The Paranoid Thief Page 7

  “So dressing in my finest military uniform, I drove my car to my CO’s, two-story home on base and informed his house servant that I’d been asked to come over. Without permission for entry, I followed her into the living room, ignoring her request to wait on the front porch. Upon the sight of my entrance, my former CO stood in anger, demanding, ‘What’s the meaning of this?’ Without the need of words to explain myself, I pulled my laser pistol and swept his legs off with the maximum setting. He yelled to the sudden lost of legs and fell to the floor. His servant, a step to my left screamed and ran from the room. With gun still at the ready, I eyed her antics in little concern as I held no animosity towards her. However, I held an entirely different feeling towards my CO’s shocked and alarmed wife. Her, I holed in the chest and beheaded before her body slid from the chair to the floor.” Jill’s eyes took on a gleam of angry memory as she stared past Randolph in finishing her tale. “Before cutting him into little pieces for the med boys to try and put together like a jig-saw puzzle, I told the son-of-a-cowardly-dog he should’ve had the balls to confront the parents instead of wiping out my men!”

  Jill let out a breath of tension at this point, having realized she was tightening up. She then looked over on Randolph and shrugged off the ugly memories. “The next thing I knew I was here,” Jill commented, rolling her eyes about the place. Jill pushed off the wall and walked over to the couch-chair then looked at her watch. “Well, with that bit of unpleasantness behind us, I think we’ve made a good start.” Jill picked up her handbag and started for the door. “Get some sleep tonight. We start training at six in the morning, and I’ve a full day planned to ferret out your abilities.”

  Before Randolph could comment on her early morning activities and where she could shove them, Jill was out the door, leaving him bemused, wondering why she’d divulged such powerful emotions to a complete stranger.

  Chapter Six

  The next two months of Randolph’s life were a living hell of exercising, endurance tests, and even physical games of coordination and speed. I tell ya, I thought I was in pretty good shape, he commented to himself one day, holding his sides, standing beside Jill, who was merely breathing fast, but to hear the tale from her, I was a blob of useless muscle masquerading as human. Also during this time of forced endurance-building exercises, Randolph was introduced to two other two-man teams who took up exercising with them, whereby he learned Hendrix was a downright bully, Joe was a shifty-eyed weasel, Mitch was a personable fellow on his good days and Patrick was just plain fun, for Patrick would have them all splitting their sides with just the right look at the right time. However, Jill made certain they never stuck together long, always laying down a reason for some other activity.

  When Randolph approached the subject, Jill answered matter-of-factly, “I’ve been on three missions and lost two partners. Joe and Hendrix were recruited before you and not one of the teams have been here longer than five years. So it’s been decided, unannounced, we should stay aloof.”

  The next morning, Jill took Randolph to the elevator which led down to the cell block he’d escaped from; however, when the doors slid open she pushed a button which had not been present during his initiation. This lowered the elevator beyond the cell block level by at least four floors or more. Opening up, Jill took the lead without comment to Randolph and led them along an echoing twenty-foot hallway that ended in darkness. Not a darkness for lack of light, Randolph could tell, but rather darkness emitted by a great expanse of openness. Turning to a panel, Jill touched a LED, turning on a lighting system which revealed five floors of openness filled with small buildings and scaffolding to some sort of theater.

  “This,” Jill said, motioning with her hand at the open area, “is our training facility. Every so often the buildings are shifted around and a new scenario is presented for us to solve. Nothing elaborate, mind you, but just enough to keep our wits sharp.”

  Randolph followed Jill down the two-story ladder and found her holding a clip board when he touched the ground floor.

  Jill showed Randolph the board and read aloud, “You are at a convention center of two political parties. Somewhere, there is a bomb, or bombs, set to explode in five hours. Find the bomb, or bombs, and disarm it or them.” Jill returned the board to a hook, rubbed her hands, and set her watch. “Well, let’s get to it.”

