by S L Shelton
Once I was calmer, I peeked through the hole again, forcing my gaze away from Barb to look at the rest of the scene.
There were two men leaning against a large garage door with automatic rifles in their laps and another leaning against the back of the truck that had brought the hostages. I looked harder, trying to see around the conduit, and I could just make out a second truck with a cargo container strapped to a flat bed. The back doors of the container were open, but the door closest to me was blocking my view of the inside.
What’s the container for, boys? I asked myself.
I glanced back at Barb for a moment, soaking in every detail to see if I could discern any injuries. Outwardly she seemed fine, at least as far as I could tell, but the stress on her face was clear; even in her sleep, a deep frown was etched on her face.
I heard her voice in my head as I had so many times in my dreams.
This is your fault, Scott Wolfe.
My heart started to race, and I had to pull away from the hole again.
I know!
This time I stood and walked along the back wall of the warehouse until I was at the opposite end from where I had started.
I had to walk around a shed bump out. It appeared to be some sort of equipment shed built onto the side of the warehouse. The structure was no more than eight feet square…possibly a climate control or a compressor room.
On the back of the shed was a louvered fan vent. I quietly lifted the hinged slats to look in. It was dark inside, but I could see a dim light coming from the crack beneath the door leading into the warehouse.
I looked around the shed. An air compressor…a big one.
On the opposite wall from the big machine was an exterior door. It got my hopes up for an easy entry, so I quietly lowered the louver and walked around to the door on the side before testing the knob gently.
Locked…of course. That would have been too easy.
I went back to the fan opening and looked toward the side with the exterior door to see some junk piled against it: a wooden pallet and a dock ramp. From the light through the crack under the door, I could see that there were fresh scuffs in the dust by the pile.
Shit, I thought. They anticipated that. Hinges on the inside.
I would not be able to open that door without making a great deal of noise, even if I could break or pick the lock—I’d have to focus on the fan louver.
I looked closely at the frame of the fan. Two screws on each of its four sides held it to the shed wall. I looked at the motor and followed the cord down with my eyes as far as I could before reaching my hand in carefully and then pulling it gently. I heard and felt the plug rattle against the wall, sending a moment of tension through me, followed by my new mantra. Don’t get caught, don’t get caught.
I froze and waited, standing there for a long while before I was comfortable letting the cord back down. I was careful not to make any noise as I lowered it to the ground.
Now that I had established that the fan was non-functioning, I had a potential entry point, but I decided to check the rest of the perimeter before continuing in case there were any foot patrols.
I walked to the edge of the building and poked my head around the corner, freezing when I thought I saw movement. Fire lit the face of a man on the gate side of the warehouse, and I instinctively held my breath, worried that even the sound of my heart in my ears might give me away. When the flame was extinguished, I could see the orange dot at the end of his cigarette brighten, highlighting his features for a brief instant in an orange glow, before the ember floated away from his face. Sparks were flicked to the ground as he ashed.
Gotta love a smoker, I thought ironically as I silently took two slow steps back around the corner.
I stood motionless for several long moments, listening for any movement, and then quietly retreated the way I had come. I walked back to the compressor shed and pulled the multi-tool out of my shoulder bag.
I carefully started to loosen the screws in the frame, having to twist with some force to get the first one started—the screws had been there a long time. The first three came out with no trouble, but the fourth was stuck hard. I lifted my elbow to get better leverage and turned the tool very hard. A shrill squeak, a short burst of high-pitched sound made me flinch and sent my heart rate up again. I froze, waiting to hear any approach.
After a few seconds of tense silence in which I was a frozen statue of raw nerves, I lowered the louver and skulked back over to the front corner of the warehouse. The guard was still there, sitting at the top of the ramp, smoking his cigarette.
Don’t get caught, don’t get caught, don’t get caught, don’t get caught. I silently chanted to myself as I turned and went back to finish removing the louver. With the last screw out, the fan and frame lifted out of its hole easily.
I listened carefully for movement before entering and then pressed up slowly, trying not to drag my feet against the metal siding.
I hovered there for a second, listening. Once I was sure I hadn’t attracted any attention, I pulled my legs through and then lowered myself silently to the ground inside.
I’m in! I thought excitedly as my heart rate rose once again. I’m pretty good at this stuff.
I bent to look under the crack of the door, but all I could see were feet. Curiosity overtook me and I put my hand on the knob, gently turning it less than a quarter of an inch to see if it would turn. It did…and with no noise. I then slowly let it return.
Near the ground to the side of the door was a hole in the metal siding. No light was coming through because there was a rag stuffed into the opening.
I lowered myself to the ground and gently tugged on the rag to see if it would come free easily. It popped out in my hand with the first light touch.
Shhhhhhhh, I thought. Don’t get caught, don’t get caught, don’t get caught.
I stopped to listen to see if anyone had noticed. When I was satisfied that no one was coming my direction, I breathed a sigh of relief and then bent to look through the hole.
