Welcome to
Where YOU can learn to survive!
"The Roacherian Effect" A novel by John C. Delavan
Prologue
It was early morning and though there had been some evidence of daylight
the sun hadn't yet risen above the mountains to the east of Los Angeles.
The overcast sky was a dull gray above and still dark blue-black over
the ocean to the west.
A dark figure moved silently through the light ground fog forming just
above the grass. Freddy Peterson stopped behind a large oak tree on a
slight rise overlooking a modern complex of buildings about a hundred
yards away. The only sound in the crisp morning air was the click of the
shutter and the whine of the motor drive on his camera as he took the
last of a series of photographs around the perimeter of the complex.
Later he'd analyze the prints, looking for places where he and his
partner, Jack Arnburg, would be able to breach security and gain access
to the top-secret area within the main building. This was how they made
their living and they were good at it. Very good and very expensive.
* *
Two months passed before they finished all the research needed and
were ready. They'd found a point on the side of the building not covered
by the closed circuit television (CCTV). It was just a slim area about
two yards wide that followed an angle of the building straight up the
wall five stories to the roof. No hand or foot holds, just a five-inch
ledge on each story and smooth glass wall in between. It was enough.
Neither man needed more than this to effect a clean and undetected
entry.
It was time to go. All the planning, all the practice had been done. The
bungalow in the Beverly Hills Hotel they'd used as their headquarters
for this mission was beginning to get on their nerves. The masses of
photographs, reams of printed material on alarm systems and electronic
security devices, diagrams, maps and copies of the architectural plans
for the complex had gone into a high-tech shredder that turned
everything into neatly bagged confetti which was burned in the corner
fireplace.
Samples of locks and electrical devices have been packed up and would be
dropped off a bridge over the Port of Los Angeles on the way to the
target, the Intertech Electronics International complex.
* *
The bridge drop went off without a hitch. A few cars honked at them,
annoyed at a vehicle stopping at the top of the bridge; and they passed
a police car going the other way as they drove down the other side into
San Pedro. They didn't even give it enough attention to laugh at the
close call. This was normal activity for them; part of the job and
therefore part of their lives.
Arriving at the complex just after midnight they drove around as much of
the perimeter as possible trying to ascertain whether or not there had
been any changes in security or activity in the surrounding area. There
were none. The two men looked at one another, knowing very well the
other's strengths and weaknesses, having complete confidence in each
other. They'd been through a lot together and had done this a hundred
other times at a hundred other complexes in a hundred other countries
all over the world. Before that they'd done similar jobs as Army
Rangers. They'd been in the same unit and had been on missions that
anyone with lesser training and milder temperament would have thought
impossible. Not only had these two survived, they were successful and
thrived on the danger.
Their dark-colored night suits went on quickly making them look like
high-tech Ninja warriors. The other gear was strapped on with speed bred
from complete familiarity. In absolute darkness either of them could
instantly locate any item of equipment not only on himself but on his
partner as well. Weapons would not be carried this time, apart from a
partially disassembled and skeletonized air rifle. No others would be
necessary. The guards at this complex were armed but it was extremely
unlikely any of them could do damage to either of the intruders. If they
were ever compromised and arrested (however unlikely) the use of weapons
could only unnecessarily compound the offense and make their bail and
subsequent escape more difficult to arrange.
With confident fluid ease of movement they darted quickly and quietly
from shadow to shadow, timing their advances to the known sweeps of the
CCTV cameras and the known or suspected locations of the guards. As they
traversed the open areas they scanned the buildings and grounds with
small passive night vision devices. Arnburg and Peterson quickly spot
every guard in sight though they themselves remain virtually
undetectable. At one point both moved within five feet of a guard who
had been gazing out over the area they just crossed and slipped by him
undetected. Moments later they froze in place while a roving two-man
patrol passed. This time either of the two shadowy figures could have
reached out and touched the two security men and again they were not
detected.
They scaled the glass and concrete wall of the building in sections, one
floor at a time, the two going up one after the other using powerful
suction cups to belay themselves on the glass. Falling wasn't in the
game plan for tonight; or any other night. They'd trained long and hard
and were good at their work. The top of the building came in short time,
right on schedule.
Crossing a short expanse of perimeter rooftop they peered down through
the skylight into the interior of the building. This section of the roof
was constructed in a sort of geodesic arch. The panels were of glass
supported by a framework of steel tubing. Beneath them, five stories
down, was a miniature tropical rain forest complete with waterfalls,
trees, ferns and flowers. Stored in a vault nearby was the item they
came here for — a file filled with design drawings and project notes.
