Emily spits into his face. Apollyon turns his head, failing to avoid it.
“I hope somebody kills you,” she cries.
He turns back toward her, locking eyes with her.
“You die slowly!” he roars smashing her head into a car window.
She hits the ground unconscious. He picks her up and walks to one of their black cars. He then throws her into the backseat. One of his men gets into the car and sits next to her, another gets into the passenger seat, and a third gets into the driver’s seat.
“We’ll follow you,” Apollyon says to the driver.
Apollyon gets into the backseat of another car and pulls out his phone, placing it to his ear.
“Yes, sir?” a voice says calmly in the phone.
“Is the project finally complete?” Apollyon asks over the phone.
“Operation Plexus is ready, sir,” the voice replies with a firm and steady voice.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Here’s to man, for living so long.
A phone rings. A young woman steps away from her son as he watches cartoons.
“Hello?” the mother says over the phone.
“Hey, Penny,” a male voice says softly over the phone.
“Eric!” she says with excitement.
“I have to go. I just wanted to say I love you both,” he says with a sigh.
“We love you too,” she replies, confused.
The phone hangs up.
“What’s wrong, mommy?” the little boy asks.
She wraps her arms around her son.
“I don’t know,” she whispers, holding him tight.
Eric Buhari pockets his cell phone, looking up toward a SWAT truck.
“Buhari, let’s go!” his partner says to him.
With haste, Eric hops into the back of the SWAT truck with his squad. Two other SWAT trucks are parked behind them.
Two SWAT helicopters take off. The trucks start their engines, and the three trucks in convoy accelerate onto the heavily trafficked road. Eric’s SWAT truck rocks him from side to side as the truck sways in the traffic. Meanwhile, his mind is with his wife. The sun glistens through the white curtain lace. She smiles as he lifts her off her feet. His eyes close.
“What’s this world coming to?” he thinks to himself.
A voice breaks through the static on the radio.
“It’s all up to you. The fate of Washington, DC, rests with you,” the voice states clearly.
Eric’s troubled eyes open as he listens.
“Once you go through those doors, you commit everything. If you hesitate, millions will die,” the commander adds.
Meanwhile, the Army National Guard surrounds an old building. The sun lowers in the orange sky as the city streets become shady. The sound of gunshots pops off from the windows. A bullet hisses past one of the Humvee gunners.
“Shit!” the gunner yells and instinctively ducks down into the vehicle.
Six soldiers group at the front door with their M4 carbines shouldered and their feet locked together so they know when they are moving. The point man briefly examines the door, and then with a thumbs-up, they ready themselves.
“Three, two, one!” Smash! The first man kicks the door open.
Small wooden pieces splinter and trickle to the floor as they burst forth through the doorway, firing in all directions. Two mercenaries hide behind the main floor desk. Behind the desk, three more enemies hide in the elevator doorways. The soldiers keep low as they surround the desk from all sides. Boom! Pop! Pop! Bullets hiss by while kicking up tile pieces. The two enemies behind the desk hit the floor, and their blood sprays the air. The six soldiers move around the desk and engulf it from both sides, surrounding the elevators. Pop! Pop! Pop! Pop! Repeated gunshots drop the three remaining mercenaries.
The stack team moves quickly past the elevators toward a hallway. They pause for a moment to reassess, then slam through a door, entering an office room with cubicles. Boom! One of the soldiers gets hit, flipping over an office chair. Pop! Pop! Pop! They return fire, unsure of the enemy’s location.
“I’m hit!” the wounded soldier cries.
“Morrison! You okay?” a private yells.
“I don’t know,” he replies, holding his wounded shoulder.
“I think…I think I’m good,” Specialist Morrison adds.
“Then get back into the fight, specialist!” Sergeant Rivera shouts.
They continue to return fire.
“One o’clock!” Private Simmons shouts.
Sergeant Rivera squeezes the trigger gently. Pop! Rivera shoots a man running through the cubicles, and the man drops lifelessly to the ground. Rivera smirks.
“Push forward!” Sergeant Rivera shouts as the team spreads out, weaving through the cubicles in a line of death-dealing destruction.
