by Spell, David
North Central Los Angeles, Saturday, 2340 hours
The white GMC van cruised south on North Western Avenue approaching Hollywood Boulevard. Samer was driving with Marquette and Kumani in the back, ready for their first snatch. Omer rode shotgun, the barrel of his M4 pointed at the floor, the stock resting between his legs.
Ali and Deniz scanned the sidewalks as they approached the traffic signal at the large intersection. Three scantily-clad women, two black and one Hispanic, stood on the corner waving coyly at passing vehicles.
“Should we grab them?” Samer asked.
Omer scanned the area, noting the many pedestrians, even this late at night.
“Keep going. We need to find some away from the crowd. The fewer witnesses the better. “
Two intersections down, just past the Hollywood Inn Motel, a young blonde in a red halter top and a black mini-skirt stood on the edge of the roadway. She waved and smiled as the van approached. Ali pulled just past her and stopped. Deniz scanned the area, not seeing anyone within a hundred yards.
“Now,” he ordered over his shoulder to the two men in the back. “Grab her!”
As the prostitute strolled seductively up to the passenger door, Walters and Davis slipped quietly out of the rear, making their way around the van.
“Hello, beautiful,” Omer greeted her as he lowered the window. “Do you need a ride?”
“Oh, I really need a ride,” she smiled, “and I bet you could give me one. What are you looking…?”
The rest of her question was cut off as Marquette slapped a gloved hand over her mouth and dragged her to the rear of the van. Kimani clambered in and pulled the girl inside, throwing her face down. Walters jumped in, pulling the doors closed behind him.
The prostitute quickly recovered from her shock and began to scream and fight. The two kidnappers then made the discovery that the girl was a guy. His blond wig came loose and he began kicking and clawing as Ali accelerated away. Marquette dropped a big knee into the transvestite’s back, knocking the breath out of him. Kimani slapped a piece of duct tape over his mouth as his partner secured his hands and feet with the silver tape.
The famous Sunset Boulevard was the next intersection. It also had a number of possible victims but a throng of pedestrians was moving in both directions on the sidewalks. A few more streets down, at Fernwood Avenue, two young women, one white, the other Asian, stood on the corner, waving as the van slowly approached them. A brightly lit convenience store was a half block away, but the immediate area appeared to be clear.
“There’s two on this corner. They’re both pretty small. Can you guys grab both of them?” Deniz asked, looking at his two teammates in the rear of the van.
“Why not?” Davis shrugged. “They can keep each other company when we turn them into zombies.”
Samer turned left onto Fernwood and Omer put his window down to distract the girls.
“Hey, ladies. You need a ride or looking for a party?”
“We always looking for party,” the Asian giggled.
“That looks like a party van,” the other girl laughed. “What kind of party you boys looking for? You can have one or both of us, if the price is right.”
Walters’ big right hand clamped over the white girl’s mouth and he picked her up, carrying her back to open rear doors. Seeing her friend in trouble, the Asian girl reacted instead of freezing up, quickly turning to run away. Davis grabbed a handful of hair, jerking her backwards, and slammed a punch into the side of her head. She collapsed to the pavement, unconscious. The kidnapper scooped up the young woman and tossed her into the vehicle. In moments both of the girls had been gagged and bound as Ali sped away.
Central Los Angeles, Saturday, 2355 hours
“1 Adam 15,” the dispatcher called.
“1 Adam 15,” Malloy answered.
“1 Adam 15, a signal 207 at the corner of Fernwood Avenue and North Western. A witness observed two black males exit an older model white van and pull two women into the back of the vehicle. One of the victims was struck in the head and possibly injured. The lookout on the women is one Asian female and one white female, both possible prostitutes. Meet with the complainant at the Sunoco gas station near the corner.”
“1 Adam 15 clear.”
“1 Adam 10 clear,” the sergeant acknowledged, as well.
“A white van involved in a kidnapping,” James repeated. “What are the chances?”