This file would earn them enough to retire like kings...if they chose to
retire. All they had to do was avoid the armed guards and
state-of-the-art security equipment, copy the file and get out without
anyone knowing they'd been there.
The suction cups were used again, this time placed on the glass panel of
the skylight and the glass cut out. The glass here had been reinforced
with a fine wire mesh but presented no problem. Arnburg swung down into
the framework of steel underneath. He briefly glanced around, searching
for reflections from an inquisitive guard's eyes. There were none. The
only person occupying the cavernous room with them was a guard sitting
at a desk with his back to them, reading. The desk was at the far end of
the miniature rain forest near the entrance to the main lobby. Arnburg
pulled himself back up into the girders and snap-linked the ropes into
place for their descent, then Peterson lowered himself in and they began
their dizzying slide down five stories into the dense foliage below.
Reaching the tops of the trees the two froze in midair, rotating slowly
like little spiders dangling at the ends of long silken threads. As they
spun, their eyes probed the darkened halls and offices surrounding the
artificial jungle below. The guard at the end of the great hall passed
in front of their eyes and they saw him lazily turn a page, then lean
down again on his elbows, his face almost touching the paperback book in
front of him. Slowly they started down again, carefully and silently
parting the branches and leaves of the giant ferns with their feet. As
they came to rest on the ground they remained motionless again and
listened for several minutes.
After attaching the Jumar mechanical ascending devices to the ropes for
use when it came time to leave they moved off in opposite directions
without looking at one another. One checking on the guard, the other to
begin surveillance of the route to the vault room. Neither man felt any
fear, only a heightened state of arousal brought on by surges of
adrenaline. To them this was no more than an exciting game and breaking
the law was only wrong if they got caught. Even then it was always
someone else's fault. Neither man felt as though he was wrong. Neither
accepted responsibility for his actions nor felt any remorse when others
were hurt by those actions.
Seeing that the guard hadn't moved the black ghost slithered back
through the shadows to rejoin his twin. It was clear that a problem had
surfaced. Another guard was taking his lunch break at a work cubicle
halfway down the only access route to the vault room. Judging by the
slow, deliberate unpacking of his lunch box he would be there for some
time; and time wasn't a commodity these two had in abundance.
With a quick series of hand signals a plan of action was established.
One remained motionless, the other faded back into the shadows only to
reappear some fifteen feet away and to one side having already crossed a
section of hallway. He then dematerialized into another shadow alongside
a pillar. A faint motion caused his partner to disappear also. Only a
suggestion of movement betrayed his passage down a darkened portion of
the corridor. Then an ethereal hand appeared, visible only to the other
intruder hidden farther down the dimly lit passageway. Then it was gone.
The signal was enough. The shadows moved, then were still. The men in
the almost-black clothing were there then they were gone. No sound was
heard.
Ralph reverently placed his lunch on the desktop; a Virginia ham
sandwich made with slices of Oroweat bread and lettuce, slathered with
Miracle Whip and a fancy French dijon mustard his sister sent each
Christmas. He'd made it the evening before and had looked forward all
night long to eating it. It was his favorite lunch and lunch was the
highlight of his shift. His mouth watered as the mingled aromas wafted
to his nostrils. "Damn, but I do like this lunch!" He was so engrossed
in preparing to take his first bite he failed to notice another sweet
odor in the air around him. Nor did he feel his head being lowered
gently to the desktop, the sandwich still intact in his left hand. He'd
awaken in a few minutes feeling very tired, not even realizing he'd been
unconscious. He'd go on eating, never guessing that two men had passed
by and gone through the double security doors just twenty feet behind
him.
On the other side of the doors Arnburg thought, “Better infiltration
through modern chemistry” and laughed silently to himself.
The other side of the doors was another world. Gone were the oak paneled
walls, the strategically placed potted ferns and decorator lighting.
Here were the neat-but-functional metal and pasteboard work area
partitions, drafting tables and metal desks with matching metal file
cabinets — a work area for those who did the work. At the far end of
this room was the vault — similar to one you'd find in a bank and
certainly more than a match for the common criminal. Like many bank
vaults, it had been built by Mosler but unlike most bank vaults the
doors were ever so slightly thinner and there was no time lock, just a
double combination tumbler and a secondary key mechanism. A newly
installed motion detector and the baleful stare of the CCTV camera up in
the corner were further guarantors of security in the room.
