by Sweth Water
“On it.”
Coal stood up and looked out of the window after pulling the curtains back. Chase was staring at him through the window. When she was caught, she blinked and smiled, as if saying she was in a deep conversion with herself. He ignored her. She was the least of his concerns. Top One and RAAD. Now the martial law? Madam President must know what she was going to do. Till now the police officers were controlling the streets. The army would deteriorate the situation.
The Department of Defence was breached last night. It was in another city. Declaring the martial law here in Venhoa didn’t make any sense. Anonymous group was a group of thieves, not terrorists. Or the information that they wanted to steal was already stolen? And the country was on the brink of a war? With whom? Other countries?
The country went to war seven times. Won five and lost two. Hundreds of thousands of people died, mainly civilians. Youngsters took the guns and stood at the front lines near the enemy zones. What price the country was going to pay!
What was there that was stolen, if it was stolen?
“I am not able to do that.”
Coal blinked his eyes. Now he was caught staring at Chase. “What are you talking about?” He turned his head.
“The location is changed a few minutes back. I got the new parameters from the Headquarters. I used them too. Nothing is working.”
“Did you try the other server?”
“Yes.”
“I will check with Chase.”
He walked outside the room.
Two blonde female officers started talking after he passed them. He didn’t get what they said. But they were talking about him. Spies inside the office? Or some girlish thing? He shook his head and knocked on the door. To his left and right sides he saw before entering.
“Yes, Coal?” Chase removed her specs and stopped punching the keyboard.
“F13 satellite’s parameters are changed. We didn’t get the access by using the correct parameters. Is there any access which is overwritten by Top One?”
“The satellite can be used by the top five agencies. The Headquarters definitely has the access and can’t be overwritten without telling them. Let me check.”
Coal stood behind her.
The screen was divided into four different panels. She clicked on the top right side and satellite view popped up, asking for her credentials. He blinked away. Two blonde officers stood still, seeing him. Careful, buddy.
“It’s working for me.”
“Can you change the path?”
She clicked on few icons and wrote some code to take over the control from whoever had it now. A red window popped up.
“‘Not able to pass the parameters.’” She read from the screen.
“What does it mean?”
“It shouldn’t be what I am thinking.”
“What?”
“Gin went somewhere where the first email was sent by Anonymous. Then we got to know about the security breach in the Office,” she punched the buttons few more times. “Here is the same case. We don’t have the control of the satellite.”
Chapter
8
“How many people?” Tom asked.
“Ten. Last surveillance showed ten. The agents are outside the building. Something was blocking the scan from the satellite.” the officer to his right said.
“No-one goes inside but my men. Your work is to secure the parameter. Understood?”
“Yes, sir.”
They rode for fifteen miles. The road was deserted. It’s Sunday, and people were either at their homes or enjoying at the beaches. He missed the day with his daughter and son and beautiful wife. They’d been planning this day since last month. And now it’s procrastinated again.
Their sad faces he saw while leaving the house. His wife was sadder than the kids. The plan was to make the day joyful, not to go to the office. Thanks to Anonymous that they were working on a Sunday too. Damn it!
Buildings stood twenty-seven-floor high near their rendezvous point. Seven vehicles were parked where they stopped. All his agents were in civil dresses. RAAD didn’t have any dress code. They could be imposters if they wanted.
He climbed out of the car, the police officers walking with him.
“What’s the condition here?” Tom asked the man standing near the shop.
“No activity. All the men are inside. We counted ten.”
“All hostiles?”
“Yes,” he said. His shaved face was shining in the sunlight.
In the morning they were having the operation. Good TRP news channels were going to get. Sitting in the air-conditioned rooms and analysing their own shit. He’d been interviewed on several occasions after the operations. Their thoughts were not that they saved the city but how they knew people were inside, how many people were involved. Some names they wanted that he didn’t want to give. Sometimes he wondered if they were with the country or the enemies. Not all, but many of them were there.
Today it was not even possible if the patrolling officers hadn’t checked the suspicious activities around the house. RAAD was informed immediately and then they started the operation (usually the Lufghan State Police would look into it, but the breaching in the Department had raised the level so much that they handed the case to RAAD.) Tom was called at the last moment and briefed over the phone.
There was no proof that Anons were in the house, though he assumed they were from the group. The people caught in the Department were the only link that they had to get to the roots of this. He would have a talk with them. And if he was not wrong, RAAD had been pulled into the case after Top One. He had no confirmation on that though.
“Don’t reveal your weapons until we are near the house. Use automatic weapons. All assault rifles. Have sharpshooters on the roof.”
He scanned the surrounding once again. Two big buildings were on the right side, blocking the sunlight. Near the building were two gardens. Children were joyfully playing. A bad day.
“Officer,” Tom said, not taking his eyes off from the children, “can you make the children go away without distracting the hostiles in the house? I don’t want them to use the children as leverage to escape.”
