To my friend Purdy's Pal, thank you as always, for your shared time and talents in reading over this chapter.
Have I told you all how much fun I'm having with this story and loving all the wonderful comments you've been sharing? Thank you doesn't seem like enough.
Chapter 8
From behind the oak desk, Michael watched the guard check the doors and give the area a quick once-over before he moved on. He let out a sigh of relief. Now, as long as he didn't trigger any of the alarms of the cars inside the showroom, he'd be relatively safe.
With a stealth born from years of practice, Michael made his way toward the offices at the back of the building. He skipped the sales offices and headed directly for the only unmarked door. It had a fingerprint security lock; most definitely Kolpec's private playroom.
Michael snuck back to Shelley's desk and started searching the drawers. It didn't take too long before he found her makeup stash. Borrowing her face powder, Michael then grabbed the scotch tape dispenser from the desk top. Now he only hoped that the efficient cleaning crew didn't extend their work to the small surface of the lock, or his break-in would become much harder to hide.
He quickly made his way back to Kolpec's office. With the utmost care, Michael dabbed a layer of face powder onto the fingerprint scanner. The gods were shining on him tonight; there was one clear print. He then tore a strip of tape from the dispenser and gently applied it on top of the powder. With a steady hand, Michael lifted the print from the scanner. Pulling out a corner of his tucked-in shirt, he wiped the scanner pad clean. He'd have to remember to explain that bit of make-up to Fiona before she asked. Gently he placed the taped print onto the scanner. Using another section of his shirt he wrapped his thumb so his print wouldn't be picked up through the tape. The moment of truth had arrived.
With moderate pressure, Michael pushed down onto the scanner. His heart raced for the few moments it took the miniature computer to process the data input. Either the lock would buzz and open, or bring the security team running. To his ears the lock's buzzing, which seemed to resound throughout the building, was loud enough to alert the two guards just outside the front doors. It was training and years of practise as a spy that kept him from running and hiding. Finally he was rewarded with a little green light and the snick of the lock mechanism opening. After one push and a quick step, Michael was safely inside Kolpec's private sanctum.
Kolpec was apparently a creature who believed in safety before beauty. There were several dented metal file cabinets, their paint faded with age, placed side by side so that they took up one whole wall. Michael played the beam from the small flashlight he pulled from his back pocket across the labels on the drawers. As the only indicators written there were a breakdown of the alphabet, Michael had no idea where to start. There were just too many drawers to start pulling them out willy-nilly like, and hoping a clue to Rita Avnet's whereabouts would appear.
Adding to the dreariness of the space was the lack of natural light. There were no windows to the outside world, only fluorescent lighting. As there was no apparent crack below the door, Michael turned on the overhead light. With a slight buzz, the lights began their slow warm up. The scarred desk that faced the door, while functional, was also not attractive. Michael circled the desk to sit in Kolpec's chair. A quick rapping of his knuckles on the underside of the desk revealed a distinctive, but definitely non wooden, sound. Just to satisfy his curiosity Michael dipped his head down to check out the underside of the desk. He didn't need to fire his gun to assure himself the desk was bulletproof. He guessed that like thieves, there was no honour among Russian mafia groups, and first and foremost, each person looked out for number one.
Hoping that Kolpec didn't have a creative side, and like most people would keep current business near at hand, Michael started searching the desk drawers. The bottom drawer contained several thick files. Michael pulled them out and placed them on the desk to read them in better light. The top couple of files were all full of wind analysis data from areas throughout Siberia. The bottom file was clearly marked 'Avnet Technologies'. Putting this file on top, Michael began to read. Flipping through the topmost sheets, Michael became unhappy. He turned on the desk lamp and pulled out the last few pages that were stapled together to stare at the inked signatures. The signed and dated contract made Michael frown and he breathed in deeply to control his simmering anger. Putting the folder back in order, Michael slipped everything back in place and closed the drawer. He needed to talk to Sam.
