by Rob Mclean
John had run a group of casual, gym rats who spent as much time flirting with the glamazons or haggling with dealers as they had joking with each other and the patrons. In contrast, Grace now constantly wore a nervous, worried expression that made her look every one of her forty plus years. She was now in charge of a tooled up group of amateur mercenaries with similarly serious expressions.
Although he could have had his pick of squads for this raid on Zeke’s apartment, some of them technically more proficient, according to their more extensive training records, he knew this team and it was his trust in them that trumped everything else.
The new girl, Mikayla, was the only unknown. Barely old enough to legally drink, she understandably appeared the most skittish, despite the projected bravado that her half shaved head and extensive tattoos projected.
John had only heard good things about her. He had no doubts that she would be signing up with the new U.N. long before the company due date, but he wondered where she would find spare, clear skin to put the new U.N. registration tattoos.
As he looked her over, he noticed she still had her piercings in.
“You need to take those out.” John pointed to her nose and ear studs.
She frowned as she took her gloves off. Her mouth opened, about to protest.
“Company regs,” Grace said, then to John, “sorry Boss.”
“But they aren’t…” Mikayla started to say.
“I took mine out,” Kent grinned.
“You haven’t got any,” Mikayla said.
“Not where you can see ‘em,” Kent smirked, but I can show ya later Mickey, if ya want.”
Akeem and Marcus chuckled.
“Yeah, well I already took those out,” Mikayla added, “and you ain’t ever seeing where from.”
John laughed along with everyone else. Grace had vouched for her and that would have been all John needed, but it was good to see she had enough self-assurance to give as good as she got – always a good way to fit into an established team.
“Okay folks,” Grace called out above the banter, indicating an approaching unmarked sedan with extra aerials, “looks like it’s time to roll.”
The liaison with the L.A.P.D. turned out to be a pair of bleary eyed middle-aged L.A.P.D. detectives, one black, one white, both middle-aged, bloated and balding and both nursing supersized take-away coffees. They drove a knocked-about brown sedan, quite a few years from new, reflecting the current state of police funding. The detectives were there to formally arrest and charge the alleged terrorist. John’s squad were there to supply the firepower, gain access to the accused and restrain the offenders, all at a reduced cost to the taxpayers, until the police cuffed them.
After the perfunctory formal introductions, which the police didn’t get out of their car for, the cops wound up their windows, but on their flashing lights, turned around and waited for the squad to load up.
The fact that the company was acting as hired guns didn’t bother John in the least, it was just another security job. That it was Zeke that they were going to arrest however, gave him pause for thought. If he had any chance of getting back with Angela, it wouldn’t help that he had her fiancé, Zeke put away.
John took off his Kevlar helmet and put on a full face balaclava. There was no need for Zeke to know who was busting him, he thought as he put his helmet back on along with a pair of dark sunglasses.
The squads divided themselves between the two vehicles with Grace leading one and John in the other. Marcus drove Grace’s Interceptor, his bulk filling the driver’s seat, making it look like he was driving a kid’s pedal-cart with a tiny steering wheel. Mikayla drove John and Akeem, and by comparison, she almost seemed too small to see over the dashboard. Once the squad had loaded their equipment, they fell in behind the police van.
The streets were mostly empty, despite the warmer weather which tended to make people more nocturnal. The ever present homeless vagrants and early morning fitness fanatics gave their convoy, headed by the flashing police lights, scant attention.
“So who are these people, Boss?” Mikayla asked. “Do you know much about them?”
“You read the mission sheets?” John replied.
“Yeah, but they weren’t real informative, you know, about the actual people.”
“Ezekiel Campbell,” Akeem said from the back seat, “suspected terrorist. What more do you need to know?”
“Doesn’t sound Muslim.” Mikayla kept her eyes on the road.
“He’s not,” said John, stealing a glance at Akeem. John knew he was listed as Muslim in the company records, but he was born in the U.S, so where he stood now was unknown.
