Surprisingly, Alaman’s driving seemed almost relaxed. It made the task of staying inconspicuous easier. Rogers allowed the bomb-makers to lead by a block and a half to keep out of their rear view. When a light ahead turned red, Cassiopia pulled into a parking space and waited.
Rogers’ knowledge of the city gave her the upper hand. This was a downcast area on the East side, where business and residential had not done well, a stark contrast to the glamor and glitz of the government show places. The dark alleys were like a macabre version of the SCIP doorway. They led to another world, another reality, one in which lawlessness was a way of life and shady deals facilitated unlikely alliances. It was a stark irony that money and power ruled here, just as they did in the subdivisions of aristocracy, only here the world was terrifying; overtly physical, rather than hidden in bureaucratic and corporate structure. In a way, it was a more honest version of what went on daily behind the closed doors of boardrooms and government chambers.
When the light changed and enough distance separated them, Rogers signaled Cassiopia out and they continued the chase down the sparsely traveled four-lane roadway. Few of the businesses servicing the sidewalks were open, most boarded or locked up. A few old signs hung crookedly in the glass storefronts. The high-rise buildings between them were intact but tarnished from neglect. Weeds grew where broken sidewalk allowed light. The few cars parked along the way were in poor condition.
After several turns, Alaman and his associate reached the border of a healthier city. They parked in front of a garage-styled building with a tall roll-up door. Cassiopia pulled into a side street and parked. Rogers hopped out and watched from behind a corner. Cassiopia came up behind her but dared not try to look.
“This is good,” said Rogers. “There’s an empty glass high-rise across from them. We’ll get into it and see what we can see.”
The two women waited for their prey to unlock and disappear into the garage, then sprinted across the street. A dirty, blacktop alley behind the buildings brought them to the correct place. Rogers did not hesitate. She picked up a loose brick from a tipped over planter and smashed the glass in the back entrance. They raced down an empty hallway to the stairs and climbed to the second floor. The offices were unlocked and deserted. They choose one directly across from the garage and found positions out of sight where they could watch.
The garage was a two-story stained-white cement-block structure with a single front entrance next to the roll up door, windows on the second floor, flat roof with exhaust vents. Rogers moved beside Cassiopia. “You keep an eye out. I’m going to tag their car; then I’m going to scope out the rest of the building, see if I can see inside. If they come out, or you see anything else, warn me, okay?”
Cassiopia nodded and readjusted her earpiece. She clicked the transmit button clipped to her waistline. “How’s that?”
“Perfect. How me?”
“Got you.”
Rogers took a long, last look and stayed low as she slipped out the door. Cassiopia scanned up and down the street as far as she could see. There was no activity. Ten minutes passed before Rogers' voice squelched in over the headset.
“Can you see me?”
Surprised, Cassiopia scanned the garage, finally noticing Rogers hiding against the left corner of the building. “How did you cross? I didn’t see that.”
“That’s good. Tricks of the trade.”
“Scott calls it professional sneaking.”
“I need to get underneath their car. Is it clear?”
Cassiopia checked up and down the street once more. “You are clear.”
Rogers dashed quickly out into the open, looking in every direction as she went. At the back of the car, she lay down and scooted underneath it. A few silent minutes passed.
“Okay. They’re tagged. Am I clear to come out?”
Cassiopia started to say “All clear,” when a vehicle approached from the right and pulled over. “Hold your position.”
Two men got out and went into a defunct building farther down the street. “Okay, you’re clear.”
Rogers pushed out and up and disappeared behind the garage. A moment later she spoke. “I can’t see inside through any of the windows. They’ve been blocked. But we’re in luck. We can get in. There’s a dumpster on its side, and a ledge on the second floor near a broken window. I don’t think it’s a setup.”
As Rogers finished speaking, Alaman and his associate suddenly emerged through the front door, talking intensely, and gesturing with their hands as they relocked it.
“Stay low. They’ve come out. They’ve locked up. They’re getting in the car to leave. What do you want to do?”
“Lucky, lucky, lucky,” Rogers’ replied.
“But we’ll lose them.”
“I don’t think so. I want to see what’s so important to them inside here. If they locked up, I doubt there’s anyone else in there. Besides, they’re tagged. They can’t get away.”
Alaman and his associate climbed into their car. It started and slowly pulled away.
“As soon as they’re gone, get yourself down here. Try not to let anyone see you cross the street.”
When the car was out of sight, Cassiopia dashed downstairs and out through the broken glass. At the side alleyway, she squeezed sideways through a narrow opening in a broken chain-link fence, pausing at the front of the building to look. Across the street, Rogers was waving her on. She darted across the street and took cover alongside the garage. Pausing to catch her breath, she glimpsed Rogers disappearing behind the garage. By the time she caught up, Rogers was pulling herself atop a dumpster. Standing in precarious balance, Rogers grabbed the corner of a second-floor window and pulled up onto a narrow ledge that ran beneath it. Through a broken pane, she unlocked and pulled up the weathered window frame. She turned and looked down at Cassiopia and pointed inside.