Peter shrugged as he navigated the black and white towards the crime. “Anything’s possible, I guess. This sounds more like a pissed-off pimp to me. Maybe the girls were holding back on some of their payments. He could just be wanting to discuss their business arrangements.”
A few miles away, Chuck McCain yawned in the passenger seat of a black Dodge Durango. Scotty and Eric sat in the backseat while Jason Toney, a team leader of the FBI’s hostage rescue team drove. The HRT is the Bureau’s most elite tactical unit and Chuck was glad to work with them. Each of the men was wearing their tactical gear, prepared in case they were needed.
McCain had hesitated about going out tonight. He had spent most of the week in the office and was going stir-crazy. At the same time, he was the incident commander and probably should stay close to the CP. No, he finally decided. I need to get out for a little while and Burns is more than capable of holding down the fort. He, O’Reilly, and McCain each knew what needed to be done if a crisis erupted, so Chuck had slipped out to ride for a few hours.
The FBI agent had the radio scanning LAPD’s frequencies. Jason reached over and turned the volume up.
“She just gave out a kidnapping call involving an older white van. She said the victims are possible prostitutes.”
Chuck instantly became alert. “How far away?”
“Close, only a couple of miles. I’m going to head over there,” he said, pushing the gas pedal to the floor.
“An older white van?” Smith spoke up. “If these are our boys, why are they going after prostitutes if they have all those virgins waiting for them?”
“Maybe they’re hedging their bets?” Gray answered. “A hooker in the hand versus the proverbial seventy-two virgins in Heaven? That’s probably a good idea because if what my grandmother read to me from the Good Book is true, those bastards aren’t going anywhere near Heaven.”
Central Los Angeles, Sunday, 0010 hours
“What now, Omer?” Kimani Davis asked. “We got three. Is that enough?”
“Santa Monica Boulevard and North Western Avenue is only a few blocks away. That area is packed with bars and restaurants and will be the perfect place to launch our first strike.” The former FBI agent turned to the rear. “Let’s use all three of them. We should be there in a few minutes. As soon as we’re finished, we can try and grab some more and hit another part of the city before we head south.”
As Deniz guided his driver towards the location, sirens suddenly sounded behind them. Each of the men gripped their weapons, prepared to shoot it out with the police. Instead, the black and white cruiser roared across the intersection behind them, heading in the direction of the kidnapping.
“Man, you think somebody saw us grab them?” Marquette asked.
“I don’t know,” Omer confessed, “but in a few minutes the police will have more to worry about than us.”
Special Agent Toney parked behind the LAPD Crown Victoria at the Sunoco gas station on Fernwood Drive. The two officers were talking to an African-American man in blue jogging shorts and a red tank top. The older of the uniformed cops turned as the four men in tactical gear climbed out of the Durango and started towards them. The cop’s hand instinctively moved towards his holstered .40 caliber Glock.
The HRT member held up his credentials and they had all left their long guns in the SUV.
“FBI. These three,” he nodded at his companions, “are with Homeland Security. We heard the call and came to see if it was related in any way to the terrorist lookout.”
“Maybe, maybe not.” Malloy took a few
steps in the direction of the newcomers and pointed at the jogger. “Our witness was running up North Western Avenue. The van turned onto Fernwood as he approached the intersection. He could hear the two girls propositioning the guys in the van and watched them from the corner while he was dialing 911 to get the cops to come run them off. He lives the next block over and said the working girls are out here every night. He’s got two small kids and hates that the neighborhood has gone to hell.
“Of course, he got put on hold for five minutes with 911 while these two big black guys got out of the back of the van and snatched the two hookers. One of the girls tried to run, but one of the kidnappers grabbed her by the hair and drilled her in the head. She collapsed, he picked her up, and tossed her inside. The van hauled ass down Fernwood and turned right onto Serrano Avenue.”
“Thanks, Officer…?” Chuck said.
“Malloy, James Malloy.”
