THE ALEX FLETCHER BOXSET: Books 1-5

by Steven Konkoly

  If McCulver is right about the automated lock system.

  He was rarely wrong. They were probably better off waiting at a standoff distance, anyway. The guards had access to military-grade weapons, and there was no reason to tempt any of them to play Rambo.

  “Liberty One. Form a defensive perimeter around the vehicles, focused on the building to our right. We don’t want any surprises while we’re waiting,” he said into his radio.

  The primary assault team took cover behind the SUVs, aiming at the windows and doors along the building, while one man from each vehicle watched the opposite direction. A few days of vehicle drills had paid off. The men actually looked like they knew what they were doing.

  Three nearly simultaneous cracks hit Eli’s ears, followed by a slight tremor.

  “Liberty Actual, this is Liberty Three. The tower is down. I say again, the tower is down. En route to first breach point,” said McCulver.

  “Hot damn, Liberty Three!” he said into the radio, unable to contain his excitement.

  This was going down like a real military operation.

  “Copy, en route to first breach point.”

  Eli reached through the passenger window and grabbed a pair of binoculars sitting on the dashboard. He focused the wide field of view on the administrative building at the end of the road three hundred yards away. Beyond the fence, the utility road was flanked on both sides by gray, one-story correctional units, which fed into the recreation fields lining the prison’s perimeter fence. The units were connected by a long security hallway, which meant they would have to be careful on their approach. Enterprising guards could catch them in a lethal crossfire on the way to the administrative building. If Liberty Two didn’t breach the utility garage soon, the guards could work their way to the adjacent building, forcing Liberty One to retreat. Worse than that, they could keep Liberty Two from disabling the generator, severely complicating the operation.

  At that point, they would be forced to use bolt cutters on the fence, which would put them on foot looking for an entrance leading to the generator room that could be forced open. Everything depended on McCulver, who should be arriving any minute to blow a hole in one of the garage bay doors.

  ***

  Dave Camp magnified the camera feed and counted the men visible near the vehicles.

  Jesus. They have a fucking army out there.

  This was entirely too much. He needed to get the hell out of here before it was too late. Most of his shift took off as soon as it became apparent that they were dealing with more than a downed power line. The first wave crammed into the few vehicles that worked, heading out before shift change at 6:30. A few vanished on foot over the next hour or two, slipping out of the utility garage and walking east to River Road. He watched them peek nervously over their shoulders until they were out of sight, but never said a word.

  He notified Casey Norton, the nightshift captain, when motion sensors triggered cameras in the main garage next to the administrative building. Three guards tried to hotwire one of the facility’s fifteen-passenger prisoner transport vans, but were stopped by Norton, with the seemingly reluctant help of the remaining officers. Norton surprised them all by offering to drive the rest of the shift home in the van, if that’s what they wanted. Five guards, including the three caught stealing the van, took him up on the offer. When Norton returned with the vehicle around ten in the morning, they were down to fourteen correctional officers and Stanley Collier, the deputy warden, who rode his bike to the prison.

  He should have taken Norton up on the offer to leave but didn’t have any compelling reason to go. His shared apartment in Westbrook was most likely stripped of any food, and his family lived north of Waterville, well outside of Norton’s advertised delivery range. The prison offered a secure bed, food, and access to the dispatch center across the street, which seemed to be the only way anyone was communicating after the event. At the time, it seemed like the best deal available. The idea of an armed attack against the prison never crossed his mind. Nobody wasted time thinking about how to break into a prison, which was why the group of men on his monitor scared him.

  “I have about fifteen heavily armed men at the back gate. They’re wearing camouflage and carrying assault rifles. I’m not sure what they’re waiting for.”

  “Did you say fifteen?” asked Collier.

  “More than that. I can’t see the whole group from this angle and distance. They shot up the camera at the gate,” said Camp, pointing toward one of the center images on the sixty-inch flat-screen monitor above his station.

  He shifted his hand left, highlighting a different screen.

  “I have at least twelve more outside of Vendor Services. They’re playing with one of the delivery bays,” added Camp.

  “Can you see what they’re doing?”

  “Trying to get in,” said one of the guards watching on a different screen.

  “Jesus, these guys are heavily armed. I don’t think we can hold them off if they get inside,” said Collier.

  “Not armed with batons and pepper spray. We need to access the armory, Stan, before it’s too late,” said a thick, gray-haired guard standing in the control room’s doorway. “My people are getting nervous.”

  “Casey, they can’t get into any of the buildings directly connected with the correctional areas,” said Collier.

  “They’re in!” yelled Camp, drawing everyone to the surveillance station.

  A cloud of smoke rose above the building as men poured into the delivery bay. One of the vehicles backed out of the delivery lot and sped along the fence toward the back of the facility. He’d missed whatever they’d done to the door.

  Shit!

  “You were saying?” said Norton.

  “Did they use explosives?” Collier asked.

  “I didn’t see,” said Camp. “But the smoke wasn’t there a second ago.”

  “Stan! If they take out the generator, we’ll have a big problem on our hands in about thirty minutes.”

  “They don’t know how the system works,” stated Collier.

