Black Flagged Apex

by Steven Konkoly

  He turned and walked to the Cherokee’s rear lift gate, raising it to expose two black nylon duffel bags. He pulled out dark green load-bearing vests (LBV) for the four operatives that would approach the compound. The vests had been loaded with thirty-round magazines for the Mark 18 Mod 0 rifles each of them would carry. The Mark 18 was a modified M-4 carbine, fitted with a more compact 10.3-inch barrel, which was better suited for close quarters battle. These preselected versions had been equipped with EOTech holographic sights. Welsh nearly stumbled off the road when Daniel started to distribute the rifles.

  “Fuckin’ A, man. What are you expecting in there? Osama Bin Laden?” he said, clearly amused with his own comment.

  Worse, Daniel thought. Aloud, he said, “Never hurts to be prepared.”

  Melendez reached into the same duffel bag and removed a thick suppressor, attaching it to the barrel of his rifle. He had already removed the EOTech sight, preferring to trust the iron sights for any long-range shots that might need to be taken. He would be their designated sharpshooter during the compound breach. All of them removed their black jackets and donned hunter camouflage-patterned hoodies and ball caps, also compliments of Walmart. Once they had tightened the LBVs over the camouflage hoodies, they all adjusted their earpieces and conducted a communications check. Everyone would be on the same channel for the raid, including the electronics team. Satisfied that they were ready, Daniel assembled them on the side of the road.

  “Melendez, I want you on point. Pick a spot roughly fifty meters out and head due north. The rest of us will follow twenty meters back. Line abreast formation. Jess on the right, Munoz on the left. I got the middle. When we reach the fence, if there is one, we’ll breach together. Sound good?”

  Everyone nodded, and Melendez removed a small handheld GPS unit, which he quickly configured as a compass. Moments later, their scout disappeared into the thick forest.

  “We look like hillbillies. I can’t believe our friend hasn’t figured it out yet,” Jessica whispered.

  “He’s still about seven Pabst Blue Ribbons away from sober. We could have shown up in clown suits. We’re just lucky he found this place,” Daniel said.

  “You get to ride with him on the way back.”

  “Thanks,” he said.

  They pushed their way through the persistent ground cover to catch up with Melendez.

  The approach to the compound proved difficult. Stubborn, newly grown underbrush obscured their vision, nearly eliminating any clear line of sight beyond twenty or thirty feet. Upon repositioning the vehicles, Graves was able to fix the locations of four wireless signals, none of which were located in the team’s path. Graves felt confident that the signals belonged to four wireless cameras located along the road. He still couldn’t discount the possibility of a fence-linked motion detection system. At this point, security for the compound appeared to consist of four separate wireless feeds, which weren’t tied to a central system. There was little Graves could do to help them without a computer network to manipulate. If the fence was hardwired into a standalone security alarm, they could expect immediate resistance.

  Forty minutes into their patrol, Melendez reached a point where he could observe the fence. They all moved into a tight formation around Melendez and surveyed what they could see of the grounds. Daniel could see a tall chain-link fence topped with a single coil of concertina wire. It was difficult to tell from his angle, but it looked like the fence backed right up against the forest. Large branches appeared to rest on the concertina wire in a few places, flattening the coils. This basic observation convinced him that the fence was neither electrified, nor rigged with motion detection equipment. The constantly moving branches would have shorted the fence and driven security personnel insane with false alarms.

  “Looks like about fifty meters of open ground,” he said.

  “Maybe a little less. I don’t see any cameras mounted to the building, but I’d need to get closer to verify. Too many blind spots from here,” Melendez said.

  “All right. Let’s move up to the fence and observe for a few minutes. Keep low.”

