Workers moved about the concrete campus surrounding the building. Hatch watched the men come and go using a pedestrian gate alongside the main truck entrance. It was located fifty feet in front of where they were parked. A dirt path had been worn through the weed-laden patches of grass, leading from the parking lot where they sat to the gate. A gray rectangular keycard fob access panel was attached to a cylindrical metal pole. No physical security was present at the pedestrian entrance. There was a gate guard positioned in a guard shack on the other side of the truck entrance, but he was not inspecting employees who entered the facility, just the trucks passing through. Hatch watched several employees come and go from it, using their badges, all of which were attached to lanyards on the lapel of their pockets.
The way Hatch saw it, two major problems stood in her way of infiltrating Solarus. First off, every employee she'd seen pass within view, in the time they'd been parked, was male. And secondly, they were all Hispanic. She absently ran her hand over the pale skin leading up from her right wrist, feeling the raised roadmap of scars leading to her shoulder, and looked over at Ayala, her big-hearted justice-seeking sidekick doing his best impression of every cop from any '80s television cop stakeout.
He gnawed nervously on the end of his cigar when he caught Hatch looking at him. "What are you thinking?"
"I'm thinking, I don't think I can get in there, not without raising a thousand alarms and bringing more heat down on us than we can bear."
Miguel let out a sigh. "What do we do now then?"
"I said, I didn't think I could go in there."
Ayala swallowed hard and looked a shade lighter than he did a moment before. "I don't think I'm capable of that."
"People are capable of a lot more than they give themselves credit for. You told me about the story with the rock and the troll. Be the brave boy that splits it in half and walks your people to the other side."
And with that, Ayala’s color returned, as well as a competent, but nervous smile. "Just tell me what to do and I'll do it."
"First thing we need to do is get you a change of clothes. Covering that awful Hawaiian shirt might be the second-best thing I do today."
"Second best?"
"Because today, we're going to bring Angela home."
"Optimism shines light on the prepared."
"Another one of your dad's grains of wisdom?"
"Nope. That one's all mine."
"I like it." Hatch opened the door to the Nissan and slipped into the darkness.
An older white model Toyota pickup pulled into the lot and parked a few spaces from the Nissan. She made her way toward it, staying in a low crouch and moving along the back end of the vehicles until she came to the space between the driver's side door of the pickup and the narrow avenue of space created by the Subaru it was parked next to. The employee never saw her approach because he was bent inside the cab of his truck and looking for something, cursing under his breath in Spanish.
Hatch struck him hard with her left forearm, the bone driving into the side of the man's neck. The brachial stun rendered him unconscious without serious damage.
She stripped him of his clothes, hog-tying his hands and feet together with some rope she’d found in the bed of his truck. She stuffed one of his socks in his mouth to keep him from screaming and slid him across the bench seat of the Toyota before locking him inside.
A moment later, she was back inside the Nissan.
A glisten of sweat formed on her brow. She held out her offerings to Ayala who took them with a surprised look.
"I think they should fit. I'll give you a moment to get ready." Hatch stepped back out of the Nissan and ducked low, posting up alongside the front wheel of Ayala's weather-beaten Sentra.
She looked at the factory. She thought about Letty and the nickname given to the walrus-endorsed juice company involved in the trafficking of girls. The Last Stop.
Ayala sat in the driver's seat wearing the subdued powder blue of the Solarus factory worker. He nervously grinded his teeth across the chewed end of his cigar, the only visible remaining trace of his loud ensemble.
Hatch's best chance of slipping in undetected now rested in the hands of an untrained civilian reporter with an unhealthy attachment to Hawaiian shirts.
Twenty-Seven
Ayala stood on the outer edge of the trail leading from the parking lot to the pedestrian access gate, and beyond that, the Solarus Juice Company. Even though the cool night still prevailed over the coming day's sun, Ayala was already sweating profusely. He tried to sound macho back there in the car when he agreed to do it. The Nighthawk woman had proven her bravery and now it was his turn, but as soon as he'd moved off in the dark, he unburdened himself the fear he'd been holding back in one long body tremble.
Gaining his composure with a long deep inhale and equally long exhale, he set his eyes on the gate and the task ahead. The man pictured on the ID card clipped to his left pocket bore a striking resemblance to Ayala. The excitement he'd experienced at first noticing the resemblance was dashed the moment he stepped from the car.
In his other breast pocket, his cell phone's circular eye of the camera was just barely visible above the top off the pocket. The Bluetooth device nestled in his right ear came to life with the sound of Hatch's voice.
"Tip your head down and to the right. There's plenty of cameras, but the one closest and angled to get the best possible shot of your face is located on the back corner of that storage shed, just beyond the gate."
"How did you see that?" Ayala whispered.
"I ate my carrots as a kid. Now, no more talking. We went over this."
"Thanks for reminding me." Ayala tried to laugh but his nerve-wracked body released it like a hyena's cackle.
Ayala remembered he'd been given strict instructions from Hatch.
This is a one-way radio system.
I am the only one who speaks.
The moment I say move you move.
Hesitation will kill you.
Do not die.
Do not get captured.
In the event you are compromised, I will come for you.
He remembered the intensity in her eyes as she spoke to him. She’d managed to tune out the entire world around her. Hatch's face had been eerily calm, almost serene, as if the impending threat of death held no burden. In that moment, Ayala remembered the cyclonic events that forever changed his life and the conversations he’d had with Hatch about hers.
Looking at Hatch in that car, just before he exited for his rescue attempt, he remembered thinking, Hatch wasn't in one of those calm before the storm moments. She was calm because she was the eye of her own hurricane.
This is a one-way radio system.
Those were Hatch's exact words. He hadn't even made it to the first checkpoint before violating the first rule. He hoped to keep Do not die off the table for the foreseeable future.
He shook off the mistake and focused. Ayala's shaky hand extended the key card from the attached lanyard. He pressed it against the access pad. Here goes nothing, he thought, instead of saying, proud of himself for remembering.
The delay between the red light flipping to green and the door making its electrical buzzing release sound seemed like an eternity to the impatient Ayala.
"I've got eyes on you until you get to that door over there on the left. And don't worry. Once you're inside, I'll still have eyes by way of your cell phone. It should work just as long as the connection holds." There was a pause. In it, Ayala heard Hatch sigh. Her exhale, amplified by the small wireless earbud in his ear, sounded of rushing water crashing over wet stone. The sound of it reminded him of that day by the river. The other day his life changed forever. The story he never told the woman watching on from the passenger seat of his Nissan.