“I can try, sir. Their parents might ask the reasons that I will not be able to tell. Shall I tell the truth, sir?”
He shook his head. “No, panic is the last thing we need.”
The officer left. He didn’t even look at the name badge.
“The house is in the next street, Agent Tom. We are ready to move on your command,” Gothar said. He was as tall as Tom, his shoulder blades bigger than Tom’s.
Tom himself was a young man. In very less span of time he’d achieved what most of the people took decades. He was proud of himself, not boastful though. His wife had fallen in love with him because of his looks. She had told him after the marriage. She’d admitted that his soul was more beautiful than his body. He’d laughed at that.
It was true about his looks. If he wanted he could have any woman in his life. Sharp face and black hair and courage were enough to make someone fall for him. His muscled body had attracted so many young women when he was in the police.
He nodded to the agent, his hand on the holster.
“Let’s move. No opening fire outside the house.”
Through a small street they passed. Bins and papers flooded the way. The smell seemed to welcome them. Thirty-foot walls promised not to reveal their movement. No window was there in the wall, and no gate was opening. Whoever was inside the house must not have known the street otherwise men would have been guarding it. Some people were plotting against the country. His country. They were not stupid to leave it unguarded. Or are they amateur?
Total seven men were behind him, following slowly.
A narrow passageway opened to the right side. Slowly, he got his gun out. Standing behind the wall, he took a glimpse of the way. Nobody was there. On the upper side in the balconies some women were there, their eyes not at them. He signalled the men that i
t’s clear to move on. At last he was on the other side.
“How much farther?” Tom asked.
“Second house in the next street. Brown colour. A limousine is parked at the gate.” Gothar answered.
“Where are the police officers? I can’t see them.”
“They are covering the parameter two blocks away. Mobilizing them nearby would alert the people inside.”
Tom squeezed his eyes shut and opened again. “Good. Just remember, I need one person alive. I don’t care how badly they would be injured. The first shot should not be from our side, but the last shot must be ours.”
He double-checked the magazine of his gun. Double-barrelled .45 automatic pistol was the weapon he used most. He never liked assault rifles. Never suited him. The last time when he used an assault rifle he left all the people dead. That was not the case here. One person alive. That’s it.
He lowered himself and walked against the wall. Over the wall no movement he saw. Next house was deserted. Might have been left for ages. The wall was collapsed and roof would fall any time. Ahead of him was a wall again, no house where the screams would come from. Two more houses were there on that street. He’d no idea if someone lived there or not. He wished they wouldn’t come out until they finished.
A man showed up from the limousine, donned in a white dress. Must be a chauffeur, his eyes at the agents.
And then Tom found out he was not just a chauffeur.
He took out his gun.
Tom fired the shot first. Silencer and his aim made sure his death would be without any scream. His body struck the car, leaving a long line of blood on the glass. Tom squatted. He was getting a feeling of ...
“Are you okay, Agent Tom?” Gothar murmured as low as he could.
“Yes. Just giddiness.”
The limousine had only one man, and he was dead. The gate of the house was still few steps away from them. An old house it was. No space for any garden. Window glasses were cracked. Some men were talking inside. They said ten. He doubted that.
“Lin is dead.” Someone screamed.
“Open fire.” Tom shouted.
His back to the car, Tom fired at the man on the roof. He lay dead, whose bullet, didn’t matter. He stormed into the house. At the stairs, men started firing. Two of his agents died.
On the ground he rolled and stood against a broken table. To his right side, bullets went through the window. He crouched and emptied the magazine. Giving no chance to whosoever was behind the window. The window made enough space to let him in, no bars were there.
Bullets did the work; the broken glasses and wood spread all over the room. He heard the screams coming from outside. Gothar was getting inside from the front. Assault rifles were like beasts in the play. Not for a second the firing stopped. How many bodies did they lay on the ground? He thought enough to make the rest surrender.
Behind the bedroom, a wooden staircase was cringing above the iron trunk on the floor. He took another weapon and found the magazine full. It was the assurance that was keeping him alive in these operations.
No agent behind him.
Carefully, he climbed the stairs one by one. The balusters along the staircase were broken. This was really a very old house. How long had they been living here? Any neighbours didn’t report it. They must be from a local gang, not terrorists, if they were not from Anonymous; not with guns Anons worked for sure. Other agencies could be helping them too. Internal part of any regime creates chaos to have its own rules. These people usually had their own agenda to put in the Office, certain demands which were fulfilled many times. Madam President would not do that.
He’d served two Presidents, and he believed current President was shrewder than any other who sat in the Office. He sighed.
First floor had three rooms at the back side. Just chairs and shelves were there, no weapon or man. He concluded whoever was here either dead or left the place using some underground ways. Possibilities he’d ignored many times, and consequences of that led him to disastrous times. He survived though.
Any time-bombs in the room were the surety of his conclusion. He found none.