  “Why?” Randolph remarked, looking sideways at her. “We could always use a few less of those cretins.” To his statement of dislike for the men and women governing the continent, Jill looked sternly on Randolph, but he only shrugged, indicating he couldn’t help it if he was so cynical about those people.

  “Get serious, Randolph. We’ve less than five hours, so put your thinking cap on,” she snapped.

  “All right,” he answered with a grimace and started walking out, only to have her pull him back.

  “As I’ve said,” Jill began scolding him, “this is an exercise. Everything in here, the bomb and dummies, represents real people, real life—and that includes security alarms and video cameras.” Jill pointed at the both of them as she explained. “As we’re not supposed to be alive, every pair of eyes in the dummies will be registering our movements. If we’re seen too many times, or we trip an alarm, red lights will flash over head, giving us just five minutes to get on solid ground before a debilitating migraine sends us to the floor for half an hour or more. After which your equilibrium will be shot for twelve hours.”

  “You’re serious?”

  “Damn straight I’m serious,” Jill glared at him. “I’ve had it happen once, and I’ll not go through that again. If I do, I’m going to pulverize you up one wall and down the other—you understand me?”

  Even though Jill was much thinner than Randolph, he took her threat to heart. Raising his hands in surrender, Randolph acknowledged her threat. “Okay, okay. You get a headache, I get beat to shit. Got it.”

  Jill nodded, folded her arms and leaned back on the wall. “Bombs are messy and often times non-directional if made by amateurs. Thus a good number of people could be killed just to get the one he/they/she is after.” She rubbed her chin, thinking aloud, reasoning still further, “Conventions are notorious for changing schedules and shifting personnel around. A time-set bomb can conclude the object is not a certain person but a statement. Video cameras would be all around so he/they/she could be miles away watching the results.” Jill eyed the scaffolding around the theater and pointed. “That would be our best bet.”

  “You’re forgetting under the stage,” Randolph remarked.

  “Not so,” Jill reasoned. “The blast would be restricted to a small area, while an overhead blast would put forth a concussion, stunning the crowd, sending down debris of the scaffolding into their midst.”

  “That’s supposing the intention is a statement and not a person,” Randolph injected.

  “It’s nice to see you’re thinking, but you’re missing the wording of our mission. Our job is to disarm a bomb or bombs. For someone to apply a bomb in a public place, they would be looking for exposure, so it stands to reason the more people killed or injured the more exposure given on the videos.”

  Unable to fault her in such reasoning, Randolph shrugged assent. So taking the lead, avoiding the eye path of the dummies as was possible, even though in real life, if a well-trained thief looked as if he belonged there, the average person would never take notice save for a mild curious glance, including most security guards. In this way the pair made the scaffolding and began their search.

  They weaved themselves among the metal beams, ever watchful for the eye in the sky, and were moving up to the fourth layer of beams when Randolph put out a hand to Jill. “Hold it. I may have found something.” Randolph took out a piece of paper he’d picked up in the dirt, tore and folded it till satisfied with its size, and inserted only the tip into what he thought was a low-wattage beam of light. His action confirmed the near-invisible beam and he discovered two more like it radiating out of a small black box before he looked
a little closer.

  “What’cha find?” Jill asked, shifting to see, nearly pushing him into one of the beams.

  Randolph caught his movement and push Jill back with a hiss of warning. “If you must move, don’t do it crowding me!”

  “Okay, sorry. But tell me, what’cha found?”

  “A trip beam, three to be precise, and of such low wattage, they’re housed in a box with an amplifier, which was why I saw it. Very professional,” he added, “far too complicated for standard security measures.”

  “Then we’re getting close.” Jill smiled, looking at her watch. “And about time, we’ve less than three and a half hours to work.”