I could see nearly the whole warehouse from this vantage point. There were four armed men standing or sitting around the perimeter of the warehouse. A fifth man was sitting against the truck in which the hostages had been smuggled out of Amsterdam. A sixth man was exiting the cargo container which was sitting on a flatbed trailer hooked up to a beat-up looking yard tractor, not a truck as I had thought.
Six, I thought. That’s a lot for one person to deal with.
I could see chemical toilets and wooden pallets stacked and covered for sleeping; there were several hostages on them. There weren’t enough sleeping spaces for everyone, so it looked as if they had placed the more elderly hostages on them.
Many were left on the floor, including Barb and her father, who sat near the center of a group of about twenty hostages. I now saw another young woman asleep with her head in Barb’s lap.
That must be the ambassador’s daughter, I thought. Michelle Babbage.
I looked for several minutes longer, cataloging all that I saw. Weapons, clothes, the locations of the hostages, food, and water—judging by the empty containers and packages, they had nearly exhausted their food supply. That must be why the SUV comes every day…a resupply.
There were several injured hostages, but they looked to have been bandaged. Some seemed to be sitting comfortably, but there were four hostages who were tied up and seemed to be in pretty bad shape. They seemed to be the only ones who were restrained in any way. All four were in their late twenties to early thirties and had the physical traits of athletes. I deduced that they had been the security detail for the group, and that they were being treated differently than the others because they were expected to cause trouble—or maybe they already had caused trouble. Two of them were wounded and bandaged.
A third was laying on his side, coughing and breathing heavily. I could see his shirt had been ripped open, revealing a large bruise that radiated out from and covered nearly all of his left side and torso.<
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None of the hostages had shoes. Some didn’t even have socks.
Don’t want them running off now, do we? I thought before my attention was drawn back to the container.
The man who had left the container a moment earlier was yelling as he walked back up to the opening. I couldn’t understand what they were saying, but the man in the cargo container was throwing debris out of the back in what appeared to be a temper tantrum.
I heard a mocking tone coming from the man on the ground and recognized a word—Majmun.
It seemed that some part of their plan had relied on the man who had tried barbecuing me—before Elvis helped him shuffle off his mortal coil in the garage of the safe house. I hoped it wasn’t something that would make them more desperate—unless I could use it to my advantage.
The cargo container was decked out with ventilation and utility boxes hanging compactly from the walls. The word “Livestock” was written on the side in several languages, including English. I could see blocks of explosives and wires tucked in around the inside edge of the container opening.
Explosives…what am I going to do about the explosives?
I left my spot after drinking in a few more moments of Barb and then crawled out of the hole in the wall, placing the louver back in its position once I was through. I wanted to get in more quickly the next time, so I re-attached it with only two screws, feeling fairly confident that the bad guys wouldn’t be going in and counting them.
After stealthily walking back around the rear of the warehouse, I crouched as I came back to the side facing the water. I ran quickly toward the bulkhead. As I was ready to lower myself over the edge, the side door on the loading dock opened and a man stepped out, arguing with someone inside. I dropped down quickly onto the ledge below the bulkhead.
The voice inside the warehouse was saying something in a commanding tone. Reprimanding.
The man on the outside made a rude gesture and said something that sounded like a word Elvis had used.
“Zalupa,” he exclaimed, accompanied by the universal finger gesture for displeasure.
Then, just as the door was closing, my pocket vibrated loudly, sending me once again fumbling for my phone before it vibrated again.
I peeked over the edge to see if the man had heard my phone.
SHIT!
I tensed and ducked back down quickly after seeing that he was, indeed, coming toward me. My mind started racing for a plan as the beam from a flashlight suddenly illuminated the edge of the bulkhead I was crouched behind.
I started to slide along the bulkhead as quickly as I could without making any noise. My heart was racing as I tried to rapidly traverse the concrete water barrier in complete silence, fearful of accidentally kicking a rock into the water.
I was a good thirty feet away by the time he reached the edge, searching the area directly below him with the flashlight. He began scanning the surrounding area with the light when a great splash occurred on the opposite side of the water, followed by loud honking. He jerked the light back toward the commotion, coming to rest on a pair of geese apparently disturbed by the light in their eyes, interrupting their sleep in the current-free cove. They splashed and honked their protests at the inconsiderate man.
He turned his light off before walking back to the loading dock without another look.
Oh thank God! I thought as I continued down the bulkhead until I was well past earshot of the guard, and the geese. After climbing back over the bulkhead and then back up the hill toward the foot trail, I walked calmly down the path, letting the cool night lower my heart rate and adrenaline levels. By the time I crossed the footbridge, my head was working on plans again.
When I arrived back at our command post in the park, it looked as if Kathrin was on the verge of crying. As I approached her, she looked up at me and shook her head, unable to speak.
“What’s wrong?”
“I thought I could warn you,” she replied quietly.
“You did,” I said, trying to put her at ease. “It’s my fault. I should have thought about how loud vibrate mode is when there’s no other noise.”
