by Robert Boren
“Not so loud,” Holly whispered, eyes darting around.
“We don’t even know anything,” Jerry whispered.
“Yeah, and if they find that out, we’re done,” Holly said. “Keep that in mind.”
“We’re not going to live through this anyway,” Jerry said. “You know that, right?”
“Never give up hope,” Holly said.
“What, you expect Kip to ride to the rescue?”
Holly chuckled. “All he cares about now is his college buddy and that hot Latina that he fooled into being with him.”
“You seemed to be on Nelson’s side too,” Jerry said.
“Nelson’s a reactionary, but compared to these guys? Good Lord.”
The door opened. Two militia thugs held it for an Islamist cleric, who carried in two manila folders. He was a tall, angular man, about sixty, with a long beard and a bad smell.
“Hello, friends,” he said cheerfully.
“You again?” Holly asked. “How long are you gonna hold us here?”
“That depends on you,” he said. “I have something that both of you will be interested in.”
He handed one manila folder to Holly, the other to Jerry.
“Not interested,” Holly said, tossing the packet on the floor in front of his cot.
“Pick that up or this nice man here will knee-cap you,” the cleric spat. “Insolence won’t help you.”
Holly stared at him with hate-filled eyes, then reached for the folder.
Jerry opened his packet and poured out the contents onto his cot. His eyes got wide. “My sister? My mom and dad? My fiancé?”
“And your last few girlfriends, and your college roommate,” the cleric said.
Holly felt the panic rise, and dumped the pictures out, rifling through them. “Okay, what do you want?”
The cleric chuckled. “We have people watching all of your loved ones right this second. If you guys don’t agree to our request, all of them will be dead within the hour.”
“I already told you that Franklin won’t return my calls. Neither will Attorney General Blake. I’ve already tried. You were in the room with me, remember?”
“We no longer care about Franklin or the Attorney General,” the cleric said.
Holly and Jerry shot a glance at each other. “We don’t have any other contacts.”
“Washington DC is going through a transition,” the cleric said. “The two men you mentioned are no longer important. We found out why about an hour ago.”
“Are you gonna tell us?” Holly asked.
“No reason we can’t,” the cleric said, a look of glee on his face.
“Well?” Holly asked.
“President Simpson and his entire Administration have been arrested.”
“No way,” Jerry said.
The cleric laughed. “I don’t care if you believe me or not. Now we are moving on to what would’ve been your second task for us.”
“And that is what?” Holly asked.
“We’re going to let you go. You’ll rejoin your friends. Jerry, I want you to re-connect with Kip Hendrix.”
“Why?” Jerry asked.
“You might not be asked to do anything,” the cleric said. “We want you in place as a trusted adviser just in case.”
Holly rolled his eyes. “You want me to get back with Kip again too?”
“Well, yes, but more importantly we want you to reconnect with Police Chief Ramsey and Governor Nelson,” the cleric said. “Same thing. Do nothing unless we contact you with instructions. If we do contact you with instructions and you don’t carry them out, all the people in the manila folder will be wiped out, along with anybody they’re with at the time we arrive. Do I make myself clear?”
Holly looked at Jerry, who was on the verge of tears.
“You can’t help each other,” the cleric said. “Do we have an agreement, or should I send a text right now?”
“No!” Jerry said. “I’ll do it.”
“Good,” the cleric said. He looked at Holly. “And you?”
Holly looked down, then nodded yes.
“Great,” the cleric said. “One more thing, and then we’ll be done for now. You’ll be released in two days.”
“Why two days?” Jerry asked.
“You’ll need a couple days to heal,” the cleric said. He nodded to one of the militia men, who went to the door and opened it. A doctor came in pushing a small cart. There were things on the top, under a clean white cloth.
“What’s that?” Holly asked.
“We’re installing RFID chips,” the cleric said. “They’ll help us to know where you are at all times.”
“You’re chipping us like dogs?” Holly asked.
