Breaking Boredom
part 2
Mikey was lying flat on his carapace, staring up at the night sky and humming a tune, his toes moving to the beat. Don could not figure out for the life of him how his brother could possibly be comfortable.
Stretched out on his plastron atop the moving truck, Don's hands were pressed into the roof so that he wouldn't slide off if they turned a corner. Mikey seemed completely unconcerned about that possibility. The fact was though, if they did stop suddenly or make a sharp turn, Michelangelo would somehow remain rooted in place. His athleticism was both unnerving and a little infuriating.
Mikey did have the good graces to at least stop humming when the truck they were on took an off ramp from the highway. Don was trying to pay attention to signs and mile markers so he'd know where they were, but either he'd missed a few, or there weren't any.
They passed through two sets of stop lights while on the access road before the truck turned right onto a narrow street, one which was in some disrepair judging from the jouncing they did. Don began to have a new worry that Mikey's shell hitting the roof would call someone's attention to the fact that they had attracted a pair of stowaways. Just as he had that thought, Mikey flipped over and grinned at him, flattening his palms to hold himself in position.
The darkness was complete in this area of the city; no houses or buildings, no streetlights, and no other vehicles. By Donatello's estimate they'd ridden for nearly six miles before the truck turned again, this time into a driveway that was a lot smoother than the street they'd been on.
Rolling up to a high fence, the lead truck's brake lights came on and both trucks idled as they waited for the electric gate to roll aside. When the truck that the Turtles were on passed through, Don turned his head and saw the gate closing behind them.
Both trucks drove across a wide parking lot, heading straight for a low, sprawling metal building. Two men dressed in security guard uniforms stood on either side of an opening that was large enough to drive through and watched as the first truck pulled in, followed closely by the second.
As the trucks parked next to each other in the warehouse sized space, the guards operated controls that caused a heavy metal door to slide down and seal off the entry.
Don and Mikey waited in silence as the drivers exited the trucks. A minute later, the back doors on both vehicles swung open and the men that had ridden with the barrels jumped out, all of them still dressed in their hazmat suits.
"Straight to the showers, guys. You know the drill," one of the guards said.
The drivers grabbed their suits out of the trucks and followed the other men as they filed out of the garage. Two more guards entered once the workers had left.
"You checked the trucks yet?" one of the newcomers asked.
"Just about to," a guard answered, pulling on thick rubber gloves.
As the other three guards followed suit, Mikey slid closer to Don and whispered, "They're gonna find us up here."
Don shook his head. "Don't worry Mikey, they never look on top of a truck," he whispered back reassuringly.
They heard the doors in the front and back slam as the guards checked over the trucks. Then one of them said, "Joe, the mirror's over in the corner. Check underneath both of them. We'll climb up and take a look on top."
Mikey shot Don a dirty look before sitting up silently. Don did likewise, the sheepish expression on his face missed by Mikey who was trying to find a way off the truck without either of them being seen.
A couple of minutes later, two guards checked over the tops of both trucks and found nothing. When they jumped down, the four gathered near the door the workers had gone through.
Pressing a button mounted beneath a speaker grill, one of the guards said, "All clear. Go ahead and open up."
High above them in the metal rafters, two ninja's watched as a double door at the back of the room slid open. A man in white coveralls approached the first truck, climbed into the cab, and drove the truck into a room filled with water and steam.
Just before the door slid closed, the Turtle's heard someone say, "Unload it and scrub everything down. Get a move on; we have to do two of them tonight."
When the door shut off the sounds from the truck wash, the guards exited the garage.
Extremely agitated, Don looked over at Mikey and said, "They're going to clean everything, including the barrels."
"So?" Mikey asked, not sure why his brother was so excited.
"So if they do that, our proof that they've been illegally dumping waste into the river is gone," Don answered. "We have to preserve some of that evidence."
Mikey looked at the truck just below them and said, "I'm open to suggestions, bro'. I just hope you aren't thinking about stealing that truck. Those guys were armed, in case you didn't notice."
