by Dameon Gibbs
The wooden chair slipped inch by inch closer to the water with its bound passenger. As it was about to tip over into the water, Tucker dove and grabbed the right leg of the chair. Ramona fell sideway, her head going into the water; grabbing the chair when he did Tucker managed to keep the entire chair from sinking to the bottom. He gave a solid pull, which only caused his body slid across the floor closer to the water. He reached out with this other hand and pulled as harder, once again pulling him closer, plunging the chair another inch into the water. Ramona remained submerged, and watching the bubbles popped at the surface, “Not on my watch.”
He pulled himself to his knees, adjusting his grip to under the seat and with a newfound strength he lifted the chair up and back onto the dock. Ramona coughed and gasped for air. Tucker immediately raised the chair to all fours and started untying her restraints.
“Ramona, are you okay?”
“Yeah, I just feel like I’m back at a restaurant in Amsterdam,” she replied, her thoughts obviously still scrambled. She then felt his hands on her cheeks then saw his face come into view as he leveled her head to look into her eyes.
“Are the drugs still affecting you?” He asked, inspecting her pupils he saw that they were dilated, noticing the some lag in her processing.
“There is a distinct chance of that,” she answered with a smile which soon faded as her current predicament sunk in. “Where’s Winford? Tucker, we need to stop him,” Attempting to scramble to her feet.
“Easy, easy,” Tucker whispered while he ran his fingers through his hair and totally forgetting about Winford and Keeast. He had blocked out everything when going after Ramona. With Ramona secured he started scanning the area for Edge. Before he knew it, gunfire erupted on the other side of the crates.
“Ok back to reality!” he exclaimed as he instinctively covered Ramona. Glancing over his shoulder, he found Edge exchanging fire with men on the other side of the crates. Edge was moving closer to Tucker’s position, and if he did not reach them promptly, he would not have any cover to hide behind. Wielding more powerful assault rifles, the two soldiers ripped Edge’s cover apart.
Suddenly, a board gave way under Edge’s weight and falling face first to the ground, his gun slide beyond reach. “Damn it!”
Reaching for the sidearm he fell again for his foot had become jammed between the splintered wood. He knew he wasn’t going to have another chance. At the moment, Edge looked at Tucker to yell at him to leave with Ramona, but stopped when seeing Tucker throwing Ramona’s chair around the corner towards the soldiers, screaming, “Over here!”
The chair went nowhere near them, yet it was enough to distract the soldiers, with their full attention the bullets started firing at him. That gave Edge the second he need to get his foot out and grab the pistol.
Lining up their shots, gunfire rang out behind them. One soldier took three in the chest and stumbled back. With the breath knock of him, his ballistic armor managed to protect and kept him alive.
“Edge, get to cover!” Dust yelled as he and Pitch engaged the enemy. The second soldier snapped to the new danger and fired a grenade from the rifle-mounted launcher. It sailed past his targets and hit the wall a few feet behind them. Pitch split left and fired controlled bursts, hitting the stunned soldier again, this time in the head. The man dropped.
Dust flanked right firing single shots at the second soldier. There was no place for him to hide and he eventually succumbed when a bullet round found an opening in his neck armor.
“Edge, you hit?” Pitch asked.
“No, I’m good.”
“Door’s clear,” Dust stated.
“Changing mags,” Pitch commented as the empty magazine bounced off the floor.
Edge grabbed the submachine gun. “Tucker, you two okay?”
Tucker helped Ramona to her feet though she stumbled a little bit. “Yeah, we’re good. Which way did Winford go?”
Edge nodded his head towards the back door. “Ran for the docks.”
“He has a boat out there; he’ll be gone any second,” Ramona jumped in.
“Figured that. Pitch, radio Doom; get what he sees. Dust, get Quake to slow down Winford.” While giving the directions, Pitch held up ‘the wait one moment finger’ up and his other hand on his ear piece.
