26. Regan
Regan
In the early days, once we’d finished building the house and the workshop but before people had heard about us, we’d not had much work coming in.
We’d ended up with time on our hands, and so Abe and I had taken it as a kind of challenge to see if we could get the old girl started again.
It had taken many hours of stripping down components, cleaning out rust and gunk, replacing old brake and fuel lines, and much more, before she finally spluttered and coughed back into life.
That had been a good day, and we’d kept her maintained ever since, more for sentimental value than anything else.
For today’s little adventure, the beauty of her was, of course, that she was completely untraceable.
We’d never owned her, never registered her…
indeed we’d never even driven her on the road before today.
This would be her first proper outing for perhaps twenty years, but sadly, it would also be her last.
About nine hours into the drive, and avoiding all the major interstates to stay off cameras as much as possible, we stopped off as planned at a service station just outside Hancock, New York, for fuel, something to eat, and a final bathroom break.
“Right,” said Grant. “This is it. When we leave here, we become operational. Combat rules apply, okay?” He looked from one to another of us, and we each nodded in turn.
“Excellent. Any final questions?” No one spoke. “In that case let’s synchronize watches.” Abe and I smile at this, but Maria reaches for her wrist watch.
“What?” asked Maria. “What’s funny about that? Surely that’s a good idea, isn’t it?”
“They all get their time off the GPS satellites these days,” explained Abe.
“Grant’s only saying it for comic effect,” I add. “Kind of an ‘in joke’.”
She sighs. “Whatever makes you guys happy,” she mutters darkly, half under her breath.
“Just one final reminder,” Grant’s voice turns serious again.
“Keep your heads screwed on, and stick to the plan as best you can. That said, in the real world, things don’t always go how we expect them to.
If you need to improvise, improvise. Just don’t dither.
Commit. Remember, time will be against us.
It’s pretty much a race to the bottom to get Sandro, then a race to the top to get to safety.
Twenty minutes tops… that’s all we can expect.
If we’re not out by then, well… as Regan insists on saying, the shit will hit the you-know-what.
” Another in joke, but this time Maria’s also in on it, having heard me say that same phrase on multiple occasions.
We all smile. Then we’re hugging, shaking hands, slapping backs and thumping each other on the shoulder.
“Let’s go.”
We pull out of the parking lot and turn back onto the highway, on the final leg of the journey.
“Nervous, Boss?” I ask as we approach the final few miles of our journey.
“Just shut up and drive, Regan.”
“Well, I want you to know,” I say. “Whatever happens, it’s been a blast, Grant. I don’t regret a moment of it, and I couldn’t have wished for two better buddies than you and Abe. I just want you to know that.”
We each of us stare out the windshield and drive on in silence for several minutes. Finally, he turns to look at me.
“Ain’t nothing gonna happen, Regan.”
“Yeah, of course. I know that. But what I’m saying is… well… if anything does happen, I’ll have no regrets. I’ll follow you into hell itself, if that’s what you ask me to do, and willingly too.”
Once again, he turns to look at me for a moment or too, a serious expression on his strong, weather-lined face. Finally, he turns, settles back in the passenger seat. Closes his eyes.
“Yeah, I know, Regan. And for what it’s worth, there ain’t no person I’d rather have at my side than you. Not a one.”
We drive on in silence. Everything that we needed to say had now been said.
Finally, we arrive at our next destination.
We’re in the industrial fringes of East Williamsburg, Grant tells me.
The area smacks of poverty. Chain link fences, trash piled high on street corners, street lights broken, grimy windows on even grimier buildings, factories that belong to a previous era, some boarded up, others obviously still in use, but desperately needing basic maintenance.
We crawl up the street, looking for the perfect spot.
“There,” Grant points to what looks to be a disused factory, but with access into the parking lot. “Park in there, out of sight from the road.”
We turn into the lot and slowly drive to the far end, where we can turn left and pull in directly behind the old factory itself, making us invisible from outside. Abe and Maria follow us in the F-250.
“Might be hobos living in there, Boss.” I nod towards the dark silhouette of the factory wall
“Yeah, but it’s as good a place as we’re gonna get. Most importantly, there’s no cameras. We’ll have to take our chances with the neighbors. Okay, let’s get moving.”
“Quickly, and as silently as possible, we take all our equipment out of the F-250 and dump it onto the floor of the Dodge’s flatbed, then cover it with a tarpaulin, which Abe ties down with the aid of a couple of old ratchet straps.
