"Be careful, you imbecile," Lawrence snapped as one of the men almost dropped a box. All of the equipment was vital to the success of Lawrence's plan, and he could not risk having it dashed by some lumbering, untrained oaf.
"Are you sure about this?" Ivan whispered. "We could hire some dock-workers."
Lawrence eyed his subordinate. "No, we could not," he said almost under his breath.
Salem dock-workers might talk. These workers had been hired from shelters in Chicago. They might not know much about carrying equipment, but they were disposable and would not be missed.
Staring around the control room, Lawrence studied the placement of the monitors. From this one room, a single man could monitor the entire exterior and direct the unit that Lawrence planned to hire. He had considered bringing in a unit from Alamainia, knowing their loyalty to the Alamain family would prove a good defense if necessary, but in Lawrence's plan, secrecy was paramount. A team from Alamainia would raise questions and questions threatened exposure. The men Lawrence intended to hire came from local organized crime organizations. They would not hesitate to do whatever might be necessary, but they also would have no idea of exactly what they were guarding.
Ivan punched a few buttons on the computer and the image on the main screen changed.
"No," Lawrence barked as he saw the image. "Those fools are setting it up wrong."
Stalking out of the control room, Ivan close behind him, Lawrence quickly moved down a narrow hallway that opened into a larger room. It had once been planned as a secure bunker in event a tornado threatened the area. Now it was a cavernous space. Along the far wall was a row of shelves and work tables that Dr. Schreiner and his assistant were using - perfecting the toxin, Lawrence assumed. He did not approach the scientist, though. Lawrence's main focus was on the large structure in the center of the room.
It was a cylinder, with a 10-foot radius that rose to just below the ceiling. The clear walls were made of a non-permeable alloy. A technician was carefully fitting another sheet of the alloy in a break in the cylinder.
"Are you sure this is necessary, sir?" Ivan asked.
"Of course," Lawrence replied. "I would not have had them build it if I did not believe it necessary." Seeing that work on the cylinder was proceeding appropriately, Lawrence turned to the two technicians who were wiring the cameras. That was what he had seen from the control room.
He stormed over to them. "What do you think you are doing?"
One of the technicians turned, his faee showing an utterly moronic expression of a man with a low IQ. It hardly should have surprised Lawrence.
"We were just setting up the cameras," the man said.
"Just setting up the cameras?" Lawrence repeated. He pointed at the cylinder. "Do you see that? The cameras are to be pointed in that direction. What purpose does it serve if it is directed at the doors?"
The technician looked at his colleague. "But, sir, the camera can be controlled via remote."
Moron!Lawrence thought. "Yes, but who will control the camera? I certainly will not be in a position to control the camera. I am the star in this show. Don't you see? This will be a cinematic spectacle. A triumph. But I cannot be the star and the cinematographer at the same time." He glared at the technicians. "Fix it."
The technician seemed to quake. Good, Lawrence thought. He will do as instructed now. To think that all of Lawrence's plans might have fallen apart because some idiot could not place a camera properly.
Ivan stopped the technician from responding. "You will do as commanded," he instructed.
Shaking his head, Lawrence left the technicians to face Ivan's ire and walked toward the men finalizing the door to the cylinder. Closer, he could see the seals that would prevent escape. He could picture it now. Lawrence standing there, triumphant, holding two sets of fates in his hands.
"Your choice," he would say, knowing there was no actual choice involved.
He could hear the man begging as he tried to find a means of escape. But there would be none. He would collapse in a choking, convulsing heap, crying out in pain - the entire scene recorded to be shown to Lawrence's potential buyers. A close-up of death coming to a man for whom it was long overdue. Justice for Leopold Alamain.
And, then, once he had his record of the toxin's effectiveness on a single man, Lawrence would bring the world to its knees.
Salem will weep. The world will tremble.
Ivan must have finished with the technicians, because he suddenly appeared beside Lawrence. "The cameras will be as you directed."
"Of course, they will," Lawrence said. "This will be my crowning moment, Ivan. Everything must proceed exactly as planned."
"Are you certain about the security, sir?"
Lawrence knew Ivan had his objections, but the grand finale of this adventure required Lawrence to be the centerpiece. Security would take away the impact.
"We could place them outside of camera view," Ivan insisted.
"For what purpose, Ivan?" Lawrence turned to his lackey. "Once we have Donovan in place, there will be no need for security inside. They will be needed on the periphery to prevent any possible interference from the local authorities and, in the off chance it becomes necessary, to ensure our escape. I am fully capable of handling Donovan."
Ivan seemed unconvinced. "I could assist you."
"No." Lawrence smiled. "You must ensure that the target is properly set. Should anything go wrong with the radio frequency, you must personally see that the toxin is released. We cannot miss this opportunity."
Ivan nodded. "Very well, sir."
Lawrence caught site of one of the formerly homeless men lugging some more boxes into the large room. In a low voice, he whispered, "Is the bus ready?"
"Yes, sir."
Good, Lawrence thought. Once the cargo was completely unloaded, Lawrence had a bus ready to transport the men back to Chicago.
Only they'll never make it there, will they?
Of course not. Ivan had planted an incendiary device on the bus. When it exploded somewhere three hours west of Salem, it would appear to investigators to be the result of a faulty gas tank. There would be no survivors.
Lawrence glanced again at the cameras, which were now aimed in the appropriate directions. It was almost a shame that he could not film the bus explosion. But c'est la vie. The bus was just a distraction, cinematic though it might be.
The far more important show was still a few days away.