More than ten kilometres of two-lane pressed-earth road was between the loading depot and the highway. Once on, and once traveling at speed, the two men would get to the refining company by 5 PM. It would be about twenty minutes back to headquarters in the same city, and then relaxation. Both settled in with hope for a long, steady, relaxing drive. Ben was at the wheel, and would be so for the whole trip.
It was two hours on the highway when the pair saw orange pylons on the centre of the asphalt, with a police car blocking their path. Stopping, Ben unlocked the door, undid his seat belt and stepped out. Jay stayed in, but tensed up.
“What’s wrong, officer?”
The police officer, like Ben, had a neatly-trimmed moustache; both were dark-haired and brown-eyed. Ben had several centimetres on him.
“We’re cordoning off this part of the highway,” the officer explained. “There’s a gang of robbers on the loose, and we got word they’re between this roadblock and the other one. Until we find them, no-one gets in or out except local traffic.
“Just turn right, go down about one and a half kilometres to Halagon Avenue; it’s rural-residential. Follow it all the way – about eight kilometres – and you’ll get back on the highway. One you reach Halagon, turn left and keep going.”
Halagon – left, Ben noted. It would slice a bit off the time buffer, but public safety was public safety. Far better to have the police on the job than to run the risk of being “inconvenienced” in another, menacing way. The officer added:
“What are you guys doing here, anyway? Mine job?”
“Yes, that’s it. We’re ferrying gold for them,” Ben confirmed.
“Be careful,” the officer said with his eyes widened slightly to get the point through. “It’s only a matter of time before those banditos get copycats up here. It’s the kind of crime that everyone’s surprised no-one thought of earlier. That says someone’s going to try it.” Ben’s own eyes made the officer conclude that the point was made.
“Thanks,” Ben added, and got back in the van.
“We have to make a detour: crooks,” he explained to the still-tensed-up Jay. “Right here, left at Haligon, eight kilometres along ‘til we get to the highway again. It’s residential, so we’ll be a little slower, but it’s not much time out of the day.”
“Gotcha,” Jay agreed, now relaxed but alert. “Small inconvenience considering the risk.” So, Ben turned the van and headed west.
About half way down Haligon, they were stopped again. This time, the car was not a police car – but the fellow who stopped them was in a police uniform. Ben rolled down the window, but kept the car locked. Jay, out of the corner of his eye, noted the bridge under which a small river crossed. They were close to the near edge of it, which would explain why the cordon had stretched over to this street too. The river wouldn’t take a boat, but it would take a guy escaping while covering his tracks.
“Sir, could you please get out of the car and stand alongside it? Tell your partner to do so too.”
“Officer,” Ben replied, “we’re security personnel on a delivery for a mining company. I know you’re looking for a gang of thieves, but we’re not part of them.”
This fellow, a bit taller than the other man who stopped them, began to insist. “Sir, I have to ask you and your partner to step out of the van and stand alongside it.”
Something about the situation made Ben note the fellow’s appearance. Dark hair, cut short, clean-shaven, square face, medium build, a little less than 180 cm, a fighter. Looked like a cop, but the car didn’t. Something was off: why was a uniformed man in a plainclothes car? The whole situation said risk.
Still, the risk was slight. If need be, Ben or Jay could have several cruisers over right away simply by pushing the alarm button on the remote device that each of them had in their right pockets. About the same size as a wallet, they hooked into the same circuit as the heat detector. All it would take was a reach for the “wallet” with a defeated look and the device could be activated. Given the cruiser five-and-a-half kilometres away, both guards could go through their act and buy enough time for help to arrive. There was still a risk, but not much.
“Now, please. Both of you.”
“O-kay, we’ll co-ordinate for you.” Unlocking the door, Ben looked over at Jay who had unlocked his own and had undone his seat belt; his hand was on the door, and a smile was on his face.
“And a one – two – three.”
