The Collectors (Camel Club 2)

CHAPTER 37

THE NOVA FOLLOWED THE FIRE Control, Inc., truck at a discreet distance. Caleb was driving, Stone next to him and Reuben in the rear.

“Why don’t we just call the police and let them handle it?” Caleb complained.

“And tell them what?” Stone said. “You said the library is having the old system scrapped. For all we know, that’s all those men are doing. And it might alert the wrong people that we’re on to something. We need stealth here, not the cops.”

Caleb snapped, “Terrific! So I have to go in harm’s way instead of the police? What the hell I pay taxes for I’m sure I don’t know.”

The truck turned left and then hung a right. They had passed through the Capitol Hill area and entered a run-down part of town.

“Slow down,” Stone said. “The truck’s stopping.”

Caleb eased the car to the curb. The truck had halted at a chain-link gate that another man inside the complex was now opening.

“It’s the storage facility,” Stone said.

The truck pulled through, and the gate was locked behind it.

“Well, that’s all we can do here,” Caleb said in a relieved tone. “My God, do I need a decaf cappuccino after this nightmare of an evening.”

Stone said, “We need to get inside the fence.”

“Right,” Reuben agreed.

“Are you both insane!” Caleb cried out.

“You can wait in the car, Caleb,” Stone said. “But I have to check out what’s going on in there.”

“But if you get caught?”

“Then we get caught. I think it’s worth it,” Stone replied.

“And I can stay in the car?” Caleb said slowly. “But that doesn’t seem fair if you two are risking—”

Stone cut him off. “If we need to get away quickly, it’s better to have you in the car, ready to roll.”

“Absolutely, Caleb,” Reuben agreed.

“Well, if you say so.” Caleb tightened his grip on the wheel and got a determined look. “I have been known to lay down rubber on occasion.”

Stone and Reuben slipped out of the car and made their way toward the fence. Hiding behind a stack of old boards outside the storage complex, they watched as the truck parked in a corner of the lot. The men climbed off the truck and walked into the main building. A few minutes later the men, wearing their street clothes, drove off in their own cars. A security guard locked the gate behind them and went back into the main building.

“Our best bet is probably to scale the fence on the other side where the truck’s parked,” Reuben said. “That way the truck is between us and the building in case the guard comes back out.”

“Good plan,” Stone said.

They hustled around to the other side of the fence. Before they started climbing, Stone tossed a stick at the fence. “Wanted to make sure it wasn’t electrified.”

“Right.”

They slowly scaled the fence and quietly dropped down on the other side, squatted low and started making their way toward the truck. Halfway there, Stone stopped and motioned for Reuben to drop to his belly. They scanned the area but saw no one. They waited another minute and started moving again. Stone suddenly veered away from the truck toward a small concrete-block building near the rear of the fence. Reuben hurried after him.

The door had a lock, but one of Stone’s keys fit it.

Inside, the place was filled with large cylinders. Stone took out a small flashlight he’d brought with him and shone it around. There was a workbench littered with tools, and a small paint machine in one corner next to some cans of paints and solvent. Hanging on one wall was a portable oxygen tank and mask. Stone flicked his light on some of the cylinders and read off, “FM-200. INERGEN. Halon 1301, CO2, FE-25.” He stopped and came back to the CO2 cylinder, studying the markings closely.

Reuben nudged him. “Look,” he said, pointing at a sign on the wall.

“Fire Control, Inc. We know that,” Stone said impatiently.

“Read the name below that.”

Stone sucked in a breath. “Fire Control is a subsidiary of Paradigm, Technologies, Inc.”

“Cornelius Behan’s company,” Reuben muttered.

Caleb sat fidgeting in the Nova, his gaze on the fenced area. “Come on,” he said. “What’s taking so long?”

He suddenly plopped down sideways in his seat. A car passed by him on its way to the storage facility. After it had gone past, he sat back up and his heart nearly skipped a beat. It was a private security cruiser; in the backseat was a large German shepherd.

Caleb pulled out his cell phone to call Stone, but the battery was dead. He was forever forgetting to charge the damn thing because he didn’t like talking on it in the first place.

“Dear God!” Caleb groaned. He took a deep breath. “You can do this, Caleb Shaw. You can do this.” He let out a deep breath, focused and then quoted dramatically from one of his favorite poems to pluck up his courage. “Half a league, half a league, / Half a league onward, / All in the valley of Death / Rode the six hundred. / ‘Forward, the Light Brigade! / Charge for the guns!’ he said: / Into the valley of Death / Rode the six hundred.” He paused and looked up ahead where the real-life drama was unfolding with attack dogs and armed men, and his backbone began to bend ominously. The rest of his courage faded as he reflected on the fact that the damn Light Brigade had been wiped out.

He snapped, “Tennyson didn’t know shit about real danger!”

Caleb climbed out of the car and made his way hesitantly toward the fence.

Back outside, Stone and Reuben headed toward the truck.

Stone said, “Keep a lookout while I check.” He scampered up in the bed of the truck; it had an open back, with wooden slats all around to keep the cargo in. He used his light to see the painted labels on the cylinders. All but one read “Halon 1301.” The other’s label read “FM-200.” Stone pulled from his jacket pocket a small can of turpentine and a rag that he’d taken from the storage building, and started applying turpentine over the cylinder with the label FM-200.

“Come on, come on,” Reuben said, his gaze darting in all directions.

As the coat of paint started to dissolve, Stone stopped rubbing and shone his light on the label that had been painted over. He rubbed some more until it was finally revealed. “CO2,” he read. “Five thousand ppm.”

“Oh, hell!” Reuben hissed. “Run for it, Oliver.”

Stone looked over the side of the truck. The canine was just stepping out of the security cruiser near the front gate.

Stone jumped down, and keeping the truck between them and the cruiser, they hustled toward the fence. However, the truck could not hide their scent from the dog. Stone and Reuben heard it howl, and then they could hear the four legs headed their way, followed by the two guards.

Stone and Reuben sprang onto

the fence and started climbing. The dog reached them and sank its teeth into Reuben’s pant leg.

Outside the gate, Caleb watched helplessly from a hiding place, uncertain of what to do but trying to screw up his courage to attempt some action.

“Hold it right there,” a voice called out. Reuben was trying to kick his leg free, but the dog was holding on tight. Stone looked down and saw the two guards, their guns pointed at them.

“Come down from there, or the dog’ll take your leg off,” a guard snapped. “Now!”

Stone and Reuben slowly climbed down. The same guard called off the dog. It retreated a bit, its teeth still bared.

“I think this is all a simple misunderstanding,” Stone began.

“Right, tell it to the cops,” the other guard snarled.