"No, I have a better idea," Don said just before swinging down from the high ceiling and landing cat-like on the floor below.
When Mikey dropped to the ground he saw that Don was making his way over to a row of lockers. Swinging open one of the doors, Don pawed through the contents and then moved to the next locker. In the fourth locker over he located what he'd been looking for; hazmat suits in an extra-large size.
"Here, put this on," Don directed, tossing one of the suits to Mikey.
Mikey held it up and gave it the once over before glancing at Don. His brother had set his bo staff and duffel inside the locker and was carefully stepping into a second hazmat suit.
Zipping the suit closed, Don adjusted the breathing mask over his face and looked up. Mikey was still holding his mask as he tugged at the oversized suit and then twisted around to inspect his rear.
"Hey, Donny, does this make me look fat?" Mikey asked with a grin.
Don pursed his lips to avoid laughing and then said, "Why yes. Yes it does."
"Aw man, I knew it," Mikey said in mocking despair as he pulled the breathing mask on.
Once they were completely outfitted in the safety gear, Don led the way over to the truck and pulled the back doors open. Mounted on one side of the interior was a long bench seat and the rest of the space was filled with empty metal barrels.
Don climbed inside and tipped one of the barrels slightly to test its weight. Emptied of its contents, the barrel was easily managed by the strong turtle. Choosing two barrels which still had residual river mud clinging to them, Don handed them down to Mikey and his brother set them aside.
"They're gonna notice those empty spaces dude," Mikey pointed out before Don exited the truck.
Don saw what Mikey meant; the barrels had been crammed into the space to get as many inside as possible, so the unoccupied area was now quite noticeable.
"Hold on. I'll fix it," Don said.
Quickly rearranging the rest of the barrels so that there was a larger pocket of space between each of them, Don made the back of the truck appear completely full once more. Satisfied that they'd left no signs of their presence behind, Don jumped down from the truck and closed the doors.
"Now we got 'em, what are we gonna do with 'em?" Mikey asked.
"We have to hide them until we can persuade the authorities to investigate," Don said.
"Great idea, Donny," Mikey said with a touch of sarcasm. "Where exactly were you planning to hide two large metal barrels that are probably radioactive?"
Don stood still for a moment, his eyes scanning the warehouse. Other than the lockers, which were too small anyway, there were no other hiding places. Then he had a thought.
"The best place to hide something is in plain sight, right Mikey?" Don asked rhetorically. "We'll hide these barrels amongst a bunch of clean ones. They must have a place next door where they store the barrels they've already processed through the wash."
"Oh right," Mikey said, "next door where a bunch of guys are running around cleaning the other truck and will probably be back for this one any second now."
"We can stand here debating the issue, or we can go investigate what we're up against," Don said, indicating a smaller exit in the wall next to the double door. "That probably bypasses the truck wash itself so that someone doesn't have to get wet to go inside."
For an answer, Mikey lifted one of the barrels and carried it over to the door. Setting it down to one side, he waited while Don placed the other barrel next to it. When Don reached for the door handle though, Mikey quickly grabbed his wrist.
"Hey genius, have you given any thought to surveillance cameras?" Mikey asked.
"I set my frequency jammer when we turned into the parking lot," Don told him. "It will interfere with the camera feed in this half of the building. Hopefully we won't be here long enough for them to start investigating something other than mechanical error."
"I hope you're right, 'cause in that suit you can't carry your bo or your bag of tricks," Mikey pointed out. "You're unarmed, dude. That's why my weapons are better; they're tucked into my belt for easy access."
"The only problem is that you can't unzip your suit to get at them," Don said dryly.
"Dude," Mikey groaned and then his eyes widened. "In case you hadn't noticed, we can't get to our shell cells either. If you're gonna call for the cavalry, we need to get out of these play suits and off to someplace where our phones will actually work."
"Let me see what's behind the door first," Don said, twisting the door handle and pulling the door open enough so that he could look through.
