Black Flagged Apex

by Steven Konkoly

  “We know for a fact that a terrorist cell is operating somewhere in your distribution center. All I need you to do is show us where.”

  “I don’t know anything about a terrorist cell. How would I know where they are located?”

  “They’re using your facility and your vehicles to mass distribute biological weapons. I think you have a pretty good idea where we might find them,” Daniel said.

  “D-5. Son-of-a-bitch,” Wilkins whispered.

  “What does that mean? D-5?” Jessica asked.

  “D-5 is one of the most isolated loading bay complexes. Mr. Mills shut this one down after the demand for water skyrocketed. Said he would be using it for special customer deliveries.”

  “Did he give any specific information about the deliveries?” Jessica said.

  “Nothing, and I didn’t ask questions. I’m too close to retirement to rock the boat. I figured he was sending shipments to preferred customers or private ones. It’s his company. He can do whatever he wants. I just didn’t appreciate the impact it had on my operations. He’s taken over twenty of my drivers out of the rotation, plus several trucks…not to mention an entire bay complex. Then he cuts me completely out of it and puts some woman I’ve never heard of in charge out there. Anne Renee or something like that. I told him I’d be happy to run the show, but he didn’t want to hear it.”

  “The woman isn’t someone from Crystal Source?”

  “I have no idea. Never seen her before at any of the management meetings or retreats. Every time I go over there to talk to her about coordinating gate traffic, I’m told she’s busy.”

  “Have you noticed anything else out of the ordinary?”

  “Yeah. None of the trucks are from Crystal Source. I saw a few Dasani rigs. You can’t miss those. Arrowhead and Aquafina rigs too. I have no idea why these trucks would be at our facility.”

  Daniel looked at Jessica and shook his head. “So much for narrowing this down,” he said ruefully. He turned back to Wilkins. “Mr. Wilkins, I need you to take us to D-5.”

  “I don’t know if that’s such a good idea. They have a lookout or something posted outside. It’s a long way from D-4 to D-5. Nothing in between. I never get past the guy outside.”

  “We’ll take care of that. Do you have any idea how many people they have inside?” Jessica asked.

  “I’ve never been inside, but they’d need at least a dozen to keep up the pace of trucks leaving the complex. Forklift operators and drivers to deliver the pallets of water. Aside from some of the drivers, the rest of the personnel were supplied by Anne Renee or Mills himself,” Wilkins said.

  Daniel thought about something he had said earlier. “Are the Crystal Source trucks equipped with GPS? Can you track them?”

  “Absolutely. We track the entire fleet from one of the rooms down the hallway. All of the routes are preplanned. If a driver has to vary due to road closures or an accident, they call it in and we reprogram their route. It’s pretty high tech. I have a bunch of smart people running that. Each distribution center tracks its own shipments,” Wilkins said.

  “I’m willing to bet they’ve been disabled, but it’s worth a shot,” Daniel said.

  “You want to try and locate those trucks? I know which ones they are,” Wilkins said.

  “Not yet. Let’s take a look at D-5 first.”

  Five minutes later, Wilkins, Jessica and Daniel drove off in Wilkins’ Ford Taurus sedan, with the Jeep Grand Cherokee trailing a short distance back. Daniel crouched low behind the back of the front passenger seat, cradling a suppressed P90. The plan was simple. Jessica would accompany Wilkins into the building, with the hope of identifying Anne Renee. Jessica would grab the woman, and Daniel would take down the lookout. Melendez and Munoz would then drive to the back of the loading bay to prepare for a two-pronged assault. Every attempt to take prisoners would be made where practical. They needed information regarding any of the trucks that had left the loading bay since yesterday evening.

  **

  Anne Renee Paulson’s radio chirped.

  “Now what?” she said in front of the two security guards stationed just inside the first bay.

  The guy outside was starting to drive her crazy, and she was one false report away from replacing him with one of the less jumpy men watching the bays. The operation had gone off without a hitch. The unusual arrangement had drawn some attention and protest from the facility manager, but Owen Mills had squashed that pretty quickly. Aside from a few impotent visits by that aging idiot Wilkins, nobody had bothered them. She had one more convoy to deploy, and then they would close up shop and disappear. Unlike the laboratory, there would be no need for a “clean up.” She was the only person in the warehouse that had any true concept of what they were loading onto the convoys, and even she had no idea where they were headed.