The squad closes in on a hallway on the far side of the cubicles leading into a large storage warehouse. The squad regroups while entering the hallway and moves through it with purpose. They enter the warehouse, and Simmons spots a man running on the catwalk above them, attempting to escape.
“Freeze!” Sergeant Rivera shouts, aiming his rifle toward the running man.
The man crashes through a door, escaping before Rivera can fire a shot. Rivera’s eyes focus on the center of the warehouse. A metal egg-shaped device the size of a Volkswagen sits there with a blank computer screen attached to it.
“Is this it?” Private Simmons asks with a concerned look.
“Yes,” Rivera whispers in a low voice.
“Doesn’t look armed,” Specialist Morrison says with relief.
Outside the building, the National Guard unit gets ambushed, and gunshots light up the street. The Humvee gunners swing their weapons systems around, aiming at the mercenaries beginning to surround them. A mercenary crowd advances toward them, and the gunners fire on the crowd as they close in. The mercenaries climb on top of the Humvees, attacking the soldiers at close range. Pop! Pop! Pop! Mercenaries hit the ground. Army soldiers get pelted with rounds. Blood sprays into the air. With nowhere else to take cover, the remnants of the army unit move into the old building and are surrounded. The soldiers slam the doors and set up positions around the main lobby desk, building a makeshift bunker.
“Alpha and Bravo squad, watch the front doors!” the platoon sergeant yells.
Without hesitation, the troops take up defensive positions to repel whatever comes next.
Inside, Rivera and his team hear the ruckus.
“Sergeant Rivera!” the platoon sergeant yells as he and his squad make their way through the cubicle room.
“Yes, sergeant!” Rivera shouts as he approaches.
“The building is surrounded. What’s your status?” the platoon sergeant asks, his voice urgent.
“It looks clear. We also found the warhead,” Sergeant Rivera states.
“Roger. You and your team guard the warhead. Nobody touches that thing!” the platoon sergeant orders. “If we are compromised, be prepared to render the warhead inert,” he adds.
Back outside the building, a fleet of police cruisers surrounds the angry crowd of mercenaries as they mount the Humvee weapons systems. SWAT snipers set up on top of nearby buildings. Cops take cover behind their open driver doors, aiming their side arms at the crowd. The crowd fires the mounted weapons systems at the cops. Bullets pellet the police cruisers as glass shatters. A police officer is shot as he hits the pavement.
“We have an officer down! Code three, all units fifty-third street.”
The sun disappears over the horizon of the dark, cloudy sky, and the police continue to fire into the crowd of mercenaries.
“Focus on the gunners!” one of the officers shouts.
Blood sprays the air just as the nearest gunner is turned into a ragdoll. The second gunner gets shot in the side and flies out of the hatch onto the road. The third gunner gets hit in the neck as blood pulses into the air. The crowd disperses into the alleyways. It begins to rain lightly. Police cruise
rs reposition themselves around the building in a defensive formation. SWAT helicopters land on top of the old building, and two roof units move quickly to the roof’s door.
“Squad one and two set!”
A SWAT truck drives down the ramp of a parking garage, heads beneath the building, and stops by a closed janitor closet. The SWAT truck opens up, and black-clad officers pour out of the back and approach the closet. The officers kick open the door with a metal battering ram to reveal an empty, dead-end closet. An officer pulls out a brick of C4 and passes it to a SWAT member in reach of the ceiling. He sticks the C4 onto the ceiling along with a detonator.
Another SWAT truck pulls up to the building’s front door as the rain begins to pick up. Eric kisses his wife Penny’s photo from the back of the truck then quickly pockets it. The truck doors swing open, and Eric Buhari rushes with two other squads to stack on the front door.
“Lieutenant Buhari, what’s your position?” the SWAT commander says over the radio.
“Squads three and four, set!” Eric responds over the radio.
“Squad five, set!” Lieutenant Coleman says as they step outside the janitor closet for cover.
The third SWAT truck pulls behind the building and quickly disperses its cargo of officers, and with haste, the final unit stacks on the back door.