She nodded with her head down, not looking me in the eye.
“I did tell you emergencies only. That seemed like an emergency,” I said, lifting her chin so I could see her eyes. “But we have to find a better way to communicate when we come back,” I said, winking at her.
“Did you see her?” she asked excitedly.
“Yes,” I replied, smiling. “She looks healthy. That put some of my fears to rest.”
But it hadn’t.
Sunrise was only an hour away, so I packed up our equipment and we headed back to the hotel. I had a plan started, and this would be the mother of all designs. It would have to be.
On the way back to the hotel, we passed a bakery that had just opened for the day, so we stopped to get some food. The warm bread and pastries filled our nostrils all the way home. Neither one of us could wait, so we each pulled one out and ate it on the way. I had nearly abandoned all my typical eating habits. Calories had become more important than anything else.
I kept seeing Barb’s sleeping face. I had seen that face on a few occasions when she had drifted asleep in my arms watching a movie on TV or sitting on a bench overlooking the tidal basin at night in DC. It broke my heart, and it took all my will to keep from turning back to the warehouse. We got to the hotel and Kathrin immediately fell into bed dozing, snoring softly, within minutes of crashing.
I plugged in my iPad and started to go through the daytime footage of the warehouse. It was time to plan.
**
Going through the footage, I discovered that men only sat watch outside at night. I guessed it would be too obvious to have men sitting outside of a supposedly empty warehouse all day long.
Occasionally, an SUV would drive up. After a few seconds, someone would come out of the warehouse, unlock the gate, and let the SUV backup next to the warehouse. It never went into the warehouse. It had happened three times since they arrived, once each day around 2:00 p.m., starting on Tuesday. The driver of the SUV looked like he could be one of the Serbs; I was only guessing, but he looked to have the same complexion, hair color, and his face seemed to be unshaven for roughly the same amount of time.
When the vehicle arrived each day, five men would come out and carry boxes back inside. The driver usually leaned against the vehicle and smoked while the other five were unloading. That left three inside for a total of eight, plus the driver of the SUV.
If I was lucky, at least one would be on a sleep cycle after standing guard duty all night. If I was very lucky, two of them would be asleep. During my reconnaissance, I’d noted that all of the overhead garage and dock doors had been bolted from the inside, preventing anyone from opening them from the outside. There were four hinged doors. Two on the loading dock side, one on the ramp side facing the gate, and the one through the shed that opened into the main warehouse.
One of the doors on the dock side was blocked with pallets. All of the doors had bars that could be dropped across them, but the door by the ramp had a glass window. It was painted over, but that wouldn’t stop someone from breaking the glass and lifting the bar.
The back side of the warehouse was windowless and door-free except for the compressor shed. I wished I had discovered the warehouse at least one day earlier. Had I not spent the better part of the day sleeping after my torture, I might have one more day of information on the goings on in the warehouse.
I scanned through both sets of saved surveillance video and found nothing else of interest on the outside of the building except the arrival of the cargo container on the day we arrived. There were no routines when others were outside except the daily resupply visit. And no other building weaknesses that I could see.
There was power to the building. The fan was unplugged in the compressor shed. The compressor itself had been plugged in, but the long lever for the power was off. I had to assume the compressor worked. I hoped. It w
ould make a great distraction if it did.
Ice requires eighty calories per gram of water to melt. Melt rate depends on the external factors controlling the application of those heat units. Heat flows by conduction, convection and/or radiation. X = I x (R = 80 x F).
All the men wore boots, black jeans or trousers, long-sleeved pullover shirts, and black or navy blue jackets of some sort.
Easy enough to duplicate, I thought.
Ice, clothes, and a huge set of brass balls would be what I required.
**
8:55 a.m.
I must have dozed while re-watching the video footage because the next thing I heard was the shower in the bathroom. I panicked for a moment and looked for the time: 9:00 a.m. Good. I had only dozed for a couple of hours.
When Kathrin came back into the room, she was wrapped in a towel and brushing out her hair. She sat on the edge of the bed, and I tried to ignore her naked legs.
“Are you hungry?” she asked and then tossed the bag of pastries to me before giving me a chance to respond.
“Danke,” I said absently, rising from my chair, still trying to avert my eyes.
“Bitte,” she replied with some amusement in her voice as she pulled my iPad to her.
It felt odd sitting with an almost complete stranger, who was wrapped in only a towel, eating some of the best pastry I had in my life.
“Why did you come with me?”
She didn’t even bother looking up from the tablet. “You required assistance. I thought it would be fun… Stop analyzing. We have hostages to free,” she said before abruptly returning to the bathroom with her clothes.
Avoidance, I thought.
Trust her, came the whisper from my other voice.
“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” I muttered.
This auditory hallucination was starting to worry me, but I didn’t have time to figure it out. I had lived my whole life with visual hallucinations—in the form of my flow charting and memory recall—perhaps the ‘voice’ was just a stress-induced addition.
“Did you say something?” Kathrin asked from the bathroom.