When Jay had debouched to the ground, he felt a sharp pain in his chest. Training and experience got his eyes jerking down to the miscreant with the dart gun, who had obviously snuck up from the under edge of the bridge. His last conscious gesture was a yank at the tranquilizer dart. It had been guaranteed to work swiftly.
As did the one on Ben. His own blend of training and experience got his belting out “Jay! Watch it!” before he keeled over.
Both came to just behind the back of the insanely opened doors of the cargo bed. Needless to say, it was now empty, as Jay found out when he had staggered to his feet.
That was the first thing he had thought of. The second thing was done when his right hand entered into his right pocket.
Ben was a little behind, and would have been more so had Jay not shaken him a bit. The two waited by the back of the van for the real police to get here. Neither said a word.
The senior man’s regretifier had working swiftly. Jeez – I could have pressed the alarm and seen if it was a real cop. It would have taken only seconds: the call made, he would have gotten summoned by the dispatcher had he been legit. Within seconds. If not, Ben and Jay could have stayed in the van and waited behind the bulletproof glass. If only he had thought of it…
He kept running and re-running the scenario through his head while waiting for help. Intermixed was his reinforcement of the description of the fake cop who jacked them. That was one thing he could do.
And that’s the first thing he said to his rescuers after explaining that he and Jay had gotten robbed. It was really the company, but that didn’t matter. Out here, Ben Fyfe and Jay Mohr were the company.
“Cripes,” the sergeant said while turning his face eastward to the highway, “we’ve got two gangs.” He turned to his partner, a constable. “We’ve got more running loose here.” He had no way of knowing that the impersonator had been the tip-off man who got the cordon running. It had been well and deliberately timed.
With those words, now that there was someone to tell, Ben consciously realized what the robbers must have done. He told the two policemen about the safety features built into the van, concluding that the biometric data much have been fetched from their unconscious bodies by manhandling both of them to the scanners. The two keys were gone, which was perfectly all right. After the jack, the locks to the sensor cubes would have had to have been changed anyway.
“Hell of a break,” the sergeant responded. Whoever designed that truck had been really clever. There was no way that such a heist could have been undertaken without it being an inside job.
“Do you remember telling anyone how those gizmos worked?”
Ben understood with the question. “Only the mine manager and a few of his boys. Ed Cox, over at the Manaldo Mine. About two hundred kilometres north of here.”
The junior police officer pulled out what was evidently a smart phone and began clicking. “Got it.”
Sam Pender had known something was wrong right when the alarm signal was pressed. Most of him was concerned, but a small part of him sighed when he realized it was the new flagship van. It had been the perfect moment for Murphy’s Law to intrude. He had suspected that it was an inside job – not involving his men, but someone at the mine – but he didn’t allow himself the luxury of believing it
Having reassured himself that his two men were okay, he still insisted that they got checked out at the hospital. Tranquilizer guns were for animals, not people; even if the formula had been adjusted for criminal use, there were no guarantees against any lasting damage.
Next was the insurance. They would pay – he had made sure of it – but the premiums would likely be adjusted unless he could show that it was a matter truly beyond his company’s control. Even then, he might get charged more simply for being in the wrong place at the wrong time. He had known Matt for a long time, though, so he wouldn’t have to threaten to walk; Matt could fix it for him.
As for the scanners, there had to be a way to distinguish the iris of an unconscious man from that of a conscious one. There were ways to detect stress in voice…now, I think of it, he added bitterly. In retrospect, a voice recognizer would have been less impressive but more serviceable…
His duties kept him at his office until the evening, in part because he dragged them out to allay the shock. So he was at his post when the call came from Ed Cox.
“Hello? Is this Ed?... You’re using a different number…. Right; I don’t know who it was either…. So you want to make another run… The last ride was conspicuous, eh?...” Stifling the momentary urge to defend himself, he shrewdly let Cox continue. “So conspicuous worked… I see…
“Now that’s an idea!... Yes, I’ll be glad to get my men prepped for it… Yes, I will be sure to tell them that.”
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