  “Which in no way suggests we speed things up,” Randolph warned her, looking back on the box, sighting in on the three directions and taking note of another box attached to a cross beam some distance away. Randolph got the impression this other box also spread into three beams. This small bit of information told him the whole area could be spider-webbed with them. Neat, very neat. Send out one beam and make them breed with beam splitters and amplifiers. Very time-consuming to install, but guaranteed to waste one’s time in tracking them down to their source. Randolph sat back on his haunches with a sigh and said, more to himself, “We’re in deep kimchee.”

  “What’s that?” Jill asked with concern.

  “It’s a pickled vegetable dish, seasoned with different spices, sealed up in a jar, and buried in the ground for a span of weeks. At least so I’m told. Either way, I’ve never liked the stuff,” he answered off-handedly, trying to reason out the best approach to their problem.

  “So what’s it got to do with this?”

  “It’s my polite way of saying were in deep shit,” Randolph explained, wishing she’d let him think.

  “Well, why didn’t you just say so?” Jill admonished, slapping his shoulder.

  Randolph turned his head and glared at Jill as he reminded her, “Look, I’ve worked alone for eighteen years and only three years with a partner. I’ve my own way of doing things and I tend to talk to myself on occasion. So cut me some slack!”

  Jill looked about to fire a group of selected words at him, but swallowed them back, having read his facial expression. Randolph nodded acceptance of her silence and set his mind back to work.

  The problem with this setup, he considered while looking about, is that scaffolding are never built to remain perfectly steady, thus a plus and minus factor had to be installed into the triggering device. Regardless, though, not knowing the parameters of the program would necessitate our assent to a time-consuming crawl and as for turning it off? Yeah right. For a moment more Randolph traced the lines in case the builder slipped up. But even if he did spot its origins, Randolph conceded without the proper tools the task would take longer than Jill would permit to deactivate, if her sigh of irritation and impatience behind him was any indication. And then again, it stands to reason if the maker is of any intelligence, the bomb will go off if the beam is cut, assuring the maker of the same results. Randolph sighed and told Jill the bad news. “To break or turn off the beam will probably set off the bomb. We’ve no choice but to ascend. You’re going to have to follow me, do as I do, and put feet and hands where I do.” With a look skyward for guidance, Randolph admitted, “Even if we are careful as the best acrobats, it may still do us no good. All it will take is for one of those bars to shift out of position half an inch. Got it?”

  After a second of consideration, Jill reasoned, “As I’m lighter than you, it’ll be best for me to climb up alone.”

  “What about disarming the bomb?” Randolph asked, watching her face.

  “I’m trained in such matters. As I see it, I’ve the military mind and know how on weaponry. Your job was to get me by the security blanket which you’ve done.”

  “Jill, this might not be the only kind of device,” Randolph injected into her reasoning.

  “If it’s not, we were doomed to fail at the start, and Mel doesn’t work that way.”

  Randolph looked sideways at her for such flawed reasoning, but decided it was her head, and only reminded her, “It’s your headache.”

  “Just show me what to look for and shut up,” She snapped.

  Randolph did as asked, then remained still and watched as Jill inched her way up into the web of poles, moving ever so slowly to keep from shifting any out of place while not breaking the light beams. Although Jill needed only to cover two floors, at four sets of railing per floor, the forced pace took her a good half hour to make six sections of railings. From his place, Randolph observed Jill as she nosed around for fifteen minutes at a single place before motioning he should climb up and join her. At her beckoning, Randolph rolled his eyes and shook his head in disgust before he moved on up a bit faster than her, knowing what to expect but still slower than his usual, as he did weigh more.

  Once Randolph came abreast of Jill, she pointed out a lattice work of very exposed red beams and admitted. “I’m a fool, Randolph. I should’ve learned by now Mel likes teamwork.”

  To Randolph, Jill appeared to be out of sorts. Most likely berating herself on the need for my help and loss of time. Instead of stating the obvious, Randolph sought a way around their lattice work of beams, a task which after a few minutes of looking did indeed require the both of them. “Do you think you can support my weight for a short while?” he asked.