“Nice to meet you, Officer Malloy. I’m Chuck McCain and we’ll be in the area. Maybe we’ll get lucky and run across this van.”
“Have you guys got any better information?” Malloy asked, suspicion in his voice.
“No,” McCain answered. “I wish we did. You’ve got everything that we do. If something comes in, we’re trying to get it out to the guys on the street ASAP.”
James locked eyes with the big man in front of him, unsure if he was telling him the truth. It was normal SOP for the feds to withhold information from local police departments. The Homeland agent in front of him seemed sincere enough, he thought.
“I’m from Atlanta,” Chuck elaborated. “I’ve been involved with the bio-terror attacks from the very beginning. We’re doing everything we can to prevent a repeat out here. We’ve all got to work together on this.”
Reed had gotten all of the witness’s information and walked over to his partner, tucking the small notebook in his breast pocket.
“FBI and Homeland Security,” James told him, pointing at the four agents. “They heard the call and wanted to see if it was connected to the terrorism thing.”
Peter nodded. “Could be. The description our witness gave is similar to the lookout on the two black guys, Walters and Davis. That lines up. He couldn’t see anybody else in the van. We’re gonna go check the area and see if they’re still around.”
“That sounds like about all we can do,” McCain agreed. “We’ve got a drone upstairs and I called right before we got here and had it shifted to this part of town. What about your helicopters?”
Reed chuckled ruefully. “I haven’t heard ‘em up tonight. They may in another part of the city, they could be doing maintenance, or it might just be too windy to fly.”
McCain understood. He remembered when he had worked for a police department just outside of Atlanta that they had a helicopter but it seemed like whenever uniformed officers needed them, they were not flying.
“Here’s my card,” Chuck said, handing one to each of the officers. “If you guys need anything, feel free to give me a call. My cell phone number and email is on there.”
Central Los Angeles, Sunday, 0020 hours
The white van turned right onto Santa Monica Boulevard, pulling up against the curb just past a bus stop. A bustling twenty-four hour grocery store was a hundred feet up on their left. The sidewalks contained a steady flow of humanity moving in both directions.
This is perfect, Omer thought, noting the Golden State Pub a half block ahead on the right. A Mexican restaurant was on the left past the grocery store with the El Loco Tavern just beyond that. The terrorist took a deep breath to calm his nerves. It was time. Three zombies could do a lot of damage here, he smiled to himself as he climbed between the seats to the back of the vehicle, carrying his rifle with him.
The three victims sensed that something bad was about to happen, having heard all the conversations. They were bound securely, however, and could only listen and watch. The two black men and one of the others with an olive complexion all donned rubber gloves, protective paper masks, and plastic glasses.
Walters pulled the transvestite roughly to a sitting position, as did Davis with the Asian girl. The young man squirmed, trying to resist, but Marquette slapped him viciously across the face, stunning the prostitute. The two men held their victims in place so that they could not see what was happening behind them as Deniz opened the cooler, withdrawing a pair of syringes loaded with infected blood.
“Now, my friends,” Omer said, calmly, “it is time for us to set you free.”
Marquette and Kimani each withdrew a knife and sliced the binding on their captives’ feet. They ripped the tape off their mouths and Davis pushed open the rear doors.
“Why you do this?” the Asian hooker screamed, trying to see what was happening behind her.
The transvestite again attempted to pull free of his captor but Marquette’s massive hand held him in place. Omer slid in behind him, shoving the needle into the side of male’s neck and depressing the plunger. The young man cried out in pain and Walters quickly sliced through the duct tape around his wrists. Without warning, the big felon shoved the now-infected man out of the van.
“No, no, no! Please, stop!” the Asian girl yelled, trying to resist, as the process was repeated on her. Kimani quickly sent her tumbling out of the vehicle onto the asphalt.
“Samer, take us down another block and we’ll send out our last guest.”