“Copy, we’ll take care of that. Just hang in there.” At the end of the statement, and with a shocked look on his face Pitch pulled out his.
“Alright, bad joke. That was Doom. Just before the bombs went off, a rocket hit his position; he’s hanging off the crane and thinks he busted his ribs. He’s gonna need someone to help him,” Pitch explained.
“I hate to say this, but he’s gonna have to wait. We need to get Winford,” Edge responded.
“Yeah, the only problem with that is he said the sentry launcher that fired at him is still active. He thinks the control room is above us.” Pitch said pointing up.
“Some guy named Hitoshi is up there with all kinds of sophisticated tech, all connected to sentry guns and launchers. The guy’s nuts,” Ramona stated.
“Yeah, we encountered one of the sentries out there.” Pitch said while snapping his gun up in reaction to new gunfire outside.
“That’s Quake; he’s got a plan to keep Winford here. He’s gonna need help; they have to have him outgunned,” Dust reported while he checked his weapon and started towards Quake’s position.
“Hold on,” Tucker interrupted “I’m coming too.” Dust raised his eyebrows and looked at Edge.
Pitch looked at Edge. “Hawk is wounded, too. He’s gonna need someone to patch him up.”
“Serious?” Edge asked.
“He said he was out of the game. And you know he’s not the type to back out.”
Surveying everyone around him, Edge calmly considered his position: two men out of commission with injuries, one being serious. A group above them using sentry munitions. A civilian who had been drugged and was still not a hundred percent, along with Tucker, who had gone from pencil pusher to self-perceived commando in less than a week. And finally, a criminal mastermind and his lunatic pet escaping with the assistance of armed soldiers.
Cause there is no way I can make a wrong decision given all that. But years of expertise in planning and leading missions enabled him to develop an effective plan faster than any supercomputer at the War College.
“Okay, here’s how it goes. Dust you have to help Doom get down; God knows he is probably already trying to climb down with busted ribs.”
“You got it.”
“I’m going to take care of those guys above us. Pitch, you’re gonna help patch up Hawk, and take Ramona with you.”
“Roger that. I hope you’re not squeamish, ma’am.”
Edge turned to Tucker. He knew the only order the analyst would listen to was to go to the docks. He’d been there. It was not revenge; it was a reckoning, both personal and professional. This task needed to be done and done by him, for his mental well-being, as well as the effectiveness of the mission.
Edge checked the sidearm he took off the soldier and handed it to Tucker. A renewed confidence swept across the analyst. It was clear he was not the same man he was last week. “Take him down. Alive is optional,” Edge said then glanced at everyone as if to say, “Speak freely.” No one said anything. “No organization is above our reach. Let’s show them that right now.”
Tucker looked into Ramona’s eyes. Before he could say anything she pulled him to her. Their lips locked and, for those few seconds, no one else existed. She pulled away and looked again into Tucker’s eyes, a mix of happiness and confusion. “It’s the drugs… So come back when I’m straight,” she said with a smile.
“Right… I’m, um, coming back,” he replied as he snapped out of his cloud nine. “Keep her safe, Pitch.”
“No problem. Better get going before Winford escapes,” Pitch advised. Tucker nodded in response. “Oh and take this.” He threw Tucker his assault rifle. “Little recoil, the rounds will go wherever you
aim.”
As everyone did one last nod and left for their locations, Edge grabbed a grenade off the vest of one of the fallen soldiers that Pitch had killed. “This will make a statement.” Tucker moved up on Edge’s side. “You can do this, Tucker. Hug the wall, stay close to your cover and breathe.”
Tucker nodded. “I won’t even break a sweat.”
The two hit forearms and went their separate ways. As Tucker moved out the door, the realization of it hit him. Oh shit, I just agreed to this.
Chapter 10
As the two made it out of the wrecked building Winford's coughing required him to stop. Keeast went to support the man but was pushed away. Keeast was furious that Edge’s team consistently refused to die. He was determined to end it tonight. He directed the two soldiers moving their way to guard the door behind them as he went to his radio.