  The small group slithered through the brush on the forest floor to a point along the fence. Now Daniel could see everything. Devoid of windows, the building’s frontage spanned over one hundred feet. Two black Suburbans, parked side by side, faced a closed loading bay at the far eastern end of the building. Daniel couldn’t see a gate from his angle, but he could discern a well-worn driveway leading away from the loading bay. A single, closed metal door was located to the right of the loading bay, made accessible by a short concrete slab stairway. The building’s walls were constructed of featureless, gray cinderblocks, holding up what appeared to be a flat, metal roof. He could discern no pitch whatsoever to the roof, which struck him as unusual given the vast size of the one-story building. If the interior craftsmanship resembled anything close to the lackluster exterior appearance, Honesdale Construction owed Mr. Mills about four million dollars.

  “I don’t see any cameras,” Munoz said.

  “Neither do I,” Jessica said.

  “I think we should move down the fence until we can see the western side of the building. If it’s clear, Melendez will provide cover while we move to the corner. Melendez follows when we reach the building. We’ll then move along the exterior to the back,” Daniel said.

  He passed the plan over his radio to Fayed, while Melendez and Jessica cut the fence with powerful, short-handled tin snips. Once the fence was opened, Daniel slipped through and sprinted for the corner of the building, followed closely by Jessica and Munoz. Daniel moved a few feet down the western side of the building, keeping his rifle’s red holographic sight trained along the structure. He heard Jessica and Munoz pile into position behind him, followed by Munoz’s voice in his earpiece. Melendez joined them a few seconds later and moved swiftly in front of Daniel, continuing his job as the team’s point man.

  Melendez extended his arm and held an open palm to Daniel as they approached the northeast corner of the building. At the sight of Melendez’s hand, the rest of them stopped and crouched. He watched the young sniper approach the corner carefully, removing his camouflage baseball cap before taking a quick look along the northern wall. By Daniel’s rough estimation, the side they had just traversed matched the front of the building in terms of length. The only difference between the two sides had been the complete absence of any openings on the eastern facade. They had just slid silently along a blank cinderblock slate.

  Daniel removed his own cap and tossed it to the ground, waiting for Melendez’s assessment. Their point man backed up against the wall and crouched. He pointed to his own eyes with his index and middle fingers (“I see”), then held his hand up showing three fingers, keeping his ring finger down along with his thumb (“seven”). The next hand signal indicated they were “enemy,” accomplished by a simple thumbs-down. Finally, he stretched his arm upward and formed a pistol shape with his index finger and thumb, representing “rifles.” Seven men armed with rifles. Not something you’d expect to find in the middle of the Poconos on a Sunday afternoon. He recalled Melendez.

  “What are they doing?” he whispered.

  “Digging. I see several bodies nearby. All of the weapons were slung around their backs. I did see a few with just pistols. No body armor. Everyone’s dressed casually.”

  Jessica leaned in to hear what they were saying, while Munoz kept his rifle pointed at the front corner.

  “Who were they burying?” Jessica asked.

  “I saw a few lab coats stained bright red. The others looked like the gunmen. Looks like a cleanup job,” Melendez said.

  “Yeah. Tying up more loose ends. I need to get a look at the situation,” Daniel said.

  Daniel switched places with Melendez and crawled to the corner, easing his head toward the edge. As his view expanded, the stretch of ground between the northern fence line and the rear of the building took on a disturbing familiarity to another time and place. A different
life. Men smoking cigarettes, their instruments of murder tossed casually over their shoulders. Nervous laughter. Nobody quite sure who might end up in the ground. In that other time and place, men like these rarely did the digging. That was reserved for the desperate victims that had somehow convinced themselves they were digging a hole for someone else. He watched the men in front of him carefully.

  Only five of the men sank shovels into the soft ground near the fence. The other two stood behind them, conversing and laughing. He counted five AR-15-type rifles equipped with optics slung over the diggers’ backs. The two “supervisors” carried pistols in tactical thigh rigs. Melendez had missed the fact that one of them carried an MP9 submachine gun on his left side. Admittedly, it was hidden from view. Daniel burned the image in his mind and returned to their tight group pressed against the cinderblock.

