Fighting to Be Free (Fighting to Be Free 1)

“Silent as a ninja,” he whispered, laughing quietly.

I grinned but punched him in the arm at the same time to tell him to shut up. The guards were stationed on the other side of the warehouse, watching the grounds on little monitors. We’d purposefully chosen this spot to climb because Mr Randall, the owner, had moved one of the cameras by a couple of inches to allow a blind spot. I put my finger to my lips and then nodded to the side of the building. Apparently if we stayed as close as we could to the wall and moved quickly, then we could outsmart the cameras that swung on a continuous sweep to take in the whole area. It just meant getting the timings right and not screwing up.

It took a good ten minutes of stop starting, crouching behind stuff, running, or crawling on our hands and knees to avoid the cameras, but finally we made it to the security door of the warehouse with no alarms going off. Dodger pulled out a lock pick kit, sticking in two metal picks and fiddling with it until the sound of the click filled the air. The door sprung open with a slight creak but it probably wasn’t loud enough to alert anyone.

We moved quickly. As we stepped in I pulled out the gun from my bag, it wasn’t loaded, it was just for show for the cameras. The guy was paying extra for little details - I had a feeling he was a bit of a showman. Dodger didn’t flinch when I pulled it out; apparently he had no problem with guns, that’s what he’d told me on the phone anyway. I pointed down the hallway where the sound of quiet talking could be heard. He nodded and we both made our way there slowly. I kept my eyes peeled for signs of movement but there was nothing at all.

“I see your three and I raise you….. another three,” someone said from the last room on the left. I already knew this was the monitoring station because of the building plans that I’d meticulously been studying for the last week.

“Ooh, confidence. Alright, call,” someone else answered, teasingly.

I smiled because that meant that they were both in there, just like they were supposed to be. I stopped outside the door and risked a quick glance around the frame. Two middle aged, overweight, and bored looking security guards were sitting at a table. Cards and matches littered the desk in front of them as they sat opposite each other, holding playing cards. Neither of them were even facing the monitors and I felt a pang of annoyance that Vincent and I had just done our mission impossible impression for nothing if they weren’t even looking.

I could see the cards of the guy sitting on the left; he had two pair, pretty good hand. I nodded to Dodger and stepped around the corner, raising my gun. “I’d save my matches if I were you, he’s got two pair, tens over eights,” I joked, pointing my gun at the one on the right. He gasped, dropping his cards on the floor, his eyes wide as he looked at me, shocked; his half eaten doughnut was frozen on its way to his mouth.

The one on the left lunged for a red button that was mounted under the monitors. I moved quicker than he did though and smashed the gun into the side of his temple, knocking him out cold immediately. He slumped forward, his face connecting heavily with the wooden desk. I turned back to the other guard who hadn’t moved the whole time; his doughnut was still in exactly the same place as when I stepped into the room.

“Right then, we can do this the easy way, or the hard way, which would you prefer?” Dodger asked, pulling out a long strip of duct tape and grinning wickedly.

“What do you want?” the guy croaked in response.

I laughed and pointed to the monitor that was in the middle, it was making a sweep of the inside of warehouse three, housing ten perfect, brand spanking new Jaguars that were ready for sale. “Those little babies,” I cooed.

He gulped as Dodger stepped forward. His doughnut finally dropped from his hand as he stepped backwards and fell into his chair, a wild and frightened look in his eyes.

As Dodger taped the guy to the chair, securing his hands behind his back and his feet to the plastic, I got to work on the security. I grabbed the guy that I’d knocked out and pushed him into a chair, wheeling him away from me as I sat on the floor, leaning under the desk and yanked off the covering for the security wires. It took a while to find the right one, the damn thing had more wires than I was expecting, but I finally found the audio feed, cutting the wire quickly. I made a show of cussing for good measure, slamming my hand on the desk in apparent frustration. This was all for show though, I needed the guy to think I couldn’t disable the cameras otherwise they’d wonder why I disconnected the audio and not the visual feed.

When I was satisfied, I pushed myself out from under the desk and turned to the now crying security guard who was all taped up like a Christmas present. “You know how to disable the visual?” I asked him.

He shook his head quickly, his eyes becoming tight.

I turned back to Vincent. “I can’t do it. We’re gonna have to leave it on. The audio’s gone but…..” I trailed off, acting as best I could. The guard would have a pretty little tale to tell the police in the morning now which is exactly what the client wanted.

Vincent shrugged. “Let’s just get this done. No one will know it’s us anyway. Let’s get the cars and get out,” he replied, securing the other, unconscious guy to a chair too. “I’m done here.”

I nodded, picking up my bag from the floor where I left it and turned to the conscious guard. I smiled apologetically and raised the gun, bringing the butt of it down on the side of his head just hard enough to send him off into slumber, but not cause any long-term damage.