Rogers had not gone up there when he was inside the bar. It had been roped off. He did note that there was a security man posted at the bottom of the stairs who had let Quentin and his group pass.
Rogers wondered why people would come to a bar and then not go to the bar. Maybe they had their own personal one up there. Maybe they had something more than the peons below got.
As he was about to close the door he saw Helen Myers pass by the security man and head up the stairs. She went into the same room.
Rogers closed the door.
Four times that night he was called into the bar to handle a disturbance.
Four times he vise-gripped the arm of the offender just enough to get his drunken attention and led the person quietly out the door.
Twice he saw Myers watching him from the upper hallway. She seemed pleased with how he was handling things.
The place was packed until one a.m. with hundreds of drinkers, dancers, bad karaoke, and men grabbing ass and women sometimes letting them. Then people began leaving. At two he and another security man eased out the last few stragglers. Then the cleanup crew came in and started stacking chairs and mopping slickened floors. The bleach would probably come out in the morning, Rogers figured.
He didn’t know how many drinks had been poured over the course of six hours, but he felt the Grunt had just made a ton of money.
He was sitting at the bar drinking a glass of water when Myers came over and sat next to him. She pulled out an e-cigarette and put the end between her lips.
“How was your first night?”
“Pretty much what I expected,” he replied.
“I heard there was an altercation in line. With some big guys.”
“They didn’t understand the rules. So I gave a lesson. But I did it as nicely as I could. Like you said.”
“I saw you do a couple of ejections from in here. They were well done.”
“Thanks.” Rogers took a drink of water and set his glass down. “Josh Quentin?”
Myers pulled out the e-cig from her mouth. “What about him?”
“What does he do to qualify as a VIP?”
“He owns his own company. Super smart. He’s not a billionaire yet, but he will be. And he’s barely thirty. A real mover and shaker.”
“Good for him. Nice group of friends with him.”
“He has lots of friends.”
“Yeah, I saw him playing grab-ass with one of them. But she didn’t seem to mind.”
She shrugged. “He gets what he pays for.”
“Almost a billionaire, huh? Then you’d think they’d be going to some fancy-ass club for high rollers.”
She frowned at this comment. “This isn’t Vegas. And we’re not just a bar, Paul. We cater to lots of different interests and tastes. Some fancier than others. Good night.” She rose to leave.
“What about my money?”
She turned back to him. “Payday is every Friday.”
“The thing is I need some cash now.”
She eyed him closely. Then she walked around the bar, opened the cash register, counted out two fifties, ten twenties, ten tens, and the rest fives and ones. She wrapped a rubber band around the cash and tossed it to him.
He slipped it inside his pocket. “Thanks.”
“You’re welcome. But that’s a one-off. From now on payday is Friday.”
“Understood.”
“And even though you’re not officially on the payroll, we’ll be taking out something for FICA and income taxes. I’m not getting screwed by the IRS.”
“What does that leave me, then?”
“Enough. Unless you want to fill out the paperwork? Full name, Social Security number, all that.”
“No, I don’t want to do that.”
“Fine. Just so you know, I’ve never paid an employee under the table. I’m not a fan.”
“So why me?”
She leaned against the bar. “You looked like somebody who needed a break.”
“I appreciate that. So how’s Karl?”
“I’m sure he’ll be fine. And remember, he’s your boss.”
“Never forgot it. See you tomorrow. Boss.”
Rogers rose and left.
It was nearly three in the morning.
It was time for him to go to work.
22
ROGERS PARKED THE van well off the grounds of Fort Monroe and finished the trek on foot. This early in the morning, he was the only one out and about.
The salt air hit him from the channel, and far out in the water he could see the white lights of a passing ship. It was cool, quiet, and peaceful.
Depending on how things went, that could all change very quickly.
He knew exactly where he was going and wanted to get there quickly and unobtrusively. There were few who could move with more stealth than Rogers. That had been beaten into him for so long he could think of no other way.
The building was just up ahead.
He had passed it earlier.
Building Q.
He did nothing but watch for an hour.
It was now five minutes past four.
The private security did a sweep on the half hour, he noted. One went left, the other went right, and they crossed in the rear. A third guard remained at the front gate.
Standard protocols all the way around.
Predictable.
Which was what was wrong with the standard protocols all the way around.
As soon as all three guards were clustered once more at the front, Rogers moved. It took him ten seconds to scale the rear fence. He did so barely making any noise. He dropped within the grounds and looked around, keeping low.
He scuttled over to a set of rear entrance doors. They were metal below and chicken-wired glass above. He peered inside and saw the alarm system.
It glowed red. It was active.
You didn’t waste guards and a security system on a building that housed nothing important.
The building was eight stories high, perhaps the tallest here other than the Chamberlin building. Back when the fort was being constructed, land was plentiful and elevators nonexistent. Thus the Army had opted for low-rise construction.
He took off his shoes and socks, tied the laces together, and swung them over his neck, each shoe dangling on either side of his head.
He found a handhold in the brick veneer of the building and gripped the masonry with a strength that would be unimaginable for even the best rock climbers in the world. His fingers and toes were actually digging into the hard surfaces. The skin there had been replaced with a synthetic tissue. That was the reason the police couldn’t take prints from him. The synthetic looked and felt like the real thing, but it was far tougher than human skin, which would be bleeding from the friction with the stone.
He began to climb.
This was not the first time he had scaled this building, although not as part of his official training. He had simply done it on a bet.
He had won the bet. Ten bucks.
He reached the top ledge and vaulted over the edge and onto the flat, pebbled roof. The heavy HVAC systems that climate-controlled the building were housed up here. And there was, of course, an access door.
He hoped that his memory held up, for this was the critical point.
He reached the door. It was padlocked.
One pull and the clasp anchoring the lock tore free from the door.
He gripped the knob and turned it.
He took a breath and held it.
He was not experiencing fear. He could no longer feel that.
He was thinking about his exit strategy if an alarm went off.
Guards in front. Roof alarm. They’ll secure the perimeter. How long will that take? I’ll go over the rear side, down to the third floor, let go, and free fall to the ground. Over the fence and out. Twenty seconds. It will have to be enough. If I run into a guard, well, he’ll be dead and I won’t.
He opened the door.
He waited. No alarm sounded.
His memory had been good. They hadn’t alarmed this door back then either. They imagined that no one could scale a sheer brick wall without the aid of a ladder. They were off by one on that assumption.