To the left he could see a big wash bay, large enough to accommodate trucks. The system was mostly automated; rollers pushing the truck through as jets of water and scrubbers mounted in the ceiling and walls worked on the exterior body.
The back had been emptied and the doors left open. Some of the barrels that had been in the truck were sitting on a pallet jack; the others were suspended upside down over a wide opening in the floor. The one thing they all had in common was that they were now spotless.
Directly in front of the door was a set of steps leading up to a long catwalk that went from the garage all the way to the back of the wash bay. It ended at the door to the master control booth.
To the right of the door, Don saw an area filled with clean barrels. As he watched, two men pulled the pallet jack over to that space, passing under the catwalk to get there. They unloaded the barrels, pushing them in with the others and then went back to the other side of the room.
Closing the door carefully, Don said, "There's a couple of guys cleaning barrels, but they're across the room right now. The clean barrels are off to the right and there's a half wall blocking the view from the wash bay. We can take these barrels up to the catwalk and then one of us jump down into the storage area while the other tosses the barrels to them. If we set these in the center of a bunch of clean ones, no one will notice them."
"Then let's go General, I don't wanna stand around with these things any longer than I have to," Mikey said.
Once more cautiously opening the door, Don double checked that the area was clear before climbing the steps. At the top he squatted low and looked over at the control booth. Only one man was inside and he was reading a newspaper.
Signaling to Mikey, Don leaned down to grab the barrels as his brother handed them up to him. When Mikey joined him, they both stayed down low, sliding the barrels along the cat walk until they reached a point over an area packed solid with clean barrels.
Mikey leaped down, landing silently atop the barrels and then wedged his way in between two of them. Very carefully, he shifted an entire row until he'd made a space large enough for the two they wanted to hide.
One by one, Don handed the barrels to Mikey and watched as his younger brother carefully slid them into the space he'd made. Eyeing the placement critically, Don was happy to note that Mikey had chosen a spot that wouldn't be too noticeable to someone walking along the catwalk.
Before Mikey had a chance to rejoin his brother, the big door began to slide open. Don flattened himself on the catwalk and hissed, "Get down; they're bringing the other truck in."
Mikey ducked behind the barrels and watched as the other truck was driven into the wash bay. The two men who had charge of the barrels began to empty the second truck and when Don glanced towards the control booth he saw that the man inside was still engrossed in his paper.
Don waved Mikey forward and began crawling towards the stairs when Mikey landed on the catwalk behind him. Taking the hint, Mikey dropped onto his plastron as well and in another minute the two brothers were back in the garage.
"Can we take these suits off now?" Mikey asked, his hand reaching for the zipper.
Don caught his arm and shook his head. "Better stay in them until we're ready to leave the building," he said. "We need to find out where we are before we can call the authorities."
"And our brothers," Mikey added. "I kinda doubt we're gonna be able to hitch a ride back home dressed like this."
"We won't be able to get one looking like ourselves either, Mikey," Don said dryly.
"That's true." Mikey pointed towards the door that the guards had passed through and asked, "I guess we're going that way?"
"Seems to be our only option," Don acknowledged as he turned in that direction.
Carefully opening the door, Mikey peeked out and saw a long corridor. To the right it was straight, but to the left it turned sharply. Seeing no one, he stepped out and Don followed.
"Which way?" Mikey asked.
"Logically I'd say towards the left. It seems to lead to the front of the building, where the executives usually have their offices," Don said.
"In case you haven't noticed, there is a whole lot of unusual about this place," Mikey told him.
Don shrugged. "You asked."
"Okay, left it is," Mikey said and led the way.
It didn't take long before they came to the first door along the corridor but that turned out to be a lunchroom. Mikey eyed the vending machines hungrily, the banana he'd eaten before leaving the lair a distant memory. Don yanked on his arm and Mikey waved his regret at the snack food as he exited.
They reached a set of bathrooms next and Don shook his head when Mikey pointed at the door to the men's room.
"You should have gone before we left home," Don chided him, walking on ahead.
"Sorry mom," Mikey said, "didn't have to then."
