Chapter 12

Suddenly the French doors opened up and the light came on. Men in typical street clothes began to file in and take seats at the elongated table. Many of them were dressed for the cold weather and scruffy looking. Nigel was looking at each of the men closely and recognized several of them immediately as ice cream men that had made rounds at the Mr. Frosty waypoint. There were others whom Nigel didn't recognize but were obviously serving in the same role. It appeared that Number 362's suspicions were correct. They were about to witness a meeting of the high ranking ice cream men. This would be the key to unlocking everything that the ice cream men were involved in. These men would discuss the goals and the mission of their surveillance and perhaps the targets that were in those videos. If Sector V was lucky, these high ranking officials might even divulge their plans and reveal more key players.

Number 1 was trying to memorize every detail about the ice cream men in front of him and didn't realize that someone else had walked into the room until he heard the distinct "clink" of a Zippo lighter.

Number 1 turned his head slightly, peering through the small crack in the ceiling tile. There was an overly tall and skeletal figure in the shadows of the door way. He was wearing a jet black suit with a striped tie and a long, black overcoat. His coal black eyes surveyed the men who were seating themselves at the table as he took long drags on a cigar.

Number 1 felt a chill race down his spine. Who was this? He looked nothing like the ice cream men seated at the table, making small talk. This man didn't say anything and didn't move in any particular motion except for to remove the cigar occasionally as the rest of the thugs filtered in and took the remaining seats. The last person to enter the door was a person who was also wearing a jet black suit, a black tie, with dark sunglasses. Instead of sitting, this last man stood at the doorway while the older, smoking man moved towards the other end of the table where a seat, at the head, remained empty.

When he pulled the chair back, the room fell silent.

"Ok everyone," the man growled in a low and rough voice, slightly rubbing his hands together, "The coast is clear."

He took his seat at the end of the table and reached for a glass ashtray that was sitting just to the right of him. The ice cream men began to pull out notepads and pens from their pockets while the man in the black shades stood still at the door, looking over everything in dead silence.

"Thank you all," said the dark man with the cigar, his voice sounding like wind shaking the dead limbs in trees, "For making the effort to be here because what we'll go over tonight is something very important."

Number 5 was reaching in her pocket to retrieve a camera that she had brought. It was a small digital model that was easily concealed and took very good pictures, even in low lighting. She pulled it out, turned it on, and positioned it at an angle that might gain her a picture of the cigar smoking man. The smoking man took a long drag on his cigar, thinking about what he was going to say next.

The camera made a small clicking noise as it adjusted the focus. As if on cue, the smoking man looked up towards the ceiling.

Number 1's heart froze within him and he began to feel his checks turn red hot.

The smoking man's dark eyes rolled around the ceiling.

Did he hear the camera? It seemed like it was amplified to Number 1 and 5 but that was probably just because it was close to them. Surely he hadn't heard it; there was enough ambient noise in the meeting hall already with shuffling around of so many people, a small noise would have gone unnoticed or even had been dismissed as someone scraping their chair or tapping on the desk.

Number 1 was certain that the dark suited man with the cigar could hear his breathing…his pounding heartbeat…his presence.

"You know," the smoking man mused, "Speaking of classified information, I'm having trouble remembering the last time that this factory was swept for bugs."

An ice cream man piped up, "Actually sir, uh, boss sir, uh, the exterminator shows up every sixty days now to do just that, ever since the health department threatened to shut us down during the last inspection, so we should be fine."

The cigar smoking man's eyes shifted from the ceiling and upon the ice cream man, clearly annoyed at the simple minded response.

Number 1 remembered to breathe and felt every muscle in his body relax.

"Never mind," whispered the shadowy character, "Let's continue with the business at hand." Another ice cream man started banging on the table and interrupting to which the shadowy man moved nothing except for his eyes, clearly impatient.

"Ah!" said the ice cream man, "Sir! Uh, Boss, sir? Ah, Mr. Boss? Or…uh ... Mr. Sir?"

