“You’re sure that you didn’t see a woman in a bright yellow dress walk out of the building?” asks Dominic.
Rebekah and Dmitri shake their heads.
“And no one like that walked by you?” Dominic asks Mirabelle and Elvis.
They both shake their heads and shrug.
The handwriting on the small pink sticky note in Dominic’s hand is hasty and sloppy. It reads, “hualanpong northestern – siam shipjin car 3 dep &3o”
“What the hell is that supposed to be?” asks Rebekah, rotating her head. “The letter next to the one that looks like a ‘p’ next to the thing that looks like a ‘q’.”
“Is that even a letter?” asks Dmitri.
“Right?” acknowledges Brock.
As the group continues to gaze at the mysterious note, Elvis pulls out his phone and punches some information into it. A few moments later he looks up to address the Section, “I think I might have something.”
He turns the phone in the general direction of the group but quickly notices that they’re having trouble focusing. With a self-assured smile he says, “Let me read it out for you.”
Elvis proceeds to tell them that “hualanpong” probably stands for Bangkok’s main train station “Hua Lamphong”, that “northestern” is most likely a misspelling of “Northeastern”, and that “siam shipjin” is in all likelihood a mangled version of “Siam Shipping”.
“So maybe that’s car number three then,” states Brock, engrossed in the note. The other agents under the influence of Gary’s mushroom tea look up and nod in deep, profound agreement.
“Yeah, that’s probably what the ‘car’ means,” says Elvis with a hint of sarcasm. “Which would make the departure time about an hour from now.”
“Where do you get that from?” asks Brock.
“Right here,” Elvis points to the sticky note. “The ‘dep’ means departure and the ampersand-looking thing here is an eight. It’s just so badly written.”
“If you say so,” says Brock, pulling his face closer to the note.
“I think it’s the best we have,” says Rebekah.
“It’s the only thing we have,” adds Dmitri.
“Wow. It iz cool, huh?” says Mirabelle with wide eyes.
“As long as it takes us to what we’re after,” responds Elvis soberly. “Are you sure you can’t tell us anything more about this Hope woman?” he asks, abruptly turning to Brock and Dominic.
Taking a few moments to reflect, Brock replies, “Nope.” Dominic shakes his head and shrugs his shoulders.
“It doesn’t really match the outputs,” observes Elvis.
“Outputs?” asks a befuddled Brock.
“From the neural networks,” clarifies Elvis.
“Oh … right,” replies Brock, turning his attention back to the gently swaying world around him.
Observing the distracted state of the Section, Elvis reluctantly assumes the lead with a silent nod. “What’ve we got to lose?” he asks the group. “Let’s go to the train station.”
Lively and enthusiastic faces tilt up to meet his gaze. “I love ze locomotive,” remarks Mirabelle with surprisingly joyful candour. Dmitri agrees with a vigorous nod.
In no time at all they’re stepping out of two taxis in front of a large white building fronted by stout columns. Looking up at the central section Brock asks, “Doesn’t this seem familiar?”
Seeing the arching roof of the building Elvis responds, “Yeah, like that mushroom monk market.”
Brock allows the words to percolate for a moment and then bursts out laughing. Soon everyone is infected with guffaws except Elvis who keeps ineffectively repeating, “Guys, it’s really not that funny.”
Eventually they settle down and Elvis successfully encourages formulating a plan of action.
Working through occasional snickering and various distractions it’s decided that Rebekah, Dmitri, and Elvis will try to access the tracks and find the train. Rebekah because she might be able to “convince” their way back out if needed, Dmitri because there might be electronics involved, and Elvis because there should be a sober lookout. In the meantime Mirabelle, Brock, and Dominic will be the eyes, ears, and helping hands on the outside.
“This is probably going to go down as one of the craziest nights of my life,” remarks Rebekah with giddy nervousness as the six of them turn left at the corner of the large building.
“I though it was escaping those colliding ships in subs during that tropical storm,” suggests Brock.