The cleric chuckled. “Funny you should say it that way.” He nodded at the doctor, who rolled the cart next to Holly, then uncovered the top.
“I suggest you don’t struggle with this part,” the cleric said. “If you do, we’ll just do it with no anesthetic.”
“Arm, please,” the doctor said. Holly sighed and stuck out his left arm, turning it so his inner elbow was exposed. The doctor tied a rubber strip on Holly’s upper arm, then searched for a good vein. When he found it, he cleaned the area with a sterile swab, and injected him.
“What is that?” Holly asked.
“Demerol,” the doctor said.
Holly felt the pleasure race through him, trying to fight it. “I’m twelve step.”
The cleric laughed. “That’s the least of your worries now.”
The doctor moved over to Jerry and did the same procedure, then stepped back and watched them as the drug took hold.
“It’s not really clean enough to do this here,” the doctor whispered. “We should’ve taken them someplace else.”
“Don’t worry about it,” the cleric said. “We put these into our men in the field with no anesthetic. These two are lucky. They’ll be fine.”
The doctor shrugged. “Looks like they’re ready.” He picked up an insertion tool, loaded a chip, and then walked towards Holly.
“Make sure you put the right one in,” the cleric said.
“I know. I’m not an idiot.” He turned Holly’s arm so he could reach the back of his triceps and inserted the tool deep into the muscle, then worked a lever on the handle to inject the RFID capsule.
“There’s one,” the cleric said as the doctor withdrew the tool and tossed it on the cart. He cleaned and bandaged the wound, then turned to Jerry and followed the same procedure. Then he cleaned his hands, and looked at the cleric.
“They’re gonna sleep for a couple of hours. They’ll be in pretty bad pain when they wake up. I’ll be back to give them some more pain meds.”
“Thanks,” the cleric said, watching as the doctor pushed the cart out of the cell. He turned back to Holly and Jerry. “How do you feel?”
Both men looked back at him with groggy eyes.
“Good, pleasant dreams,” he said, turning for the door. He walked out, the two militia men following, one pulling the door shut behind them.
Chapter 17 – Mock Venice
“Quiet now,” Lita said, sitting next to Richardson.
“Yep, and getting dark. Surprised the others can nap.”
“We’ve had a busy few days,” Lita said. “You tired?”
“A little,” Richardson said. “I slept really good last night, though.”
“Me too,” she said, looking into his eyes. “We should be off on a honeymoon someplace.”
“I know,” Richardson said. “I’ll make it up to you. I promise.”
“This wasn’t your fault,” she said. “Not even a little bit.”
“I know, but still,” he said, brushing her hair out of her eyes. “I’m glad we did it instead of waiting.”
“Me too,” Lita said.
“The water quit rising,” Richardson said. “Looks pretty stable now. Lots of current, though. It’s gonna be tricky.”
“Hey, anything happening?” Brendan asked, s
tretching next to Hannah.
“Not yet,” Richardson said. “You get any sleep?”
“A little,” Brendan said. “Hasn’t been a sniper shot for a while. Chuck’s guys must have nailed all of them.”
“That’ll make it safer for us to fight down there,” Richardson said.
“Hey, honey,” Hannah said, stretching against him. “You woke up.”
“Yeah,” Brendan said. “Look at Juan Carlos. He’s out. Madison too.”
“No I’m not, dude,” Juan Carlos said. “Just resting my eyes.”
Richardson felt his phone buzz. He pulled it out and looked at it.
“Jefferson?” Juan Carlos asked.
Madison’s eyes opened. “Oh, no, is it time already?”
“Don’t know, sweetie,” Juan Carlos said. “Don’t worry about it.”
“Okay,” she said, watching as Richardson made the call. He muttered a few comments, then took the phone away from his ear.
“Well?” Lita asked.
“Half an hour to forty-five minutes,” he said, punching in a text.
“That to Chuck?” Brendan asked.
“Yeah,” Richardson said. “We need to find a place on the water line. We’ll probably have to swim to the boat.”
