One

Büchel, Western Germany
4:12 a.m.
The plan was flawless or so he thought, no it was flawless the man restated in his head. He drove up to the security checkpoint in a black Mercedes, flashed his I.D. to the officer, and then sped on to the parking lot. After getting out of the car he made his way to the southern most building. The layout was burned into the back of his mind as a result of hours scanning the blueprints of the complex. A large chalky concrete building loomed in front of him marked “Nuclear Storage Blok 7” in fading yellow paint. “Beep Beep” his watch screeched, 30 more minutes he thought grimly. Walking to the door he slid his stolen I.D into the card reader, and was accepted with a cheerful looking green light as the doors slid open. Walking in, the air condintioning was triggered and he was greeted by a gust of cold air blown at his back. The halls ahead that lead to his destination were empty and he took the moment to un holster his Glock 22 semiautomatic pistol. The safety emitted a “click” as it was flipped off. Florescent lights illuminated his way to the next set of doors. No locks this time and the man stepped through the doors unhindered and arrived in a dank circular room smelling of mold. The walls were gray concrete with orange biohazard signs adding color to the otherwise ashen room. Just one more door the man thought to himself. The room had only one door with a sleepy man dressed in a black uniform with “Sicherheit-Security” marked on it. His name was Hendrik Klien and he had worked here for eight months, lived alone, and was originally from Hamburg. He also knew that he knew that he worked the 4:00-6:30 shift and he would not missed for at least two hours. Armed with this information he walked towards the door. “I.D.” Hendrik said slurring his words. The man pulled out his I.D. as he took the I.D. to examine it the man pulled out his Glock pushed it to his head and fired twice into him. He then let the body fall to the ground and continued through the door without a single thought of remorse. The hangar was dark but the outline of the single Luftwaffe PA-200 Tornado IDS fighter-bomber was clearly visible, however he was more interested in the vault behind it. Punching in the series of 13 digit numbers that had recently been “given” to him the vault opened showing him the prize for his efforts.

Technorati Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

Like this post? Subscribe to my RSS feed and get loads more!