With that, the drone turned and left the premises with the book held beneath it.
No one else appeared to have taken any notice of the events. So, once the paymaster’s Drone had gone, Judith got up and left. Michael let Judith pass him, and then followed her out to her car.
“That seemed to go well,” a voice said in her ear, which startled her.
She turned but saw nothing. Then her heart missed a beat as she saw a huge guy coming towards her. She hoped he was one of Michael’s team. Not a hit man from the Paymaster, coming here to rub her out.
Then a crackly sound startled her, as Axon’s cloak sparkled with raw energy. Then, in its death throes, its power cell spiked, over-loading the cloak’s photo mosaics.
Judith, unnerved by this, struggled at first to speak. “Michael. Is that you under that thing?” She finally asked the strange sheet-covered object floating in front of her.
“I’m afraid so.”
“Here, let me help you off with it, boss,” Perry offered, as he caught up with them and pulled the cloak off Michael. The Stealth Cloak now looking no better than a tattered sheet, covered with rough looking tiles.
“Bloody hell, that was frightening,” Michael said.
By now, Michael and Judith could see the funny side of the cloak’s demise, and, they both burst into laughter.
“Why on earth did you use that contraption, Michael?”
“We couldn’t put a wire on you; the drone would have picked up our radio link. So, as the stealth cloak worked well for Axon, and I wanted to hear and see what was going on, I decided to try it out.”
Then Erica and Barry came out of the restaurant and hurried to catch up with them.
“No one seems to have been watching us,” Erica remarked.
“They must have thought their drone was enough to keep an eye on everything,” Barry added. “Is anyone tracking it?”
Perry checked his datapad. “Yes,” he confirmed. “Our satellite’s got a lock on it.”
“Good. Judith, can you check to see if your buddies have put the money in your account.”
“Yes, it’s all there,” Judith, replied, sounding relieved, as she checked her account using her phone.
“OK, I’ve put a block on it. Now it can’t be withdrawn.”
“Excellent. Right, now we can start a real fight, let’s get on with it.”
“As per the original brief?” Perry asked him.
“Yes. You, Erica and Barry, can meet us this evening, in the Sharon Methodist church’s car park, at 22:00 hours. Do you know where that is?”
“Yep, on West Lockport Street.”
“Correct. Judith and I are going to go back to the safe-house for a while.”
“Ok, we’ll see you later.”
“Perry. Don’t rub the SWAT team up the wrong way, we need them.”
“Don’t worry, we won’t.”
With that, the other three headed off to their respective cars, then Michael phoned Trent and Arnos. “Return to the safe house. We’re done here.”
“Ok, boss,” Arnos, acknowledged.
Chapter 17
Assault
Michael and his team arrived back at their safe house in Pandola Avenue.
Once inside, Michael’s armed guards, who had come back earlier, greeted them.
“Are we in business?” Arnos asked a hint of expectancy in his voice.
“We certainly are,” Michael replied. Then went over to check his computer.
The computer was nothing like the desktop PC’s that had been in use a hundred years earlier. Nowadays, of course, powerful all-in-one tablet computers were a must for trendy people. With their flexi-touch screens able to bend around almost anything.
However, Michael’s comprised of a large touch-screen that was 3mm thick, with everything built in. Including a slim-line holographic projector, located at one end of the unit. Plus an ultra-slim polycarbonate keyboard panel: with keyboards still being the choice of professionals.
However, this keyboard was very different, in that, as well as being ultra-thin, it was also ultra-flexible, and when required it just slid out from the bottom of the screen for use. Then, by a touch of the screen, smoothly slid back in.
“Right,” he said,” looking at the screen. “We’ve got confirmation from the local police that they’ll be with us again, tonight. You’ve all got night vision, so we should be okay.”
“Whoa, just a moment…,” Trent said, sounding surprised.
“Come on, Trent. Both of you check your M phones,” he ordered. “You’ll see all the info on tonight’s raid.”