“This is Keeast, I want all back up units here now…”
“Belay that order Keeast…" Winford said calmly as he came to a stop. Keeast looked at him with a mix of confusion and anger but complied. “We’ve lost this battle,” Winford admitted. “If we stay it will only be to the detriment on the Order.” He started coughing into his hand.
“But sir, they are all here now, we can kill them all,” Keeast responded as he tried to pull his commander again to the boat. The old man once again pushed his arm away.
“No, Keeast. I doubt they are ‘all’ here. I’m sure Edge has other team members and affiliates who are fully briefed and ready to continue the pursuit. Our ability to contain investigation ended when that DHS agent discovered Nezaket’s cabin.”
“Then we had better get to the boat as fast as possible,” Keeast ordered, urging Winford to move more quickly.
“Keeast,” Winford said, wearily, as he fixed his tie, “I am old and unwell and sprints have not been a part of my workout routine for a very long time. Besides, our men will hold them at the door. We underestimated Tucker and this ‘Edge.’ If we stand and fight today for the sake of ego, we risk being caught, and the Order could take a potentially fatal blow. Instead,” ... cough… cough… “we need to reorganize. The Order will not be a secret after tonight,” Winford continued as he walked at a leisurely pace down the dock, his calm provoking great anxiety in Keeast.
Another prodding to hurry drew a chastisement for interrupting. “Our overall strategy will not change but different tactics and the manner in which we conduct them will. I was hoping to get off to our next op before we were discovered, but alas, we must adapt. My position in the CIA was becoming an obstacle anyway.”
By this time, two more guards from the boat had made their way to escort their leaders. Their eyes scanned every area of the dock to their left, right and above for danger. They failed to check under their feet.
۞۞۞۞
When he had finished setting the charges under the floor for Building, Quake pulled himself up onto the outside dock to avoid the underwater effects of the detonations, which would be lethal for over a hundred-yard radius. After the blast, he waited a few seconds and dropped back into the water.
The dock had become a little misaligned after the explosion, but it still held. Quake knew that this would be Winford’s escape route, and so he set a surprise for him. Moving to his current location under the dock about halfway between the exit door and what looked like an unmarked police patrol boat.
The two guards that were walking directly over him were also going to get a surprise. He grabbed a beam and lifted himself partially out of the water, waiting for the soldiers to get a few feet beyond. He picked up his semi-automatic pistol and set the gun to full auto. That’s right… keep on walking. It’s time to dance.
Although it was dark, there was enough ambient light from the rest of the harbor that Quake would have been visible if the men had looked down. As the men came five feet beyond Quake, he whispered into his mic, “Engaging.”
He fired and the dock exploded in splinters, bullets, and blood. Keeast pushed Winford behind cover as the two guards coming to them were perforated and dropped to the ground, dead. Keeast pulled out his gun and started firing back at where he saw the muzzle flash. When he finished, there was no activity.
“Search the water. The fucker’s a damn swimmer,” Keeast yelled. The last two men in the boat made their way to protect their commander and mindful of what was below.
Quake hugged one of the pillars to the dock about ten feet below the water. As soon as Keeast returned fire, he dropped below the water and shimmied down. To his dismay, his air tube had been clipped, and bubbles were flowing up to the surface. Moving would only give away his position. Ok, when life gives you lemons, you make lemonade. Of all things to be thinking of, why that one, Quake though.
Quake wrapped his legs around the pillar and took off his breathing equipment. It was not a simple process; he had been drilled frequently enough that he could do it on the verge of unconsciousness.
He attached just enough counterweight so that it was slightly lighter than neutral buoyancy, which would cause it to rise slowly to the surface, and a twisted of the knob to increase air flow and bubbles. The plan was to give them something to shoot at while he moved to another location and spring the next attack.