“I thought all terrorists were Muslims,” she persisted, oblivious to Akeem. “You know, ‘War on Terror’ and shit like that.”
“Yes,” Akeem added, “Some could be forgiven for thinking all this business with the alien envoy was just another excuse for the government to round up the Muslims.”
“He’s a Christian terrorist,” John said, the term reminding him just how much the world had changed.
“Allegedly,” Mikayla added.
“And when we break down his door, we’ll find out,” Akeem said diplomatically as ever.
“He’s a spoilt brat, rich kid who’s been stirring up trouble before,” John said as they pulled up at a set of deserted traffic lights. He took the moment to bring out his i-pad and show them security footage of Zeke from various events, finishing with his driver’s licence picture.
“Jeez Boss, you’ve done your homework.” Mikayla said.
“Yeah, been after him for a while.”
“Hmmm, I believe some of that video was from the nightclub we used to look after.” Akeem stated.
“Yup,” was all John said.
“Ah, yes, I remember now,” Akeem said, “it was the night the Envoy arrived.”
“Yep, we’ve met him before,” John said, “he was also at a couple of other events we were looking after, church closures and at the MacArthur Park rally.”
Akeem was thoughtfully quiet as the lights changed and the convoy started up again.
“So is it a personal thing, Boss?” Akeem asked.
John smiled inwardly as he did his best to impersonate Akeem’s way of speech. “You could be forgiven for thinking that.”
Akeem grinned.
“But just in case, when we get there, I’ll be asking everyone to cover up. I don’t want him thinking that. Today we’re professionals just doing our job, okay?”
Mikayla nodded.
“Sure Boss,” Akeem said without conviction.
After a twenty minute drive, they arrived at the address John had been given. From a distance, a cinder block, low-rise apartment block with washing draped over the railings greeted them. It matched the Google Earth street view he had looked up earlier, except for the oversized black SUV parked outside. Alongside the older decrepit cars, some looking like they hadn’t moved for months, the imposing vehicle stood out as a beacon of wealth. The neighbourhood must have thought it was a drug-lord’s ride rather than some rich kid’s toy. Probably the only reason someone hadn’t stolen it already, John thought.
“D.M.V. says that’s our perp’s vehicle,” one of the L.A.P.D cop’s voice came over the squad’s communication channel and into John’s earpiece.
“Who woulda thunk it?” Mikayla said. “Where’d he get his money from, boss? Drugs? People trafficking? Selling tech to the North Koreans?
John rewarded her humour with a wry smile. “No, he has a regular job with his family construction firm. Most likely his flashy ride is a big tax dodge.”
A voice in their headsets interrupted them. “Good to go whenever you guys are,” said one of the cops.
“Musta finished their coffees,” said Mikayla off air.
“Yeah, um, roger that,” Grace’s voice crackled, but didn’t hide her hesitancy. John made a mental note to talk to her afterwards about how important confidence was to leadership.
“Okay team, think it’s time to go,” Grace said.
“You sure?” someone asked, who sounded like Kent.
“Yes, go.”
“Go?”
“Go, go, go!”
From either ends of the street, the two Interceptors roared to life and covered the short intervening distance in seconds. Harsh braking made the gravel scrunch as doors flew open.
John was pleased to see the squads kept quiet, only their boots crunching the gritty pavement and the metallic clinking of their equipment betrayed the silence as they converged on the target.
With tight hand signals, Grace’s squad went around the back. After pausing a moment to let them get into position, John and Mikayla moved to the front door.
John pounded on the front door, three quick slams with his open hand, then he yelled, “Security operatives, open up!” Then another rapid trio of bangs on the door before he repeated himself.
After the barest of pauses, he gave Akeem a nod. The big man took three steps and with one fluid motion, rammed the door open. The wood surrounding the door lock splintering asunder at jagged angles.