Michael waffled with the decision to leave behind a miniature listening device. There was the possibility Stoney could explain everything he had just read in those files. Looking around the office, Michael pulled out a small plastic bag he had safely stored inside his shirt. He needed to choose which of the two devices he had brought along would work best. He dumped them both into the palm of his hand and looked at them and calculated. There was the bug that needed to be hard wired into a power source, like an outlet, but would last as long as they needed to gather information on Kolpec's dealings. Or there was the battery operated bug. It could be placed anywhere but the life of the battery was only about two days. With a sour look at the bottom desk drawer and the files within, Michael slid the battery operatedbug into a crack of the overhead light covering. He hoped to be proven wrong, but knew that just because a guywas once a SEAL didn't mean he became a man like Sam. The next time Kolpec used his office, Michael knew they would prove, one way or another, what kind of man Stoney really was.
Turning off the light, he cracked open the door to peer into the hallway. As soon as Michael opened the door, the definitive sound of gunfire could be heard. Apparently Kolpec's office was soundproof too. More worried about his friends and their situation than his own, Michael raced through the showroom and threw himself into the wall beside the glass entryway doors. Seeing the security booth empty, and now being able to distinguish the gunfire was coming from the back of the building, he pushed through the doors and raced onto the lot.
He knew Fiona was watching the front and would cover him so he wasn't too surprised when he saw the petite woman yelling at him to get down. He was, however, a little caught off guard when she threw a small object over the fence and it rolled into the security booth's open doorway. Eight seconds later the booth exploded with a fiery Kaboom. All the car alarms on the lot began to wail. Michael rose from behind a keening Ferrari, shaking his head and covering his ears, he stayed low as he threaded his way back to the fence.
Fiona met him at the fence line. "Hurry up, Michael! That distraction won't hold the guards off for long."
Michael watched Fiona's lips to help him hear what she was telling him. With a groan he started up the chain-link fence.
Already the guards were shooting blindly through the smoke, hoping for a lucky shot to take down their invaders. Fiona grimaced as a window on the Pagani shattered. It wasn't too close but it seemed more criminal than the blowing up of the guards' home base. The guards were damaging all the lovely vehicles with their blind firing.
Landing lightly, Michael pulled Fiona away from watching the destruction of the luxury cars and they raced towards his Charger.
"What happened?" he asked once they were both sitting in their seats. "Where are Sam and Stoney?"
Fiona looked at the carnage that was now the car lot before turning to face him, "I don't know, Michael. You were only in the building a few minutes when the guards came out from their little cubbyhole with their weapons drawn. They went to the back. I tried calling Sam to warn him, but he never picked up his phone. There was gunfire off and on for a full minute before you even came out from the building."
Michael looked at Fiona's worried face. "Anything else, Fi?"
Fiona looked out the window again, "I'm sure the first two shots were from Sam's gun, but I haven't heard it since."
Michael didn't question Fiona's weapon recognition skills. He could hear sirens approaching and knew they needed to leave. "Call him again," he requested as he peeled away from the curb.
Fiona quickly dialled the familiar number. After the fourth ring it went to voicemail.
"Sam!" Fiona wouldn't allow the sound of worry to enter into her voice, "Call me back as soon as you get this."
She snapped her phone shut and leaned back into the seat, closing her eyes. "I don't understand what happened, Michael. Those guards aren't trained. The lot may be owned by the Russians, but those guards are from a private security company. That makes them minimum wage earning schmoes." After a moment's pause, Fiona turned to Michael and said with a barely contained grimace, "Sam's always had a thing about not shooting the less advantaged."
The corners of Michael's lips twitched. He appreciated Fiona's attempt to alleviate some of the tension. "That's because Sam doesn't shoot civilians. Did you see either of the guards after the shooting started?"
Fiona nodded, "Just after you came running out. They were returning to the front lot. That's when I blew up their little shack."
Michael narrowed his eyes at Fiona's easy way of explaining her devastating actions. "Were you even planning on telling me you had concussion grenades?"
Fiona gave an airy wave of her hand, "Oh, you know, Michael. A girl's got to have her secrets."
When Michael didn't remove his glare from her direction, she added, "Don't give me that look. You should be grateful that I had one with me."
