The mission for tonight was simple: reenter the water plant, look for signs of Orlando and Nate, set up surveillance so he could keep tabs on what was going on inside, and get out.
Prior to leaving for the plant, Quinn had checked the signals from the original cameras he had put in place the previous night, the night of the trap. All he got was static. Borko’s men had undoubtedly removed the equipment not long after Quinn had made his escape. But the locations those cameras had been in were no longer as critical to Quinn. Where he wanted to put the cameras now was in the two locations he hadn’t been able to that first night. In the basement, and in the sphere. These were the focal points of Borko’s operation, the most likely spots from which Quinn could learn anything useful.
The storm from the night before had moved on and had been replaced by a mass of frigid air. Quinn pulled the collar of his jacket up around his neck, trying unsuccessfully to ignore the cold.
He made his way back across the bridge spanning the canal, then turned right on Weigandufer. On one side of the street was the manmade river, and on the other side a row of apartment buildings, each between six and eight stories high. Quinn walked down the sidewalk, casually scanning the buildings. Near the middle of the block, he found what he was looking for.
The entrance to the mustard yellow building was up a short flight of steps. It was a way in, but a bit more public than he wanted. All he really needed to do was get to the other side.
The better option was to the left of the entrance, at street level. It was a tunnel through the structure, an opening built to allow cars to drive through to a parking lot in the back. There were two large wooden doors attached to either side of the opening. Since it was still early in the evening, the doors were open, allowing residents easier access in and out.
Quinn walked through the opening as if he belonged. He stopped at the back end of the tunnel and surveyed the parking lot. It was not large, just room enough for ten cars and a few motorcycles. There were two floodlights mounted at either end of the lot. The bulb in the one at the far back corner was flickering, and would need to be replaced soon. At the rear of the property, behind the lot, was a row of trees. Beyond the trees was an open field. And at the other end of the field, the water plant.
Quinn stepped out from the shadows of the tunnel, intent on crossing the lot and reaching the cover of the trees. But he only got a few feet when he heard the groan of rusted hinges. A door was opening to his right. He glanced over and saw a man stepping out of the building into the parking lot.
Quinn ducked down behind one of the cars. Carefully, he peeked through the car’s windows. The guy looked to be in his late fifties, tired and overweight. Quinn watched as the man held the door open, and a medium-sized dog, a mutt, ran outside.
The man shut the door, then lit a cigarette. While he smoked, the dog sniffed around the lot, stopping once to pee. As the mutt neared Quinn’s position it stopped suddenly, nose in the air. Quinn cursed silently, bracing himself to make a quick escape back through the tunnel to the street. Only instead of barking, the dog came over and began to lick Quinn’s hand.
The man with the cigarette took a few steps into the lot. “Charlie?” he called.
But Charlie seemed to have taken a liking to his new friend. Quinn gently tried to push the dog away, but Charlie wouldn’t move. Quinn glanced over the side of the car again. The dog’s owner had taken a few more steps away from the door. He took a final puff on his cigarette, then flicked it to the ground and stamped it out.
Looking up again, he called out, “Charlie!”
This time the dog’s ears pricked up.
“Bei Fuss.”
The dog began backing away from Quinn, then paused.
“Charlie!”
The dog gave Quinn one last look, then ran off to join his master.
The man walked back over to the apartment building and opened the door. A few seconds later, he and the dog disappeared inside. Quinn waited to make sure they were gone, then stood and jogged across the lot.
A chain-link fence separated the row of trees at the back of the parking lot from the field. Quinn grabbed the fence and gave it a gentle shake. He could climb over it, but since it was so loose there was no way he could do it quietly. There had to be at least one of Borko’s men stationed at the rear of the water plant. The noise of the fence would betray Quinn before he could even reach the top. Going over was out.
Quinn searched along the fence looking for a different option. He knew he could just cut through the fence, but that kind of handiwork was not likely to go unnoticed. The last thing he needed was for anyone to know he’d been there.
The metal fence post seemed like the most logical point of attack. He pulled a pair of wire cutters out of his backpack, then began removing the wire loops that held the lower edge of the fence to the post.
The task turned out to be harder than he expected. To mask the sound, he had to coordinate his cuts with the noise of cars passing on the nearby street. And the snow wasn’t helping, either. He had to carefully move enough away from the bottom of the fence so he had a clear path. It took him five minutes to get through the fence and onto the other side.
The field was lit by hints of light filtering between buildings and through the trees from Schandauer Strasse beyond. It wasn’t that large of a space, only two hundred feet from right to left, and another hundred or so feet to the buildings on the other side. The ground itself was covered with a thick layer of new snow. Off to one side lay a pile of large metal pipes, undoubtedly left over from when the plant was still operating.
Quinn focused his attention on the back of the building, looking for movement or any sign the place was being guarded. After a moment, he spotted something. It had been subtle, a simple adjustment of position. A muscle cramp maybe, or an itch that needed to be scratched. Whatever had caused it, a shadow had moved, unknowingly exposing a sentry near the left corner of the plant.
Keeping low, Quinn moved to his right, toward the stack of unused pipes. The pile was over five feet high, providing him the perfect cover as he turned and headed up the field. His biggest concern was the snow itself. The cold air had begun to freeze the top layer, creating a natural alarm system. Each step he took had to be carefully executed so that that the crunch made by his foot as it broke the surface was minimal.
After working his way around the end of the pile, Quinn made his way south until he was only twenty feet from the basement window he’d escaped through the night before. He crept over to it, pausing to make sure he hadn’t been spotted. When he was confident he was still in the clear, he turned his attention to the window.
Faint light spilled through it. Quinn cautiously peered inside. A single work lamp glowed weakly in the corner opposite the window. Quinn quickly scanned the rest of the room, looking for any signs of movement. All seemed to be quiet, but to his left, the refrigerating unit created a blind spot someone could have been standing in.
The window was hinged at the top and swung outward. Quinn grabbed the bottom of the frame and pulled the window toward him just a little, testing to see if it was still unlocked. It was.
He removed his gun and made sure the suppressor was properly connected. Slowly, he swung the window open, then waited to see if there was any reaction from inside. Still nothing. With his gun pointed toward the blind spot, he slipped partially through the open window, headfirst, for a better look.
Though there was still a small portion of the room he couldn’t see, it appeared as if no one else were there. Not wasting any time, he pulled himself out, turned, and dropped feetfirst through the opening, shutting the window behind him.