  Mills had given her six locked metal containers, numbered one through six. She had been instructed to hand the appropriately labeled box to the lead driver right before departure. The driver would open the box, in front of Anne Renee, with a key personally provided by Owen Mills at some point yesterday. Mills had handpicked the lead driver for each convoy over a year ago and sent them through extensive training courses at the Hacker Valley compound. They were experienced semi-truck drivers, holding current operating licenses for the rigs they would drive, and they understood the importance of ensuring the delivery of their precious cargo. The rest of the drivers came from Crystal Source and had no idea what they were transporting.

  Anne Renee discovered that each box contained a handheld GPS receiver, which she presumed to be preprogrammed, an Iridium satellite phone with charger, and a sealed folder. Each driver activated the equipment and verified that it functioned correctly. She assumed that they would call a phone number for further details regarding their delivery. She had no idea what the folder might contain. Possibly the paperwork for the final transfer of the bottled water? Contracts and delivery agreements? She didn’t care. Her job was to get all six convoys on the road without incident. Her radio echoed the voice of Sean Thompson.

  “Ms. Paulson, Wilkins is here again, and he brought some woman with him. Says it’s really important that he speaks with you.”

  “I don’t have time to talk with Mr. Wilkins. I’ll stop by his office when we are finished with Mr. Mills’ business. Let him know that,” she said.

  “All right.”

  There was an awkward, silent pause, as she shook her head and waited to hear that Wilkins and his guest were leaving. She stood with her back to the door leading into the front office guarded by Thompson, staring at the bustling facility. Two forklifts moved back and forth from the furthest bay, transporting crates to the bays accommodating the back of each trailer. They had almost loaded most of the final convoy—four semi-trailers filled with crates of Crystal Source water. Another hour of work and they would all drive out of the White Mills distribution center and go their separate ways. Anne Renee was supposed to meet Brown later to receive instructions for the next phase of the New Recovery plan. According to Lee Harding and Jackson Greely, she would play an important role. She had no idea if she would see any of these people again or what the next phase entailed.

  “Ma’am,” came the guard’s voice again, “Wilkins says the woman is the Distribution Center’s Operations Manager. There’s something wrong with one of the trucks we dispatched earlier. He’s pretty pissed off.”

  She shook her head and cursed before transmitting. “All right. Let them into the office. I’ll meet them inside,” she said and pocketed the radio. She looked at both of the security guards. “There’s too much at stake here to take any risks. If they won’t leave immediately, be ready to kill them where they stand. No mercy. Keep your pistols concealed for now.”

  Anne Renee opened the door just as Bob Wilkins and a strikingly attractive, well-poised woman walked through the entrance. The woman had an exotic quality, accentuated by her short brown hair and well-tanned skin. Like herself, this woman looked out
of place in Honesdale, Pennsylvania, especially at an industrial site. Despite the fact that she had only stepped into the building once and had never met anyone beyond Wilkins, Anne Renee highly doubted that Bob’s mystery guest worked in that shit hole of a building he called home. Her presence was a disturbing development, but one Anne Renee could rectify quickly. One hour. All she had to do was keep this place together for one more hour, regardless of how many bodies piled up in the front office.

  **

  Jessica couldn’t hear what the guard was being told. His handheld radio was equipped with an earpiece. The guard didn’t carry himself like any of the operatives they’d encountered in Atlanta and even looked slightly less competent than the security personnel at the laboratory. She started to wonder if Brooklyn and Atlanta had made a serious dent in True America’s supply of seasoned operatives. Then again, this guy was just a lookout. The real threats would be contained inside the building.

  The bulky guard nodded his head a few times and responded to the voice in his earpiece.

  “Go ahead. Ms. Paulson will meet you just inside,” he informed them.

  They walked up the gray wooden stairs onto a raised platform just outside of the entrance. The guard watched them carefully. When they reached the door, Jessica let Wilkins lead the way. He knew the building, and Ms. Paulson would be expecting to see him first. She didn’t expect handshakes to be exchanged, so she shifted her knife from the left to right hand. She could fight with the knife in either hand, but heavily favored her right hand for throwing. She didn’t expect Paulson to be alone.

