The Box by Jeremy Brown (ebook reader play store txt) 📕

“Open the back now, or we will blow it open!”

Their mouths moved as they talked to each other, then the driver turned in the general direction of the flashlight with his hand held up to shield his eyes and addressed Bruder.

“Fuck you!”

Bruder heard that just fine, so he knew the men inside could hear him.

“Last chance! Open the back or we will blow it open!”

The men pointed pistols at him through the windshield.

The driver yelled, “Come on in!”

Bruder hit his radio.

“Blow it.”

Kershaw slapped the shaped charge against the armored car’s back doors and flipped the toggle switch to make it live.

No one was supposed to be in the back of the vehicle, but if they were, the sound of the magnetic frame thumping onto the steel doors ought to be sufficient motivation to open up. The frame had a piece of duct tape with #2 written in black Sharpie.

Kershaw pushed through the tarp on the northwest end and stood with his back against the concrete retaining wall. He pulled out a small black remote, which had its own piece of tape with #2 written on it.

The remote for the charges that had blown the armored car’s wheels off had “******1” on it, and it was in a vest pocket he’d designated for used charges.

The pocket for unused charges still held remotes numbered 3, 4, and 5.

He pressed the radio.

“Blowing in three, two, one.”

Then he hit the #2 button.

The shaped charges were small and focused but still made a hell of a noise inside the tunnel.

Kershaw checked on Connelly, who was now about twenty yards from the entrance, still watching the road for any vehicles. There weren’t any coming from the northwest, and Rison hadn’t raised the alarm about anything coming from the other side.

Kershaw knew Rison would also be closer to the tunnel on that side, near the white truck, and both he and Connelly could come into the tunnel for backup if needed.

Connelly had designed and built the explosive charges, and after the second one went off, he turned and gave an enthusiastic thumbs-up to Kershaw.

Kershaw returned the gesture, dropped remote #2 into the used pocket and lifted the rifle and went back through the tarp.

Bruder was already at the back doors of the armored car.

More dust and dirt swirled in the beam of his flashlight, and when Kershaw kicked his light on the rear of the vehicle was lit up like a football stadium at night.

The rear doors hung open a few inches. Bruder used the suppressor at the end of his barrel to ease the right door open a little wider so Kershaw could toss a flash-bang grenade in, then Kershaw pushed the door shut.

They looked down and waited until the bang came. When it did, the windows of the armored car sent a lightning flash into the tunnel.

Bruder pulled the door on the left open and Kershaw took the right.

The storage area of the armored car had been stripped of its metal shelves and cages and jump seats at some point, and there was no partition behind the cab’s two seats. Now it was just a large metal box with mismatched duffel bags lined up along the walls.

The two bearded men were both covering their heads with their arms, tipping around in their seats from the shattering light and noise of the grenade.

Bruder stepped in and went past the bags and pulled the pistol out of the driver’s hand. It came without a fight.

Then he pulled out a knife, ready to slash the seatbelt, but the driver hadn’t bothered with one.

Bruder hauled him out of the seat and tossed him toward the back doors, where Kershaw waited with pre-looped zip ties.

The passenger didn’t have a gun or a seatbelt, but he had regained some sense of what was happening and when Bruder reached for him the man lunged up out of his seat and clawed at Bruder’s throat.

Bruder stepped back, pulling the man with him over the seat, and slapped him between the eyes with the butt of the rifle.

The man dropped to the metal floor with his legs tangled between the seats.

Bruder dragged him between the duffle bags to Kershaw, who trussed him up and put him next to the other bearded man along the wall of the tunnel, both with cloth bags over their heads.

Bruder hit his radio.

“Load up.”

Connelly took the sunglasses off and came through the tarp carrying the hard plastic cases that had been stacked near the retaining wall. The cases held the rest of the explosives and extra magazines for the rifles.

The stop sign on a pole was in the ditch next to the corn field.

He walked past the two Romanians without looking at them and wiggled his eyebrows at Rison as they passed each other in the tunnel, then put the cases in the back of the white truck.

When he got back to the tarp, he held it open so Kershaw and Rison could get through, each of them carrying two duffel bags on their first trip to the truck.

Connelly went to the back of the armored car, where Bruder had stacked the bags, and got two for himself. He tried to do a quick count of the remaining bags and thought there might be six or eight left, maybe more.

He grinned and hefted his two and had to laugh.

“Holy shit!”

They were awkward and heavy and sagged, but Connelly didn’t mind.

When it came to cash, the heavier the better.

Bruder took the last two bags and carried them past the two bound and hooded men.

Kershaw hadn’t bothered to gag them—no one would be able to hear them hollering until they stood right outside the tunnel, and at that point whoever was out there would come inside anyway.

Bruder saw two cell phones on the concrete next to them, both smashed.

Inside his hood the driver repeated, “You’re dead for this. You’re fucking dead for this.”

Over and over.

Bruder ignored him and