  “Burial party. The five men armed with rifles are occupied with digging. Unfortunately, they’re more or less facing this direction. The other two have their backs turned. One with a pistol. The other with a pistol…and an MP9. You’re slipping, Rico,” he said, patting Melendez on the back.

  “The usual plan?” Munoz whispered, never looking away from the far corner.

  “In this case, I don’t think we can afford to improvise,” Daniel said.

  “Do you mind sharing with the rest of us?” Jessica said.

  “I forgot that you ditched most of these classes. We bag two of them. Highest ranking and lowest ranking. The rest are targeted for rapid termination. The leader knows the most, but is willing to say the least. The follower knows the least, but is willing to say the most. The two usually hate each other. We play them off each other,” Daniel said.

  “What if they all go for their guns?” Melendez said.

  “Then we have ourselves a good old-fashioned shootout. Gunfight at the OK Corral,” Daniel said.

  “I’m your huckleberry,” Munoz said.

  “See? He does have a sense of humor, Rico,” Jessica said.

  “I never said you didn’t have a sense of humor,” Melendez insisted.

  Munoz turned and grinned. “Let’s just get this over with.”

  “Rico and Jessica shoot from the corner. You and I will sprint along the back wall, focused on the two men with pistols. We’ll hit the guy with the MP9 and try to force the other guy to surrender. The two of you will tear into the digging crew. We’ll be yelling for them to drop their weapons as we move. If you see hands raised skyward, keep them covered until we swing into place behind the group. Less than seventy-five feet to targets. Good to go?” Daniel said.

  “Sounds easy enough. We’ll pop two of them and see what happens,” Melendez said, nodding at Jessica.

  Daniel and Munoz stacked up on the corner. As soon as they disappeared, Jessica and Melendez would take their place and start to engage targets. He edged up to the corner and took a quick peek, exposing less than an inch of his head to allow his right eye to verify that the scene looked the same. Nothing had changed, so he nodded. Less than a second later, he felt a solid squeeze on his right shoulder, indicating that the team was ready. He checked the M4’s safety one more time out of habit and spun around the corner, sprinting along the wall. He wanted to get as far as possible before anyone noticed.

  **

  Michael Brooks stood facing his security crew as they slid their shovels into the ground. He hadn’t decided if they would be buried in the same holes. It really all depended on how much space remained in each hole when they finished piling the bodies into the ground. Brooks really didn’t feel like digging. He had a busy day scheduled and didn’t need the delay. Plus, they might come in handy at the distribution center. Anne Renee said they could use some more help, especially given the compressed timeline. He swatted at a fly that buzzed by his head. He really hoped this group would finish their work within the next few minutes. The flies were already swarming around the pile of bodies littering the ground behind his men. He hated flies.

  Jason Carnes, whose corpse formed part of the tangle, had never seen it coming. Even when Brooks’ men corralled the laboratory group out of the back door for “instructions,” he had ignored the dubious looks from his own people and even went so far as to make excuses for the few lab technicians that had already vanished. Two of the techs had tried to escape in one of the delivery trucks early this morning. Their absence was discovered a few minutes before one of the early morning convoys departed for the distribution center, and the trucks were searched. They were found jammed between crates, cowering in fear. They had every reason to be afraid. Their bodies were hidden outside of the gate, until it was time to “sanitize” the facility.

  The last convoy of delivery trucks carrying crates of freshly packaged bottled water to the distribution center had left the compound around 8:00 AM. Carnes’ lab crew spent the next hour shutting down the packaging equipment and sterilizing laboratory equipment. Brooks started to sense that the techs were stalling, hoping that the security detail would leave. He decided to expedite his last remaining task at the facility by directing everyone outside to receive instructions for their follow-up assignment to the distribution facility.

