Mind Games (23 page)

“I’ve seen enough,” he said and limped back towards the stairs.

Sheri locked the pantry and made a mental note to zip her lip about their brief trip below since keeping secrets was near impossible for her.

As Cameron reached the top stair, limping back into the kitchen, he eyed his tracker and saw it was blinking again: thawed and active.

By 9:30AM, Captain Jones had already downed three cups of coffee.

“Sir.” Vince knocked on the doorframe of Jones’s office. “You’re going to want to see this.”

He dropped an open envelope on Jones’s desk. The Captain eyed Vince through his smudged glasses and slowly picked up the note. The letters were clipped from magazines.

DEMOLITION SCHEDULE: Golden Gate Bridge

TIME: August 19
th
-  4AM

THE CITY BELONGS TO ME.

**THE REAL**

**SAN FRAN BOMBER**

“Vince, I don’t have time for your jokes right now.”

“This is real. Someone mailed it here.”

The Captain calmly walked over to his coffee pot. “I thought Fred Stefani was the real San Fran Bomber.”

“Well...it’s complicated.”

“How so?”

“Derek Hansen, the man who shot Stefani, told me there was another guy involved. His name is Wilson.”

The Captain picked up the note and held it up to the sunlight streaming into his office window. “You think this is from him?”

“We don’t know for sure. But it’s possible.”

“Based on what, exactly?”

“Fear. Derek Hansen was physically shaking when he told me about Wilson. He seemed...relieved to be on his way to prison. He must have figured lockup might keep him safe from this guy. Also, he warned me about Wilson’s knowledge of bombs. And with what happened at the restaurant with your family...and the explosion at my apartment, I think Wilson was responsible for both events.”

“Any idea where this Wilson character is?”

“No. Hansen refused to tell us anything more about him. But he did claim Wilson was responsible for the residential bombings...at the homes of the weapons dealers.”

“So, this Wilson knows what he’s doing.”

“Yeah,” Vince said. “Enough to play games with us.”

“He even took time to cut out the magazine letters.” Jones dropped the threat back onto his desk. “Seems kind of old school, don’t you think?”

“I don’t get the vibe this guy’s kidding around.”

“And you’re qualified to judge someone else’s bullshit, Vince? Believe me, if this is some kind of joke, I’m going to suspend you for a lot longer than last time. And it isn’t going to feel like vacation either.”

“Jones. Listen to me.” Vince took the threat note and pointed to the second line of text. “This is only a few days from now. We need to start...”

“And they’re going to strike at 4AM on the 19th. Is that it?”

Vince examined the note further. “If Wilson is behind this, he’s sure going to raise hell.”

“How would one man attach bombs to the bridge?”

“It couldn’t be that hard,” Vince said. “He’d just have to hire a few guys who aren’t afraid of heights.”

“Then we need to get the bomb squad out there,” Jones said.

“Probably wouldn’t hurt. But I don’t think he’d warn us like this if the bombs were already planted. Wilson might be toying with us. He might just wait until the last minute just to see how fast we react.”

“If this threat is real, we have to be proactive.” Jones walked around his desk and placed his hand on Vince’s shoulder. “I’ve watched you and Amy track down all kinds of dangerous men and women. This guy...Wilson...might think he’s clever, but he’s no different than the rest of them. We’re not going to wait until the 19th to find him either. I want you to start now.”

HEIST

Unit Two practiced their bank infiltratio
n
routines again and again. Their speed and precision improved with every run, and as Cameron compared the times on his log sheet, he was amazed how the team managed to complete the task while still cracking jokes along the way.

The night of the retry seemed to come too quickly, but they were ready. It was the night of August 18th.

Even though Cameron put in a lot of time as a part of Unit Two, he would not be allowed on the actual job. Dallas specifically pulled him aside to tell him he hadn’t earned his place yet. This was a night for the experienced crew.

Max joked with his unit as they met near the milk truck in the lowest tunnel that housed the other smashed vehicles.

“Alright, guys. Get over here.”

The rest of Unit Two, excluding Cameron, gathered around Max in a semi-circle.

“We’re bringing back wads of cash tonight, boys. Tonight we get our share.” Max walked over to the gadget table and attached a small camera to his forehead with a Velcro strap. “Unit One will be watching our progress upstairs, so stay on task. Just like last time, we need to get in and get out. Only tonight,” he held up the envelope, “we have a little more insurance. It should be fairly straightforward.”

“That’s what they told us last time.”

“This isn’t last time. Now, let’s finish loading the truck.”

Max walked past the men and opened the back of a cow-shaped milk truck: Old Bessie.