Michael turned back to watching the road and rolled his eyes. Fiona poked him in the shoulder with a finger. Michael focused on the road instead of the ache blossoming from his shoulder. He didn't want to let her know how much that poke hurt. Fiona crossed her arms over her chest and smiled. Michael couldn't help but smile too. She already knew.
"Where are we going, Michael?"
"We're just giving the emergency response teams a chance to get things sorted out and then we're going to ask them what they know."
Michael drove around for another fifteen minutes before heading back to the Platinum Performance lot. He parked a block away. From under the passenger seat, Fiona pulled out a non-threatening clipboard. She intended to be very threatening with it. They walked to the site. It wasn't as bad as they expected. There were only two police cars and one fire engine. The security shack was reduced to wafting smoke and splinters. Only the closest cars had blown out windows from the exploding shack, but many more had visible bullet holes and shot out glass.
"See, Michael," Fiona purred, "What I broke could be replaced within a day from any number of home renovation stores for a fraction of the price it'll cost to fix up those cars."
Silently Michael agreed. While Fiona's distraction had a lot more bite, her finesse with explosives contained the damage to the little hut. The guards wore a uniform and a badge, but lacked training in real life situations. Most of their training consisted of radioing head office and calling 9-1-1. To be issued weapons, they would be required to pass at a gun range, but obviously, gun ranges don't have exploding sheds to contend with.
The firemen were packing up. There had been no major fire, just the burst of sparks from the electrical components that had once called the guard's booth home, and these had already gone out. The police were finishing up their reports and closing their notebooks. The very shaken guards were released and told to go home. The insurance company would be in touch. The two men seemed to pale further.
"This should be fun, Michael," Fiona grinned in anticipation.
"Focus, Fi," Michael answered as he started across the street and through the now wide open gate.
Michael headed towards the police officers while Fiona aimed towards the guards who were still sitting in stunned silence.
Michael reached out his hand to the nearest officer. "I'm Brian Fitzpatrick. Is it okay if I take my friend home now?" He aimed his thumb over his shoulder in the general direction of the two guards. "Looks like the day after D-Day around here. What happened? Are they all right?"
Officer Wilson shook Michael's hand, "Your friend will be fine. A little shaken up from the adventure, but there are no injuries."
Michael whistled, "An adventure?" He eyeballed the Ferrari with its bullet ridden body. "Doesn't look like anything Tom Sawyer would get into. But no injuries you say? Any arrests?"
"Nah," Officer Wilson slid his notebook into his shirt pocket. "Incompetent thieves shot up the power box for the alarm system. When the guards ran the perimeter, they ran off. "
"What about that?" Michael pointed to where the guards' shack once stood.
"When they couldn't get in the thieves threw an explosive into the lot," Officer Wilson snickered, "Guy had lousy aim. Missed all the cars and only got the guards' booth."
"No one got in then? Always knew my friend was good at his job," Michael smiled and waved to the officers as they got into their cruiser, preparing to make their report to headquarters. He knew Sam's friend would be assembling a task force to follow up this incident. Sam would be paid with a free drink, at least, for creating the opening for a fresh police investigation. Michael then headed towards Fiona and the guards. He could see sweat forming on the older guard's brow.
Fiona saw Michael approaching and introduced him to the nervous guards. "Peter Phelps, the head of United Brethren Insurance. This is Albert Thompson," she pointed to the sweating, older man, "and Nick Parsons." Nick fidgeted but couldn't bring himself to look at Michael. "They were just telling me a lovely story."
"If it's anything close to what the police just told me, a story is certainly what it is," Michael growled.
"W..what do you mean?" Albert stammered. "We told the police everything."
Michael glanced at Fiona's clipboard, looking as if he were reading over her notes which were actually doodles of an exploding shed. "Doesn't explain why all the bullet holes are only on one side of the cars. Or what happened to the power box round back. I won't even bring up the shack, yet."
Nick gave a surprised look over to Albert before looking back down at his lap, nervously picking at this thumbnail.
"Look, I'm sticking to my story. I'm eligible for early retirement in six months. You can't prove nothin'," Albert brayed, but a drop of sweat rolled into his left eye and ruined what would otherwise have been a very stern glare as he refused to cooperate.