Before Rebekah has a chance to comment, Elvis cuts in with swollen admiration, “Whaaat? You guys escaped in submarines?! That’s some legit super spy shit! When did that happen?”
“On our way here,” responds Brock. “Wasn’t so cool when we were in the middle of it.”
Having considered which event had more impact Rebekah finally answers, “Now that you mention it, every day is so uniquely fucked up that it’s easy to forget how fucked up the day before was. Guess I’m gonna have to start a top ten list or something.”
“Only ten?” adds Dominic with a chuckle that ripples through the group.
After some time they arrive at a widened area of the tracks guarded only by a sole, upturned security camera and a brick wall. There they align on a dark and isolated portion of the barrier with a gap in the barbed wire along the top.
Elvis is assisted over the top and invites Rebekah and Dmitri to follow. Making it to the other side and satisfied that group chat is still working they duck unseen into the sharp shadows of the train yard. A cricket sounds somewhere nearby.
“I’m going to get as high as I can,” says Dominic, breaking the momentary silence.
Brock looks at him with an upraised eyebrow. Mirabelle tilts her head to the side.
“Situational awareness.”
Confusion is added to their faces.
“To get a view over that wall,” Dominic explains with a coy smile.
They share another chuckle before Dominic departs into the narrow street across from the wall.
Mirabelle turns to Brock and says, “I sink zis time we should go apart.” She motions in opposite directions along the wall.
“Okay,” agrees Brock. “Meet back here in five minutes?”
“Maybe ten,” she replies. “Five zere, five back.”
With a thumbs-up Brock turns around and begins to walk back from where the group had come. Mirabelle is continuing farther down the tracks toward an overhead pedestrian bridge.
An uneventful few minutes pass.
Suddenly, Rebekah breaks through with a whisper over the group chat, “So … we’re between two trains with lot of container cars. The numbers on them are all over the place. And most of them are locked tight. So there’s that. Then, it looks like they have security walking around here so we don’t have much time to hang around. If you have any suggestions then we’d be happy to hear ’em.”
A moment later Dominic’s voice is broadcast to the group. “I’m almost on the fourth floor of this hotel’s staircase. They have windows on every landing so hopefully I’ll be able to tell you where your security’s at.”
“That’ll help,” whispers back Rebekah. “Yeah? What’s that?” she continues.
Nearly simultaneously, Brock, Mirabelle, and Dominic squint their eyes in confusion as they try to comprehend Rebekah’s last communication.
“Come again?” asks Brock.
“Sorry, I was talking to Dmitri and Elvis. We’ve got some ideas,” she responds.
“We’re probably looking for containers that can be loaded onto ships and trucks,” adds Dmitri in a hushed voice.
Quietly Elvis adds, “And the car number might be its position from the end.”
“I can’t see where you are. Can one of you wave your phone at the building behind the wall you jumped over?”
“I can do one better,” replies Dmitri. “One sec.”
A few moments pass in silence. Then, without warning everyone’s phone buzzes.
The Section glance down at their screens to see that they’ve received text messages. Opening up the messages they find a pair of coordinates.
“Plug that into a search and look at the map in the results,” instructs Dmitri.
They do as he says and quickly zoom in on the exact spot where he, Rebekah, and Elvis are hiding.
“Okay, this is great,” says Dominic as he orients himself using the online map. Gazing out of the window he reports, “I don’t see anyone around you at the moment. Wish I had binoculars.”
“Oh well, what’re ya gonna do?” comments Dmitri. “At least we’ll have Elvis keeping an eye on things behind the train.”
“Behind the train?” asks Dominic.
“The part you can’t see,” explains Dmitri. “From your angle,” adds Elvis.
“Gotcha,” confirms Dominic as the three agents on the other end of the line embark on their tasks.
Within the next few minutes Brock and Mirabelle have turned around while Rebekah and Dmitri are approaching the ends of the parallel trains.
