We pass an open loading bay on the right, with a couple of guys in dark blue coveralls unloading something from a truck. I lean forward to get a clear view of what lies ahead. The sun glistens on the Bay, making for a picturesque scene that I wish I had more time to appreciate.
“This will do,” says Chambers, as we drive slowly past what’s probably the halfway point of the pier. “Pull up here and we’ll cover the rest on foot.”
Johnson slows to a stop and we all get out. I stretch and look around, seeing nothing that jumps out at me as strange.
“On me,” says Chambers, as she draws her weapon and walks on toward the last warehouse of the pier.
I look up, knowing the FBI is watching in real-time through the miracle of technology. I draw one of my Berettas and follow her.
“You got a permit for that?” Johnson asks.
I’m not sure if he’s joking or not — it’s never easy to tell with him.
“Seriously?” I reply. “Is now really the time?”
He kind of smirks and walks on, so he’s in between Chambers and me.
I figure it was his attempt at light humor, so I think nothing more of it.
We walk past another truck parked up in front of the warehouse before Pellaggio’s. It’s empty, and there’s no one else around.
Pellaggio’s going to be long gone. We’re all thinking it. I just hope we find something useful inside. Ever since I spoke to him, like everyone else, it’s had me worried exactly what he might have planned. Since the beginning, we’ve assumed this entire thing has been about taking revenge on me. And I think it still is, to a point. But if the game he’s playing with me is just a small part of something bigger, then we’ve been purposefully distracted, so we wouldn’t figure things out sooner.
Ahead, Chambers raises her left arm, bent at the elbow with her fist clenched, signaling for us to stop. We’ve reached the entrance to the warehouse.
She puts her first two fingers together, like a gun, and whips them repeatedly forward in a gesture for Johnson to run on ahead and cover the other side of the entrance. I fall in behind her, no stranger to the tactics of breaching a building. Both Chambers and Johnson lean against the wall either side of the entrance, which is a large metal roller with a smaller door etched into it, their guns held out low in front of them, arms locked. I kneel behind Chambers, a couple of paces back, holding my Beretta firm but with my arms loose.
She gestures to the handle and Johnson leans forward and grabs it.
“On three,” she whispers.
She counts up on her hand. When she hits three, Johnson thrusts the door open for me.
There’s no way Pellaggio is still here…
I walk in, casually; my gun by my side, my arm relaxed. Johnson follows and heads to the right, taking a few steps inside then crouching down to cover. Chambers is last in, doing the same, but to the left.
I look at them both. Their operational tactics are sharp and accurate. Textbook, almost. But I fear it’s un-necessary.
I look around the vast expanse of the warehouse. There are no partitions or makeshift rooms — it’s just one big, empty building. The far wall is all old brick, except the top few feet, which is a large, dirty, plastic window that’s bathing half the floor in natural light. There’s nothing on the left hand side except the odd piece of old timber and large puddles. Along the right hand wall, toward the back corner, is a pile of old wooden boxes — probably been there for years. You can smell the damp and decay that’s been eating away at them over time.
In the middle of the area is a workbench, of sorts — three tables arranged into a loose U-shape, with a few sheets of paper scattered across them. My eyes rest on the large pile of wooden crates just to the right of it. They’re new. And they’re open.
“Guys,” I say, gesturing to the middle of the room. “Looks like we’re too late.”
They both stand, each having a quick look around before turning to me.
“Goddammit,” says Chambers, visibly frustrated — although I figure that’s more because we had an idea what we’d find and didn’t wanna be right about it.
“Shit! We missed him,” adds Johnson.
“We expected as much,” I say, walking over to the workbench. “Don’t take it too personal.”
They both follow me and we all stand in front of the table that runs horizontally between the other two, looking down at the papers.
“Check this out,” I say, picking up the top sheet and holding it out for them both to see. “Looks like a blueprint for chaos.”
She takes hold of it and looks at it briefly. It’s a detailed sketch of the California Academy of Sciences entrance, with markings that clearly detail where the bombs were.
Chambers takes out her phone and walks slowly off to the side dialing a number. Johnson moves over to inspect the crates. The top one of the pile is about chest high and the lid is resting open. I watch him slide it off fully, letting it drop to the floor. He looks inside and his eyes go wide with horror.
“What is it?” I say, rushing over.
“We’ve got a major fucking problem!” he says.
I look inside and see a very large bomb resting on a bed of wood shavings. It’s got multiple wires coming out of it, and an LED timer that’s counting down…
It’s showing 00:19 seconds…
“Oh shit!” I turn and start running, knowing Johnson is right behind me. “Grace, we gotta go! Now!”
She sees us running and follows without question. We cross the warehouse floor at full speed and make it to the entrance. I’m trying to keep count of how long we have, but I lost track as I was running.
We all file through the metal door and out onto the pier.
“Run!” I yell, but the word barely passes my lips when a deafening explosion goes off behind us, tearing through the warehouse, and drowning out my voice.
The force from the blast sends us flying off the edge of the pier and into the Bay below. I take a large breath in as I’m falling — my survival instincts kicking in and protecting me while my brain freezes, trying to understand what’s happening.
If you’re ever going underwater, the best thing to do is take a deep breath before you go under. If you simply hold your breath, it means that you have to breathe in as you re-surface, which causes you to inhale all the water that splashes up with you. If you have a lungful of air already, you simply breathe out and avoid choking.
I plunge into the water back first. I turn and move quickly underwater, looking around to make sure the other two are okay. I can see them twisting and turning and thrashing, dealing with the surprise of what’s happened and the shock of the water. They’ll be fine.
I think for a brief moment how insane it is that I can be so used to things like this happening… I get blown up way too much!
Above us, the cloud of fire from the explosion is still billowing out over the water. I look again at Johnson and Chambers, who have managed to compose themselves a bit more and are looking around for me. Our eyes all meet and I give them the ‘okay’ signal with my hand, which they return. I point up and swim to the surface.
My head breaks the surface, and I exhale a long breath, before taking some quick ones to regulate my heartbeat once again. The others do the same.
“Well, I’m no expert,” I say as I swim over to them. “But I think that might have been the trap we were talking about.”
“Jesus Christ!” yells Johnson.
I look at Chambers, who hasn’t said anything. She’s pale and her eyes are wide, darting around from side to side rapidly. It looks like she’s going into shock.
“Grace, talk to me. Are you alright?” I ask.
She’s taking in quick, deep breaths, but she manages a nod.