  “You’re kidding, right?” Jill answered with narrowed eyes, telling Randolph he had asked a really dumb question.

  “Okay. Fine. I had to ask,” Randolph answered without apology. After he showed her what he wanted, Jill positioned herself on an outside pole in a squat. With her balance set and her arms holding tightly to a pole, Randolph climbed up onto her shoulders, whereby she pushed him up to the top level with her leg muscles. Not having any room for swinging about, Randolph took a hold of the upper pole, pulling himself up with practiced ease, before locking his legs around the same pole and stretching back down for her. Jill then reached as high as she could, where Randolph caught her wrist and pulled her full weight up. She grabbed Randolph’s arm. He shifted his hold to her elbow and continued lifting till she latched onto his belt. But as using her legs to help herself up was out of the question, Jill remained little more than dead weight in Randolph’s grip, save for her hold on his belt. As for helping Jill up, Randolph could only think of one sure place which would give her the support she needed to reach the pole above him. Randolph hesitated. But believe me if this were a true job, I wouldn’t hesitate.

  “What are you waiting for? Help me up!”

  “I uh, I only know of one way, and—”

  “Randolph, my sex shouldn’t be an issue here. Now do what’s necessary and get me up!” Jill hissed.

  “Okay...” Randolph answered, reaching a hand between her legs and taking a firm grip of her crotch. Releasing her elbow, Randolph grabbed her sweats and pulled and pushed Jill up his body till she had a firm grip of the pole he hung from. Once Jill was stable, Randolph got himself up and found her glaring at him.

  “You and I are going to have a talk!” Jill scolded.

  “I told you, you wouldn’t like it,” Randolph defended himself.

  “Not about that,” Jill corrected. “About hesitating because of my sex. That could get us killed.”

  Randolph wanted nothing more than to argue he would not have hesitated in the field, but Jill stopped him with a raised hand and indicated the time.

  “We’ve work to do, and because of me, less of it.”

  Well, at least she admits her mistakes. Randolph half smiled, looking about.

  After only a couple minutes, Jill found the bomb, or rather one of eight bombs, all lined up in a row, spaced twenty feet apart. “This,” Jill indicated the first of the lot, “is a shape charge, and it’s set to spread out this clay mold of ball bearings, a cheap but effective version of the outdated claymore.” Jill pulled up her sweats from around her calf and removed a small tool kit strapped around her ankle. “Always be p
repared, Randolph. It’s not a motto; it’s a living.” With the use of a mini-screwdriver, Jill undid the top of the box and eyed the working within, then mumbled. “Damn, the things are linked by this small antenna,” Jill said, indicating the device, “which means I’ll have to figure out which of the two end devices has the controlling card.”

  “Not necessarily,” Randolph advised, pointing out the wires. “You see how these wires have a curve in them?” When he received Jill’s nod, he explained further, “That means these wires were close to the core of a spool, and most professionals buy their spools to the job. So if this one was wired up last, that means—”

  “The far one is our controller!” Jill caught on, smiling. Then becoming more serious, she instructed, “While I go to the far bomb to disable them in sequence, why don’t you see what you can do with the trip beams down below?”

  “You’re the boss,” Randolph commented with a touch of sarcasm, selecting a mini-driver from her tool kit before Jill could comment on his attitude. Randolph then moved away to the outer poles where he began the job of tracing the beams from an upside down view. After some careful twenty minutes, Randolph discovered the main box and another problem. Whoever set up this scenario wasn’t playing by any street rules! he complained to himself. The first set of trip beams were rather clever but not unheard of, a basic test of agility skills, since I wasn’t given time to research the job. This set of beams are rather redundant but again not unheard of in paranoid people trying to make certain thieves like myself can’t get to the prize; however, this! Randolph thought angrily, goes way beyond any real-life applications. Randolph pulled himself back up and worked his way over to Jill to give her the bad news. “Whoever this Mel fellow of yours is, he’s not playing by any set of real street rules.”