“I don’t see any shipping containers on this end,” whispers Dmitri.
Rebekah adds, “Two containers on my side. Except… hang on…” — a few seconds elapse — “one of these has Chinese writing on it. Looks like Chinese. The other one looks like a wall of fruit. But no writing though. Wait…” — a few more seconds elapse — “No. It’s not fruit. It’s more like metal.”
“That’s probably what that is,” notes Elvis. Then he asks, “Dmitri, do you copy?”
“Yeah, totally,” responds a nearly imperceptible Dmitri.
Dominic scans the length of the train yard from the fourth floor window and finds the two shipping containers near Rebekah. Circling the area and seeing nothing he swings his gaze back in the opposite direction, coming to rest at the approximate location of Dmitri. There on the opposite side of the yard are two railway security guards.
“You guys are about to have company,” cautions Dominic over group chat.
“I see them too,” includes Elvis in a breathy voice.
The two guards walk casually down toward the two trains. Dominic notes that despite their somewhat military-looking attire they don’t seem to be carrying firearms. He also judges that as long as Dmitri and Elvis don’t dally they shouldn’t have a problem out-walking the security.
In the meantime Rebekah comes in over the group chat. “Guys, I have some bad news”, she says in a slightly winded whisper. After a muffled grunt of exertion she adds, “We might not be able to get into the container.”
A few more strenuous sounds are broadcast over the chat before she goes silent.
A moment later, Dmitri’s quietly energized voice adds, “This thing’s locked tight. Even if we had a big bolt cutter we would need to get past this cover. A welding torch might help.”
“I don’t see any way in,” notes Elvis. “No rust, no cracks, no openings. The lock is massive and like Dmitri said it’s under a thick steel hood. Getting in there with a big bolt cutter would be impossible. Dom, what’s the status on those guards?”
“Taking a stroll,” replies the large lookout. “I’d say you still have about two minutes. But that’s not your only problem.”
“Why?” asks Elvis with quiet concern.
“Train leaves in a little over twenty minutes if I’m reading the clock right,” explains Dominic, squinting at his screen.
Elvis checks the time on his own mobile phone and purses his lips with concern.
The tension grows as the trio in the yard push, pull, and prod the container for a way in. After a minute and a half Dominic breaks in with, “Security’s getting close. You should probably start to leave soon. Like, maybe now.”
By this time Brock and Mirabelle have returned to the breached section of the wall.
“I see nussing,” opens the French woman as she lights a new cigarette.
“Same here,” says Brock, looking around one last time and spotting only an interesting statue across the street.
A few seconds later Dmitri scuttles over the wall and flops back over. Rebekah scurries awkwardly over his back and drops down inelegantly. Dmitri follows. Finally Elvis’ hands appear over the bricks and he quickly bounds over the top.
With despondent heads hung in defeat the group barely notice that Brock is fixated on something else.
“We’re fucked,” says Rebekah sullenly. Dmitri nods lackadaisically. Elvis juts out his jaw tensely and looks skyward. The dismal atmosphere hangs between them.
Arriving hastily from the nearby hotel and failing to notice the mood Dominic makes a suggestion. “Why don’t we ride the train?” he asks earnestly.
“How far? And for how long?” asks Brock.
“And how do we get inside?” adds Elvis.
Dominic shakes his head in reluctant agreement and the group falls silent. The sound of the idling diesel train engine echoes off of the walls of the nearby buildings. A couple of spindly motorcycles and one compact delivery truck drive by.
“Dude, are you okay?” asks Rebekah dejectedly, breaking the group’s murky emptiness. They look first at her and then at Brock.
He’s still standing and staring across the street. Something very interesting is going on over there but try as they may no one else in Section B seems to be able to make out what it is, just a back entrance to a hotel surrounded by dumpsters, lush green plants, black security cameras set against white tile, and some sort of crappy statues.
It’s only when Dominic places his hand on his shoulder that the junior agent snaps back to attention. Brock swivels his head back and forth a few times, the focus of his attention having evidently disappeared.