  Twenty-three men and women filed out of the door and milled around, waiting for him to speak. His assistant, Jason Ryband, stood next to him and started to shoot into the group without warning, catching Brooks by surprise. Brooks had been waiting for his security detail to walk out of the back door and form a hasty line abreast. Instead, Brooks drew his own pistol in a desperate measure to keep Carnes’ people from reaching him. His security team heard the shooting and ran through the door, firing at the runners or anyone not huddled into a group that served no purpose other than to absorb bullets. It lasted less than twenty seconds. The digging followed, after a few distrustful glances from the security team. Brooks watched the shovels carefully, noticing that the men were not straining to move the dirt. Frankly, he was surprised they agreed to dig at all. He started to open his mouth to address this discrepancy, when one of them suddenly grabbed his rifle and tried to swing it around.

  The movement startled Brooks, causing him to scramble for the pistol in his thigh holster. A fucking mutiny was underway. Before he could get his hand on the pistol, the security guard’s head snapped back. The hiss and snap of passing bullets filled his ears, followed by thunderous explosions that drowned out every sound around him. He removed his hand from the pistol and glanced over his shoulder. His assistant lay face up on the ground, wheezing and rasping through a hole torn in his throat. When he turned back around, only one of his men remained standing. The others twitched or lay motionless on the grass. He didn’t dare look for the source of the gunfire. Instead, he raised his hands slowly above his head, nodding at his last guard to do the same.

  **

  Daniel jogged over to the presumed leader of the group, keeping his rifle trained at the man’s head. Through his peripheral vision, he could see the rest of his team moving toward the second surviving guard. They had a leader and a follower. Not bad for three seconds of work. Munoz announced that he would clear the doorway and make sure they didn’t have any surprise visitors from inside the building.

  “Clear and restrain,” Daniel said.

  Jessica sprinted over and yanked the leader’s pistol from his thigh holster and tossed it into one of the shallow graves. She patted him down for any other weapons, removing a small folding knife from his back pocket. She stepped over to the second gunman and cut his rifle sling with the knife, letting his rifle fall to the ground. Aside from the K-Bar knife attached to his belt, she didn’t find anything concealed. She tossed the knife to the ground and proceeded to zip tie their hands behind their backs.

  “Over here.” Daniel motioned to the two prisoners.

  The two men hadn’t said a word since the ambush, which surprised Daniel. These two might be harder to crack than he expected. Normally, someone was demanding answers or exhibiting some kind of useless bravado. These two were either scared out of their minds, o
r they were cool customers. He’d soon find out. The two begrudgingly moved to where he had pointed his rifle, roughly ten feet behind where Daniel currently stood. He wanted them to have a nice view of the festivities.

  “Pay close attention,” Daniel growled, as they walked past him.

  Daniel walked up to the man who had been armed with the MP-9 submachine gun. A wet rasping sound passed through the hole in his throat, which bubbled and overflowed with blood. His eyes looked ghastly, even to Daniel. He held his M4 CQB rifle in one hand and placed the barrel in the man’s mouth.

  “Can you tell me what’s going on around here? What’s the purpose of this facility? Were the virus canisters stored here? I’m sorry, I can’t hear what you’re saying,” Daniel said, addressing the mortally wounded man sprawled out on the ground.

  “Who’s he talking to?” the leader said, finally breaking their code of silence.

  Daniel pulled the trigger, firing a single 5.56mm M885 projectile through the back of the man’s skull into the ground.

  “What the fuck! Oh, Jesus Christ!” the follower yelled.

  Daniel turned to the two of them. “I have absolutely no use for anyone that can’t…or won’t answer my questions.”

  He walked over to the last remaining guard who appeared alive. He kicked the man in the side of his ribcage, where he had suffered from a messy exit wound. The 5.56mm projectile had a nasty habit of tumbling around inside the human body, bouncing off bone and finding its own unique pathway out. He could see three entry wounds in the center of the man’s chest, which put this particular exit nearly ninety degrees off the original trajectory. The man emitted a guttural, animal-sounding moan in response to the kick.

  “I can’t imagine this guy answering any questions.” Daniel kneeled down and picked up the discarded K-Bar knife, raising it high before slamming it through the man’s neck.

  “Fuck this!” the follower screamed, struggling to break free of Jessica’s hold on his collar.