Half of Unit Two formed a short assembly line leading up to the truck. They handed equipment leading into the back as Max received it and loaded it onto narrow shelves neatly padded with yellow foam.

The truck was decked out with several large TV monitors that Stan could pull live video feeds from during the mission. Jeff, a short man from Unit Two, flipped on the coffee pot near the driver’s seat.

Max worked with the men to finish prepping the truck. Then, Jeff took a clipboard and stood next to the interior shelves with a ballpoint pen in hand. He diligently reviewed each item as Max called them out.

“Guns?”

“Ready for the real deal,” Jeff said.

“Flashlights?”

“Check.”

“Face masks?”

“We’ve got ‘em.”

“Treats for us.”

“It’s not that long…”

“I don’t care. Pack them.”

“Alright, done.”

“Pepper spray.”

“We’ve got it.”

“Crowbars.”

“They’re here, Max.”

“The empty duffle bags.”

“For the cash?”

“No, for my gyms shorts. Yes the cash!”

“Ok. Check.”

“Industrial twist ties.”

“For all the loaves of bread we’re going to steal?”

“Stop messing around. It’s for the guards.”

“Like handcuffs…”

“Only on our budget.”

“Right.”

“Everybody’s got their walkie-talkies?”

“Yep.”

“Night vision goggles?”

“Top shelf.”

“Stop staring at me.”

“I can’t get over the fact that you’re like fourteen.”

“For the last time, I’m eighteen.”

“You look like you’re twelve.”

“Shut up. Did you pack the air freshener?”

“Two aerosol cans.”

“That should be enough.”

“What’s it for?”

“We’re going to be stuck in the truck with Stan.”

“Right…”

“You know how bad his B.O can get.”

“Do I ever. This cow is going to be too full.”

“Don’t worry, Jeff. Old Bessie can handle it.”

“You say that like we do this all the time.”

“Look, I’m sick of practicing. Are you shaking?”

“No.”

“Yeah, Jeff. You’re definitely shaking.”

“Max?”

“What is it?”

“What if we…”

“Spit it out, Jeff.”

“Max, what if we kill someone.”

“Is it on my list?”

“No.”

“Then it won’t happen.”

“Did I miss something? Is there another list?”

“The last thing...isn’t on the list.”

“What is it?”

“Not what
.
Wh
o
.”

“The Leader’s coming with?”

“No. Thank God.”

“Then who is it?”

“Wait. Alright. Bring her in!”

A member of Unit Two pushed a short figure from the shadows.

“This is Sarah.”

The Unit Two members were pumped.

“I hope this little snot doesn’t ruin our fun,” Steve said, wiping his nose on his shirt.

Steve, a tall man, lived at the compound almost as long as Max, and he had a rotten core.

When he was young, Steve’s sister slammed the door on his nose, causing it to slant harshly to the right. He also drank some of his father’s hair growth supplement, causing abnormal amounts of hair to sprout from his ears. He was pissed about staying at the compound from the beginning. In the process of taking him, they’d smashed his pride and joy: a yellow-striped Mustang Convertible. He was still holding a grudge about the whole thing.

Steve walked with a slouch as if a fat cat were perched upon his shoulders. He was tall and lanky, and he usually ran into things. A lot. His clumsiness was only amplified when he was nervous, and tonight he was a bigger klutz than normal.

The stress of the night ahead had his bowels in a frenzy. He wanted to escape and return to his beach house. The humidity of subterranean life gave him frequent migraines. Each of his ailments only seemed to compound in the two years he had interacted with the likes of Jeff and Max.

His ongoing paranoia towards strangers only increased when he was captured. Even as Sarah’s blue eyes illuminated the dark interior of the milk truck, Steve didn’t trust her. He did not get along with children because they can smell bullshit a mile away. Steve guessed Sarah was no different. The fact that she wasn’t crying in a van full of strange men proved her bravery.

Sarah sat on the floor of the truck and looked up at Steve. From this angle, he was taller than an industrial refrigerator. Sarah thought he looked like he was about to board a scary ride or something.

Max drove the truck up the ramp to the ground level and cleared enough space for the ramp to close behind him.

The dark woods lay before them.

A maze of trees.

And, it was raining. As the truck bounced along the forest floor, the wind pushed against it, causing more resistance.

“Quite the night, huh?” Stan double-checked the technical gear.

“Maybe we should try for another night,” Steve whined.

Max rolled his eyes. “Pull yourself together.”

“I just don’t want to get shot,” Steve clutched his pant leg and itched at invisible insects.

“You won’t get shot.” Max wasn’t going to put up with his crap. Not tonight. “We’ll get in and out quick. Before you know it you’ll be scarfing down Sheri’s cherry pie.”