  As Wilkins stepped through the threshold of the door, Jessica heard a thump from her immediate left. She turned her head casually, hoping not to attract attention from anyone inside. The guard collapsed against the cinderblock wall and slid to the raised concrete platform, trailing a crimson streak. She caught movement out of her peripheral vision and knew that Daniel had opened the rear passenger car door. Wilkins had advised them to park to the left of the door, since it would be out of sight from inside the office. Everything was moving quickly. She turned forward and stepped into the dank office. She could tell by the musty smell that the office hadn’t been used in years.

  Just as she walked through the entry, a door in the left rear corner of the office opened, revealing a woman with blond hair worn in a modern-looking bob. She wore a gray fleece jacket over a white collared blouse, along with wheat brown slacks. She was immediately followed by two serious-looking gentlemen dressed in casual business attire and wearing unzipped, hip-level jackets.

  She didn’t like the odds. Daniel had her back, but a lot could go wrong in a few seconds. Hopefully, Bob Wilkins wouldn’t panic and freeze. They had instructed him to drop to the floor if anyone flashed a gun. Wilkins didn’t like the sound of this. He reiterated his earlier observation that he had expected to see more agents and continued to protest on the ride over. He was sharp enough to realize that they were going up against heavy odds.

  “Who are you?” Paulson said, directing her glare at Jessica.

  “Jessica Petrovich. Thank you for seeing us,” she said, extending her left hand and willing her to take it.

  Paulson regarded her for a moment and nodded to the two men on her left. “Do it.”

  Jessica didn’t waste a fraction of a second trying to interpret her remark. She’d been prepared for the likelihood of a summary execution attempt and had already rehearsed her options. However, she hadn’t anticipated the speed with which Paulson could draw her weapon. In the brief moment she had to initiate her plan, Jessica realized that the small space between them would get messy.

  She reached behind her back as far as possible and snapped it forward, releasing the blade as she lurched for Paulson’s hand. An overhand throw would have generated more momentum, but she didn’t have time to raise her hand. As the knife penetrated the closest guard’s throat, just above the Adam’s apple, she swept Paulson’s black semiautomatic pistol to the left and pivoted, grabbing the top of her shooting wrist with her right hand as it continued across from the knife throw. This briefly put her in a vulnerable position, with her back against Paulson.

  Instead of fighting Jessica’s grip, the woman kneed Jessica in the lower left back. The intensely sharp pain caused by the blow to her kidney forced Jessica to release her grip on Paulson’s wrist. Desperate, Jessica launched herself backward into the woman, slamming her into the bookshelf along the wall. Jessica jabbed her elbow back sharply, catching Paulson in the throat and causing her to drop the pistol. Another elbow shot separated them, allowing Jessica to spin and face her. Expecting to defend another round of attacks, she squared her feet and raised her arms as her body turned; however, Paulson had decided to retreat. The woman threw herself backward, catapulting through the doorway leading into the loading bays, and screamed for help.

  **

  Daniel knew she would make her move quickly, so he hustled out of the car as soon as Melendez dropped the guard standing next to the door on the platform. He had timed the shot perfectly with Wilkins’ entrance. The old man had been out of sight when the contents of the guard’s head painted the wall. Wilkins was already nervous enough, and his actions could affect the outcome in that room. Daniel sprinted up the stairs and listened to the voice-activated feed sent from a microphone hidden inside Jessica’s jacket collar to their earpieces. Once he heard Jessica’s greeting, he mentally counted to two and opened the door. Jessica planned to grab Anne Renee if she took the handshake or pounce on her within a few seconds if she refused. Either way, his mission was the same: fire controlled bursts from the P90 into anyone except for Jessica or Anne Renee.

