Ball Street.
I was soon on the same side of the road and even with the building. A small concrete staircase surrounded by dense shrubbery led up to the glass doors at the front. They opened into a reception area, and then another set of doors that probably led into the office complex itself. A security camera was trained on the front doors, looking down from the right-hand corner. The windows were sealed, double-glazed units.
Inside, the building on both floors seemed full of PCs and bulletin boards, the normal office environment.
I couldn't see any external alarm signs, nor any signs saying that the property was guarded. Maybe the alarm was at the rear. If not, whatever detectors there were, were probably connected to a telephone line connected directly to the police or a security firm.
I got to the
end of the road, turned right, and headed back to the hotel.
The room was like a sauna. Kelly's hair was sticking up all over the place; she had sleep in her eyes. Her face was creased and had some crumbs stuck on it. By the look of it she'd been halfway through a cookie and fallen asleep.
As I dumped all the supplies on the side she said, "Where have you been?"
"I've bought tons of stuff." I started diving into the bags and dragging things out.
"I've got you some books, some coloring books, some crayons..."
I laid them on the bed and stepped back, waiting for some form of appreciation. Instead, she looked at me as if I were crazy.
"I've done those."
I thought a coloring book was a coloring book. I'd quite enjoyed doing my connect-the-dots.
"Never mind, I've got you some sandwiches and Coke, and you're to drink as much as you can because I need the bottle for something."
"Aren't we going out to get something to eat?"
"There's some cookies in there ..." I pointed at the bag.
"I don't want any more. I hate it in here all the time."
"We've got to stay in the hotel today. Remember, we've got people who are looking for us at the moment, and I don't want them to find us. It won't be for long."
I suddenly thought. Shit what if she knows her home number and starts using the phone? While she was pouring out some Coke with both hands around the bottle that seemed as big as she was, I stretched around the back of the small cupboard between the two beds and pulled out the tele phone jack.
I looked at my watch. It was 4:30; the best part of five hours to go until Pat made contact again.
I wanted to get the camera sorted out. I wanted it working at first light; I might even be able to get in an hour of filming before last light today.
Kelly got up and looked out the window, a bored, caged-up kid.
I poured myself some Coke and asked, "Do you want some more of this before I dump it out?"
She shook her head. I went into the bathroom and poured the remainder down the sink. I ripped the wrapper off and with the scissors I'd just bought I started to make a cut at the top where the bottle started to curve into the neck. I also cut at the base so I was left with a cylinder. I cut a straight line up it and pushed the resulting rectangle of plastic down flat to get rid of the curve. I cut a circle, first by trimming off the corners of the rectangle, then developing the shape. That was me, ready to burgle.
I came back into the room and checked the cords and made the camera ready for use, by battery or power lines.
"What are you doing, Nick?"
I'd been hoping she wasn't going to ask, but I should have known better by now. I had a lie all prepared.
"I'm going to make a film so you can say hello to Mommy, Daddy, and Aida because you said you were bored. Here, say hello."
I put the camera to my eye.
"Hello, Mommy, Daddy, and Aida," she said into the camera.
"We're in a hotel room, waiting to come home. I hope you get well soon. Daddy."
"Tell them about your new clothes," I cut in.
"Oh yes." She walked over to the wall.
"This is my new blue coat. Nick got me a pink one, too. He knew my favorite colors are pink and blue."
"I'm running out of tape, Kelly. Say goodbye."
She waved.
"Bye, Mommy; bye, Daddy; bye, Aida. I love you."
She came skipping over to me.
"Can I see it now?"
Another lie.
"I haven't got the cords to plug in to the TV But I'm seeing Pat soon, so maybe he'll get some for me."
She went back to her glass of Coke a very happy bunny.
She picked up a crayon and opened the coloring book, and was soon engrossed. Good; it meant I was able to put a tape into the camera without her seeing.
I picked up two plastic coffee cups, got the rest of the kit together, put it all in the video bag, and said, "Sorry about this, but..."
She looked at me and shrugged.
I made my way up to the roof. The rain was holding off--the aircraft and traffic noise wasn't.
The first thing I wanted to do was get into the elevator housing; I needed to know whether I could get direct power.
I got out my circle of plastic and put it in the crease of the green door. I pushed and turned it, making it work its way through the twists and turns of the doorframe until it hit against the lock itself. The door was there to keep people out for safety reasons, not to protect something of value, so it was a simple lock to defeat.