"You feel the same way, Nick?" Michael asked. "You close enough to retirement, that you're willing to risk jail time and a criminal record?"
Nick's head jolted up. He was only in his late twenties, nowhere close to retiring. Not that age mattered if they were going to be charged. Fear shone from his eyes. "What?"
Even Albert lost some of his confidence. "Jail time? What for?"
Fiona pointed out the damaged vehicles. "You shot up the cars on the lot because you were a part of the ring. When your gang couldn't pull off the heist, you had to make it look like you chased the thieves away."
"That's not what happened," Nick jumped up. Fear finally lighting a fire under him.
"Shut up, you dimwit," Albert pulled Nick's elbow, trying to get him to sit back down.
"No way," Nick brushed Albert off. "We didn't exactly tell the police the truth, but we're no thieves either!"
"Why don't you tell us what really happened?" Fiona asked.
"It started like any usual night, you know?" Nick hesitated, giving a hopeful look to Fiona, begging her to believe him. Fiona remained quiet, letting Nick know she was listening, but wasn't going to fall for any lines.
"Anyway," Nick looked back to his hands nervously. He took a breath and continued, "The monitors were acting kinda funny, so we thought we'd check out the breakers and the power box."
"That is our job, you know," Albert sneered.
"Shooting up luxury cars also part of your job?" Fiona asked.
Nick was shaking his head vigorously. "No. But defending the property from persons with unlawful intentions and preventing any unauthorized departure of the company's assets…" Nick's voice gradually died away when he realized he was quoting from the employee handbook.
"We believe that there were thieves here, Nick" Fiona spoke calmly. "What we're trying to determine is whether or not you were helping them."
"Not!" Nick answered quickly. "When we got to the back of the lot, there were two guys arguing."
"What were they arguing about?" Michael asked.
Nick's voice faltered as he looked straight into Michael's stern face. He refocused on Fiona. "We couldn't hear what they were saying, but one guy sure was mad at the other. He hit him and pulled out a gun."
Fiona's eyes showed mild surprise, but she kept from asking which guy was Sam. Nick took her look as an expression of interest and put his whole body into describing the scene. "This guy was huge! I mean the other guy didn't look like a wilting rose or anything, but that one guy – I could see his muscles in the dark."
"We get it!" Michael interrupted. "What happened with the guy that got knocked down?"
"Uh, yeah," Nick realized the two insurance investigators wanted information not a WWE Smackdown play-by-play. "Well, the other guy, he sorta kicked the big guy down and then he pulled out his own gun and shot out the power box. Weird, huh?"
Fiona and Michael shared a concerned look. "There were a lot more than two bullets fired," Michael pointed out to the car lot.
"How'd you know there was two shots?" Albert peered at Michael, as if making sure his build didn't coincide with either of the two men he had witnessed fighting.
Michael answered patiently, as if explaining to a child, "It would take at least two shots to ensure that the all the breakers overloaded and shut down." He turned back to focus on Nick, who seemed the more cooperative of the two. "Is that everything?"
"Nah, it gets weirder," Nick explained. "These two guys start beating the crap outta each other. When they notice us, the smaller guy yells at us to call the cops."
"What kind of a thief wants us to call the cops?" Albert asked shaking his head. He looked directly into Michael's eyes. "It was a distraction, that's what it was. It was right then that they started shooting at us. I'm not about to die protecting some cars!"
Michael's eyes narrowed, "Both of them were shooting at you?"
Albert nodded but was interrupted by Nick, "No, only Mr. Muscles. He was shooting at everybody. Even the other guy; keeping him pinned down."
Albert didn't appreciate being corrected. "I still ain't dying for any stupid cars. I don't care how much they're worth. There were bullets flying so I grabbed Nick and we hauled ass outta there. We were working our way back to the booth to call the police. That's when the shed blew. There were more of them on this side of the lot and I wasn't about to let them get the drop on me. Nick and I pulled our guns and defended ourselves!"
Nick nodded agreement and sat back down with a sigh. "Scariest thing I've ever lived through."
Michael and Fiona wished they could say the same.
