Singapore Sling Shot - Andrew Grant [63]
“No problem dealing with them,” Jo was saying. “The only problem is knowing where they are being monitored from.”
“Gatehouse,” I ventured. Because of the angle we were at, the gatehouse Jo had indicated was situated at the front of the compound was invisible.
“That’s what we figured,” he agreed.
“So, guessing that they have a couple of guys in there, one with half an eye on the monitors, how many others have they got inside the warehouse?”
“We’ve had the place under surveillance all afternoon. Our man saw four guys come and go between the warehouse and the gatehouse. At last count there were four inside the warehouse and three assigned to the gatehouse. The gatehouse guys rotate to take an hour on the beat.”
So there we had it. Seven of Lu’s men, cameras and no doubt an alarmed door or doors into the warehouse and six of us. If the cameras and alarms were monitored from the gatehouse, then we were okay. If they were being monitored in another location, there was a potential problem.
“Don’t worry, Dan, we’ve got it covered.” Jo withdrew back into the warehouse. I followed, closing the door after us. He used his cellphone. It was a short conversation. Then he turned to me again and flashed that famous grin of his. “At precisely 20:05, K is going to be here driving a loaded concrete truck that will accidentally go out of control and demolish the gatehouse.”
“Brilliant.” I glanced at my watch. We had half an hour to wait. I considered lighting a cigarette. I didn’t because I’d heard that all sorts of dusts in suspension could make things go bang. Jo sent one of the team back to the van. When he returned, he had the driver in tow. Between them the duo bore a pack of bottled water, a massive pair of bolt cutters and a long metal bar with a flattened end.
Goodbye door, I thought to myself. These long pry bars, when inserted into the gap between door and jamb, could demolish any lock mechanism easily. The leverage delivered to the chisel end was enormous.
We sat and sipped our water. One of the guys went and had a nervous piss in a corner. I resisted the urge to go and squat. My gut was doing its usual pre-op thing.
“Time to go.” Jo stood, he held out the bag the water bottles had come in. We all put the plastic bottles inside. The van driver wasn’t taking part in the operation. He took the bag and retreated back towards his vehicle. Jo didn’t have to explain the DNA thing to the crew. We were leaving nothing behind.
It was ten minutes to 20:00. Outside, the rain still persisted and the night outside of the arcs from the tower lights was almost pitch black.
There was no fear in the dark and rain that the cameras could pick us up so far away, even if they were trained in our direction, which they weren’t. They were covering the flanks and front and rear of Lu’s Fort Knox. We pulled our balaclavas into place. This was it. My gut had suddenly settled. It always seems to work that way. It’s the waiting that gets to me.
The bolt cutters made easy work of the link fence. There was no need to get fancy. Twenty or so links were cut in a vertical line and the fence folded back to create a triangular-shaped doorway. Heavy-duty cable ties were used to secure the wire back.
Despite the distance and the dark, we lay flat along the fence while the sentry came and did his thing again. I presumed that this was a replacement from the guardhouse. I hoped he stuck to the same timing as his predecessor. The moment he vanished, the six of us ran