Once inside I turned on my mini Maglite, and the first thing I saw was a bank of four power sockets.
I looked up at the ceiling. The shed was made of panels of quarter-inch mild steel bolted onto a frame. I got the wrench and undid two of the bolts enough to lift up a bit of the roof.
Then I got the power cord from the camera, pushed it through the gap, and ran it down against the wall. It didn't look out of place among all the other shit. The small gap I'd created wouldn't let in much rain, so there wouldn't be a flood that somebody had to come up and investigate. I plugged the cord into one of the sockets and hoped I'd remember there was juice coming out the other end when I started to mess around with the camera.
I kept the door open to give me some light while I prepared the camera. I got two trash bags and put one inside the other, then put the camera inside, pushing it against the plastic at the bottom until the lens just burst through. I then took the two plastic coffee cups, split them both down the sides, cut the bottoms off both, put them into one another, and then fitted them over the lens as a hood. That was going to keep off the rain but at the same time let enough light into the lens so the thing could work. I used gaffer tape to keep everything in position.
I got on the roof with the camera and plugged it in. I lay flat and looked through the viewfinder, waiting for it to spark up and show me what the lens could see. I wanted a reasonable close-up of the staircase leading up to the main door.
Once it had jumped into life I used the zoom, got it right on target, and pressed Play. I tested Stop and Rewind, then Play again. It worked. I tucked in the plastic, making sure not to dislodge the camera, pressed Record, and walked away. I went and bought a cartwheel-sized pizza, which we sat down and ate in front of the television, with the cell phone plugged in, charging.
Then it was just a matter of hanging around with indigestion waiting for Pat to call and the four-hour tape to finish. It was dark now, but I wanted it to run the full four hours: one, to check that the system worked, and two, to see what the quality was like at night.
For the first time, both of us were bored. Kelly had had death by TV, death by pizza, death by Mountain Dew and Coke. She wearily picked up one of her new books and said, "Would you read to me?"
I thought, All right, it 'sjtist a collection of stories, it won't take that long to read a couple. I soon discovered it was one continuous adventure, with optional endings to each chapter.
I was reading to her about three kids in a museum. One had gone missing no one knew where when the story just stopped. At the bottom of the page it said, "Do you want to go to p. 16 and follow him through the magic tunnel, or do you want to go and see Madame Edie on p. 56, who might tell you where he is? It's your choice."
"Where do you want to go?" I said.
"Through the tunnel."
Off we went. After about forty-five minutes and changing tack about eight times, I thought we must be getting to the end soon. It took nearly two hours to get through it. At least she had fun.
The room was warm and I still had all my stuff on, ready to go. I kept dozing off, waking up every half hour or so to the sound of The Simpsons or Looney Tunes. One time I woke up and looked down at my jacket. It had come undone, and my pistol was exposed. I looked across at Kelly, but she didn't even give it a second glance; maybe she was used to her dad wearing one.
I opened up a can of Mountain Dew and looked at my watch. It
was only 8:15; I'd go and get the first video in about fifteen minutes, put a new tape in, and then wait for Pat's call.
When the time came I said, "I'm just popping out for five minutes to get something to drink--do you want anything?"
She looked quizzical and said, "We've got loads here."
"Yeah, but it's all warm. I'll bring some cold ones."
I went up to the roof. It was damp and drizzling now. I opened up the back of the plastic bag, pressed the Eject button, and quickly exchanged tapes. I was ready for the morning.
I came downstairs, passed our room, and got another couple of sodas. Coca-Cola shares had probably skyrocketed over the last few days.
Clueless came on, the TV series she'd told me she loved. I was amazed as I listened to her imitating all the catch-phrases. She had them down pat: "Loser ... double loser, moron.. . whatever!" Now I knew where a lot other sayings came from.
At last it was just three minutes to go before Pat was due to check in. There was no way I'd tell Pat where we were or that Kelly was actually with me. All I would tell him was what he needed to know, as protection for him as well as for us. I went into the bathroom, closed the door, and listened for Clueless.
Nothing.
Right on time the phone rang.
"Hello?"
"All right, mate? Thanks for the sub!"
We both had a quiet laugh.
"Do you know what floor they're occupying?"
There was a short pause, then, "Second floor."