  “You willing to bet your life on that?” asked the shift captain. “They seem pretty organized to me. I bet that car racing toward the back is carrying enough explosives to blow the gate and a few of the external doors.”

  An out-of-breath guard ran into the control room. “The dispatch tower across the street is down! That’s what we heard! The whole thing fell over. What the fuck is going on?”

  “That’s it, Stan. We have fifteen officers on duty, including you. It’s not enough if they get inside. I’m opening the armory,” said the shift captain.

  “Even if they manage to trigger the thirty-minute lockdown fail-safe, they can’t get into the administrative building. We’re safe here.”

  “With nine hundred pissed-off prisoners on the loose?”

  “They’ll run for the gate,” said Collier.

  “They’ve been drinking out of their toilets for the last several days. We haven’t exactly been taking good care of them.”

  “What else could we do? The facility isn’t equipped to handle this kind of an emergency. Orders from the governor were clear. Hold the prisoners until—”

  “Until what?”

  “I don’t know. They’re working on something,” said Collier.

  “They’re working on something, all right. The state can manage to deliver diesel for the generator, but they can’t be bothered to feed the inmates?”

  Collier shrugged his shoulders. “What do you want from me?”

  “I want you to give me the keys to the armory. Whether we stay or go, we need weapons,” said the captain.

  “We can’t take the weapons out of here. They’re state property,” stated Collier.

  “What if they got another team out there waiting for us to leave?”

  “I don’t know!”

  “You better start thinking really hard about the situation. You think none of these fuckers knows where you live? I guarantee your
home address is public knowledge in the high-security unit.”

  “What, I just issue weapons and drop everyone off at home?” said Collier. “How am I going to explain that one to the governor’s office?”

  A muted thud echoed in the room, followed by a brief second of darkness before the emergency lighting activated.

  “Set your watches,” grumbled the shift captain. “Thirty minutes until we no longer have the option of leaving.”

  Camp thought about Norton’s input for a few seconds. What the fuck was he waiting for? He’d give the deputy warden one more chance before walking out on his own—with or without a firearm. If he headed west, he could hide along the banks of the Presumpscot River until these inmates cleared the area, maybe warn a few of the folks living in South Windham. With nine hundred prisoners on the loose, the nearby houses were sure to be attacked, along with the residents inside.

  “We need to get out of here, sir,” said Camp, standing up from his computer station. “Cameras show the front is clear. Our van is in the parking lot. They obviously don’t know the van works. We could make a quick getaway.”

  “Damn it, all right. Get all of your men back to admin,” said Collier.

  “They’re already here. I just need to get into the armory.”

  Collier balked, grimacing at the suggestion before nodding.

  “The keys are in my office safe.”

  ***

  Sammy Vaughn heard a car door slam, freezing him in place. He twisted slowly onto his stomach and faced uphill, scanning the row of vehicles facing the road behind him. The parking lot sat twenty feet higher than Vaughn’s position, on an incline that restricted his view of the parking lot. Pressed into the grass at the base of a tree, he could only see the tops of the tallest vehicles. A powerful engine started as he scanned for signs of movement. It sounded like a diesel. He focused on the top of the big-ass, gray passenger van he had seen when he was running across the parking lot to the trees.

  Has to be the van.

  “Liberty Actual, this is Overwatch. I have a vehicle starting in the parking lot. I think it’s the prison van.”

  “This is Actual. Can you confirm how many are in the van?”

  “Negative. Not without giving my position away. Hold on. It’s backing up. I should have a solid visual when it drives out of the lot. I could hit them with the IED. No point in letting them raise the alarm.”

  “Negative. Without the dispatch tower, they’d be talking to themselves. Do not trigger the IED. We can’t afford to waste any explosives,” said Eli.

  “Roger that,” Vaughan said, slipping the radio into one of his cargo pockets.

  When the top of the van disappeared, he grabbed his binoculars and sprinted to a second stand of trees closer to the exit, making sure to stay as low to the ground as possible. He’d been extremely lucky with the van. If he hadn’t been lying prone on the ground, scanning the road, the guards might have spotted him. Vaughn raised the binoculars and waited for the van to appear beyond the parked cars at the end of the lot. When the van cleared the cars, speeding toward Mallison Falls Road, the first thing he noticed was Casey Norton’s shit-eating grin—plainly visible through the open front passenger window.

  That fucker still works here?

  Vaughn ceased thinking about his duties to the Maine Liberty Militia. He barely registered the fact that every seat in the van was filled with guards. He stood up and pulled the handheld detonator from one of his tactical vest pouches, flicking the on/off switch. McCulver had showed him exactly how to detonate the ten-pound pipe bomb sitting in the gravel next to the entrance. He locked eyes with Norton and nodded.

  Adios, bitch.

  The thought conflicted with Norton’s face, which grinned at him behind the iron sights of an assault rifle. Vaughn never heard the shot that evacuated his skull. The van screeched onto the road as Vaughn’s body dropped, triggering the pipe bomb.

  ***

  Eli pulled McCulver away from the fence, pushing him behind the open SUV door.