A few more feet took them out into a wide open space, complete with lounge chairs and a receptionist's desk. Mikey stepped around behind it and spotted a phone.
"Hey, Don, couldn't we call on this?" Mikey asked.
Don peered over the desk at the phone. "No, it's the switchboard. It's been shut off for the night and forwarded to the security station. Don't touch it; we'll find a phone elsewhere."
A bright light flashed past the double glass doors at the entrance and both turtles ducked. When it disappeared, Mikey said, "We're a little too visible right here, dude. Time to move on."
On the other side of the room was another corridor and they both moved in that direction. The first door they came to had a small plaque on it that said 'L. Linder-Boggs, Vice-President'.
"Bingo," Don said. "We should be able to find some answers in here."
Turning the door knob, he discovered it was locked.
"Let me guess, your lock picking kit is in your bag?" Mikey asked.
"Looks like I'll have to do this the old fashioned way," Don said.
Gripping the door knob tightly, he gave it a hard right twist and something snapped. Years of training with a bo staff had given Donatello wrists as strong as steel cable and breaking the lock was child's play for him.
Together they entered a modest sized office; windowless, the room held a desk behind which sat a large rolling chair, a filing cabinet, and two visitor's chairs. On the desk was a scattering of papers, some pens and pencils inside a cup, and a telephone.
Mikey grabbed one of the chairs and shoved it beneath the busted door knob while Don removed his breathing mask before walking behind the desk. With a relieved sigh, Mikey took his mask off and set it on the chair, watching as Don looked through the papers on and in the desk.
"'Ace Medical Waste Storage'," Don read off the letterhead excitedly. "That explains a lot."
"That's interesting why?" Mikey asked.
Don looked up, his eyes shining. "Medical nuclear waste," he answered. "That's why our shell cells wouldn't work. Diagnostic nuclear medicine produces medical radioactive waste that tends to contain, amongst other things, gamma ray emitters. Gamma rays can interfere with communication devices such as cell signals."
"Aside from all that technobabble," Mike said, "how dangerous is this medical waste?"
"Radioactivity diminishes over a period of time dependent on the levels per mass or volume," Don answered. "Medical waste is considered low level waste and may only need to be stored for a period of months."
"So you're saying someone pays them to store this stuff? Why are they dumping it?" Mikey asked.
Don held up some of the papers he'd found in one of the desk drawers. "Well, just at a quick glance, they appear to have accepted more contracts than they actually have space for. While they claim to use this entire facility for storage, in reality only a fraction of the space has been properly modified to pass EPA standards for this type of storage.
"When the government inspectors come out, the guys here only show them the areas that are correctly retrofitted. Even the wash bay has to adhere to government guidelines so that the water doesn't flow into county sewer lines."
"This is a big place, Donny. Wouldn't the inspectors get suspicious if they only see the same areas over and over again?" Mikey picked through the papers on the desk, his brow furrowed.
"The number of inspectors is pretty small compared to the number of facilities they have to monitor. Since this facility is rated to hold only low-level radioactive waste, they probably don't see an inspector but once in a blue moon, and probably a different person every time," Don said.
Mikey looked up. "It all comes down to greed, right?"
Don nodded and said, "Yes."
"That kinda makes me mad," Mikey said grimly. "How do people like this sleep at night?"
"Probably on very expensive beds," Don answered.
"So how do we get someone out here to shut these guys down?" Mikey asked.
Don pointed at the phone on the desk. "The EPA has a twenty-four hour hot line. We'll call them and tell them what we saw. Once we give them the exact spot where the dumping took place, they'll be able to verify part of our story, which will make the remainder of it more believable. If we use this phone they'll think a whistle blower is turning his employer in for violations and that will help spur the investigation as well."
"Do we tell them where we hid the barrels?" Mikey asked.
"We'll tell them they should check all of the barrels, including the ones in the clean room," Don said. "We shouldn't have to spell the job out to them at that point."
"That's good," Mikey said as he lifted the receiver and pressed zero for an operator, "I'm ready for this adventure to end."
