Olympus Device 2: The Olympus Device Book Two

by Joe Nobody

Some citizens, quickly realizing that their community was under attack, tried to fight back with personal weapons. Like the police, they were completely outmatched. Brave individuals took down the occasional invader, but were quickly overwhelmed by the massed firepower of the organized cartel troops. Many residents perished alongside their vehicles, others at the thresholds of their homes and businesses.

  Bedlam and complete chaos erupted throughout the small municipality. No one knew what was happening, who was shooting, or why the quiet border town had suddenly turned into a combat zone.

  For the first time since the War of 1812, an American city fell to a foreign invader.

  Tio had recruited the rogue army units with promises of bounty and national pride. Within an hour of the first shot, every bank, jewelry store and business cash register was being looted by the victorious invaders. The residents of the now-burning town were herded into schools, parks, and shopping mall parking lots while gangs of men roamed the streets taking what they wanted and putting down any pocket of resistance.

  With 250 handpicked men riding in 18-wheel trucks, Tio headed east to the Boyce Poultry Farm and what he knew was the ultimate prize of the day.

  As Laredo fell, another significant force was speeding across south Texas. It had taken a few hours, but eventually Shultz and his FBI technicians had figured out where their fugitive was hiding.

  A surveillance camera at a nearby bank had provided the clues. A man driving a pickup in a hat that matched the one worn by Durham Weathers. A woman riding in the passenger seat with two children in between. The truck speeding by four minutes after the explosion. A license plate number.

  A quick computer cross-check with the Texas Department of Motor vehicles confirmed the identity of Mrs. Penny Boyce, the Lexington’s video image matching her driver’s license picture and leaving no doubt.

  Interviews with eyewitnesses put Weathers with the woman and her children. It was good enough for Shultz.

  The elite FBI Hostage Rescue Unit was already on the way to Corpus. Shultz rallied every available law enforcement officer at his disposal. Within two hours, a sizable force was on its way to Laredo, Texas – more specifically the Boyce Poultry Farm residing a few miles east of town.

  When the confused radio reports first started drifting in from Laredo, Shultz initially thought Weathers had gone completely insane and had started blowing the hell out of the border city.

  As bits and drabs of information came in, he realized that he and his men were approaching something else.

  Less than an hour away from their objective, Shultz received a cell phone call from the bureau’s Corpus field office. They had identified the fingerprints off one of the casualties, one Mr. Victor Bustios, a known Gulf Cartel enforcer with several outstanding warrants.

  Pieces of the puzzle began to fall into place. As the miles sped by, Shultz realized that the cartel had somehow found out about the rail gun and Weathers’ location. That knowledge had prompted the shootout aboard the Lexington – an effort that had obviously failed. Now the crime syndicate was making another attempt.

  While he didn’t know all of the facts, it didn’t take genius-level deductive reasoning to associate the violence in Laredo with Weathers. The cartel was making a serious play to possess the rail gun, and he couldn’t let that happen.

  The Latin American drug lords were ruthless men who had little regard for human life. Shultz physically shuddered at the concept of such individuals controlling the power of Weathers’ device. So far, Durham had been reserved and low-key, no doubt hoping Washington would come to its senses and strike a deal. The men who ran the world’s largest criminal empires wouldn’t operate with that same restraint.

  It took another 15 minutes before he finally reached the director. Already confused by the limited, contradicting reports coming out of Texas, the top FBI man sounded as if he were surrounded by a storm of pandemonium.

  “We are already mobilizing everything we can,” the harried man responded. “But it takes time. I’m being informed that we’ll have air assets en route within the hour, ground assets on the way by this evening. We’re sending everything we’ve got to Laredo to repel the invasion.”

  “Sir, Laredo is a decoy… a diversion. The real target is Weathers and the Olympus Device.”

  “What? What are you talking about?”

  “I’m certain, sir. There’s no reason for the cartel to take such a huge gamble. They have to know we’ll hunt every single one of them down. The only logical explanation is the rail gun,” Shultz explained.