“Sorry Michael, we should have looked,” Trent apologised, as they both checked their phones.
“Geeze. And you think you’re going to deal with the paymaster’s crowd?” Judith snapped flinging her arms out in disbelief.
“It’ll be alright, Judith…We’ll...,” Michael started to say, when Arnos, who had by now updated himself on the schedule for the raid, interrupted him.
“Michael, I hope you realise that their drone’s got night vision. My sensor registered its IR emitters and sensors as the thing passed over us yesterday.”
“Yea, but there was a trick my parents used, to fool the heat sensors,” Trent told Arnos, in an aside.
“What was that?”
“Easy. Take a hooded raincoat; soak it in cold water just before you go in. Then, their sensors can’t detect your body heat.”
“Sounds good. I assume you’ve tried it?”
“Don’t be daft, of course not. Too bloody cold for me.”
In the meantime, Michael, used to his men’s behaviour by now, had been ignoring their remarks.
“Michael,” Judith pleaded. “Are these clowns really part of your team?”
“Afraid so. Anyway, both of you men know it’ll have motion detectors as well,” he coldly reminded them.
At this, Trent looked at Judith and saw that she was simmering with anger.
“Sorry, Judith,” he apologised. “We don’t mean anything by our banter; it just helps us to relieve tension.”
“No. We’ll just have to take the drone out any way we can,” Michael stated, having decided on his course of action. “SEID reckons they’ve detected heat sources for up to eleven people in the two rooms that the calls to Judith were made from,” he added.
“What role do you expect the police to play, Michael?” Arnos asked.
“Captain Farrell insists on his SWAT team leading the operation.”
“Unbelievable,” Judith said her voice still sounding disgruntled. “That’s a disaster waiting to happen. Damn gung-hoe mob if you ask me,” she added, muttering under her breath. Then gave up and moved to sit on the sofa.
“They’ll do their job, Judith,” Michael assured her, as he touched an icon on his screen and the schematics and access points for the two offices displayed. Then sent all the info and schematics to Barry, Erica and Perry’s phones.
By 21:45, the Methodist Church on West Lockport Street had become a hive of activity. Its car park full of people busily checking their equipment in readiness for the assault on the Paymaster’s premises.
Captain Farrell came across to speak to Michael’s team.
“You’ll take the assault from the rear. Up North Eastern Avenue, and across that industrial’s plant’s open area,” he ordered them.
“You’ve got the maps I assume?”
“So, all we’ve got to do is to close the back door then, Farrell.”
“Captain, to you.”
“You have to earn that, Farrell,” Michael replied. Resisting the urge to tell the pompous git where to go.
“Just do as you’re bloody well told, Bernstein.”
Michael was enraged by this and started counting to ten. Nevertheless, Judith’s foot made contact with Farrell’s rear.
Farrell grabbed hold of Michael to steady himself. Then, red-faced with anger, turned to look at her. “You’re under arrest,” he snapped. Then paused, seeing her
cold and eerie looking eyes fixed on him.
There was something about an assassin’s demeanour, which made people think twice, about their actions.
“Synchronise for 22:05,” Farrell grunted as he turned and rejoined his men.
Michael’s team watched as Captain Farrell gave the final assault instructions to his own men and to the SWAT team members.
21:55.
The SWAT team leader finally came over to Michael and extended his hand in greeting.
“Hello, Michael. Do you remember me? We met a year ago at the Serta massacre.”
“Ah yes. Captain Bryce, of course,” Michael replied, as they both shook hands.
“Captain. Watch out for the paymaster’s drone. If it’s the same one we saw, it looked a nasty bugger.”
“We’ll be careful, no matter what that little turd, Farrell thinks.”
“Just make sure you are, Captain,” Michael replied while being amused at the similarity of their feelings for Farrell.
“Hopefully, we can talk afterwards?”
“Certainly.”
“Bryce!” Captain Farrell yelled. “Don’t waste your time over there.”