“Shit, this is really happening,” Hannah said, eyes filled with fear.
“Let’s go down to the third floor,” Brendan said, peeking over the side. “That’ll put us about six feet above the water.”
“Roger that,” Richardson said. “You girls stay put. We’ll be back in a few minutes. Okay?”
“Yeah,” Lita said.
“Don’t get hurt,” Madison said.
“I won’t,” Juan Carlos said as he got up, following Brendan and Richardson to the door. They picked up their rifles and went into the stairwell.
“What about the SMAW?” Brendan asked.
“Maybe we ought to leave that with the girls,” Juan Carlos said.
“Don’t worry about it now,” Richardson said. “We’ll be back up there in a few minutes.”
They rushed down the flights of stairs, stopping at the door that said Third Floor. Richardson tried it. It opened into a sterile-looking hallway.
“Wonder what’s on this floor?” Brendan asked as they walked down the hall.
“Looks medical to me,” Juan Carlos said. “Yeah, look. Ophthalmologists.”
“Yep,” Richardson said. “Let’s check the windows at the end of this hall.”
They rushed down and looked out at the water below, lapping against the side of the building across the street, the current swirling as it went past the front of the building.
“This is a good place to get out,” Juan Carlos said. “Between buildings. It’s not visible from either of the enemy lines.”
“That’s what I was hoping,” Richardson said. He picked up a chair from a waiting room a few yards before the window and rushed it over. “This is gonna be tough to break.” He picked the metal-legged chair up and swung it with all his might. The window cracked but didn’t break through.
“This is gonna be a bitch,” Brendan said. “Think we should shoot it out?”
“No, we don’t want that much noise,” Juan Carlos said. “Hit it again, boss.”
Richardson nodded and swung it again, this time breaking through in one spot.
“Good, look for something smaller that we can break this out with,” Richardson said.
“I know,” Brendan said, rushing down the hall. He took a fire extinguisher out of its box on the wall, then rushed it to the window.
“That ought to do,” Richardson said, watching as Brendan jammed the end into the glass, clearing out the loose shards all the way to the bottom of the window frame.
“Perfect, dude,” Juan Carlos said. “That’ll be enough.
“Yeah,” Richardson said. “Let’s get back to the roof.”
They rushed back to the stairs, meeting Chuck and Carol just ahead of the roof door.
“Got people coming?” Richardson asked.
“Sure do,” Chuck said. “They ought to be in place within the next fifteen minutes. You find a place to get out?”
“Yeah, end of the hall on the third floor,” Richardson said. “We had to break out the window.”
They came back on the roof.
“You found a good place?” Lita asked. “I thought I heard breaking safety glass.”
“Yep, that was us,” Richardson said. “We’re set.”
“What about the SMAW?” Brendan asked.
“The extractor is fixed now,” Juan Carlos said. “Maybe we ought to leave it here.”
“Yeah,” Richardson said. “Who was using it when the mobile home park got attacked?”
“I was,” Hannah said. “I only got off one shot, but I hit a chopper.”
“It shouldn’t jam on you this time, little lady,” Chuck said.
“What now?” Madison asked.
“We wait,” Juan Carlos said. “When we hear the choppers, we’ll go down.” He sat next to Madison and pulled her close.
“I’m scared,” Madison said. “You’d better not get killed. I’m too young to be a widow.”
“Tell me about it,” Hannah said.
They sat quietly as night set in hard, and then they could hear the choppers approaching.
“Hand me one of those night-vision goggles, sweetie,” Chuck said. Carol took one out and then slid the bag over to him. He put one on, then got up and looked at the enemy line to the left.
“Look like they hear it?” Richardson asked.
“Oh, yeah, they hear it,” Chuck said. “They’re scrambling around, looking for a better place to watch.”
“The choppers are coming fast,” Carol said. “I can see them, coming in from the north.”
Chuck turned in that direction. “Yep, I see them. Shit, we got somebody with a stinger down there, looking for a good place to shoot from.”