It was an awkward climb for Cassiopia. She pulled herself up onto the dirty green dumpster and had to lie on her stomach to swing her legs over. She pushed up onto her knees, teetered a moment, and grabbed the ledge. Rogers looked down and smirked, and disappeared through the open window. With renewed determination, Cassiopia worked her way beneath the window and onto the ledge. Climbing in, she bumped her head on the window frame and ended up standing amid a cluttered of old, greasy auto parts, and tools. Rogers was peering out a door she had cracked open. Without looking back, she waved Cassiopia to follow.
A short corridor offered another door on the left and beyond it a gray metal gangway that overlooked the large open garage area. Metal stairs led down to the work floor. Rogers entered the hallway and stopped at the closed door, opening it just enough to see. There were so many stacks of parts and supplies, the door opened only halfway. The way in was not worth the climb.
They went quietly to the hallway’s end and peered around the mechanic's work area. The large service bay was nearly full. In the center, a white panel truck was backed in, its rear slide-up door closed. The advertisement painted on the side read ‘United Industrial Services.' In the foreground, a bench with tools and supplies appeared recently used. Overhead, a small loading crane hung directly over the back of the truck; its hook lowered part way down. A forklift sat behind the truck, the forks resting on the floor.
To the left of the metal stairs, an office was partly visible. There were no signs of life. Rogers paused to study it further, then holding to the rail began slow, calculated steps down. Cassiopia followed.
The office partition was a dingy yellow and had a double door with small safety glass windows. Next to it, a huge picture window looked out over the work area.
Rogers dared to look through a window in the door but saw no one. She relaxed, motioned Cassiopia to search the office, and headed for the panel truck. Cassiopia twisted the dirty knob on one door and slowly opened it, peering in hesitantly. Next to the door was a coat rack with two freshly pressed blue coveralls on hangers with tags over the breast pockets that read ‘United Industrial.' A large stand
up scale stood alongside. Two yellowed chairs with torn cushions sat beneath the picture window, and a table covered with papers ran along the adjoining wall. Dirty brown linoleum with triangle designs covered the floor. In the center of the room, paper, coffee cups, an old box of donuts, and a worn out multi-line telephone sat atop the main desk. On the left, a windowless door led outside, and next to it, a small bathroom with no door at all. A large closet made of unpainted pressed wood joined it.
Cassiopia tried to open the rickety closet door, but it dragged on the floor and would only move a foot or two. Inside, in the shadows, she could see the pull chain for an overhead light. Carefully squeezing her way in, she began feeling her way along the closet wall trying to reach it, but tripped on something and fell. Flailing wildly in the darkness, something spongy broke her fall; a pile of something. It was wet and slippery. With a short yelp of fear, she pushed herself up and grabbed for the light cord. She snapped it. Wide-eyed, she backpedaled into boxes and fell backward into them. She opened her mouth to scream but managed to catch herself. She clamped her hand over her mouth only to find she was wiping blood on her face. It was two men, both dead, wearing nothing but underwear. One had a gaping head wound that had covered the back wall and floor with blood. Cassiopia looked at her hands and shirt. They were smeared with blood. Trying not to scream she burst wildly out of the tomb and raced into the bathroom, spinning on the water valve to wash. With paper towels, she wiped furiously at her clothes and stared into the broken mirror to be sure no blood remained in her hair. She sank forward against the dingy sink and tried to catch her breath, then turned suddenly to see if anyone was coming. There was no one.
In the main work bay, Rogers was standing next to a painted-over front window, checking through the scratches when Cassiopia rejoined her. Stains remained on Cassiopia’s shirt, but her expression alone was enough to alert Rogers something perverse had occurred.
“Uh-oh. What?” she asked as she stared.
“There are two dead men in the office closet. Their clothes have been cleaned and are on hangers.”
“Jeez, you get all the good stuff. Are you okay?”
“Yes, except for having lain with them briefly.”
Rogers understood. “We’ll at least they’re not real, right?”
“But you realize this all must have actually happened in the real world already though, right?”
“The thought had crossed my mind.”
“You said your intelligence indicated there would be a terrorist action in the next few days, so all of this is Alaman’s dream record of what has happened so far. In the real world, in this building in Washington, two men are laying dead in that closet, right now.”
Rogers left the window and pointed to an aluminum box the size of a compact car. “And this is what it’s all about,” she said, and she placed one hand on it.
Cassiopia understood. “An air-conditioning unit?”
“This one is,” replied Rogers. “But there’s one in that truck exactly like it, that will hook up and pretend to function like one, but is actually a nuclear bomb.”
“So do we get out of here, and tell someone?”
“No way. We need to know where it’s going. Even if my people knew about this, it could take too long to locate. We’ve got to know where. I’ve already tagged this truck with a tracking device. We’ll have to wait for them to make the delivery. That’s what the dead men’s uniforms are for. This was their delivery truck.”
“I’ll be glad to get out of here. This place gives me the creeps.”
“I’ve been careful not to leave any traces that we were here. But I’m assuming you washed up in the restroom. We’ve got to make that look untouched. We also need to make sure everything’s the same near the bodies.”
Reluctantly, Cassiopia led Rogers back to the office. They covered their tracks as thoroughly as possible and left through the upstairs window.
Chapter 25