Dead Centre Read Online Free PDF

sheeting for me.

15
    WE STOOD ON thick carpet, listening for any noise above that of our own breathing, and tuned in to the new environment. I gave it a full minute before I dug my Maglite head-torch out of my day sack. The other two followed my lead. Our beams swept across an open-plan office, maybe twenty metres long. Dozens of desks stood in neat rows. Bare wires stuck out of conduits where PCs should have been. Some computers were still in position but had been smashed. Drawers had been pulled out and papers strewn all over the place. It looked like there’d been a revolution. But the looters were looking for stuff to sell, I hoped, not read.
    I headed towards the door and Mong and BB followed. It looked half open. When we got there we found out why. It had been kicked in.
    We slipped into the corridor and followed the carpet as far as the wooden stairway. I started to sweat as I climbed. A sign on the landing told us 2-17 was to the left.
    This floor, too, had been systematically raided. Splintered doors hung from their hinges. More redundant wires sprouted from desktops. The small, two-desk office of Kareng Development Corp was in shit state.
    Our torchlight bounced around in the darkness. Paper, folders and files were scattered everywhere. I pulled off my day sack. ‘Fuck it. Too much to sort. Let’s torch the lot.’
    BB took stag on the door. He’d keep an eye out along the corridor.
    Mong set to, piling the furniture into good burning stacks. The paperwork was my responsibility. As team leader, I had to make sure it was destroyed. And we’d only get the rest of our money if we had the proof.
    I didn’t bother looking for material specific to the deal with the separatists. It would be quicker and easier to incinerate the lot. Fuck the building: it was either insured or would be rebuilt by foreign aid. No one was in here, and the blaze couldn’t spread to other buildings or fuck anybody up. It was an island in a sea of tarmac.
    As Mong threw together a pyramid of desks and chairs, I set up the handheld IR-capable videocam on a chair by the door and set it to record.

16
    THERE ARE THREE elements in the combustion triangle if you want to make sure your arson is productive. The fuel was the furniture and paperwork. The oxygen movement wasn’t perfect – the windows here were sealed units so the air-con could do its stuff – but with the internal doors open it should be fine. The fire needed to spark up as quickly as possible; we’d help it do so by stacking the chairs and desks at the optimum angle. The optimum angle was thirty degrees – which is why the perfect place to start a house fire is under the stairs.
    Mong was building his second pyramid when BB slapped the wall. It was our signal to freeze.
    I killed my torchlight and held my breath, mouth open to cut down internal body noise. I listened. Not a sound.
    I breathed out, breathed in, kept my mouth open, and strained to pick up even the slightest vibration. Still nothing. I waited another thirty seconds. If someone had spotted us, surely they would have done something by now.
    Mong was behind me. I turned and moved my mouth to his ear. ‘Hear anything?’
    He shook his head.
    Then we both did. Movement inside the building, down near the plywood sheeting. Then a shout.
    Military? Maybe they had more than loudspeakers and searchlights on those APCs. Maybe they had night viewing aids and had been watching us all along.
    Another shout.
    It didn’t sound military. It sounded agitated. A night-watchman? What was the point? There was nothing left to watch over. Homeless? That made sense. But I’d seen no bedding or cardboard on the floor, no sign at all of inhabitants.
    I could hear the shuffle of feet. Murmurs. Getting louder. Coming up the stairs.
    I went and joined BB. He pulled his head back inside. ‘No lights. Can’t be military. They wouldn’t come in blind.’
    Shouts echoed in the stairwell. I made out at least three or four different voices.