“Squad six, set.”
Outside in the chaotic street, Zach approaches an abandoned, wrecked police cruiser. The smoking vehicle’s radio sputters. Zach can barely make out the words.
“An Army National Guard unit has armed a nuclear warhead within the building. They will not willingly let us disable it. All weapons hot. Shoot to kill,” the SWAT commander orders.
Zach’s eyes open wide in shock. He notices the location waypoint on the cracked monitor screen and realizes it’s not far off. He makes a run for it.
Back inside the building, the National Guard soldiers position themselves. Private Simmons sees the warhead screen turn on, and the clock sets for ten minutes. A moment passes, and the clock starts counting down.
“Um, we got a problem!” Simmons yells, looking at Rivera.
Rivera runs up to the warhead in panic. He looks around wildly, unsure of what to do.
“Stop!” Zach screams at the police.
“This is all a setup!” Zach yells.
“Holy shit! That’s Zach Becker! Arrest him!” one of the lieutenants shouts.
Zach is grabbed from both sides by two cops who pull him toward a police cruiser.
“For aiding a criminal and a wanted palomin,” the lieutenant adds.
“Oh, my god. You are making a big fucking mistake!” Zach roars.
The cops throw him inside the backseat of the cruiser and slam the door shut.
“Move in!” the SWAT commander orders over the radio with a firm, deep voice.
Boom! The janitor’s closet roof collapses in a cloud of gray dust. Pieces of tile and concrete rain down into a pile of rubble. A white dust cloud billows from the closet.
“Move! Move! Move!” the commander adds with haste.
Eric Buhari kicks open the front door. Units three and four move in, guns blazing, riot shields raised.
On the roof, units one and two batter the door open, breaking the doorframe, and funnel down the staircase. The backdoor team bursts through the doors and quickly maneuvers through the office rooms.
Down in the janitor’s closet, the officers of unit five lift each other up into the ceiling and regroup on the main floor in an office room.
At the National Guard barricade in the main lobby, the tension mounts.
“Return fire?” Private West asks desperately as they are shot at by SWAT officers.
“No!” the platoon sergeant hisses, taking cover.
Splat! Private West receives a gunshot through the neck, splattering blood onto the wall behind him. The platoon sergeant shuffles over to Private West, pushing two fingers deep into his neck in an attempt to stop the bleeding. Bang! A specialist gets hit behind the platoon sergeant, dropping dead.
“Return fucking fire!” the platoon sergeant roars.
The army then opens fire on the police.
“This is all fucked up,” Specialist Morrison hisses as he takes position near the warhead and listens to the gunshots being fired inside the building.
Eric and two other SWAT members sling doors open while checking rooms.
“Clear!” shouts one.
“Clear!” shouts another.
Door after door gets kicked open as the team moves quickly through the building’s rooms.
“Sergeant Rivera!” the platoon sergeant shouts as he approaches the sergeant.
“Yes, sergeant!” Rivera responds.
“Take your squad through the rear offices! Clear them out!” the platoon sergeant orders. “Clear us a path out of this shit!”
“Roger that!” Rivera replies.
“On me!” Rivera shouts.
Private Simmons and Specialist Morrison regroup with Rivera, and the three soldiers quickly approach a door. They kick it open and move into an office room, hastily moving past cubicle after cubicle.
“Left clear!” shouts Private Simmons.
“Right clear!” shouts Specialist Morrison.
Boom! Pop! Pop! Gunfire lights up the office space. Rivera, Simmons, and Morrison hit the ground to take cover. Pop! Rivera hits a SWAT member as he moves from cubicle to cubicle. The man hits the ground holding his wound. Rivera looks through the sight, zeroing on the downed man’s head. Pop! Blood launches out of the SWAT member’s head. Rounds fly through cubicle walls and desks, flinging debris everywhere. Bam! Specialist Morrison gets shot in the side, falling back onto the ground.
“Fuck!” Private Simmons yells, taking cover while bullets fly by his head.