  “Take it easy! I’m working with shit that goes bang, all right? That was the pipe bomb. Sounds like Vaughn doesn’t like to follow orders.”

  “Watch what you say about Vaughn, motherfucker,” said one of Jimmy’s psychopaths, who was crouched between the first and second vehicles.

  “Just saying,” said McCulver.

  “Overwatch, this is Liberty Actual. Report your status. Over.”

  Nothing. Eli tried again, with no response.

  “Shit. Stay here. I can’t afford to have you shot or blown up,” he said, muttering curses as he walked briskly toward the back of the convoy.

  He couldn’t wait to get rid of Jimmy’s idiots. His brother had trained capable soldiers, but they were mouthy and insubordinate, two traits he could ill afford to cultivate. He’d pawn them off on the town of Bridgton, along with the rest of their miscreant friends in the prison. Ironically, he needed the Vikings on this raid, to immediately identify the problem recruits. Anyone singled out by his brother’s men as a “must have” would become a “must go.” Eli would keep the serious recruiting prospects for the regular ranks.

  “Joe, I want you to head around front with your team and see what the fuck is going on with Vaughn. Watch yourself. I need to know if the gray Maine State Corrections van is still in the parking lot.”

  “Got it,” said the team leader, directing his men to load up the rear SUV.

  Less than a minute later, Eli’s radio crackled.

  “Liberty Actual, this is Liberty One-Six. Vaughn is dead. One bullet through the forehead. No van in sight.”

  McCulver shrugged his shoulders and mouthed, “The bomb?”

  “What about the bomb?” radioed Eli.

  “Blew a nice little crater in the asphalt, but that’s about it. No sign of any vehicle damage. Over.”

  “Copy all. Park your car in a discreet location and keep an eye on the approaches. Engage any vehicles entering the parking lot. Out.”

  Eli shook his head. “Sounds like the guards hightailed it out of here. Blow the fucking gate,” he said, turning to the man crouched between the cars. “Sorry about Vaughn. Fuckers got a lucky shot off. Dead before he hit the ground.”

  “Any guards left inside?” asked the man with a look of pure hatred and murder on his face.

  Eli checked his watch. “I guess we’ll find out for sure in about thirteen minutes.”

  Chapter 11

  EVENT +7 Days

  Maine State Correctional Facility

  Windham, Maine

  Two gray prison buses idled outside of the gate, just beyond the reach of the disorganized gaggle of prisoners Eli had selected for the final test. Surveying the group, he was mostly satisfied with the result of their prison raid. Within fifty-two minutes of arriving at the facility, he stood in front of seventy-three men and eight women with the potential to join his militia. The process had been simple.

  Instead of wasting time trying to break into the administrative building, most of the inmates sought the next logical point of egress from the facility. The back gate. The prison’s jogging track and basketball court were situated in the massive open area at the rear of the facility, adjacent to the gate, which meant most prisoners watched trucks going in and out of the gate all day. Eli started honking the SUV’s horn when the first gray uniforms appeared on the utility road deep within the facility. Within moments, the word spread, sending a steady stream of desperate, starving prisoners in their direction.

  He’d planned the next stage carefully, having no intention of putting his men in direct contact with several hundred criminals. Using bolt cutters, he created a rectangular opening in the western fence, visible to the prisoners from the gate. As the prisoners approached, Eli addressed them with his megaphone, congratulating them on their liberation and asking them to wait between two of the nearby buildings if they were interested in joining the Maine Liberty Militia. If not, they were directed toward the western fence line and told to
immediately vacate the area.

  “We provide food, shelter and a chance to bear arms against the tyrannical forces that left you here to die.” This tagline snagged one hundred and seventeen prisoners, including five that were immediately squeezed through the gate to join the Vikings. He had to keep those crazy fuckers happy one way or the other until he was done with them.

  Once the prisoner exodus thinned, he lined the candidates up, single file, thirty feet from the gate and called them forward one at a time for a quick visual inspection and interview. He spent no more than ten seconds on each prisoner, quickly determining three things. Did they look physically fit enough for the militia? He couldn’t have any more winded warriors creeping through the forest. What crimes did they commit? He didn’t want any child molesters or skinheads. Did they have any prior firearms or military experience? The less ammo he wasted developing basic marksmanship skills, the better.

  If they passed muster, they were sent to the left and told to sit in the shade. The rest were pointed toward the hole in the western fence. Throughout the process, Kevin McCulver stood on the hood of Eli’s SUV, warning them to stay back from the fence until called forward. The presence of two dozen heavily armed men visible through the chain links kept the process orderly.

  Eli walked up to the gate with the bullhorn, ready for the final phase of his selection process. He needed to establish an iron grip for their integration to work, but he had to do it right or risk losing the entire group. How do you take eighty-one criminals from different cell blocks and bring them together in a way that doesn’t cause an implosion? He had a theory.

  “Candidates. The buses are ready, but we have a problem. I can only take seventy-two of you,” said Eli.

  Grumbling picked up in the group, followed quickly by the question he had hoped they would ask.

  “How does that work?” said an overly muscular, towering inmate at the front of the group.