The vehicle began to move, the doors still open. Omer watched as the male victim climbed to his feet, standing in the roadway, screaming at them. The female continued to lie motionless on the side of the street. Most of the pedestrians kept moving, not wanting to get involved in whatever was happening with the white van.
“Somebody call the police!” the effeminate young man shouted. “Don’t let them get away!”
A second later, he collapsed to the pavement as the infected blood that had been injected into his carotid artery did its work, killing him. By the time Ali had stopped further down the busy street, however, the bio-terror weapon had reanimated both of the former captives and they crawled to their feet growling and snapping their teeth together, craving the taste of human flesh.
“Hurry,” Deniz commanded. “We need to get out of here.”
Marquette cut the tape off the remaining girl’s legs and ripped the piece off her mouth. The young woman was crying hysterically after watching what had happened to the other two victims.
“What do you want?” she sobbed. “I’ll do anything. Just let me go. Please!” she begged.
“You sure are a cute thing,” Kimani commented with a smirk. “I wished we had a little more time. I’d take you up on your offer, bitch.”
The prostitute jerked as the needle plunged into her neck and she began to thrash, trying to get away. Davis held her still as Walters cut the tape off of her wrists. The girl continued to resist, however, and the sharp knife sliced into her skin as the duct tape came loose. Blood spurted out onto the floor of the van. Kimani hurriedly tossed her out the open doors and pulled them closed as the vehicle sped away.
“1 Adam 14, signal 240, Santa Monica near North Western. Your lookout is on an Asian female and a white male, attacking pedestrians in the area. We’re getting multiple calls of the subjects trying to bite people. Also be advised, this could be related to 1 Adam 15’s earlier signal 207. A white van was observed at the scene. The suspects were shoved out the back of the vehicle. Another caller just advised that an additional suspect, a white female, is attempting to bite subjects a block down from the first location.”
“1 Adam 14 clear and enroute.”
“1 Adam 15 is also clear,” Reed answered, now sitting in the passenger seat as Malloy drove.
A signal 240 was an assault call and always required a backup unit when available.
“What did she say? They were biting people?” asked Malloy.
“That’s what she said. I’ve got a bad feeling about this. Isn’t that what happens when people get infected with the zombie virus? They start trying
to eat people?”
“Yeah, I’m with you. This doesn’t sound good,” his partner said, accelerating towards the location.
Malloy took them on a route that would bring them in from the west. The cruiser sped south on North Van Ness Avenue, five blocks north of Santa Monica Boulevard. Malloy was forced to slow down because of the heavy traffic. He reached down to activate his flashing lights and siren to get around the stopped cars when Peter reached over, blocking the move.
“Look, over there!” Reed said, pointing across the intersection.
An older white van was heading in the opposite direction, north on Van Ness, but stopped in the same heavy traffic, waiting for the light to change.
“Got it,” the former Marine said. “I’ll wait until they go by and then I’ll flip around.”
“1 Adam 15 to dispatch,” Peter called in.
“1 Adam 15, go ahead.”
“1 Adam 15, we’ve got a visual on an older white van northbound on North Van Ness at La Mirada Avenue, stopped at the light. We’ll be attempting to initiate a traffic stop. Request backup.”
“10-4, 1 Adam 15. Any units available respond to 1 Adam 15, following possible suspect vehicle from the earlier signal 207 and the signal 240.”
“1 Adam 14 to dispatch! Request backup!” the officer on the assault call screamed over the radio. “We’re onscene and have multiple victims and multiple aggressors. I need several ambulances and a supervisor. Dispatch, be advised, I’m injured. One of the suspects bit me on the arm. My partner has another one down on the ground and we’re attempting to handcuff.”
“10-4, 1 Adam 14. Any available units, respond to 1 Adam 14, requesting backup at Santa Monica and North Western.”
Several additional units cleared on the backup request, which now took priority over all other calls. When the traffic light changed, the white van passed the police car, moving in the opposite direction. Malloy looked over at Reed.