  Tucked into the P90, he immediately assessed the situation and chose his targets. The closest guard had drawn his pistol, but was pretty far from pointing it in a useful direction. Primary threat. The second guard had raised both hands to his neck in response to Jessica’s knife. Secondary threat. He didn’t see any firearms involved in the melee between Jessica and Anne Renee. Under control. He placed the closest guard’s head in the center of the P90’s integrated Ring Sight and pulled the trigger back for a controlled burst. The P90’s unusually high rate of fire sent six 5.7X28mm SS190 full metal-jacketed rounds into the man’s head, which was overkill for this armor-piercing caliber. He shifted the sight to the other man and applied less pressure to the trigger, firing one round, which had the same effect. The P90 had a double trigger action, instead of a selector switch. Pulling the trigger back past a certain point activated its fully automatic action. By the time he had finished clearing the room, Jessica had disappeared through the open doorway leading deeper into the facility, chasing after their high-value target.

  “Jessica’s in pursuit. Move around the back,” he said out loud, hoping that Munoz was already driving the Cherokee toward the loading bay side of the building.

  Daniel didn’t wait. He rushed through the room, pushing aside Bob Wilkins and leaping over the guard with the blade embedded in his neck. When he reached the doorway, he didn’t burst through like his wife. He leaned inside, aiming the P90, and formed an image. The loading bay connected to the office contained several pallets of Crystal Source water bottles piled along the wall closest to the opening. A forklift driver, oblivious to the drama behind him, backed his yellow machine from the rear of the semi-trailer. He could see the far end of the loading bay complex through large openings at the back of each bay, designed to allow the forklifts to move from bay to bay with ease. Jessica was in the middle of the second bay, sprinting toward the next opening, ignoring everything but Anne Renee Paulson, who was wrestling an M4 rifle from one of her guards.

  One of the men Jessica had passed on her way to the second bay drew a pistol and started to run in her direction. Daniel placed the man’s upper torso at the top of the T-shaped reticle and pulled the trigger, firing a burst. He immediately switched to Anne Renee, who had grabbed the M4 and had swung its barrel in Jessica’s direction. He didn’t weigh his options with Jessica at
risk. Jessica was in the open, with little hope of getting behind cover in time. He depressed the trigger, firing a short burst that mostly hit Anne Renee in the upper chest and neck. His next burst struck the guard next to her, who had barely recognized the threat to their facility before several armor-piercing bullets punctured his face and eliminated any future possibility of forming thoughts. The guard’s body collapsed to the concrete floor next to Anne Renee, who had fallen to her knees with a confused look on her face. She wasn’t dead, but it was clear that her body wasn’t sending commands to her limbs. She had already released the rifle’s pistol grip, dropping the M4 to the dull concrete.

  Jessica reached the wall separating bays one and two, kneeling behind it. She glanced up at him and cursed. They had lost their high-value target, which could be a problem. The sound of yelling started to increase from the bays further down the long access corridor in front of Daniel. All along the back of the complex, members of True America started to realize that something was wrong. A woman peeked around the same corner hiding Jessica and fired some kind of submachine gun on full automatic at his position in the doorway. The bullets slammed into the doorframe and flew through the opening, puncturing the opposite wall and shredding an empty bookcase.

  Daniel leaned in with the P90, just in time to see the woman’s head disappear behind the wall. He signaled for Jessica to lie flat. Once she cleared the spot where he had calculated the shooter to be located, he depressed the trigger and held it back, perforating the wall above Jessica with the magazine’s remaining rounds. At a rate of 900 rounds per minute, the fifty-round magazine could be expended within three seconds, with little loss of control. His weapon fired for roughly two seconds, each armor-piercing round passing easily through the cinderblock and showering Jessica with chunks of the powder-covered debris.

  Through the soccer-ball-sized hole blown through the cinderblock, he saw a body lurch forward. A bloodied hand flopped into view past the corner. Before reloading, he drew his USP Compact and slid it to Jessica. He noticed that she didn’t attempt to stand up. After what he had just done to the woman behind the wall, he didn’t blame her. If the woman past Jessica had been using similar ammunition, Daniel would be lying on the floor bleeding from multiple holes. Her 9mm rounds severely damaged the cinderblock barrier in front of Daniel, but failed to penetrate with the needed velocity to do more than spray cinderblock pieces into his face. He suspected that the True America operatives were using hollow-point ammunition, which would mushroom upon impact and impart their energy over a wider area, further reducing their penetration power. Still, there were no guarantees in the world of projectile ballistics. He’d seen and caused his share of anomalies.