Chapter 2022 - 1457: Morning in Nieddorf_3

"Squirrel" saw a young man in a gray work uniform walk into the bakery, come out with two paper bags and a cup of coffee.

He was an employee from the laundry, the 24-hour laundry right next to the business center, where their people had surveyed.

"Squirrel's" stomach tensed again.

"Chief." He spoke, "Do you think he might—"

"No." Grey Wolf interrupted him.

"Squirrel" closed his mouth.

Grey Wolf was chewing gum, his gaze fixed on a specific point outside the car window.

"Today is Thursday," he said, "According to the intel, he has never missed a Thursday."

"Squirrel" obviously knew this.

He could recite every piece of data.

He just wanted to talk.

Waiting in silence makes you think of things you shouldn't.

This was something he understood when he was a soldier. Those who have been on stakeout know the hardest part isn't the cold, the hunger, or the mosquito bites, but those thoughts that keep popping into your head—thinking of home, thinking of women, thinking of going back alive, thinking of running away.

Talking can suppress those thoughts.

"Squirrel" pulled out a nail clipper again.

Click.

Click.

Click.

7:24 am.

A black Mercedes van turned in from the street corner and slowly stopped in front of the business center.

The engine turned off, the car door opened, and a middle-aged man in a dark blue uniform got out.

He was carrying a sports bottle and a black backpack, walking steadily.

Peter Schmidt, the day shift security guard.

He walked to the glass door and pulled out a key to unlock the door.

At that moment, the glass door was pushed open from inside, and an old man in a gray jacket walked out. They passed each other, the old man nodded and said something, Schmidt nodded in response.

Hans Mueller, the night shift security guard.

The old man walked east along the street, stopped to look into the bakery, then continued forward, disappearing at the street corner.

"Squirrel" watched his back and suddenly a thought flashed through his mind.

This old man, guarding this building for twenty-three years, doing the same work every day, seeing the same people come and go, wouldn't he be curious about what those people are doing?

Would he have wondered what the people going into Room 316 were up to?

Maybe he wondered.

Maybe he didn't.

Maybe even if he did, it wouldn't matter.

Twenty-three years is enough time for someone to learn not to think about things they shouldn't.

7:27 am.

Schmidt's figure disappeared behind the glass door.

"Squirrel" knew he was now heading to the duty room, putting down his backpack, pouring water, taking out a protein powder can from the backpack, putting two scoops into the sports bottle, shaking it evenly, then sitting down to watch TV.

Squirrel had observed this routine for three days, recording every minute.

From 7:30 to 7:50, Schmidt would not come out.

7:30 am.

Grey Wolf pushed open the car door.

Cold air rushed in, carrying the mixed smell of river water and baked bread.

"Squirrel" took a deep breath and followed him out of the car.

The two of them stood by the car, looking like ordinary businesspeople.

Grey Wolf wore a dark gray casual suit, a light blue shirt, brown loafers, and a proper Patek Philippe on his wrist; "Squirrel" wore a navy jacket, jeans, sneakers, with a black backpack, like a college student traveling in Zurich.

"Twenty minutes," Grey Wolf said.

"Squirrel" nodded.

The two walked in different directions.

Grey Wolf headed to the corner bakery, his pace neither fast nor slow, eyes looking straight ahead.

"Squirrel" walked toward the side of the building where there was a separate door leading to the basement.

7:31 am.

"Squirrel" stood in front of that door.

The door was an old wooden one, the dark green paint was already peeling, and the handle was stainless steel with some scratches.

He reached into his pocket and took out a key.

It was made the day before yesterday, using a wax mold to get the shape of the lock core and having a locksmith make it.

The key inserted, turned.

Click.

The door opened.

"Squirrel" pushed the door open, slipped inside, and closed it behind him.

Behind the door was a downward staircase, concrete, narrow, only allowing one person to pass through.

The end of the stairs was illuminated by a dim yellow light, emitting a buzzing electric current sound.

"Squirrel" stood still, unmoving.

He closed his eyes, letting himself adjust to the darkness.

Thirty seconds later, he opened his eyes and began to descend.

The staircase had twenty-three steps.

He had counted.

At the bottom of the stairs was an iron door, equally old, equally peeling.

Behind the iron door was the basement, where the entire building's power, network, and monitoring systems were concentrated.

"Squirrel" took a small flashlight out of his backpack, held it in his mouth, and then took out a second key.

The iron door made a slight squeak when it opened, sounding especially harsh in the quiet basement.

"Squirrel" stopped, listening for a few seconds.

There was no response.

He pushed the door open and stepped in.

The basement's ceiling was very low, overhead pipes and cables crisscrossed like a giant metallic spider web.

To the left was the power distribution room, to the right was the weak current well, and straight ahead was a storage room filled with clutter and cardboard boxes.

"Squirrel" first went to the weak current well.

It was a gray metal door, unlocked, and when pulled open inside was a narrow space with two metal boxes hanging on the wall.

One was a network distribution frame, the other a monitoring system junction box.

"Squirrel" took out his phone and opened an app.

This gadget connected to a micro signal jammer.

It was installed the day before yesterday, just stuck to the ceiling of the weak current well with black tape.

The app displayed: Device online, signal normal.

"Squirrel" tapped the screen a few times.

The jammer began to work.

It wouldn't cut off the monitoring signal but emitted a special interference wave that froze the surveillance footage at the content five seconds ago, then replayed it in a loop.

This way, everything appeared normal when watching the footage in the monitoring room; but in reality, the footage was already delayed.

"Squirrel" closed the weak current well's door and walked to the power distribution room.

The power distribution room's door wasn't locked. Inside were rows of electric meters, each labeled with a room number.

"Squirrel" found Room 316's electric meter.

It was an old mechanical meter, the disc slowly turning.

He reached into his backpack and pulled out a second device.

It was an electromagnetic pulse generator, small, the size of a cigarette pack.

He attached the device to the side of the meter box and pressed the switch. The device made a slight humming sound, then a green light came on.

The function of this device was: When "Squirrel" needed it, it could emit a directional electromagnetic pulse, burning out the internal circuit of 316's meter, stopping it from turning. This way, when the accountant died in the office, the meter would show everything was normal.

Because the current was still flowing, but the meter was already broken, leaving no "sudden drop in power consumption" record.

"Squirrel" checked the device's status, confirmed everything was normal, and then exited the power distribution room.

He glanced at his phone.

7:38 am.

Seventeen minutes left.