Unit 117

 

 

Unit 117

Jane watched her ex-husband Bob come around the corner and park his SUV. Not curious by nature, it had taken him a week to show up. Pulling a key out of his pocket, he glanced at the note. Only the words “Self store unit 117, 112 Main St.” were on it. It had been hand delivered through his mail slot with the key inside.

Homeland security had been alerted to a potential terrorist cell in the city, with a tip about unit 117. They had staked it out for a week with no activity. Their waiting was about to end. Bob was oblivious to it all.

Jane had orchestrated the entire thing with the help of a few friends. She had come away with nearly nothing after the divorce. Maybe what she was subjecting him to was unwarranted, but so was what he‘d done in the divorce. Being a high priced lawyer his word carried more weight than hers. The man lied about her straight faced to the judge and she just looked pathetic trying to clear her name. Bob might be a good lawyer, but a good man with good sense, not even close.

Behind the roll up door of unit 117 were several thousand pounds of fertilizer, numerous containers of diesel fuel, a throwaway cell phone with numerous calls to the Middle-East on it, and a fake driver’s license.

The home made bomb paraphernalia was brought in to the self store in an SUV exactly like Bob’s, right down to the doctored license plate. The driver, a friend of Jane’s, had a passing resemblance to Bob when he wore the dark glasses and baseball cap. He’d used the fake driver’s license to rent the unit and paid cash. Every trip to the unit he’d waved to the attendant and the closed circuit cameras that recorded the comings and goings. It had taken four days to purchase the fertilizer and diesel fuel in small enough quantities as not to alert the authorities.

Jane had used the last of her savings to rent the truck, storage unit and purchase all of the necessary items. If this didn’t go as she planned, she would be in a deeper hole than she started out. Her ultimate plan was to discredit him so she could re-petition the judge that had issued the divorce and perhaps have Bob do some jail time.

Jane could say,” See judge he’s a scoundrel just like I tried to tell you.”

It was then Bob unlocked the door and rolled it up. He just stood there dumbfounded for a moment, then he reached in and picked up the cell phone and the driver’s license to examine. Jane couldn’t have hoped for more, now only his finger prints were on the phone and license. Homeland security was down on him in an instant. He was read his rights, cuffed and put into the back of a non-descript sedan, the entire time he was proclaiming his innocence.