“Oh, hey, guys!” he says, nodding distractedly. “I was just… I saw something… something kinda trippy over there.”
“What’d you see?” asks Rebekah, head cocked to the side. Dominic and Dmitri also take an immediate interest. Brock is a little taken aback by the attention.
“Umm, well, I saw this, like, chicken guy,” he says haltingly and uncertainly.
Rebekah nods at him sternly to continue.
“Okay, well, those lights suddenly all turned red and this chicken guy appears out of there,” explains Brock as he points to a worn statue flanking the rear entrance driveway.
“Chicken guy?” asks Dmitri.
“Yeah, sort of,” continues Brock. “His beak was all fucked up but his head looked like a chicken. He had these wings… they might’ve been attached to his arms, I dunno. Anyway, his legs looked like big chicken legs. Basically he looked like a chicken. A big, blinged out chicken guy.”
“Blinged out chicken guy?” inquires Dominic, blinking with concentration.
“Yeah, you know, gold-rimmed sunglasses, gold rings, gold bracelets, big fat gold clock hanging on a big fat gold chain around his neck. He kept pointing at it, like, ‘Yo, check this out’.”
Rebekah purses her lips and says, “Yeah, time’s running out. No shit.”
“But just before I turned my head,” says Brock, ignoring her bitterness, “the chicken guy did something weird.”
“Okay,” says Dominic, gesturing for Brock to keep going.
“He reached behind his back,” says Brock, furrowing his brow in mild confusion, “and pulled out this really small missile. Like a toy. Maybe it was a bomb, I dunno.”
“A bomb?” asks Dmitri with mild alarm.
“Yeah,” replies Brock. “He held it up to make sure I saw it” — Brock extends an open palm as though he’s holding a bottle of wine — “and then he flipped it over and dropped it.”
“And?” asks Rebekah.
“And it floated down like a leaf. Just sort of” — he tilts his hands from side to side — “glided down to the ground and disappeared.”
“That’s it?” she inquires with shrugging dismissal.
“That’s it,” confirms Brock.
“Okay, yeah, cool,” she says with overtly sarcastic acceptance. “Chicken man laying bombs. Fantastic.”
“Dropping bombs,” Brock corrects her halfheartedly.
“Fine, dropping bombs,” she follows up. “Unless those bombs can blow off that container’s doors within the next twenty minutes it doesn’t mean shit. That train’s leaving and we have no way to get inside. We’re fucked.”
Feeling like he’s wasted the Section’s time Brock turns his head aside in shame. No one utters a word during the long and hollow silence that follows.
“Wait,” says Dominic, unexpectedly piercing the funereal atmosphere.
“Now, hang on just a second. Wait, just, one, second, ” he says with deliberate slowness, pressing a hand to his mouth as a smile creeps out slowly from under his fingers.
“What? We bomb the train?” asks Rebekah in disbelief. “Where the hell would we get explosives? And within the next twenty minutes? Who here would even know what to do with them if we had them?”
Dmitri and Elvis both shrug their shoulders. Mirabelle raises an eyebrow.
“Then, assuming we had all that, what next?” continues Rebekah rhetorically. “We blow the doors off and we only have a few minutes before we’re rushed by security. Unless we have a helicopter on standby there’s no way we’d make it out of there.”
The smile has now crept completely across Dominic’s face and he’s pointing a finger at Rebekah. “Yeah,” he says, slowly receding back into his thoughts, “cops everywhere. Everything locked down. Nothing gets in or out.”
A moment later he reemerges from his reverie and turns to Brock with a beaming grin, saying, “Ha! That’ll do just fine. Nice one, Brock! Nice one, chicken guy! And nice one, agency!”
Brock frowns, unsure why he’s being complimented. As Mirabelle takes a sideways drag on her cigarette the agents of Section B lean in closer, eager to share in Dominic’s revelation.