“We’re ready,” Bryce angrily replied. Then swore, under his breath.
“Someone needs to teach Farrell some manners,” Michael said.
“Agreed.”
“Yep, the sooner, the better, Captain.”
“Let’s see what we can do, then,” Bryce replied and winked as they shook hands again. Then went back to his men.
By 22:07, everyone was waiting patiently in his or her designated positions. Waiting for the ‘GO’ command from Captain Farrell.
Michael’s team had parked their cars by the industrial building, some hundred metres from the rear entrance of the paymaster’s building. Although the street lights on South Centre Street bathed them in a dim light. A nearby hedge gave excellent cover while they waited for Farrell’s signal.
“Why the hell have you brought that assassin’s shotgun along, boss?” Arnos whispered.
“Well, Butcher may have been a bit of a psychopath, but his gun’s pretty good, and could come in handy,” he quietly replied.
“No offence, Judith,” he added.
“Double check your weapons now,” Michael ordered as he checked the cartridge in his own gun’s chamber.
“We’re ready boss,” Perry announced stretching his considerable body as he spoke.
“Right. Listen up, men. If we come across that drone. Get down on the ground. Get face down, and fast. Play dead and do not even twitch. It’ll be looking for movement.”
“Lying still won’t work, it’ll also have heat sensors,” Perry remarked.
“Yes, I know that,” Michael snapped back, sounding slightly irritated.
“But the drone will have been programmed to know, that, if you’ve just been killed, then you’ll still be warm. In that case, if I’m right, he’ll think we’re dead, and won’t attack.”
“Why can’t we just shoot the damn thing, boss?” Trent asked.
“You saw the one at Culver’s Snacks. Didn’t you?”
“No. You had a better view than us.”
“Yes, I suppose I did. Well, it had a bullet-proof underbelly,” he replied.
Ok. Erica. Stay with Judith, please.”
“If you say so, boss,” Erica nervously replied,
“No need. I can look after myself Michael,” Judith sharply retorted.
“I know you can. Nevertheless, work with me on this. Please,” he urged her.
Then, as Erica saw Judith nod ok in the dim light, she breathed a sigh of relief.
At that moment, the GO signal vibrated on Michael’s wrist pad.
“OK, everyone. Let’s go. Remember; shoot to kill if you have to.”
The SWAT team and Captain Farrell’s men tumbled out of their vehicles as they screeched to a halt outside the paymaster’s building. Then raced to the entrance, their weapons held at the ready.
The door splintered and swung inwards, as one of them fired two rounds into its lock. Taking the two guards inside by surprise.
They tried to draw their revolvers. But were too late, and the SWAT team’s, hail of gunfire sent their flesh and bones splattering against the wall behind them.
“Stay! Carter,” Captain Bryce yelled as the rest of them hurried up the stairway, with Farrell’s men following closely behind them.
Captain Bryce and his men reached the next level without incident. Then, just a short corridor separated them from the paymaster’s office.
Suddenly, two stun grenades were dropped from a concealed unit in the ceiling above them. The movement, stopping them in their tracks.
Then, as the grenades hit the ground, all of Bryce and Farrell’s men slumped to the floor. Holding their throbbing heads between their hands, unable to continue the assault.
The Paymaster’s door opened, and Stewart Pragnorton walked out of his office.
“Have a good sleep, boys,” he said. Smirking as he stepped over their stunned bodies.
He whistled to himself as he walked calmly towards the rear entrance, carrying a briefcase full of money.
Meanwhile, Michael and his team had already entered the back door of the building. “Erika and Trent watch our backs,” he ordered.
They headed for the stairs, and, meeting no opposition proceeded up to the next level.
Slowly and carefully, they started moving along the second-floor corridor, and towards a bend. Then, as they rounded the bend, they came face to face with Stewart Pragnorton. Although initially startled by this, Pragnorton quickly recovered his composure.