With his legs wrapped around the pole, he leaned away, pushing the tank as far away from the dock as he could. He watched the bubbles spiral around each other as they rose to the surface, his tanks slowly following.
Quake pulled out a small backup rebreathing apparatus. Designed for scenarios such as this, it provided enough breathing air for him to get to safety without having to surface. Seconds later he shoved himself towards the building. It was not long that heard a muffled explosion as his pressurized are tank exploded.
Well, that worked out well. Now to show them my modifications to their boat.
Keeast cautiously moved up to the two dead bodies. Scanning through the now shredded wooden boards and finding nothing murky shadows. “Fuck!” he screamed. “Do you see anything?”
“Nothing on my side,” One of them responded.
“Contact.” The other had said before he fired at the bubbles. The moonlight provided him with enough light to see something beneath the waves. His bullets hit the object and water sprayed up like a fountain drenching him and Keeast. “It’s just his tanks.”
“No shit,” Keeast mumbled as he turned to Winford. “Sir, we need to move now!”
This time, Winford did not argue, he moved as fast as he could. Keeast once again came to his leader’s side dragging him down the dock, until a bullet snapped by them, followed by a familiar voice.
“Winford! You’re not leaving!”
۞۞۞۞
Moving silently, Edge made his way up the stairs. He peered above to the open floor, seeing that this level was only half a floor that had a few support pillars poking through. A few feet past the stairs it ended with a railing that allowed its old workers to look down on any boats moored below. And the explosion had the same effect as below: random items were scattered everywhere. The railing on the edge had been ripped off by falling boxes.
In the opposite corner from him, sat an Asian man cursing at monitors in what Edge believe to be Japanese. A second soldier was picking up items that the Asian man pointed to; the third kept an eye on the stairs.
“We need to get out of here while it's clear. We haven’t heard from Keeast in the last five minutes. All we know is that he could be dead out there with all that gunfire,” commented the soldier eyeing the stairs as he pointed to a rappelling system hanging out the nearest window.
Things fell silent as the soldier listened to the words coming from the Asian man, it was far too low for Edge to hear, but it was intense enough to get the soldier to return to their duties of keeping an eye on the stairs.
Should’ve listened to your partner. Being silent as possible Edge carefully pulled the pin on the grenade. He counted to two and tossed it. As Edge revealed himself, the grenade was simultaneously leaving his. And before the s
oldier could fully warn his partners and raise his weapon. Edge promptly dropped back down the steps and below the floor as the familiar boom of the grenade filled the air. Without hesitation, Edge came around the steps, gun up and ready to fire. He encountered no movement.
The computers had been wrecked, thrown everywhere by the explosion and slowly blinked to death. “They aren’t dead until you see them,” he whispered to himself. As he went to inspect the bodies he saw the soldier on the ground to his left. He was moving; stunned, but moving, and had no idea what was going on. Edge put two rounds in the man's head.
At this range they were guaranteed hits, he did not take the time to look. Instead, he continued to pan the room for the second body. He found it; well part of it. What Edge thought was the shadows covering the face turned out to missing parts of the head. Now for the last one.
He replayed the scenario in his head, the grenade was tossed: …the soldier yelled …noise of people starting to move …noise of grenade overpowers …nothing stands after the smoke clears…man to left and center... both dead... no movement or body on right… just a pile of computers…
Out of nowhere debris flew up, and Edge found a monitor flying at his head. Raising his weapon, he blocked the incoming object. After tossing the monitor at Edge, the man hooked the gun and yanked it out of Edge’s hand, following up with a jumping crescent kick across Edge’s face.
Hitoshi, the Order's full-time computer hacker, and occasional assassin, dropped the weapon and allowed a smile to creep across his face. Reaching behind his back, he pulled out a knife, a mix between the rugged K-Bar and the sleek Japanese Tanto knife, something of his own design. He settled into a ready stance and held the blade along his forearm.