Richardson smiled. “Sounds like a good job for the BMG.”
“I’ll get on that, and blast him as soon as the choppers get close enough,” Chuck said. “You guys need to get ready to go. Girls, grab your rifles.”
Lita shook her head yes, glancing at Hannah, who picked up the SMAW and pulled the box of grenades closer to the façade.
“What do you want me to do?” Madison asked.
“Be ready to reload,” Juan Carlos said. “Don’t try to stand up. Those crutches will put you too far above the façade.”
“Yeah, he’s right,” Lita said. “You know how to reload the M-16s, right?”
“Yes,” Madison said.
The choppers were getting closer. Carol took another look with the night-vision goggles. “There’s three, boats hanging under them, and a fourth behind them.”
“That’s probably the other crews,” Richardson said. “They’ll get right down on the water, I suspect.”
“I’d better man that BMG,” Chuck said, rushing over to the spot Richardson had set it up. He flipped up the lens caps on the scope and took aim, getting the stinger in his sights. “I’m gonna shoot the weapon first.” He squeezed off a shot, an ear-splitting blast echoing between the buildings. The stinger missile launcher shattered in the enemy fighter’s hands, and then Chuck fired once more, sending the man flying from the van he was standing on.
“Might as well open up on them now,” Chuck said. “Send out the text.”
“I’ll do it, honey,” Carol said. “You keep that big gun working.”
“You got it,” he said, firing quickly but carefully as Carol sent the text. Suddenly the roofs were covered with people, rushing to the edges with their rifles and pouring fire on the panicked Islamists below.
“This is like shooting fish in a barrel,” Chuck shouted as he fired. Lita and Hannah joined in.
“See you soon,” Richardson said. “C’mon, guys, let’s go. Our boat will be in the water in a couple minutes.”
“Be careful,” Madison said to Juan Carlos. He winked at her, then
turned to leave.
“Don’t get killed,” Lita shouted. Hannah just looked at Brendan, unable to say anything. He smiled at her and then followed Richardson and Juan Carlos through the door.
“Hope those boats are all ready to go,” Juan Carlos said as they raced down the stairs.
“Me too,” Brendan said. They bolted through the door to the third floor and ran down to the broken window.
“Should we just jump in?” Juan Carlos asked.
“Yeah,” Richardson said. “Hold on tight to your rifles.”
“Roger that,” Brendan said. They jumped into the swirling water below as the choppers lowered the boats on winches.
“Here they come,” Juan Carlos said, dog-paddling to the other two. They watched as the boat came down to about ten feet above the water and dropped. It sent up a big splash around all sides, then settled, rolling in the wake. All three paddled to the boat, Brendan climbing over the transom in the back, using the bottom of one of the outboards as a step. Then he reached down and helped the others as the second boat dropped. Men were sliding down a rope from the fourth chopper and getting into the water. The third boat came down with a splash, settling quickly.
“Hello, baby,” Juan Carlos said as he got into the passenger seat.
“Hey, these have the new side guns with grenade launchers,” Brendan said. “Bitchen.”
A few rifle shots hit the side of the boat.
“Watch out!” cried Richardson as he got behind the gun shield on the starboard side. He turned the gun towards the source of the fire and pulled the trigger, lead flying into the open-air mezzanine of a hotel as the Islamists screamed.
“Get the motor running, man,” Brendan said, getting behind his gun.
Juan Carlos cranked the engines and they started with a raspy two-cycle snarl. “Nice!”
They heard the other boats fire up, as bullets bounced off them from the other line of enemy fighters.
“Get us over to Flores Street,” Richardson said. “Let’s ruin their day.”
“Hell yeah,” Brendan said. Juan Carlos pushed the throttle lever forward, the engines roaring as the boat jumped on a plane.
“Remember the outboards,” Richardson said. “They’re vulnerable.”
“Got it, dude,” Juan Carlos shouted as they raced between the buildings, turning left from College Street to North St. Mary’s, then right when they got to Commerce. “This is like frigging Venice.”