“I’ve worked there long enough. People trust me to get on with my job,” she replied. “One of the benefits of working on staff, people don’t notice you moving around the place. Should be a piece of cake.”
“And make sure you swap out all the pillows. No way of knowing where either of them will be sleeping. Need to cover all the bases.”
“Yeah, yeah, I’m not stupid. Just make sure you don’t mess up the wiring.”
Jonny smirked. “Let me worry about that. Just make sure not to crimp any of the pillows when you lay them out. Putting them on the bed is safe enough, but just don’t step on them or bend them too much.”
“Or what?” she asked.
He grinned at her. “Or you go boom instead of June Kato.”
Chapter 11
TREVOR’S STOMACH GROWLED, the sound echoing noisily in the narrow crawl space. He resisted the urge to swear out loud, and tried to think about something else. He flicked on his flashlight, trying to locate his satchel of supplies. The light bounced off the metal surfaces, coming to a rest on one of the fake panels he had installed the day before. Sure enough, even to Trevor, the effect was indistinguishable from the original walls. The layers of insulation should also do a good job of hiding his heat signature.
The perfect hiding place.
He knew he had limited time to move about in his self-imposed solitary confinement. Gustafson, the idiot, had let on that a security team would arrive later today for their inspection of the Seventh Floor, and to make their own arrangements. Between now and then was the last chance to move around or make any noise whatsoever. He checked the alarm on his watch, made sure it was set to vibrate, and began searching for something to eat.
This is where all the beers bought for military veterans paid off. He had prepared well, learning how to arrange his gear in order of use, from soonest to last. Laying his blanket in one corner, stowing his pistol next to it, he reached for his breakfast. Nearby, the plastic tote with a stash of non-perishable food in plastic ziplock baggies, a row of water bottles along the wall. He found the first of several baggies of granola bars, pulling one out and unwrapping it as silently as he could. He bit off one end of the bar, chewing slowly, trying not to spike his blood sugar too high.
He finished the first, then picked up another, and then another. He drank half the first bottle of water, and immediately felt the urge to piss. At the far end of the narrow space, a collapsible bucket and a bag of cat litter to use as a latrine. It wasn’t going to be pretty in there for the next twenty-four hours, but he had novels, flashlights, batteries, and caffeinated drinks to keep him occupied during the long dark.
He had learned from the soldiers in the late-night bars that one of the hardest things for snipers was keeping themselves alert for long periods of time. If possible, they would sleep only during the dark, and stuff sharp pebbles under their bodies to keep them uncomfortable, keep them dozing lightly. The last thing a sniper wanted was to get caught sleeping.
Caffeine pills and sporadic anaerobic exercise helped during the daytime, stimulating the body and keeping the blood pumping. However fatiguing or painful the long wait might become, it was critical to remain alert. And that was exactly what Trevor planned for; he had to rely on catnaps during the quiet of night, and remain awake during the day by reading, doing silent push-ups and sit-ups, and taking caffeine pills.
Ready and steady when the time comes.
He relieved himself into the bucket, tossed some litter in, and settled back into his corner. Using his flashlight, he unloaded his pistol, and removed the rounds from the magazine. He set each one down in front of him in a tidy row. He turned off the light.
Plunged into pitch black, he reached forward, found a bullet, and knocked it over. In the dark, his hearing had become acute, and he heard the bullet roll away. He reached forward again, relying on the memory in his muscles to find the next bullet. Finding it, he turned it around and slid it into the magazine in his other hand. One round after another, he played the game of loading his gun. Once fully loaded, he unloaded it again, and repeated the exercise.
After what felt like hours, he felt himself dozing off. With several hours until the security team was due to show up, Trevor figured a short nap was acceptable. He just needed to relax a little first.
Fishing out a slim tablet, he read one of his books at the lowest brightness settings until his eyes grew heavy. Finishing the chapter, he stuffed his pockets with marbles and lay down, feeling the glass orbs digging into his legs. Flicking off the tablet, he set it to one side, making sure his pistol was well within reach.
In the darkness, with only the sounds of the air conditioning systems and his own heartbeat to keep him company, Trevor pretended he was camping on a moonless and starless night before finally dozing off.