Vanishing Point - Marc Cerasini [39]
Today, Jack had provided Curtis Manning with a dangerous new challenge. Every other time he had infiltrated this property, he'd done so at night. This time Curtis would have to slip into the old factory in broad daylight, which meant taking special precautions. First he parked his car many blocks away, in an alley behind an apartment building on Pena Lane. Then Curtis crossed two yards, three empty lots, and climbed two chain link fences to get behind the abandoned factory without being spotted. Weaving his way through a gauntlet of dozens of dented and forgotten Dumpsters, Curtis finally reached the rear of the abandoned tool and die factory.
The back door was blocked by an old steel grate, but Curtis had found another way in — a hole in the wall masked by a sheet of plywood lodged in a pile of debris. He tossed the wooden panel aside and stepped through the ragged gap. Once inside the building, he used shafts of afternoon sun streaming through holes in the collapsing roof and broken windows to guide his way through the factory's gloomy interior — right to the battered desk he'd placed near a hole punched in the grease-stained front window.
Curtis had hidden some bottles of water under a pile of wooden boxes and was relieved to see they were still untouched. After checking for scorpions, he grabbed a plastic container and sat down at the desk. Curtis no sooner unscrewed the cap on the water and focused his CTU issue mini-binoculars on Bix's establishment, when a white panel truck arrived at the gate. Curtis recognized the man behind the wheel, too. It was Drew Hickam, one of Bix's goons.
Curtis dutifully recorded the event on his PDA. He noted that the truck was a Dodge Sprinter, late model, and that the vehicle was sporting dealer plates. He tapped in the numbers, sure they were fake, and noted the time in the log. A garage door opened and the truck drove through. The door immediately closed again, but before it did Curtis noticed plenty of activity inside. Yet the place was shut tight. Odd on a day like this. So many people working inside, no one drifting out for a smoke, a break. Something big was going on, big enough for Bix to hide his activities from prying eyes.
Curtis had only been at it for twenty minutes, but already the afternoon heat was oppressive. In a few hours the sun would go down and it would become cooler — maybe even cold. But for now, Curtis stripped off his jacket, then the Kevlar vest underneath, draping them both behind his rickety chair. He loosened his shirt and rolled up sleeves already damp with perspiration. He left the shoulder holster carrying the fully-loaded dock in place.
Manning spotted another truck pulling up to the gate a few minutes later. This one was driven by Frank "Fat Frankie" Toomes, a high stakes gambler closely associated with Hugo Bix. Curiously, the white panel truck was also a current year Dodge Sprinter with dealer plates. The truck soon disappeared inside the bowels of the Bix Automotive garage. He wondered if the arrival of two trucks of the same make was some kind of weird coincidence. He doubted it. In fact, Curtis Manning was almost certain something more ominous was going on.
* * *
4:56:40 p.m. PDT
Senator Palmer's suite
Babylon Hotel and Casino, Las Vegas
"Mrs. Senator David Palmer, I'd like you to meet Mr. Jong Lee."
Larry Bell arrived inside of ten minutes, as promised. He wore a Fendi suit and a look of satisfied triumph. For her part, Sherry Palmer acted suitably contrite.
"A pleasure to meet you, Mr. Lee," she said graciously, extending her hand. "And please call me Sherry. Can I offer you something. Coffee or tea, perhaps a drink."
"No, no, I can only stay a moment. I do not wish to waste your valuable time"
Sherry directed her attention to the woman beside Jong Lee. "And who is this beautiful creature?"
"Her name is Yizi," Jong said. At the mention of her name, the woman bowed deeply. "Alas, she speaks no English."
"I'd like you to