John O'Brien - Reckoning

The pipes themselves look in good shape, and I don’t see any leaks dripping from seams or attachment points. The brackets also look to be in good condition. Backing away from the corner, I extend the ladder from one of the steps to the conduits. In my youth, this wouldn’t have been much of a problem, however, it’s all I can do just to keep the ladder steady as it wants to roll to the side. Scaling it, which is much like trying to make it across a rope bridge, I manage to get to the pipes without bringing them down or tumbling into the hall.

Slowly easing onto the pipes, I test to see if they’ll support my weight. There is only a faint creak as I lie across the rounded surfaces. From this vantage point, I’ll be out of view from the camera over the door. For that matter, I’ll be out of sight from anyone or anything below provided they don’t look very closely through the small gaps. Resting for just a moment, I remove my handgun and screw on the suppressor, replacing it in the holster designed to carry it with the suppressor attached.

I begin inching along the conduits. I have to move slowly so I don’t create any movement which will be picked up by the camera. There’s also dust on the very tops which I have to be careful that I don’t send down through the cracks. With the flood lights, I can be pretty sure that the camera is capturing video in the visible spectrum with maybe a thermal overlay. Any sway of the pipes or dust falling down from them will be noticed.

Reaching the first bracket with the steel rod attaching it to the ceiling, I maneuver around it, keeping to the wall side. I am placing my pack ahead of me with each movement similar to the way I traversed the field. My M-4 is secured to my back. If I need a weapon, which will be a short-lived time, I’ll use the handgun strapped to my leg.

I slowly make my way toward the door. It’s not too far to crawl, but it still takes a bit of time. I feel the dust in my nose and keep having to wipe it to prevent a sneeze. The inside of my mouth feels chalky with the grit and it’s annoying to say the least. The anxiety within grows as I draw closer, expecting the door to open at any moment. Not that they could see me, but it opening will mean that my entrance has been noticed.

Reaching the wall, I rest for a moment. The nervousness and effort of crawling has taken a little out of me. I’ve come to the next phase of infiltrating the bunker. I just have to get by the security door and then I’ll be in the main facility.

The camera is just to the side of me. I’ll have to lean out over the pipes in order to reach it, but it shouldn’t prove to be more of a challenge than the one outside. Readying another switch and recorder, I stretch out and place them on the wall as before. I have to take care that I don’t cast a shadow from the lights either across the lens or on the floor below.

While readying the equipment, I keep an eye on the top of the door just scant inches below. If someone were to walk through, I’d be readily visible and in a precarious position. My only hope in that case would be to drop down, draw my handgun, and begin firing. I may or may not get them; but in any case, my sojourn, and our plan, would come to a quick end.

I make the switch with the cables and pull back to the top of the conduits. I check that I’m not casting a shadow against the wall and wait knowing that there’s a greater chance that a reaction team will respond to this latest glitch. They might have overlooked one from the outside, but there’s no way—providing it was seen—that they’ll ignore a second one from a different camera. The switch, sniffer, and recorder are well camouflaged behind the camera and look like part of the system, at least to the casual observer.

Due to the thick walls and door, my only warning is the sound of the latch clicking. The hinges creak as the door swings open. Pressed flat on my stomach with my head turned to the side, I hold my breath and mentally wedge tighter between two of the large conduits, hoping to hell that my shirt tail isn’t hanging down between them. I imagine feeling the tug and ‘Hey, what do we have here? You okay up there, buddy?’ I told you my mind goes into strange places at the oddest of times.

With the opening of the door, voices in mid-conversation carry loud and clear just a foot and a half below.

“…told him the system was buggy but he said, ‘Just go check it out. It’s not like you have anything else to do.’ You know how Walsh is,” one voice states.

“I know, I know. But it isn’t like there is really anything for us to do,” a second voice says.

“Okay, Walsh, we’re here. What do you want us to do?” the first voice says.

“I can see you,” I hear a voice that sounds like it’s coming over a radio. “Do you see anything?”

“That depends on what I’m supposed to be looking for. There’s just a bunch of wires,” the first voice replies.

“Okay, it looks like it’s working. Go check the outside one,” the radio voice says.

“Really? Come on Walsh.”

“Just go check it out.”

“Okay, fine. I’ll go smile pretty for you.”

“You know this is because I cleaned him out last time. He still owes me so he’s…”

Oh fuck, the camera. If they go check out the camera, there isn’t going to be any pretty smile for Walsh , I think, feeling things start to go sideways.

The group heads down the hall toward the stairs and outer door, the boots heavy on the concrete. It sounds like there may be five or six of them, but I don’t dare lift my head or risk the mirror to find out. The conversation fades and dies out as they turn the corner and enter the stairwell. Once they are out of sight, I reach over and unplug the cable to the camera and quickly replace it, hopefully causing a glitch in the system that the reaction team will respond to before making it outside. Taking some electrical tape, I quickly cover the small screen of the recorder and fold back into my position waiting for them to return.

The sound of footsteps in the hall is there before I know it. They aren’t running steps, so I don’t feel that they are alerted but I remain tense. There’s the chance that they will still head outside and check on it. I can’t keep pulling the wire; that was a one-attempt-and-done kind of maneuver; unless I want to see what the afterlife is like, and I’m not all that eager to find out right now.

“Okay, Walsh, we’re here. What do you want?” a voice says as the footsteps halt almost directly below me.

“The camera flickered again. What do you see?”

“I see the same damn thing that I saw a minute ago.”

“Okay, well, it’s still working. I’ll just write it up,” the radio voice says.

“Do you want us to still check the outside one?”

“No, come on back. It’s obvious we’re having the same problem that we had on the east wing last week.”

“Okay, we’re on our way back.”

“You had better hope that the cards haven’t been moved or that you peeked,” the leader’s voice says, now directed at one of his teammates.

There’s a beeping sound as one of the people a foot below slides a keycard across the keypad, followed by a loud click as the magnetic lock releases.

“I wouldn’t do that.”

“Bullshit! I know you better than that you—”

The voices are cut off as the door closes and the lock engages.

I take my first deep breath. It’s not that I was holding it in but I was taking very shallow breaths to minimize any sound. My racing heart begins to subside after a moment, helped by the deep inhalations.

That was fucking close , I think, giving them some time to make sure that they don’t come back suddenly, one of them having discovered that they dropped their favorite good luck charm. I roll over and remove the tape. I then proceed to set up the recorder and have it run on a looped playback.