“Actually, there is a strong possibility you could be shot,” Stan said calmly, eyes straightforward.

Steve piddled himself a bit.

When he came along for the previous break-in, they made Steve stay watch outside. Since then, he completed the training exercises with such speed that Dallas decided he was ready for the inside crew.

Dallas was dead wrong. Steve was not ready.

During the practices, Steve played along using his imagination, but this wasn’t practice anymore. And one glance down at Sarah sent him spiraling into anxious thoughts again.

The milk truck rumbled on in between the trees, and the top of it scraped several low-hanging branches along the way. Amidst the squeaking of the truck’s suspension, the wind, and the quiet power of Sarah’s presence, the men could hardly hear themselves think.

These sounds didn’t bother Sarah. She was supposed to be scared. They probably wanted her to scream, but she didn’t. She was smarter than that.

Her parents never told her to stay away from strangers. Instead, they advised her to be prepared for anything. Even at eleven years old, Sarah understood there was so much about life she couldn’t control. It didn’t really matter if she stayed away from strangers or not. There was no avoiding them. Not completely.

She rolled her fingers over the metallic texture of the truck’s interior floor. Masked men kidnapped her even in the safety of her aunt’s home. If she wasn’t safe there, Sarah didn’t know if safety was even attainable.

When the truck finally reached the highway, Max drove north towards San Francisco.

Once in the city
,
Max parked the truck in front of a Laundromat half a block away from the Empire Bank. The churning washers visible through the windows caused Steve’s stomach to do the same.

He’d fainted about a dozen times in his life. The worst and most recent incident caused him to hit his head on the interior of the vault replica. He awoke, dazed and confused, in a portion of the tunnels near completion with shaving cream on his hands and face. Like some fraternity prank, the Unit Two workers moved him down a level while he was unconscious. On that day, Steve thought he was demoted to Unit One tunnel work, so he spent the rest of the day digging.

Sarah wanted to cover her head with her arms just in case Steve happened to faint towards her. She imagined this would feel like a bag of bones dropping off an unstable shelf.

Max parked the truck and clapped his hands with enthusiasm.

“You, Steve,” Max instructed. “You’re in charge of Sarah tonight. Got it? You need to make sure she stays safe.”

“But Max!”

“But nothing. Don’t let her out of your sight.”

“Besides,” Stan turned around in his swivel tech chair. “If she gets away, it’ll be your ass.”

“I’m not babysitting this girl.”

“Come on, Steve,” Max gelled up his spiky hair and pulled on a black knit ski mask. “Everyone has a job tonight. You’ve been properly trained. What’s one more little add on? Huh? You can handle it.”

Sarah strained her neck looking up at Steve.

Steve gulped. “Did anyone bring a leash?”

“She’s a girl,” Max said, “not a puppy.”

“It’s just that…”

Max adjusted his mask. “Steve, really. It’s just a quick trip to the bank with your friend Sarah. Now, get out of the van.”

Max led the way as Jeff, Steve, Sarah and three other Unit Two members swiftly walked towards the bank while Stan stayed in the Milk Truck. Part of his job was to make sure the night vision camera attached to Max’s mask was working and properly feeding the footage to Sheri’s living room where everyone else watched on the edge of their seats.

Back at the cottage
,
Dallas set up a projector screen and some extra chairs in the living room. Still, the extra seating wasn’t quite enough for the number of butts in the room, so some sat on the floor as well.

Cameron stood at the back of the room. As Sarah’s father, he was torn up inside, but he couldn’t show it. Regardless of his feelings, Cameron knew Sarah could handle herself. She wasn’t a sissy girl. Her beauty deceptively concealed her tomboy tendencies. He still couldn’t believe this was happening. He wanted to leave the room, but he knew his absence would draw even more attention since he was the only member of Unit Two not allowed to go on the actual heist.

Etched in the digital noise of the sickly green night vision, Cameron saw Sarah’s silhouette as she trudged through the rain with the other men outside the bank. Cameron trusted Max, but he didn’t know the other men well enough to trust them with the safety of his daughter.

Sheri’s buttery croissants and even more buttery popcorn brought a celebratory mood upon the heist party. None of the workers really supported what they were watching Unit Two attempt again. The many who opposed this kind of uprising silenced the few willing to take those risks.

They’d each considered it before, but mutiny might lead to unnecessary violence, maybe even bloodshed. It was safer for everyone if they just sat quietly, munching their popcorn. The promise for a share of the money also made them attentive to the camera footage.

The show was just getting started.

Max instructed three Unit Two me
n
to stay on guard outside the bank during the operation.

Then, Max motioned for everyone to get low. As they had done only a few weeks prior, the rest of the men crawled to the back door. This time, they had Sarah.