It was well past midnight when Simon’s cab pulled up to a remote warehouse near Valparaiso’s largest shipyard. It was cold. He was tired, and the persistent coastal fog was seeping into him with a relentless chill that made his bones ache.
He fingered his copy of Andrew’s scrambler card in his pocket and wondered yet again if it was still working. It had to be. Without it, he and the others would be completely exposed to UNED and whoever else was watching them from the satellites and the security cams, tracing them through phone calls and RF relays and thread interrogations. Being invisible isn’t too difficult, he told himself, trying to make light of it. Trying…and failing.
He pulled himself out of the cab and paid the driver with cash. Then he simply stood there, smiling tightly and waiting for the man to drive off. They were in the center of a lopsided square of buildings, gates, and offices. He could easily head into any of them, and he didn’t want the cabbie to have the slightest idea where he was going.
The driver eventually got the hint. Simon gave him a half-serious wave as the vehicle hummed off into the night. Only then did he turn to the southwest and head down a narrow alley strewn with sheet metal waste and trash everywhere.
The shipyard was even quieter than he had expected. Now the damnable fog was muffling and blending every sound together as it rolled in like a noxious cloud. All he was able to distinguish was the sound of a distant ship’s horn and the barking of agitated guard dogs blocks away.
The alley opened into a deserted street lined with industrial buildings. Broken streetlights flickered and flared down one side and were entirely absent on the other. He was glad it was that way. Not the kind of place where locals feel comfortable, Simon thought, and then smiled at himself. Let alone foreigners.
He had seen this street in the GPS imagery when they had planned their rendezvous coordinates with Ryan. It was a particularly accurate rendition: the garbage in the gutters, the broken windows and stuttering lamps, the grimy whitewashed building with an open gate and a sign on the door that read Deportes de Motor.
At last, he thought, as he stepped into the alcove in front of the repair warehouse. His heart began to pound when he heard voices coming from inside. Voices he recognized.
Thank god, he thought. At least some of them made it. Simon’s life had been turned around over the last few weeks; tonight it would take yet another spin.
And he was ready.
He raised a fist and rapped on the sheet metal door, sharp and quick: rap-rap-rap. The voices inside stopped abruptly, and a tiny security cam in an upper corner swerved and pointed its single eye toward him. Simon raised a hand, spread his fingers, and waved them in greeting.
He heard footsteps approaching from inside. There was the screech of a barricade being pulled back and the squeal of the door pulling open on un-oiled hinges.
Andrew’s smiling face appeared under his typical rat’s nest of blonde hair. “Well, well,” he said. “Right on time.” He pulled the door open a bit more, and Simon strode in, trying to look in every direction at once.
He waited for Andrew to re-secure the door before shaking his hand warmly. “Good to see you all again,” he said. “I didn’t really know…”
The building they had chosen was a manufacturing facility for boat engine mounts that had closed due to renewable fuel mandates. It reminded Simon oddly of the Spector construction domes under Oxford: huge, high ceilings, but nearly empty—this one wasn’t stuffed with equipment or exotic power conduits. It looked as if it would never be filled again.
Simon’s team was waiting in the center of the huge, unheated room, where a dimly lit lamp hovered over a large table, and the team members sprawled on couches and huddled in a few random chairs, trying to keep warm.
Hayden was the first to spot him. “Well, well,” he said, giving his usual sarcastic grin.
“Looks like we all made it,” Simon said, smiling at each of them. His eyes lingered on Sam a bit longer than the others. She looked good—better than he could have hoped.
“All and then some,” Andrew said, scowling. He had gotten the call from Simon like the rest of them had, explaining the newest addition to their team, and looked less than pleased.