Shock and Awe Chapter 11. Human Resources

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Chapter 11. Human Resources

Opening the vent, he used his cap once again for its lifting power.

On the floor of the office of human resources, all the police personnel files were kept. Fingerprints, backgrounds, ID photos.

Everything.

Everything about a man or woman who worked in this town was kept in a paper file to back up computer files. Under lock and key they existed, with the watchful organization of the obsessive compulsive director of personnel.

Two hasps on a fireproof file cabinet. Each padlockĀ secured with a combination padlock. Different combinations. No one person had access to the sensitive files.

Never slowed down by such things. In the back of each lock was a key access in the event someone forgot the combination.

He had both sides open faster than it would have taken the secretary to dial in the combination on one lock.

Rolling the top drawer open, he flipped through the folders, pulling back on the tabs to read names and ranks.

Secretary, detective, chief of police, patrol officer.

They were all here. Two hundred files of combined sheriff and police. This office served both, being the county seat andĀ offices that they consolidatedĀ several years before. Ā The government centralized and condensed files, every officer, sheriff, police, undercover, vice, homicide, mayor, secretaries, all from the lowliest janitor to the chief of police.

Right to this room.

From hisĀ backpack, Radio CheckĀ pulled out a thermos sized container with a ā€œDā€ shaped handle on top. With measured movements, he twisted the handle and pumped it four times. Flipping the front of the sprayer down to expose the tip, adjusted it for a medium spray and dampened all the paper in the top drawer.

He repeated the same procedure in each drawer, moving from cabinet to cabinet, in twelve hours, all the paper would crumble into dust. Closing and locking the files as he finished with each drawer. The entire time was five minutes.

It had been thirty-five minutes since he pulled the triggers on his rifle. By now, they had discovered he was not anywhere on the basement levels. That the officers had driven him out and he somehow got up the stairs without being noticed.

It may have occurred to one of them that the elevator car had a service hatch. They would be checking it out. If they did so on the basement floor, they would notice that the air return vent would be curiously clean.

It was time to move.

Hooking his toe into the loop of the cable, he pressed the button for the winch to lift him. It was slowing down. The batteries were nearly depleted, but this was its last time it would be needed.

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Sail into the harbor of my soul; tell me your heart

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