John went in first, closely followed by Mikalya. John heard the metallic ring as Akeem dropped the door rammer on the concrete. He would be arming up and joining them.
A quick scan of the tiny living room; cardboard boxes and packing tape, clothes on hangers laid over a tattered sofa, plastic crates used as chairs, told John the occupants were only temporary. No television, but a trestle table set up along a wall held an elaborate desktop computer as well as an expensive looking slim laptop.
The kitchen, off to the side of the living room, was filled with piles of dishes and a mountain of tied up plastic garbage bags, their sides protruding with pizza boxes and other takeaway junk-food wrappers.
From the room next to the kitchen, John heard Marcus banging on the back door moments before it too was similarly disintegrated.
While Grace, Marcus and Kent emerged from the laundry wet area, John motioned his squad towards the bedrooms.
Before they could get there, a pair of open hands, adorned with lots of chunky, silvery rings and black leather studded wristbands, emerged from behind the bedroom door, followed by a woman’s timid face. “Don’t shoot,” she said.
John recognised Zeke’s sister, Chelsea immediately. He tugged his balaclava up higher, hoping she wouldn’t recognise him.
When she saw that it wasn’t a home invasion by local gangsters, her expression darkened.
“Who the hell are you lot?” She marched out from the bedroom, her Frozen Princess Elsa sleep-shirt her only armour as she jabbed her finger into Akeem’s Kevlar vest.
Akeem ignored the unarmed woman and went past her into the bedroom.
“Clear,” he announced.
“You have no right to…” Chelsea turned to continue her verbal assault but Mikayla had holstered her weapon and grabbed Chelsea’s arms. In a swift practiced movement, she had her restrained and pushed, face first against the wall.
Marcus and Kent rushed into the other bedroom, quickly declaring it ‘clear’ as well. They emerged shaking their heads. Presumably it was the room Zeke slept in, but he wasn’t there.
Mikayla slipped a thick cable-tie around Chelsea’s wrists as she ranted about her rights.
John ignored her protests as he went to the desk top computer and moved the mouse, but the PC was off. The laptop, however, was open and running. A screen-saver picture of a waterfall with some biblical verse about vengeance was on the screen. When John touched the mouse-pad, he was rewarded with an open browser showing a Pinterest page. He could also see the task bar was showing a flashing downward pointing arrow, indicating some sort of download was in progress.
“All clear,” Grace communicated to the detectives outside. She directed the squad to keep searching the apartment, but John could see that there wasn’t really anywhere for anyone to hide.
The two police officers came in cautiously, one hand inside their suit jackets on their holstered weapons, until they saw the situation was under control.
When they saw Chelsea, the black detective asked, “Where’s the perp?”
“This ain’t him,” the other added, then to Chelsea, “You his girlfriend?”
Chelsea glared at him.
John leant in and said quietly, “She’s his sister.”
“Sister, eh?” said the white cop. “I heard that some of you religious types have real close families.
“I’m not saying nuthin,” Chelsea struggled against her captive’s hold. “I’ve done nothing. I want a lawyer.”
“You’re not under arrest,” Mikayla said in her ear. “Just restrained.”
“For the moment,” the white cop added.
The black cop moved Mikayla away and guided Chelsea to the sofa. “You know, you can make things a lot easier for yourself.” He tugged Chelsea’s sleep-shirt lower, to cover her knees. All part of the good cop routine, John recognised.
“Come on,” the other cop said on cue, “We ain’t got time for this crap.”
“Now, now,” the black cop waved down his partner’s protests before turning back to Chelsea. “We just need to know where your brother is.”
“What? So you can arrest him for flash mobbing a few Christmas carols? He’s done nothing.”
“Not according to our records,” said the white cop,” he’s planning much more than that.”
“It’s for his safety,” the Black cop added, “Before he hurts a lot of people.”
“What?”
“Innocent people are likely to get hurt if we don’t stop him.”
“They ain’t so innocent,” Chelsea spat. “And they aren’t really people.”