"Spit it out…" The man at the end of the table snarled, his eyes lit in anger.

"Yes sir," the ice cream man said, motioning with his hands, "My name is Morris and I'm sort of the leader here, as you probably remember, and I wanted to give you an update on the Mr. Frosty location in the Silver Tree housing addition. We have relocated it but we are no closer to finding the thieves…or determining what exactly they stole but we are doing what we can."

The snarling man said nothing and took a long drag on his cigar, the flame lighting his eyes. He was letting the silence eat away at the nerves in the room.

"Anyway," the ice cream man stuttered, "That's it."

"Why are you telling me this?" the man replied patiently.

"Well boss," the ice cream man started again, his voice shaking, "Maybe if you could lend some assistance?"
The man at the end said nothing at first but smiled darkly as he shook the ashes off into the ash tray, "Are you asking to be replaced?"

The ice cream man lowered his head in submission and started at the wood grains on the table, "No sir, Mr. Boss sir."

Everyone in the room knew what that lowly question meant.

The man in the suit turned his chair slightly and shook the rest of the ashes off of the cigar and the man towards the back of the room, by the door, opened a suitcase that was left near the door.

Every nerve was on edge as the man at the end of the table continued correcting.

"The "Mr. Frosty" locations are you people's responsibility. Your job is to keep them hidden and away from the prying eye of the public. If you cannot keep those goals in order, you will be replaced and the Mr. Frosty locations will be given to more responsible men, is that understood?"

There was a murmur of agreement while the man in the suit by the door began to pass out some papers, which he had retrieved from the suitcase, to each seated man while the man smoking the cigar continued his business agenda.

"Mr. M is handing out some itineraries which I want you to read," He paused and looked at Morris with a look that could kill, "Of course, assuming that some of you are even capable, and you must read them for comprehension. You need to have all of the details memorized so this will run without flaws."

The man shifted comfortably in his chair, puffing on his cigar while the men looked the papers over. Number 1 wished that he could see what was written on it.

"I have a rather important job coming in a little over a week from now. It is a simple job but I need it to go with no problems. I will be paying you your usual wages for these types of jobs but if you show up early and work twice as hard, I'll throw in some extra," said the man at the end of the table taking a short drag on the cigar and snorting the smoke out of his nose like a dragon.

"I need…"

The man stopped and puffed on his cigar causing everyone to glance up from their papers and look at him. He was glaring his coal dark eyes towards an ice cream man seated towards the other end of the table, typing away on a tablet.

When the silence became painfully obvious, the typing man stopped and looked up, startled to see the dark man staring at him.

"What are you doing?" the dark man whispered.

The ice cream man lifted up his tablet as if to show that he was putting his best foot forward.

"Don't do that," the man said quietly and exasperated; pointing with his cigar, "Why do you even have that thing here; don't you know that those things can be traced? Turn it off and put it away…now!"

The man did so hastily, his face red with embarrassment. There was a rule at these meetings to not have cell phones, but tablets were never discussed.

The man puffed on his cigar and continued slowly and calmly.

"I need you gentlemen at the docks on the date listed at the top of the paper; the address is also there if you need it. Morgan and Brothers Shipping Company will be receiving a large cargo ship at the end of next week with some precious cargo aboard. This ship will contain four grey, bulky containers; the only grey ones on board so you can spot them quickly. I will need you there early to run the machinery necessary to get those containers off of the ship and onto trucks that I will have waiting for you. This is a time sensitive project, so you cannot fail me."

"What is in these containers?" asked the tablet carrying ice cream man quietly.

The tall and thin man shifted his eyes over to the cowering questioner and didn't say a word.

Another ice cream man piped up, "Uh, Mr. Boss? I have a question?"

The man shifted his eyes to the new speaker.

"Yes…boss," the man said looking at the paper, "I'm grateful for the money, don't misunderstand, but I'm wondering why you are asking us to do this? What about the dock hands? Will we be in their way; it might be more conspicuous to have us there?"