He aimed suddenly at the door. It was Gothar.
“Clear, sir. No-one on this floor. One more floor to go.”
“How many people died?” Tom asked as he moved outside the room.
“Four from our side, and eight from theirs.”
“Two are alive then.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Try not to harm anyone. I want them alive until they talk. If they don’t, I will put the bullets in their heads.”
There was another staircase at the back side. He crouched and gazed at the end of the stairs. Two men were alive. With weapons!?
They climbed the stairs.
Only one room was there, separated from the walls on the left and right sides. He heard people screaming at a far distance. Running too. Two parents were with their children, coming out of the house and moving away from the place.
The police officers stood at the beginning of the street, calling the running people to get away from the street. Sirens were a deep roar in the quiet place. More than seven people he counted, standing near the cars, blocking the way.
“Follow me,” Tom ordered Gothar.
No threat was there. He was sure of that. Eight dead, the two who were here didn’t have any weapon otherwise they would have come out and had died in the crossfire. It was good they didn’t die. He needed them to talk. Talk with him.
He looked inside from the window. Two men were sitting at the table. No weapon in their hands or nearby. Wooden crates were as high as the roof. Smugglers or what? Their nerves were calm. Shouting and firing didn’t alarm them. Were they alive?
The door was open.
“Hands in the air. Both of you.” he shouted.
Both were young. Not more than twenty and seven. The one with brown hair raised his hands in the air and smiled. His smile was a nefarious one. The reason behind that unknown. The other lad sipped his drink, without caring what was happening around.
“Hands up in the air, asshole!” Tom snapped.
“Do it as the officers say, idiot.” Brown hair lad told the other guy. “You have a death wish?”
“Okay.” He muttered and raised his hands.
“Cuff them, Gothar. Secure the things that you get from here. Ask no other personnel to come here.”
Gothar cuffed them against the arms of the chairs. Both were sitting next to each other. Their calmness was disturbing. Tom holstered his weapon and leaned to the table. His eyes looking deep into their eyes, not uttering a single word. Sometimes words are not enough to describe certain things but expressions.
Gothar went outside.
“Who are you? Start with your names.” Tom asked.
“My name is Alex, and he is Bran.” The guy who had brown hair said. “What is happening here, Officer? Any problem? We heard the shooting. Anything we can help you with?”
That was outrageous. It wouldn’t go well ... for them.
“Good trick. Trust me when I say this: I have heard these words more than the months that you’ve lived in your life. The last thing you want me to do is do something that makes you a dead person. Understood?”
“I don’t know what you are talking about.” Alex said.
“We want an attorney first,” Bran added.
“Attorney?” Tom laughed. “You are messing with wrong people, buddy. An attorney or even the President of this country can’t come here to tell you what rights you have.”
“Trust me, Officer, when I say this,” Bran’s face wore hard expressions. Expressions of disgust. “We are not talking anything unless we have an attorney. In the Civil Rights act, under section eighty-four, we have the right to have someone to talk before talking with any police officer. Is that understood?”
“What are you planning in this city? How you got the weapons?” Tom asked, without caring what they were saying. He remembered how the conversations happened
in these situations. He handled them well in the past. And he was going to do the same here.
“Do you see any weapons that we are carrying?” Alex said. “Search around. I am not found with any weapons, neither is Bran. On what charges are you arresting us?”
“Arresting you? We don’t arrest. We just do our work and get the hell out of here.”
Gothar appeared soon.
“Sir, the agents are sweeping each corner. The police officers have been informed to stay put.” Gothar said.
“Good.”
“Agents?” Alex asked.
“Your link to the people downside, tell me about that. Cooperate and you will live, do some random shit again that you did a few minutes ago you die.” Tom roared and banged his fist on the table.
“We told you we are not talking without our attorney. We have the right—” Bran couldn’t complete the line.
Tom pulled out a gun and filled Bran’s body with iron. Four bullets he fired, all in the chest.
The chair tilted back. His hands still on the top of the chair, his legs were dangling in an awkward position. No voice he heard from the dead body. One bullet was enough to kill him. But he’d his own ways of doing the operations. The other guy, Alex, had a shocking expression on his face. His face drained the blood. This whitish face was what Tom needed.
“Let’s start it from the beginning.” Tom sighed and looked into the eyes of the lad sitting in front of him. He was so afraid that he had tears in his eyes. “My name is Tom, and I am from RAAD. One thing that you should remember is we don’t count the bullets we fire, and we don’t give the number of the bullets we fire to the Office. Is that clear?” Tom put the empty gun on the table.
He pulled out another gun and checked the magazine.
“So, what is the plan?” Tom asked.
“I ... I don’t know much.” He was shaking. “We got a call from someone. Talking ... talking about the information passed on to some officer. Their plan was to kill him. I don’t know how it was going to be executed. My job was to allow the men inside the house and let them have the weapons assemble here.”