Time seemed to stand still for a moment as Pragnorton confronted Judith and the five operatives.
“What happened to your security, um…Pragnorton?” Michael asked.
Pragnorton was lost for words for a moment, then yelled, “Think you’ve got the better of me, do you?”
“It seems that way,” Michael calmly replied. While thinking that maybe things were just about to turn nasty.
Then Trent uttered a scream. A scream that was cut short as a bullet ripped through him, and he crumpled to the floor, his body oozing blood.
On hearing his cry, Michael turned to see the drone approaching from their rear, having followed them up the stairs.
“Down!” He shouted.
Everyone fell to the floor, face down. While Michael struggled to bring the Butcher’s shotgun up and into a useable position.
To his surprise, he saw the drone drift over and past them, seemingly heading towards an enraged-looking Pragnorton.
“Stop. Go back and kill them. Kill them all. You, useless piece of junk,” Pragnorton yelled at the drone.
The drone stopped, confused, and unsure of what to do. The targets weren’t moving now. Even though they had been, seconds ago.
Just as I expected, Michael thought. It thinks we’re all dead.
“They’re not dead. You, idiot,” Pragnorton yelled.
Meanwhile, Michael had managed to get a slight angle on the drone’s underbelly, without actually moving his body. He just hoped the Butcher’s special shot would penetrate the thing.
Move, damn you, just a little, Michael thought to himself, as he lay there just waiting for an opportunity to blast the drone.
Then his prayers were answered, as he sensed the drone’s slight movement, as it got ready for the kill. Straight away, Michael’s finger tightened on the trigger and he fired the gun. With the sound of the blast almost deafening him.
However, he was able to smile, as he saw the drone crash into the ceiling with the force of the shot. Its underbelly fragmenting as the shot bored through its armour.
As the drone came down, it bounced forward, just missing Pragnorton’s head. Then skidded to a halt at the other end of the corridor, crackling and issuing smoke.
Pragnorton cursed, as Michael and his team rose up like phoenixes from the floor. All of them, except Trent.
Judith quickly check
ed Trent’s pulse. Then looked at Michael, and shook her head.
Michael was saddened by this. Nevertheless, he turned his attention back to Pragnorton, who was standing facing him and holding out his briefcase.
“Here, take it. There’s seven million in credits in here,” Pragnorton said.
“Money’s not an issue. Except to Judith, maybe?”
“Are you going to kill me whatever I do or say?”
“Catch on pretty quick don’t you?”
Pragnorton, realising the gravity of his situation, started to shake with fear.
Michael enjoyed seeing the paymaster squirm.
“You pay assassins a lot of money to kill others,” he said.
“You were happy to pay Judith sixty thousand dollars to kill Tex, for instance,” he added.
“But we’ll do you. For free,” Michael coldly stated. Then opened the chamber of the Butcher’s weapon. Ejected the cartridge. Slowly inserted a new one, and closed the breach. All the time looking directly at Pragnorton.
“No. No, you can’t do that,” Pragnorton almost screamed in terror, as he realised he was facing death himself.
“Michael,” a voice said from behind him. “Let it go. We’ll take him. Please.”
Michael slowly lowered the weapon, as he saw Captain Bryce step down off the stairs with his hand outstretched.
“You’re welcome to him Captain,” he replied then sighed.
“I must admit I did feel like killing him. But I wouldn’t have done it.”
“I’m glad to hear that Michael.”
Michael turned and looked back at the stairs that Bryce had come down.
“What’s happened? Where are the rest of your men?”
“Upstairs, recovering. Stun grenades hit us. They’re dazed, and still rubbing their heads,” he said, then looked at Trent’s body.
“I’m sorry for your loss, Michael.”
“Thanks. Are you taking this heap… of…, um…taking Pragnorton, with you?”
Acarea. A Triumph or Disaster? (SpaceFed StarShips Series Book 5): A Novel by Gerry A. Saunders (SpaceFed StarShips Trilogy) Page 13