The man pulled the cigar from his mouth and shook the ashes before answering.

"I have secured it with my contact at the shipping company to be allowed in early; we will be finished with our task before the dock hands ever arrive. As I said before, I need this to happen with little to no attention and without any problems. There will be trucks waiting to receive these containers; delivery semis from the retail giant: Super-Mart, so do not be surprised when you see them. Just get the containers loaded and leave, they can handle the rest."

They were to unload strange containers off of a mysterious cargo ship and put them onto regular, commonplace, Super-Mart delivery semis to be secretly shipped across the country under the nose of the everyday person, hidden in plain view, and they needed to do all of it before the usual dock workers arrived. Whatever the cargo was, it was something important enough to cause every ice cream man to stay silent as they considered what they had before them. This job seemed more important than some of the other jobs in the past.

Number 1 couldn't believe what he was hearing. He could feel his sweaty palms slip a little on the false ceiling and he hoped that the meeting wouldn't last much longer.

"Once the job is completed…" the cigar smoking man continued, rising to his feet.

There was a faint clatter of stainless steel against concrete in the distance that caused the man to stop immediately; silence drowning the room. No one said a word in the deafening silence as all the eyes were on the smoking man who held his cigar in midair, standing completely motionless and staring at the darkness beyond the French doors.

There was nothing but pure, piercing, and torturous silence.

Number 1 could feel the back of his neck get white hot and he could almost hear Number 5's heart pounding. Where were Number 3 and Number 4? Had they even known that the meeting had begun? Number 1 stood still, each muscle in his body was burning with tension.

His gaze was locked in at the shadow man's thoughtful grimace. What was his conclusion? Obviously he had heard it, he had stopped mid-sentence, but would he dismiss it? Surely he would, after all, the factory was empty, and it was locked by key pad and card reader.

Number 1 could see the same thoughts tumbling though the mind behind the worn and weathered face of the man at the end of the table.

More silence.

Still, the guards outside were probably hired from the same pool as the ice cream men and they had already, painfully, proven throughout the evening that they were incompetent.

Number 1 could see the same contrast slink through the dark eyes of the man at the end of the table. The tall man slowly raised the cigar and took a thoughtful puff, his eyes lit up again by the embers.

Number 1's heart was pounding and he couldn't remember the last time he breathed.

The cigar smoking man's eyes wandered up the French door to the ceiling thoughtfully, his head tilting back in repose. They were just a few inches away from gazing at the ceiling tile that Number 1 was peering through. His dark and horrific eyes began to drift over to the ceiling tile and although Number 1 believed in his heart that the cigar man couldn't see them at the angle and distance that he was at, it didn't feel that way.

It felt as though the smoking man's eyes could see them, that they had been discovered and that he could see right through the ceiling into Number 1's eyes…and into his soul.

Number 1 closed his eyes tight, wishing and hoping that the smoking man would simply continue where he left off.

"There is someone in the factory," the man whispered at last, unsettling the silence like ripples on a pond.

Number 1's stomach sank and he slowly opened his eyes.

"Ah, sir?" piped up another ice cream man, "That noise was probably just the baker racks, they're really loose and they fall down all the time. Besides, we've trapped animals in here on more than one occasion."

The smoking man shook his cigar ashes in the ashtray and stared into the darkness beyond the French doors, shifting only his eyes towards the man in sunglasses who nodded in response and left the room silently.

"There is someone in this factory," snapped the smoking man, forcefully, "How many of you are armed?"

The ice cream man looked around at each other; this was a language that they understood well.

"Dispose of the body," he said with a whisper and a large puff of smoke.

The ice cream men got up and began to draw firearms from their clothing. They filed out into the hallways, turning the lights on as they went.

Number 1 and Number 5 quietly climbed down from the shelves. The look of fear in Number 2 and Number 5's eyes was unmistakable but it was drowned out by the courage they saw in Number 1's. It was time to go save Number 3 and Number 4 and hopefully make it out alive.