Chapter 23 – Feet on the Ground

Th day was overcast with a slight chill in the air as Mac made his way quietly through the trees approaching the main complex from the north west. The trees began to thin out and he caught a glimpse of buildings through the branches. He paused and listened carefully. All he could hear were the sounds of the breeze in the trees, the rustle of leaves as some small creature took shelter and his own breathing. He crept forward slowly then dropped to his stomach crawling the rest of the way on elbows and toes. Pausing at the edge of woods he parted the long grass and peered across the open area of ground referred to as the arena. It was a natural dip in the landscape in the form of an oval. As such he found himself with an open view of the backs of the main buildings. Two men dressed in dark colours were patrolling back and forth. He pulled a scope from his pocket and put it to his eye. They were two of Mason's men both armed with rifles. They looked bored. One of them yawned. Mac frowned. There was no sign of the truck that the FBI men had said they saw arrive earlier but a Jeep was parked by the back door to the smaller of the two buildings, the trainer's accommodation. He scanned the back of the buildings. There was no sign of movement but there were cameras.

"Dammit," he muttered to himself. There was no way he could make it across there without being seen. Also there was no way the others could launch a raid without the Mason and his men being forewarned. They would need a diversion.

Suddenly the door opened and a figure stepped out. Mac raised the scope to his eye and focussed on the man who stood there. He was older than in the picture but it was definitely Ryan Gaunt. He turned and spoke to someone inside then he made his way round to the driver's side of the Jeep. A second figure stepped out and looked around. Mac gave a snort of triumph. Victor Gaunt. For a moment it seemed that Gaunt was looking straight at him but Mac didn't move. He knew he was well hidden. Gaunt joined in cousin in the Jeep and they took off, not south towards the entrance gate of the Centre but north along a small track that hugged the tree-line on the opposite side of the arena.

Now where are you two going?

Mac stowed the scope and reverse-crawled the way he had come. He kept low for several yards until he had enough cover to ensure that he couldn't be spotted by the cameras. Then he rose and set off at a gentle jog holding a parallel course to that taken by the Gaunt cousins. If it had been under different circumstances he would have enjoyed the exercise. The going was soft, his footfalls cushioned by a thick layer of rotted leaves. The sun was trying hard to break through but not succeeding. There was all pervading damp in the air and Mac was glad that he was out of the chill breeze among the trees. He barely broke into a sweat as this was little different from his usual daily run.

It was the smell of cigarettes that drew his attention to their presence. He froze and listened. He could hear the rustle of leaves and the snapping of a twig. They weren't trying to hide their presence. Quickly he deviated from his path spying a fallen log. A small creek that most likely filtered into the river to his left had carved a hollow just on the other side. He dove over the log, splashed down the creek and flattened himself against the bank under a large tree using an overhanging bush for cover. The voices got nearer.

"God, I'm starving." If the voice hadn't been so deep Mac would have thought it was Don. "You reckon there's anything to eat down there?"

"Dunno. Anyway we're supposed to be relieving Carver and Bryce not having lunch and we ain't gonna be able to sit around with Chopper watching our every move on those cameras."

"Yeah well least it's better than shifting those crates. I could do with a rest. My back's killin' me. Hold on. I need to pee."

"Here? Can't you wait?"

"Nah, it's that bloody sludge they called coffee at the motel. Goes right through me. Am I glad we don't have to go back there."

Footsteps got closer. Mac tried not to move and give himself away. He heard a rustling to his left and then the sound of a zipper lowering. A yellow stream of urine arched into the creek less than two feet to his left.

Nice!

Slowly the stream reduced to a trickle. The guy sighed with relief. Mac almost shot out of his skin. Without moving his head he swivelled his eyes towards his left elbow that was propped against a branch of the bush. One of the smaller branches had detached itself and was crawling along his sleeve. He must have disturbed it as he hid. He suppressed a shudder as he watched the six inch stick insect make it's way towards his head.

Mac closed his eyes and waited, trying to ignore the creature crawling up his arm. He heard the sound of the zipper and then footsteps.