Don realized which button Mikey had chosen a second too late. He was reaching for the phone when a voice answered, "Security."
Frantically signaling, Don indicated that Mikey should hang up.
"Whoops, sorry! Wrong extension," Mikey said and cradled the phone.
"It all goes through the central switchboard unless you dial the outside line access number," Don explained. "They're going to know exactly where that call came from."
"Now you tell me," Mikey said as he leaped across the room, grabbing his face mask before pulling the chair away from the door. "Let's go someplace where we can use our phones."
Don slid his mask back on, pulling the door shut behind him. Mikey was already moving, going down the corridor away from the main reception area and Don swiftly followed.
"Where are you going?" Don asked.
"Gotta be a way to cut back around to the garage without having to pass through the lobby," Mikey said. "We can grab your gear, chuck these suits, and get the shell out of this building."
"That actually sounds like a splendid idea," Don told him.
They were both jogging at this point, the pressing need to get away foremost in both of their minds. Coming up on a cross-corridor, Mikey pointed to indicate they should turn right.
As they rounded the corner, the pair almost ran head on into a cluster of armed security guards.
Sliding to a stop, Don spun around quickly as Mikey back flipped away from the guards. They managed no more than a couple of steps before another group of guards appeared to block the corridor in front of them.
"Shell," Mikey hissed, lifting his fists defensively.
The guards immediately pointed their guns directly at him and Don reached over, placing his hand atop Mikey's arms and urging him to lower them.
"We're not armed," Don said in an even tone.
"Move," one of the guards said, waving his gun to indicate direction.
The guards stepped aside to line the corridor as the brothers, hands up, walked past them. Two guards stayed ahead of them, out of reach but positioned so that their captives couldn't make a break for it.
It wasn't long before they came to another set of doors that the guards opened, standing back as a sign that Don and Mikey were to proceed. When they hesitated and glanced at each other, one of the guards pushed his gun against Mikey's carapace and shoved.
"Hey, no need to be rude," Mikey said as he looked back at the man.
"Move," the guard insisted.
"I guess they only know that one word," Mikey said as he walked through the doors.
"Mikey, please," Don said, and then as he looked ahead of them, added, "I'll bet he knows a few more words."
A very large and muscular man stood behind a gigantic mahogany desk, his fists resting on his hips. His glare passed over them and landed on one of the guards.
"Why didn't you see these intruders on the security cameras?" the man demanded.
"We are having some problems with the cameras, Mr. Highsmith," the guard answered. "It's possible these two meddled with our security systems somehow, but we haven't found anything yet."
Highsmith turned the glare back to the Turtles. "Why are you here?"
Don spoke up first. "I think you know why. Your illegal dumping of toxic waste into the river is endangering lives and the environment. Don't you know how many people could be sickened? Don't you realize how many people might die?"
Mikey watched Highsmith's face grow red and leaned towards his brother, who he could tell was fired up as well.
"Um, Opstay askingway estionsquay," Mikey told him in pig Latin.
"Are you from a newspaper?" Highsmith asked. "Undercover police?"
"We're concerned citizens," Don answered before Mikey could stop him.
Highsmith chuckled lowly. "Ah, that's good then. No one will miss you."
"Way to go, Donny," Mikey mumbled.
"We have family who will come looking for us," Don said. "People will start to investigate your little racket."
"Since you were trying to call out, I'm going to take a chance on guessing you haven't told anyone where you are," Highsmith said with a smirk. "Trust me when I say your bodies will never be found."
"You aren't going to get away with this," Don said. "No one ever does."
"Nice comeback to 'I'm about to kill you'," Mikey muttered.
"Take those suits off; I want to see your faces," Highsmith ordered with a significant glance at the guards.
The guns came up again, directed at the pair to make it obvious that Highsmith wasn't making a request. Don and Mikey looked at each other, both realizing the situation they were in.
Not only were they about to be made extinct but their secret, their family's secret, was also about to be revealed.
"Still bored Mikey?" Don asked as he reached for his zipper.
TBC….