Arnburg quickly pulled a tubular-shaped object from the side cargo
pocket of his dark combat pants. From a shoulder holster he removed what
appeared to be the frame of a gun. Joining the two he gave a quick jerk
and extended a skeleton shoulder stock from the rear of the device thus
fashioning a short rifle; then toped it off with a six-power scope from
a holster under the other arm. This wasn't a regular rifle. It was an
air rifle capable of generating the same power as a .22. It hadn't been
brought along to wound or kill; though in an emergency it could be used
that way. It was there to accomplish the task before it — to blind the
camera now staring almost directly at the two intruders.
Very carefully Arnburg took aim around a stack of loose-leaf binders on
the desktop in front of him. As the cross hairs came to rest on the
cable feeding the camera the distance appeared to be inches instead of
the twenty-odd feet actually separating him from his target. Calmly,
almost subconsciously, Arnburg went through the routine he learned at
sniper school in the Army so many years before. BRASS. An acronym:
Breathe, inhale and let half of it out; Relax, let go of all tension
that might cause you to tremble; Aim, ease the sights onto your target;
Slack, pull the slack out of the trigger until it feels about ready to
trip; and Squeeze, squeeze the trigger ever so gently while keeping only
the target in your mind.
Suddenly a gouge appeared in the cable cutting it nearly in two. Only a
shred of plastic housing held the two halves together. Simultaneously, a
shiny edge materialized where a black rubber grommet once protected the
cable from the sharp edge of the frame. The camera stopped panning and
the small red light over the lens went dark. The marksman was mildly
surprised by the appearance of the rent in the target, just as he was
always surprised by the change in any target he ever had in his sights.
He didn't hear the slight pop of the nearly silent air rifle nor did he
ever really hear the explosion of any firearm or feel its recoil, so
intense was his concentration — he was only aware of the change in the
target. Looking over at Peterson he saw a slight nod of his shadowy
head.
They knew the disappearance of a picture on the control room screen
would bring the roving guard. Quickly stowing the parts of the air rifle
they concealed themselves in plain sight using the shadows and knowledge
borne of experience of where the guard would shine his light and from
what angle. Three minutes later the door opened and the guard who had
been reading at his desk in the great hall appeared. He quickly fanned
the room with his flashlight then went directly to the corner in which
the camera was located. Pulling over a chair he stepped up on it and
looked over the unit. Stepping down again he picked up a phone on a
nearby desk, dialing a number as he glanced first at the vault door,
then at the motion detector mounted on the wall directly over it. He
could see that the green light was on, indicating that the unit was
operating.
"Yeah, Ed, this is Tom. Hey, the damned cable cut itself in half rubbing
on the frame. Looks like the grommet wore out from twisting back and
forth all the time,” He listened for a second then spoke again, "Yeah,
the motion detector looks okay. Did it pick me up? Good. Guess this can
go in the log. I'll make up a repair order for maintenance in the
morning. Talk to you in a few . . . Bye.” He hung up. With a last quick
glance around the room he left, closing and locking the door behind him.
“Fool! So close to death and so oblivious to everything around him. He
just stumbles around this dumb building secure in his make-believe world
of electronic gadgetry. What an idiot.” Peterson thought, shaking his
head and chuckling noiselessly to himself.
With a quick movement to the side of the room he stepped onto a desk, up
onto a file cabinet and moved one of the ceiling panels aside. Having
researched this type of motion detector he knew from the angle of the
sensor that he was just barely out of range. Staying against the wall he
used a length of nylon strap from his cargo pocket to loop over the
pipes hidden in the ceiling space to support his weight. In this fashion
Peterson moved to the electrical panel in the space directly above the
motion detector. Less than ten minutes later a circuit board had been
installed bypassing the actual motion detector and sending operative
signals back to the main control room while effectively leaving the unit
itself inoperative except for the red and green lights on its face.
Another panel moved aside and the dark figure dropped silently to the
floor. Arnburg was already moving a chair over so he could replace this
panel as he'd already replaced the other.
The vault door itself posed the most time-consuming obstacle. They'd
allowed for this; and, because it was unknown whether the guards would
alter their roving patrol pattern due to the non-functional camera,
small "bugs" had been left in the corridor outside the vault room. By
listening to a miniature receiver through an earphone in his left ear
the dark-clad figure now standing beside the vault door would know if
anyone approached.
