We proceeded up the access road, careful not to exceed the posted speed limits. Along the way, we discussed the change in plans required by my conversation with Prichard.
“You need to get to LA,” I told Pete. “You need to find and rescue the shift manager’s family. We don’t know where they are, but we can bet they’re holed up somewhere near Disneyland. It would be safer for Jansen if they didn’t move around with a woman and two young kids.”
We passed through some beautiful scenic areas on our way up the road to the plant. Gently rolling hills, covered with white oak trees and Manzanita, leading down to the Pacific Ocean. But tonight wasn’t the time for sightseeing. We kept moving steadily toward the plant, in the line of graveyard workers who knew nothing of what was about to happen.
“We can also assume Jansen isn’t in Orange County anymore. He’s going to want to be here to control things. So he’s probably left the wife and kids with someone else. That’s your job. We need the shift manager on our side. You know the drill.”
“Got it, boss. I’ll need to loop back to the cabin and pick up a few things. I’m going to need to do some work on the plane.” The private jet that flew Pete and the team in was on standby at the Ukiah airport. “Do we have any intel at all?”
“Nothing hard, but we can assume Jansen moved her to another location, though I doubt it’ll be far away from the motel they were staying in. My bet would be a rental house nearby. They probably set this up in the last week or two, so there shouldn’t be too many of those to look through. They’d need some transportation, so they likely rented a car. But we don’t know if that’s going to be traceable or not. Jansen would use a false ID, so that’ll be a dead end.”
“Wouldn’t it have been easier to just steal one and not risk tipping off the FBI through a rental car agency?”
“Stealing a car could get the attention of the law quicker than using a false ID. So I doubt it.”
“What about the FBI? They got anything useful for us?” Pete asked as he slowed around a dark curve in the road.
“The FBI picked up on some cell phone traffic. That’s all we know. You might be able to trace them through their phone, but you’ll have to narrow down the search parameters a bit. I’ll call Marti and see if she can get you any additional information. I’ll have her call you on the plane.”
“It’s not a lot to go on,” Pete said almost absentmindedly, as if working through some ideas in his head. We drove on in silence for a while, each of us weighing our next moves, possible outcomes, and unexpected problems.
There was a turnout up ahead, usually used by big trucks that go slower than the rest of the traffic, to allow the faster cars to go by. Right now, it was Pete who was driving slowly. He needed an excuse to pull off the road, and a long line of cars behind him would do the trick. Just prior to getting to the plant, Pete pulled off the side of the road on the last turnout and came to a stop. He rolled his window down and waved everyone by. The cars behind him gratefully picked up speed as they passed. No one wanted to be late for his shift.
After the line of cars passed by, leaving us alone on the dark coastal road, Pete popped the trunk release as I quickly got out of the car. I grabbed a large bag, closed the trunk, and slipped into the brush on the side of the road. I didn’t look back at Pete. We didn’t need to exchange words or wish each other luck. We each had a seemingly impossible task to do and needed to get to it.
Hidden in the brush, I heard Pete get back on the road, hang a U-turn, and head back to the front gate. I made sure I was well off the road and out of sight of any cars that might be heading in. Fortunately, there weren’t any in sight. The terrain was rugged and filled with brush. It was also almost midnight, with any moonlight obscured by low clouds, so I had no problems concealing myself. I could see the light from the plant, which was just over the next hill. This was close enough, I thought to myself.
I got out my night vision gear and scanned the coastline about 40 feet below me. The NVG allowed me to pick up heat signatures from several hundred feet away. Against the backdrop of the cold waters of the Pacific Ocean, I had no problem picking out the shape of a lone person in a small skiff, staying very close to the coastline and moving slowly toward the plant intake area. Good.
The air was cold and wet, yet somehow, I didn’t notice. I needed to make a phone call.
CHAPTER 37
Just before midnight on Friday, Jansen drove onto the plant site, sitting among four of the six men who months earlier had established themselves as contractors for the outage. Heading onto the plant site for the graveyard shift, they were running a bit late because of a slow driver up ahead. There was no passing on the road and tempers sometimes flared when people drove so slowly. Finally, the slow driver pulled off to the side, rolled down his window, and waved the cars by. Everyone, including the truck Jansen was in, sped up to get by him.
Shift change always involved a number of people coming and going, which made it much easier for Jansen to be able to go where he needed to go, unnoticed. The security guard at the front gate didn’t pay much attention to how many people were in the truck, so long as the vehicle they were in had a car pass. Theirs had one. So Jansen headed onto the site with his team. He smiled to himself at how easy this was so far.
As they got closer to the site, he could see the upper lot, which was on a small hill overlooking the back of the plant. This parking lot, for contractors, was not close to the plant like the ones used by and reserved for the plant staff. Contractors were temporary employees and didn’t qualify for the perks the permanent plant staff enjoyed, like close-in parking. So they had to park in these overflow lots.
But tonight this was exactly what Jansen wanted. He’d be up the hill behind the plant. From this remote parking lot, he had a natural command post in an area that was not well patrolled by station security people. They’d be focused on the activities and equipment inside the protected area, as well as the gates in and out of the plant.
Just before the men got to the plant site, they took the side road that led uphill to these lots. Once there, Jansen made sure his man parked the truck in a corner, away from the few lights set up to provide minimum illumination for the lot. It didn’t really matter, though, as they’d all be turned off soon enough. That’s standard protocol during certain types of security events where the station didn’t wish to be seen from a distance. It was assumed the plant staff’s defensive posture would be enhanced by darkness, so the first part of the response in the event of an attack would be to contact operations and have them open several key electrical breakers and turn off non-essential lighting. Parking lots were obviously not essential lighting. This strategy was outlined in Nick’s report. Tonight, this tactic would work against them. So easy, Jansen thought to himself again.
Tucked away in the corner of the lot, he stayed in the truck and watched as the men with him grabbed their lunch pails and walked through the maze of parked cars, down the wooden stairs to the lower lot, through the security building, and into the facility.
At the same time, he knew the other half of his team should already be in position. Nick had identified the best place to attack from, so that was precisely where Jansen sent them. It took them several hours to hump in from the rugged hills behind the plant and get into place outside the fenced perimeter. The hills were steep, filled with brush and thickets, and it was dark as pitch. It was easy to lose their footing, and someone had more than once. But they were all rugged men and had done similar things in the past. Besides, for the money they were being paid, they just sucked it up and did it.