The iron ladder at the end of Catwalk #09 vibrated as Julian climbed down.
Behind them in the center of the depot, the sixty-foot turntable ground through its rotation:
Groan-clank-hummm!
Out on the spinning bridge, Elena was already crouching on the rear bumper of Coach #404. Julian could see the bright silver glint of her surgical wire as she twisted it around the dual wheel rim, locking the Notary Clamp into place.
“Elena has the chock secured,” Lin Mei called down, descending the rungs two steps above him. “The ground spark is steady at sixty hertz!”
“Good,” Julian said, his boots hitting the concrete mezzanine. “That buys Mac time. Now we deal with Bay 9.”
“How much time do we have before the shredder arrives?” Lin Mei asked, checking her stopwatch.
“Five minutes,” Julian answered. “Zero three fifteen on the dot.”