Hours of practice had been spent on this same type of vault door and the
pair knew exactly how to go about cracking it, should this prove
necessary. With a little luck, however, they'd already solved the
problem of getting inside.
With the assistance of a sophisticated computer program they already
knew the most likely combination sequences. This had been made possible
by an infinitely detailed background investigation on the vault
custodian, Norma Hughs. During the course of the investigation,
including several careful searches of her home and personal papers, it
had been discovered that Ms. Hughs was quite superstitious and always
used the same sequences of numbers for everything she did requiring
codes or combinations. These numbers had to do with her astrological
sign and various forms of numerology. Even her co-workers were unaware
of her superstitions because she'd always been a private person, keeping
very much to herself and not associating with them after business hours.
She'd been with the company since before this building was built and the
two men now at work on her vault had correctly guessed that she’d
requested a specific combination be set into it. Their only problem was
to get the right one; and, of course, to do so before the roving guard
returned.
Luck was with them. On the fourth try the vault clicked open just as the
sound of footfalls were heard through the tiny earpiece. They swung the
heavy vault door open, stepped inside and swing it closed again just as
a key turned in the lock of the big double doors at the other end of the
room.
Tom nodded to Ralph who was just finishing his lunch at the work-station
in the corridor. "Heard anything?" he asked.
"Nope, just the sound of my own head hitting the tabletop." the guard
joked. "I'm so tired tonight I thought I was going to fall asleep eating
my sandwich. Guess I'd better get up and move around. Ole Man Johnson
don't pay me to snooze."
Tom laughed and told his friend to go ahead and finish cleaning up the
work-station, then went on to the vault room. As he reached forward with
the key to open the big double security doors he noticed the door move
as though there had been a pressure change on the other side. “Air
conditioning must have gone on in there”, he thought. “They just don't
make these buildings like they used to.”
As he stepped into the room Tom quickly swung his flashlight around and
saw everything just as he’d left it during his last visit. He didn't
expect to see anything different. After all, there had been another
guard outside the door eating his lunch the entire time. Switching off
the flashlight he saw with satisfaction that the green "armed" light was
glowing on the face of the motion detector over the vault door. He
quietly backed out of the room and re-locked the door.
Arnburg listened to the retreating footsteps in his earphone. Working by
the glow of a red-lens light attached to his headband, Peterson rapidly
set up a miniature tripod and mounted a special camera and light source.
When he was satisfied the guard had left the area, Arnburg moved away
from the vault door and began to look over the drawer titles on the many
file cabinets around the vault. Finding the one he wanted he opened the
drawer with a simple lock pick and searched through the contents.
Extracting a thick file he placed it on the library table where Peterson
had set up the camera. Opening the file Arnburg placed the top sheet of
paper on the table under the camera lens. Click - and the whirr of the
motor drive. Falling into a regular rhythm Arnburg continued to feed
pages from the file; Peterson tripped the shutter and removed each page
as the camera advanced the film. The sequence repeated hundreds of
times. They felt the air-conditioning inside the vault come on and
Arnburg thought, “Why thanks, Norma. You've really made us feel at
home.”
As he fed in another sheet Arnburg checked his watch. Moments later he
stopped feeding papers touched his partner's arm and moved over to the
vault door. He'd heard the footsteps of the returning guard. Peterson
turned off the light and stood motionless.
Tom entered the vault room and saw nothing out of the ordinary in the
conical beam of his flashlight. He'd been here only an hour ago and had
already forgotten the slight movement of the door during his last visit.
This time there was absolutely nothing that caught his attention.
He hoped maintenance would have the video fixed by tomorrow night so he
could eliminate this extra stop from his hourly rounds. A creature of
habit he'd grown accustomed to walking his rounds at a given pace;
beginning and ending within a minute of the same time, hour after hour,
night after night. This extra stop meant he had to walk much more
rapidly; and being sixty-three years of age and out of shape he felt the
difference. He closed the door, turned and walked on. In his haste to
make his rounds on time he forgot to lock it.
Arnburg made a slight clicking sound with his tongue when he heard the
door close and the footsteps retreat down the hall. Peterson snapped on
his light and shot the last of the papers in the file. As he finished
Arnburg gathered them up and placed them back in the file folder, which
he then returned to the drawer; failing to notice when he placed the
file behind the one he'd lifted to mark its place. He'd removed it from
in front.