"Oh that's better."

"Come on. Mason will have our heads if we don't get a move on."

"All right. All right. Stop yer grousin'"

Mac listened to the footsteps fade away. He waited as long as he could. He could feel the insect on his collar. He wasn't a squeamish man but the thought of the insect crawling across his face was too much. With one swift movement he brushed it off, shuddering as he did so and turned away back to the path. He moved along swiftly knowing instinctively that the two men had come from the kill houses to the north-east of the main complex. He had to make sure that he had cover before their replacements Carver and Bryce caught up with him. Even at a brisk pace it would take them well over twenty minutes to cover the distance from the main buildings at the southern entrance to the kill houses on the north-west plus the time for the two going to relieve them to get there. Mac reckoned he had a good thirty minutes even with a five minute safety margin.

It took him less than fifteen minutes to reach the kill houses. The two large warehouses were nestled discretely among the trees a few yards from each other. The nearer one looked unused, closed up. The door of the furthest one was open and the white van stood with it's doors wide next to the Jeep. Two men walked out slowly carrying a large crate. They lifted it carefully and pushed it into the truck. Mac hunkered down and brought out his scope. He checked the exterior of the buildings. No cameras. He zoomed in on the two men loading the truck. He recognised them from the list of mugshots that Wong had handed out, Klaus and Smith.

They scrambled down and headed back into the warehouse. Mac waited. After a few minutes they came out with a second crate. They were followed by two other men each carrying a small metal trunk painted in green. Dane and Grover. That would make the two heading to the Centre Lester and Brady. All present and correct. Only Mason was missing. The men stowed the merchandise in the back of the truck and headed back into the warehouse.

Quickly Mac stowed the scope and sprinted from his hiding position to the door of the nearest warehouse. He tested the handle. It wasn't locked. Thanking the gods of good luck, he opened it quietly and slipped in closing it behind him.

He waited a few minutes for his eyes to adjust to the dark. As he did so he used his other senses. There was the smell of cut wood, damp and musty. There were no sounds other than the indistinct voice of one of the men outside calling to the other. He opened his eyes and pulled his Glock from it's holster. The interior of the warehouse was dim, the only light coming from the emergency exit sign above his head. He knew there was a control panel somewhere to light the place up but he wasn't interested in that. He only wanted to take a short cut. In front of him a large staircase had been constructed out of panel boards. He ignored it and, hugging the wall, he skirted around the edge of the room. He stepped carefully keeping the sound of his movements to a minimum. He swapped the Glock to his left hand and felt along the wall with his right. Smooth panels next to one another then a bump. Mac stopped. A hinge. He felt around. His fingers brushed across a gap in the wooden panels. He pushed and a door opened towards him with a soft double click. Just beyond was the outer wall of the warehouse, a passageway and a metal staircase that led up. He smiled. Some things never changed.

What he knew and what any casual observer would have missed viewing the warehouses from his previous position was that there was a walkway linking to the two warehouses together. Instructors could pass from one to the other viewing the action of the soldiers training below from a set of walk-ways up in the rafters of the huge cavernous buildings. The only risk he now ran was being spotted on the cameras that they used to monitor the training. He hoped that they weren't in use. Quickly he climbed the iron staircase, up and up until he reached the walkway. He paused listening for the sound of running feet or the shouts to indicate he had been discovered. There were none. He made his way to the back of the building and the door he knew was there. He pressed his ear to the grey metal and listened. There were sounds from the other side but they were indistinct.

Slowly and carefully he twisted the handle and opened the door just the tiniest of cracks. Light flooded in from the other side. He blinked. The walkway beyond looked empty. He opened it a little more, his fingers curling more tightly around his weapon. He could feel his heart pounding as adrenalin surged through his bloodstream. He opened the door wider and risked a quick look. The action was taking place below. As luck would have it the door to the control room perched at the back of the warehouse stood open. The interior was empty. Keeping low he crept through the door and pulled it closed.

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