  The director was skeptical, “Let me consult with the president on this. What you’re saying makes sense, but I need to brief the Commander in Chief before we divert any forces.”

  Shultz was desperate, “Sir, that’s not going to work. This will all be over in the next hour. I’ve got just over 50 men with me, but I fear that’s not going to be enough. We’re a little more than 30 minutes out, and I’m worried we’ll be too late. Sir, we must have military forces mobilized and moving toward Laredo. Please, sir, I beg of you… call the governor, call the president… call the Pentagon,” Shultz pleaded. “I don’t need to tell you what the consequences would be if those desperadoes get their hands on that weapon.”

  There was a long pause before the director responded. “Every Texas highway patrolman is on the way to south Texas, as well as deputies from surrounding counties. Give me a rally point, and I’ll see to it that they are ordered to join your task force.”

  Shultz had already pulled up a map of the Boyce farm on his smart phone. He quickly scanned the area, recognizing every second was critical. There was only one significant landmark nearby – Tri-Materials.

  He quickly provided the director the name and address.

  “I’ll have every available resource meet you there. Good luck… and God bless.”

  Day Nine - Evening

  The two men embraced several times, Dusty still reeling from the shock of his younger sibling’s unannounced and unexpected arrival. Mitch was all smiles, absolutely thrilled and gushing with relief after finding his older brother in one piece.

  Penny stood by, marveling at the emotional current clearly shared by both men. Dusty had been so stoic and reserved in her presence, and it was interesting to see this side of the man.

  “Okay, so now that we’ve got all the mushy stuff out of the way, tell me what the hell you’re doing here, little brother? And how can you be so sure the FBI doesn’t know where you are right now?”

  “I borrowed a colleague’s car, and the feds think I’m attending a convention in Corpus. There are about 3,000 eggheads at the event, and I slipped out a back door and made triple sure no one was following me.”

  Dusty grunted, both a thousand questions and reprimands flooding his mind. He wanted to scold his sibling for taking the risk while at the same time was thankful for his presence.

  Mitch answered the next question before Dusty could ask. “The sample chicken you sent me – that was very clever, Dusty. I had the tissue analyzed and know what’s killing those birds. Besides seeing you, I wanted to locate the source of the poison that is causing the carnage.”

  “Poisoning?” Penny sounded from the porch.

  Mitch turned and nodded, “Yes, ma’am, your birds are being poisoned. It is an industrial compound… a complex molecule that basically includes cyanide. This particular variant has been banned in the U.S. for decades. It was used primarily in the process of coating metals.”

  The new information distracted Dusty for a moment, taking his mind off the desperate need to flee. Maybe he could make up for this morning’s disaster at the Lexington – at least indirectly. He looked at Penny and said, “So your husband was right. It is Tri-Mat that is killing your birds.”

  Mitch interrupted, “We don’t know that for sure. It could be an old industrial waste site or any number of sources. Before I use the university’s weight and bring down the EPA on anyone, I would like to get a look at the facility. It would t
ake some very special storage tanks to hold this chemical, and I think I could identify them from a distance.”

  “I kind of need to get out of here, Mitch. There are some very bad men who are probably on their way here right now.”

  Scratching his chin, Mitch said, “I tried to see the plant from the road, but couldn’t get a good angle. Can we just take a few minutes and see if I can get a better view from Mrs. Boyce’s property?”

  “You can take the ATV,” Penny offered, no doubt hoping to help her husband’s cause.

  Dusty glanced around the quiet scenery of the farm and then up and down the empty road. “Okay,” he conceded, “But let’s make it quick. I have a bad feeling that a ton of trouble is getting ready to fall on my head.”

  Tio rose from behind the disabled police car and fired a short burst from his AK, quickly dropping back down behind the minimal cover provided by the rear axle. Bullets zipped past where his head had just been exposed, a few of the stray rounds shattering what little remained of the cruiser’s rear glass.

  “This is taking too long,” he shouted to one of his nearby lieutenants. “Take five men and flank them to the south. Do it! Now!”