Sergeant Rivera sees a cubicle wall get bumped. Pop! Pop! Pop! Rivera unloads through the cubicle wall. Blood splatters the wall, followed by a thump behind it as moans emanate from the target. The last SWAT member, Eric Buhari, approaches Rivera from behind.
“Watch out!” Private Simmons yells to Rivera.
Sergeant Rivera hops to his feet, plowing Eric into the wall. Bam! Eric hits Rivera in the jaw, throwing him off balance, and the two men wrestle among the desks. Rivera loses his footing, pulling Eric into a cubicle wall with him. Crash! The wall falls onto a chair, tipping it over, and Eric’s hand instinctively wraps around Rivera’s neck. Private Simmons quickly approaches the dual and aims his M4 at Eric’s head.
“Back the fuck off!” Simmons yells.
Eric slowly raises his hands. Rivera pushes the SWAT officer off of him, taking a safe position with his weapon in hand.
“Why the fuck are you trying to kill us?” Simmons asks, aiming the weapon at Eric.
With his hands up, Eric is confused, pauses, then slowly states, “Because you’re arming a nuclear warhead.”
“What?” Rivera hisses.
“You are, aren’t you?” Eric asks, lowering his hands.
“Fuck no! We’re securing this shit so other motherfuckers don’t arm it!” Rivera growls. “Then you guys come charging in all cowboy and shit.”
“This was a setup,” Eric says, putting his finger on his earpiece.
“Cease fire! Cease fire and hold your positions!” Eric yells into the microphone.
The police unit commander’s eyes light up bright blue as he hears Eric’s command. The radio static echoes with confused questions from squads throughout the operation. Eric keys the mic again and states, “Cease fire! Hold your positions.”
“They know,” a deep, motorized voice says over an alternate radio.
The gunfire halts.
“Cease fire!” Sergeant Rivera shouts to the troopers as they approach the main lobby.
The army soldiers and SWAT officers hesitate before getting out of cover in the standstill.
Apollyon rides in the back of an SUV. Over the alternate radio, he commands, “Send them in.”
“Move in,” the c
ommander orders in a deep, firm voice over the radio.
“Charge!” a Palomin leader shouts.
The Palomin troops ready their assault rifles and move to the doors from all sides of the building. Other Palomin mount the Humvee weapons systems that are still operational. The SWAT snipers lay on the roofs in puddles of blood—assassinated.
Boom! Three Palomin smash out of a high-rise window from across the street in an aerial dive toward the building surrounded by the Palomin. Crash! They smash through the upper floor windows, landing in unoccupied rooms.
The sound of feet moving upstairs sends anxiety through the men and women engaged in the uneasy truce.
The National Guard platoon sergeant hears the ruckus upstairs and outside. He walks out of cover into the middle of the lobby, surrounded by SWAT members and army. Brass casings litter the floor.
“They’re coming!” a private whispers.
The SWAT members look behind themselves to see crowds of armed Palomin approaching the doorways. The moment of confusion passes. The SWAT and army have no other choice but to join forces and form a large firing line.
“Get in cover!” the platoon sergeant shouts as he and the SWAT members join the rest of the army in cover.
The army and SWAT lock and load weapons, replacing empty magazines with full ones and charging the handles. Bolts ride forward to load rounds. The rap, snap, and rack of multiple weapons sound off as they go hot. The SWAT and army position their sights toward the doors and wait.
“Time to kill some Palomin,” Sergeant Rivera grunts.
Private Simmons runs to the warhead to see only five seconds remaining. His eyes open wide with horror.
“Four…three…two…” Simmons closes his eyes.
After a moment of standing there, Private Simmons opens his eyes to see the chronometer at zero. Nothing happens.
“What the hell?” he whispers, confused.
“They used it as bait. The fuckin’ Palomin baited us here to start some shit. It’s fake!” another sergeant yells as they leave the warhead to help the others on the firing line.
Boom! A door blows open into the warehouse, sending glass all over the main lobby. In charges a near endless mass of Palomin with guns blazing. The army and SWAT return fire without hesitation, and a maelstrom of enfilade fire ensues.
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