“Say what?” the white detective stepped in close.
“They stopped being people when they started being followers of the AntiChrist.”
The white cop lunged closer, his screwed up face towered an inch from hers. “What the hell did you just say?”
“You heard.” Chelsea didn’t flinch.
The black cop stepped in between, moving his partner back with a hand on his chest. He sat next to Chelsea on the sofa. “You really believe that?” he asked, shaking his head. He reached into his jacket and pulled out his wallet. He opened it and showed her a pair of little kids with toothy smiles in school uniforms.
“We was planning on going to see the Envoy when he comes to town.”
John saw Chelsea lower her eyes and her face soften.
“What about ‘Thou shall not kill?’. You forgot about that?”
Chelsea hung her head.
“Now if, as you say, he hasn’t done anything, then we won’t do much more than just hold him until the Envoy leaves town.”
Chelsea lifted her head. She searched his face.
The black cop nodded and put his big hand on her shoulder “He’s your brother. You don’t want him to get hurt, do you?”
Chelsea’s swallowed and pressed her lips together. She looked to the ceiling and blinked rapidly.
“Damn,” she whispered.
“We don’t want him to get hurt either.”
John watched as she sniffed back tears and tried to wipe them away with her cable tied hands. She gave up and tried instead to use her shoulder.
The black cop called John over to cut her ties. He produced a clean folded handkerchief which she gratefully accepted.
“So where is he?” he asked.
Chelsea wiped her eyes and blew her nose. She sighed and said, “He just went out for a run.”
“A run?” the white cop asked. “What do you mean? A gun run?”
Chelsea’s eyes narrowed. “No, a jog-type run.” She gave his expansive tummy a pointed look. “You’ve never heard of exercise?”
“Shit!” said the white cop. “Get busy people, he can’t be far away.” He motioned to Chelsea. “So if he sees us here, where will he go?”
Without his credit cards, car keys and a change of clothes, John wondered how far Zeke c
ould go. Chelsea just shrugged and looked away, exaggerating her lack of helpfulness.
“Get her outta here,” the cop snapped at Mikayla.
John watched Chelsea marched out the door, followed by the rest of his squad. He and Grace remained behind.
“Do you want these?” John asked, pointing to the laptop and computer.
“Yeah, we’ll need them packed up and dropped off at the station, along with their phones.”
Grace found Chelsea’s phone recharging near her bed, but Zeke’s was nowhere to be seen. A sparsely furnished bedroom, the bed was just an air mattress and a couple of bed-sheets. A well-thumbed, dog-eared leather bound Bible, a few clothes hanging on a wooden rod straddling a pair of old wooden chairs and an empty phone recharger was all the room held. He reported it back to the detectives.
“Okay, let’s roll,” the white cop said. “You two stay in case he returns, but we’re outta here.”
“You might get lucky and nab him jogging along listening to tunes,” said Grace.
It was a nice image, but John just knew their luck wasn’t that good. Or was it that Zeke was luckier, or even divinely protected? John dismissed the idea as ludicrous.
“We’ll be back,” the black cops said. The other just grunted.
Once the detectives had left, John went back to the laptop. With a tap, the screen came back to life. John then tapped on the download icon.
“Ha! Game update,” he said to Grace. “34 minutes remaining.”
“Left it running to do the update,” Grace said, taking control of the mouse. “Probably didn’t plan on getting raided this morning. May as well have a little look around while we can, right?”
Without waiting for John’s permission, she started opening browsers and the hard-drive directory with a skill that belied her age.
“Not officially doing this, are we?” John said stepping back to let her drive, “but the cops will be a while getting back.”
“Yeah, and who knows what we might find?”
“Might take a while,” John said.
“Hmmm, but we have to wait for everyone to give up on finding Zeke. Plus we have to stay here, in case he shows up.”
“Which I seriously doubt. He’ll take one look at what’s left of the front door and run.”