  Knowing better than to show himself in the same location twice, the cartel leader cowered low to the ground and duck-walked to the rear fender. A moment later, he loosed another burst from his weapon, hoping to give his men a little covering fire.

  The U.S. lawmen had learned quickly - a little too quickly for Tio’s liking. Several of the Laredo police had formed up with other responding officers and began a loosely organized fighting retreat.

  Tio’s convoy had encountered the first such resistance just outside of the city limits as they headed east to capture the rail gun. Rather than try to hold their ground, the policemen had ambushed the convoy, an effort clearly designed to slow the intruders’ advance. The officers had jumped in their cars and scampered away before Tio’s forces could dismount and form up to finish them off.

  Again, a mile outside of town, they had attempted another delaying tactic, spraying random, haphazard fire at the lead truck and then speeding away before the cartel’s men could engage.

  A few miles later, they had used several vehicles to form a roadblock and were making a desperate stand.

  There were seven police cars and two government SUVs blocking the two-lane road. Having had one of his precious transports already shot out from underneath him, Tio had ordered the convoy to stop and disembark the troops at a safe distance.

  What had ensued was nothing short of a pitched battle.

  But the 14 defenders couldn’t hold off the superior numbers of invading shooters. In a few minutes, Tio’s men had begun pushing back the stubborn resistance, eventually flushing the Yankees away from their cover and onto open ground. The pavement was now littered with smoldering, shattered law enforcement vehicles, the destruction littered with lifeless bodies from both sides.

  Still, the survivors didn’t run or break contact.

  Tio watched as two squads of his men scurried across the open prairie bordering the road. One of the men went down as the Americans spotted the maneuver and responded with a barrage of lead. Still, the invaders from the south maintained the pressure.

  “Let’s go!” Tio turned and shouted at another group of his forces. Rising up, he waved his arm for them to follow and moved off to envelop the Americans. This will all be over in a minute, he thought as he scrambled up and down the ditch and into knee-high grass.

  Before they had moved 100 yards, the sound of an engine reverberated over the next rise. Tio and his followers stopped, watching as a single black SUV raced off, bouncing as it sped away across the field.

  “Run, you son-of-a-bitches! Run away, you cowardly fucks!” he shouted at the retreating truck.

  Bringing two fingers to his mouth, he issued a loud whistle and began waving his men back. “We’ve got to get to that poultry farm… and we’ve got to get there right-fucking-now!” he cursed.

  Watching his men hustle back to the trucks, he noticed the road sign for the first time. “Plant Entrance - 2 miles ahead. Beware of slow moving trucks.”

  “I’m fully aware of slow moving trucks,” he whispered to the sign.

  There weren’t any binoculars at the farm, so Dusty grabbed a couple of hunting rifles from the gun room, hoping their scopes would provide adequate magnification. With the ever-present duffle, Mitch and Dusty were soon in the ATV and scattering the chickens as they bounded across the farm.

  “There’s high ground on the back side of this property,” Dusty informed his brother. “I bet we can get a good view of that plant from there.”

  The two men sprang out of the ATV and soon found themselves at the crest of a small rise. The huge smokestacks of the Tri-Materials facilities towered in the distance.

  Mitch began scanning with the rifle, slowly sweeping the factory’s grounds with the magnified optic. Dusty was busy as well, keeping an eye out for any security guards that might be patrolling the area. A few moments later, a line of flashing blue and red lights drew his attention.

  “Are you sure you were not followed?” he asked Mitch, nodding toward the long line of police vehicles speeding along the plant’s drive.

  “Wow,” Mitch replied, changing his focus to the parade of cops. “What the hell is going on?”

  They scrutinized the scene as the convoy of law enforcement officials began pouring out of their transports, all of them dashing toward the road rather than the buildings that comprised the plant. “What the hell are they doing?” Dusty asked, not really expecting Mitch to know.

  Before his brother could speculate, the thumping sound of a helicopter sounded behind them. Believing the authorities had discovered him, Dusty’s heart began to race. He reached for the duffle and pulled out the rail gun.