Then we tumble into the Dodge’s cab, with Abe at the wheel, and Grant navigating. I’m in the back seat with Maria, her warm, soft thigh against mine. She reaches for my hand, grips it tight. I look across and in the dim light give her a reassuring smile as I squeeze back.
“Just keep close to Abe,” I whisper. “And you’ll be fine. That’s what I’ve always done, and look at me—still upright and breathing.” I wink, and she does her best to smile back.
“Here,” I say, unclasping my necklace and handing it to her. “Take this. It’ll protect you.”
“What is it?” It’s a Saint Christopher medallion. He’s the patron saint of travelers and warriors.”
“It’s… beautiful. But don’t you want to wear it?”
“Me?” I grin. “Don’t need it. Nine lives me. Anyway, I had my palm read once, by a gypsy woman in Palestine. She told me how I’d die… and this ain’t it.” I smile.
“Thank you, Regan,” she slips the gold chain on and closes the clasp. Leans across and gives me a brief kiss.
“Alright,” barks Grant from the front passenger seat. “Let’s go. Take a left and head south.”
“Yes, Boss.”
It’s about twenty minutes past four o’clock… perfect timing. We’d wanted to get there for four thirty. We’ll probably be there in seven or eight minutes. Pretty much spot on. Close enough, anyway.
We’re soon out of the industrial district and the streets become more residential, though initially no better maintained.
Tension mounts in the cab. You can almost smell it.
Sweat, adrenaline, and cortisol mingling with deodorant, shower gel and fabric detergent.
I open a window. It’s not cold at all. The sun is not yet risen, so the streets are still dark, empty except for the occasional van or delivery truck.
No pedestrians, not yet. Good. No police cruisers either, praise the Lord.
Gradually, the area improves. Roads broaden out, trees appear between the curb and the sidewalk, street lamps all working as they should, and shining a brighter, cleaner, more expensive-looking light down onto the empty streets than the almost dirty yellow sodium glare of the East Williamsburg street lights.
The houses grow larger, better maintained.
Coffee shops and fashion boutiques replace ethnic supermarkets and army surplus stores. We’re very nearly there now.
We turn a final corner. “We’re here guys,” Grant announces. “Fifth house on the left. Good luck. I’ll see you all on the top floor. Twenty minutes—that’s all we have. Assuming we’re lucky. Now go!”
Abe pulls the ancient flatbed up to the kerb, and we tumble out. Within seconds the tarpaulin is off and we’re grabbing equipment.
“We really need these rucksacks too, Boss?” I ask, slightly puzzled by what could be in them.
“Yeah. Put ‘em on. All of us. It’s essential. No more discussion. Come on guys, time’s against us.”
Wearing our rucksacks along with everything else, Maria and Abe make for the first floor entrance, whilst Grant and I leap two-at-a-time up the stone steps leading to the second floor.
Once there, I kneel, take out a small charge and press it into place, flip the switch, then we stand back.
All our charges are pre-set to five seconds.
Long enough to step out the way, but not too long to waste time.
There’s a loud bang, followed almost immediately by another, as Abe and Maria’s charge goes off on their door simultaneously with our own.
I kick the remains of the double doors out of the way, and we’re in, Grant ahead, me right behind him, rifle held up ready to fire.
A door opens ahead of us. A voice, shouting.
That will be the little security office.
I roll a flashbang and a smoke grenade towards them, and they go off almost instantly.
No time to waste, I sprint up the hallway, and barrel at full pace into the first guard, who’s busy holding his ears.
Good. Grant is struggling with the other guard, so I fetch him a blow with the butt of my gun, whilst I fumble for a zip tie.
We leave the two guards lying side by side on the floor in the security office, gagged and bound, eyes staring widely at us.
“Jammer.” Grant’s voice is terse, the adrenaline coursing through him.
“Right here, Boss.”
“Set it.” I fiddle with the jammer, making sure all the comms options are selected, before flipping back the rocker cover and switching it on. Meantime, Grant’s put a couple of rounds into each of the PCs, and he’s ripping out the cables that connect the security camera monitors.
He turns to me, nodding to the door. “Check out the kitchen. With luck it should be empty, then we’ll head up to the third floor.
“Gotcha, Boss.”
We find no one in the kitchen, and the outside passage is clear too.