Looking left, the parking lot was still empty; to the right, the pallets were still where I'd seen them.
From my coat pocket I pulled out the trash bag protecting my docs. Right at the base of a bush I dug a shallow hole in the mud with my hands, threw in the bundle, and covered it over. This was my emergency cache, my hidey-hole, as Kelly would say. If I got lifted, I would be sterile, and if I got away, there would always be the chance of coming back and retrieving it.
I wiped the mud off my hands onto a small tuft of grass and started to get myself ready for the job. I gently unzipped the duffel. I got out the pair of navy blue coveralls, probably just like the ones Kev's friends had worn.
The problem with climbing over a high fence with a forty-pound bag is that you can spend more time getting stuck and making noise than actually crossing it.
I pulled the draw string from the center of my coat and put it between my teeth. Moving as near to the steel stake support as I could without breaking cover, I then lifted the bag up to shoulder height. Using my shoulders to support its weight, I tied the handles as near to the top of the fence as I could with a quick-release knot, throwing the free end of the string over the top.
Checking that my weapon was secure, I reached up, put my fingers through the chain links, and started to climb. Once on the other side I again stopped, looked, and listened; only then did I climb back up and haul the bag over the fence. I climbed down once more and then got hold of the free end of the string and pulled. The bag came free from the fence, and I took its weight. Then, squatting, I watched and listened again.
Working alone on a job takes a lot of concentration because you can't look and work at the same time, yet both have to be done. So you do one or the other; you either get on with the job or you get on with looking. Try to do both and you'll fuck up.
I stood up, put the bag on my left shoulder, and gently pulled apart the Velcro of the coveralls so that, if necessary, I could get to my weapon. Taking my time, I moved to the left side of the building.
Before I did anything, I had to defeat the motion detector. I was to the left of it, with my back against the wall. Putting the bag in my left hand, I kept my eyes on the detector high above me and started slowly edging toward it. When I got more or less as far as I estimated I could without getting spotted, I bent down and placed the bag by my feet. Everything I did from now on would happen on the near side of the bag.
Security lights that respond to movement make life much harder for people like me, but only if they cover the whole of the building. I found it strange that there was only one detector, rather than two or three overlapping each other to eliminate dead spots. I was expecting, at any moment, to be nailed by one I hadn't noticed. But whoever had installed the security system had obviously worked on the premise that only the lower fire escape door had to be covered and not the approach routes to it.
It was nearly 1 a.m." which left me just over five hours before first light. Time was against me, but I wasn't going to rush. I went the long way around to collect one of the pallets.
I got both hands in between the slats of wood, heaved it up against my chest, and started to walk slowly. The ground still had a top layer of mud, and my shoes squelched as they made contact. I finally reached the wall, placed the pallet against the brickwork on my side of the bag, and went back for the second one.
I wedged the two pallets together, the bottom of the second jammed into the gap about three rungs down from the top of the first to make a ladder. I stopped, looked, and listened. The pallets had been heavy; I heard nothing apart from the sound of my lungs gagging for air through my dry throat.
I climbed up on the first pallet, and that was fine. I got up onto the second pallet and it, too, seemed stable enough. I started to climb. I'd moved just two rungs when the whole structure buckled and collapsed. I hit the ground like a bag of shit, and the two pallets slammed down onto each other with a resounding thud and clatter. Shit. Shit. Shit.
I was lying on my back, with one of the pallets across my legs. No one came running to investigate, no dogs started barking, no lights came on. Nothing but the noise of the traffic and me swallowing hard, trying to moisten my mouth.
Luckily everything had happened on my side of the bag. I lifted the pallet and crawled from under it, quietly cursing.
This was crap. But what else could I have done bought a ladder at the mall and carried it to the target? I moved to the corner of the building, got down on the tips of my toes and fingers, as if I were going to do a push-up, and stuck my head around toward Ball Street.
I was still annoyed with myself. I could spend all night improvising before I even got into a position to attack this motion detector. Maybe a ladder wasn't such a stupid idea; I should have gotten one and somehow tried to drop it off earlier, then pick it up enroute. But it was too late now.
I stood against the wall and reevaluated. I decided to "react as the situation dictated," which was the Firm's favorite get-out clause. It simply meant they didn't know what to do. A bit like me really.
Fuck it, I was going to get Kelly. All she'd have to do was lean against the pallets; she had to be there only for about fifteen minutes and I'd be done. After that she could stay with me or I could drop her back at the hotel. I'd cross that bridge when I came to it.
I picked up the bag, retraced the route to the high fence, and, staying on the target side, dumped the bag and coveralls.
Then I followed the fence along, looking for an opening to get to Ball Street. There wasn't time to do the job properly and go back all the way around. I finally found a service alley between two buildings that belonged in some film about the mafia in 1950s New York. It took me down to the road. I turned left and walked briskly to the hotel, no more than two minutes away. It was only then I realized that I didn't have the room key because I'd left it in the trash bag. I'd have to wake Kelly.
I knocked gently at first, then a bit harder. Just when I was starting to sweat, I heard "Hi, Nick." A moment or two later, the door opened.
I gave her a look of concern.
"How did you know it was me? You should have waited until I answered." Then I saw the chair and the drag marks on the carpet. I smiled and gave her a pat on the head.
"You looked through the peephole, didn't you, clever girl? Hey, because you're so clever, I've got a job for you. I really, really need your help. Would you like to help me?"
She looked sleepy.
"What do you want me to do?"
"I'll show you when we get there. Will you come with me?"
"I guess so."
I had a brainstorm.
"Do you want to do what your dad does? Because this is what Daddy does for the good guys.
You can tell him all about it soon."
Her face brightened. She was a happy bunny again.
She had to more or less run to keep up with me. We got to the alley and headed down toward the vacant lot. It was dark; she was less than eager. She started dragging her feet.
"Where are we going, Nick?"
"You want to play spies, don't you?" I said in an excited whisper.
"Imagine you are a Power Ranger and you're going on a secret mission."
We reached the empty lot and took the same route toward the chain-link fence. I held her hand, and she kept pace; I hoped she was getting into it.
We got to the bag. I picked up the coveralls and said, "I've got to put these on because they're special spy coveralls." Her face changed when she saw them. I suddenly realized she must have made the connection with the men who'd come to see Kev.