  The blinking lights of the aircraft soon became visible, vectoring in on the Tri-Materials complex from the north. Dusty found the bird in his riflescope and could make out enough detail to see the emblem of a badge painted on the fuselage.

  The gunsmith lowered the rifle and reached for the rail gun when a streak of smoke and sparkling flame rose up from the earth beyond, its course vectoring as if it were seeking the helicopter.

  A brilliant ball of white flame erupted around the incoming copter, a boiling cloud of red and orange appearing in the sky where there had been a flying machine just a moment before. “Holy shit!” Mitch barked as the rumbling roar of the explosion rolled across the Texas landscape.

  “Somebody just shot down that helo with a missile,” Dusty announced, somehow needing to verify what both men had just seen. “Somebody just knocked a police helicopter out of the sky!”

  Before either man could comment, a wave of gunfire erupted below. The two bothers snapped up their long-range optics and began desperately scanning, trying to figure out what was happening.

  Dusty spotted several men in FBI jackets, some of the feds running while others took a knee and began firing AR15 rifles. He watched as two of the agents fell, one man writhing on the ground in agony. He could make out muzzle flashes in the distance as the sound of more and more firepower joined the firefight.

  “Mother of God,” Mitch announced, unable to tear his eye away from the scope. “I just saw a guy wearing an ATF jacket practically cut in half. Who are they fighting, Dusty?”

  The older Weathers was just about to conjecture when a newly arriving police cruiser exploded in a massive ball of flame. Sweeping the vicinity, he managed to catch a glimpse of a man rising up from the ditch with a huge weapon on his shoulder. Dusty watched in horror as the RPG left its launcher. He followed the smoke trail as the missile slammed into another highway patrol car and detonated.

  Like a slow-motion replay, the Texan inhaled sharply as he watched the vehicle lift off the ground by the blast. He could discern doors, the hood, and bits of metal flying in all directions. A moment later, there was nothing left but a burning pile of scrap metal and a wounded man thrashi
ng on the ground nearby.

  “That’s a damn war down there, Mitch. Someone is fighting the cops… and they’re winning.”

  “What’s this?” Mitch said, pointing toward the Tri-Materials building.

  Dusty changed his angle and quickly found what his brother was watching. Men were scrambling around the main structure. A few moments later, four ATVs were racing across the lot, each carrying two security guards.

  “Looks like the Tri-Materials guys are joining the fray,” Dusty commented. “They’ve got more balls then I thought.”

  He followed the progress of the private force as they raced down the drive. Movement in the field beyond drew Dusty’s attention where he spotted a small group of men setting up a bi-pod mounted weapon. A second later, flashes of white began spitting from the position, the strobe-like cadence signaling someone had begun firing a machine gun.

  The ground around the Tri-Mat ATVs erupted in geysers of dirt and turf as the belt-fed weapon poured rounds into the guard’s procession. Dusty shook his head, recognizing the rent-a-cop group was grossly outmatched, wondering if a single security man had survived.

  The noise boiling up from the conflict below would ebb to an occasional popping and then build to a crescendo of mayhem. Several of the police vehicles were burning down by the road – there were corpses scattered in every corner of the West Texas landscape. Mitch’s next comment caused Dusty’s stomach to tighten. “The lawmen are losing, brother. They’re getting their asses kicked.”

  Before the elder Weathers could reply, the sound of an engine caused both men to turn. The Boyce pickup approached, bouncing across the uneven sod of the main pasture.

  “Now what?” Dusty grunted as he turned to see why Penny had joined them on the battlefield.

  The farm’s owner was pale and out of breath. Both of the girls were lying on the floorboard, their eyes wide with fear. ”When I heard all the explosions and gunfire, I turned on the news. Texas is being invaded from Mexico! Most of the channels are reporting that it’s a private army that’s coming from Mexico proper. The attackers have captured Laredo and killed a bunch of cops. A few of the commentators believe a drug cartel is behind the whole attack. Nobody can figure out what their angle is.”