Infiltration
In which warehouse entry turns out to be easier than expected...
Portland East Distribution Complex covered so much ground that it appeared to have become a geographical feature. Warehouses stretched away in every direction. Roads crossed loading yards. Loading yards crossed rail spurs. Forklifts moved through it all with the confidence of creatures that knew they ran civilisation.
“I already dislike this place,” said @Hedgehogforshort, reading a sign that prohibited unauthorised authorisation.
The infiltration proved surprisingly straightforward.
The receptionist was, in fact, called Tammy. She was managing three separate crises at once. She glanced up as MyrtleLion approached with a clipboard, handed over visitor badges and pointed towards Dock Four.
Nobody asked who they were. Nobody asked why they were there. Several people appeared relieved by their arrival. Two supervisors stepped aside to let MyrtleLion pass. One of them appeared to be taking notes.
Within minutes MyrtleLion was receiving updates from managers who seemed convinced she outranked them. A passing manager glanced at Myrtle's visitor badge, then hurried away to find a better tie. A warehouse employee approached at speed, handed her a folder marked URGENT and disappeared before she could refuse it. Someone addressed her as Vice-President. Someone else handed her a coffee she had no memory of ordering. MyrtleLion accepted it before she could think of a reason not to.
“I think you’ve been promoted,” said Octavia.
“To what?”
“Nobody appears certain.”
Meanwhile six gerbils in high-vis jackets were now conducting a detailed review of warehouse operations. One forklift operator spent several minutes explaining maintenance procedures before asking MyrtleLion to approve a budget. She handed the paperwork to Octavia and kept walking.
@AngleofRepose was cross-checking cargo records with pallets and noticed a familiar red and silver wrapper lying underneath it.
“Tunnock’s,” she said.
“Boily,” said Gosie.
They continued deeper into Dock Four. The cargo became steadily more specialised: rare orchids, carved stone fragments, antique paintings, historical documents, museum consignments.
Then Angle noticed the symbol. A circle crossed by three diagonal lines. The same mark appeared on sunflower seeds, then on orchids, then on stone fragments.
Not often. Very rarely, in fact. Most shipments didn’t carry it. Only a tiny fraction did.
Octavia joined her. “That’s an odd collection.”
“It isn’t a collection.”
A forklift diverted one of the marked consignments from the normal flow to a fenced holding area at the far end of Dock Four. A few minutes later, another marked shipment was diverted the same way.
Different cargo. Same handling. The symbol wasn't marking the contents. It was marking the destination.
Gosie wandered slowly around the collection. “It’s a scavenger hunt.” She paused beside one of the stone crates. “Look at this.”
The paperwork described the contents as fragments from a twelfth-century monastery. The crate beside it contained pages from a dispersed archive. One painting was listed as part of a private collection. None of it was complete.
“Everything’s a piece of something else,” said Gosie. “Not everything. Most things.”
Angle frowned.
“You think that’s deliberate?”
“I think somebody wants parts.”
Before they could pursue the thought further, a supervisor appeared at MyrtleLion’s elbow carrying a clipboard thick enough to stun livestock.
“Excellent,” he said. “You’re still here.”
MyrtleLion regarded the clipboard cautiously. “Apparently.”
“I just need authorisation on the consolidated movement.”
He offered her a pen. MyrtleLion did not take it. “Perhaps you should explain it first.”
The supervisor blinked. “The transfer to the secure facility.” He immediately launched into a torrent of logistics terminology involving transfer protocols, routing priorities, cross-dock procedures and something called harmonised asset aggregation.
Nobody understood a word. Not even Octavia. Especially not Octavia.
Eventually MyrtleLion said, “And in practical terms?”
“The truck leaves in twenty minutes. Everything with the special handling designation goes on it.”
MyrtleLion glanced down at the paperwork. “All of it?”
The supervisor looked momentarily uneasy. “That’s the procedure. Was there a reason to make an exception?”
The crew exchanged glances. After an entire day following marked cargo through the warehouse, they had finally found the next link in the chain. Across the loading bay, a truck reversed into position. Forklifts immediately began moving towards the holding area. The rear doors stood open.
MyrtleLion took the pen. “Actually,” she said, signing the form, “I think this movement requires executive oversight.”
The supervisor straightened immediately. “Of course.” He scribbled something on the form, handed it back to her and hurried away.
MyrtleLion glanced down, SENIOR VICE PRESIDENT ESCORT AUTHORISED.
“I think I've been promoted again,” she said.
The journey took less than ten minutes. The lorry left the distribution complex, crossed an industrial estate, passed a builders’ merchant and arrived at a perfectly ordinary facility behind a chain-link fence. The sign outside identified it as Talmere Recovery Services.
“It looks disappointingly normal,” said Gosie.
“That is often how the alarming places start,” said Hedgehog.
Something shiny drifted from the open truck and skated across the concrete. @Magpiecomplex was on it instantly. She straightened and held up the prize.
A Tunnock’s wrapper.
“Boily,” she said.
A nervous manager appeared almost immediately. “We weren’t expecting an inspection.”
“Neither was I,” said MyrtleLion.
Before he could puzzle over this, she gestured towards the others. “My team will need access to the intake process.”
“Of course.”
“And the documentation.”
“Certainly.”
“And the cargo.”
The manager looked concerned. “All of it?”
MyrtleLion paused as though surprised there might be another option. “That would be best.”
The manager led them inside.
The facility operated with quiet efficiency. Crates were checked, logged and moved onward. Within seconds several gerbils became involved in unloading the cargo. One supervisor thanked Galoshes for her attention to detail. The gerbil made a note on her clipboard.
Then Gosie found the classifications.
Every marked shipment carried the same designation. Component. Stone fragments. Historical documents. Orchids. Even the monastery sunflower seeds. All marked Component.
A planning board stood beside a receiving office. Most of it was obscured, but several column headings remained visible.
Aurelia
No. Identified | No. Verified | % Integrated
Hundreds of entries filled the columns.
At the bottom, a summary box read,
Components Outstanding: 1,473
Reconstruction Progress: 96.7%
Milestone Risk: Low
Project Status: Green
Gosie stared at it. “That looks like a project tracker,” she said.
Before she could say more, @Boiledbeetle emerged from one of the newly unloaded crates, carrying three shipping labels and looking entirely at home.
She glanced at the board. “That's not just any project tracker, that’s a fully integrated Kanban project management dashboard.”
She licked a final trace of chocolate from a Tunnock's wrapper and dropped it to the floor.
“They’ll be ready to reconstruct Aurelia tomorrow.”
https://myrtlelion.substack.com/p/infiltration