During this activity Peterson had broken down the camera and tripod and
replaced the film in the lead bag that protected it during their
infiltration.
Emerging from the vault they reset the dials to the exact numbers they'd
been set on before being compromised; then turned and crossed the room.
Reaching the door they stopped and listened. Nothing. Arnburg reached
out to open the dead bolt and froze. It was unlocked. Looking at his
partner, he grinned. They moved outside the door; then turned and locked
it. They correctly guessed the guard wouldn't remember his oversight and
might raise an alarm on his next round if he found it as he’d left
it...unlocked. Retrieving the bugs as they moved through the shadows of
the now-deserted corridor they made their way back to the central area
and the mini rain forest.
Reaching the perimeter hall around the lush tropical garden they
observed Tom, the roving guard, just returning to his book after
finishing his last rounds. Tom had it worked out so he could get in ten
minutes of reading his Louis L'Amour westerns — he was currently
slogging his way through the Sackett series — between rounds. He usually
fell asleep after about five or six minutes of reading during the later
hours of his shift, only to be awakened by his little beeper alarm in
time for his next trip. He'd been caught sleeping with his face buried
in "Hondo" (his favorite L'Amour western) a couple of years before and
he'd purchased the alarm to keep this from happening again.
Their short dash into the protective shadows of the ferns and trees was
silent and quick. No footprints were left in the artificial ground cover
as the two moved back to their ropes.
Grasping the mechanical ascending devices and fitting their feet into
the loops of the nylon straps they began to climb. As they moved up the
ropes a gentle swinging action began. This was held to a minimum by the
two men moving up one after the other, checking each other's swing. They
stopped once, hanging nearly motionless in midair, as a guard came out
of an office not fifteen feet through space in front of them. He was
traveling at an angle away from them and never looked around the few
degrees that would have placed them directly in his line of sight. He
disappeared around a corner and they could hear his footfalls echoing
down the empty hall. They began to climb again, this time with renewed
vigor.
Gaining the metal scaffolding supporting the glass roof the pair swung
up and out through the cut-away section with the catlike grace of
professional acrobats. The ropes were detached; and, as Arnburg made a
tube of his gloved hands for the rope to feed through, Peterson pulled
it up hand-over-hand as quickly as possible. As the rope hummed through
Arnburg's hands he leaned out over the expanse of girders and space,
watching intently for signs of discovery from below. There were none.
With the ropes up, special clips were fastened to the edges of the
cut-away glass section and it was replaced in its original position.
Silicon sealant was applied around the edges to seal the joint and, when
the job was completed, the fact that the glass had been removed was
nearly undetectable from even a few feet away.
As the pair moved swiftly across the roof to the area they'd climbed
some four hours before, each attached a small, sharp hook to the end of
his rope, looped the rope into the carabinier on his rappelling seat and
tossed the coils over the side of the building. Holding the points of
the hooks against the inside of the wall they lowered themselves over
the edge, the hooks biting into the concrete and supporting their
weight.
Pushing off they swung out some ten feet from the side of the building
and falling briefly through space only to catch themselves and rebound
off the narrow concrete section of wall sandwiched between the glass
walls of the fourth and fifth floors. Carefully staying within the
narrow corridor not covered by the CCTV system they rebound farther out
this time and plummet down two more floors where they pulled up and
bounded off the wall yet again. From this point they pushed out and
dropped freely, then almost halt in mid-air before alighting gently and
soundlessly on the pavement. A quick flip of their wrists and the ropes
fell, deft hands catching the hooked ends before they clatter to the
cement. Arnburg "invented" this hook and smiled to himself each time he
used it.
Carelessly stuffing the ropes into their backpacks the two dark-suited
spirits moved silently back along the route they took earlier that
morning. This trip was less eventful. The guards they had passed so near
earlier were not to be seen in the long, sleepy hours before dawn and
the safety of the van was reached with little effort. The drain of the
constant flow of adrenalin caught up with them about a mile away when
they stopped to change back into street clothing.
They both started laughing, as they had laughed so many times before —
laughing and so weak they could hardly bear it. This feeling and the
money that went with it were what they lived for.
They stopped at a Denny's Restaurant miles away and ate breakfast. Later
in the day they'd catch a flight from Los Angeles International Airport
bound for Japan. On board the aircraft they planned to become
millionaires for the first time; and, in another Asian country, they had
another job waiting that would double their fortune...if they survived.