It was eleven o’clock at night by the time Curt rolled up to one of several security gates at the arsenal on the eastern shores of the Mississippi River between Rock Island, Illinois, and Davenport, Iowa. Curt was second in charge behind John and would do all the talking. Nubby and Lon were there to assist in grunt work and to provide some intimidation if necessary.
The van’s headlights illuminated Marques as he exited the guard shack and waved his arms at the upcoming vehicle.
Curt lowered the window as he slowed to a stop. He gave Marques a nod then noticed Darian standing alongside the gate. “Gentlemen. Is my order ready?”
Marques pointed over his shoulder. “It’s behind that tactical vehicle on the other side of the fence.”
“We’ll need to see everything before we load it.”
Marques peered inside the van. “Who are those two?”
“Helpers, that’s all. I’m sure the merchandise is heavy.”
Marques jerked his chin at Darian. “Open the gate.” He turned to Curt. “Drive over to the truck, and I’ll open the container.”
Two buttons mounted to the guard shack controlled the gates. Darian pressed the first one, which raised the barrier bar, then the second one, which parted the chain-link gate. He motioned for Curt to pull through.
“Keep your eyes on those two,” Curt told his men. “They’re just as shady as we are, and I’m not taking any chances.”
Nubby grunted an okay and watched for signs of sudden movement out the passenger-side window of the van. “We are armed, Mr. Vance. Just so you know.”
“And you do realize we’re at an arsenal, don’t you? I’m sure those two jokers are armed too. They’re guards, for God’s sake. Just don’t do anything stupid. I’ve already paid them, so everything needs to go according to plan.”
“We’re going to check the contents, make sure the supplies we ordered are there, and leave, right?”
Curt backed up to the tactical vehicle and killed the engine. “That’s correct, Lon, so get out and grab the flashlight.” Outside, with one pole-mounted parking lot light shining overhead, Curt opened the back doors of the van then walked toward the guards. “Got a crowbar to open that crate?”
Darian held up a claw hammer. “This should do the trick.” He jammed the claw under the plywood lid and jerked upward. The nails squeaked and gave way as he rounded the container. Once the lid was detached, Curt gave the okay for his men to lift it.
Shining the flashlight inside and pushing the packing material away, Curt found exactly what they’d ordered. Nubby let out a low whistle. “Damn, take a look at that.”
“Everything to your satisfaction, Mr. Vance?”
“Looks good. Move it to the van, boys.” After shaking the hands of both men, Curt climbed in behind the wheel. “Pleasure doing business with you, gentlemen.”
Darian pressed the button one more time and released the gate. With a wave out the window, Curt drove away.
“Now what?” Lon asked as Curt merged onto the freeway.
“Now we go back home, get everything ready for tomorrow, and wait until morning for that phone call. This time next week, both of those guards will be dead.”