The Centauri Conspiracy

by G Russell Peterman

Chapter Thirty-one

  Big trouble

  In his office Duffy Bakman was looking at the latest pictures of the spaceship sections on the lunar surface. A voice from the doorway interrupts him.

  "We've got big trouble," Breen blurted out while entering without knocking.

  "What kind?"

  "Woll sent word to us that three of his men, one entire hit team, were arrested and are being held for questioning and trial."

  "About what?"

  "Lab robberies!"

  "If one whole team was taken somebody talked." Bakman concludes aloud with a frown forming.

  "Two possible ones, Woll told me about in his organization—neither are clones."

  "Send both of them and their families to the Silo. All adults in restrains at double the price."

  "You must be a mind reader. That was Woll's price. In addition, he wants three extra books to spread a little money around and five books to go to the people that go in and get his men back. Woll told me that everyone on the crew that does this job, except him, will want to go to the Silo with his or her families. Transport no extra charge."

  "Pay him two books more than he asks. No send fifteen books total and ask if he needs any help," Bakman orders.

  Two nights later at two minutes after two in the morning two groups dressed in hooded black ride elevators up and move like ghosts into two dark apartments. On the fashionable northwest side of New Dallas in Jerrica and Delmar buildings two sleeping families are surprised minutes apart, and because of the seriousness of the betrayal all family members over six years-of-age wear full arm and leg restraints, blindfolds, and gags. All will remain in this condition until they arrive at the Silo.

  Both families are told on capture in the harshest of manner, “Any noise or attempt to escape and we will still take you where you’re going. But, you’ll never see your children again.”

  All seven captives are quickly and quietly moved to a waiting stolen hover bus. It, like the others, is abandoned outside of town in a Granny Smith apple orchard in the usual condition.

  Early that same morning just twelve minutes before the New Dallas Police Department dayshift starts, three dozen callers flood all open lines, using blank screens callers claim to be neighbors wishing to remain anonymous, and report to the police the mysterious disappearance of a member of the two families already in transport. All calls are logged between seven-forty and eight.

  Police hovers rush out to investigate. After the initial report back to the station that both families are not in their apartments, a dozen hover teams are kept busy chasing anonymous tips about individual family member sightings as the day shift starts in chaos. Just after eight in midst of the confusion another two dozen new false calls for assistance about other false kidnappings flood into police headquarters. These new anonymous calls also ask for help in finding missing families, both real and imaginary families, members scattered out throughout the city. All are new additional bogus kidnappings and because citizens have already left for work or school centers most attempts to reach them at home fail. As additional reserve police teams rush out in all directions to investigate a sudden rash of missing family members, the New Dallas main headquarters building is left understaffed.

  Two full minutes after the last hovercraft is out of sight a small red light flashes on a wrist Com on a black hooded and masked figure standing on a service ladder, a touch puts out the light, lifts an overhead hatch, and all four figures behind the leader slip soundlessly up out of a service tunnel into the main Police Building’s sixth level basement. The group runs through a half-empty basement dodging around storage units and shelves to the main elevator shaft. Quick fingers open a repair unit cover. Fingers taps out a bogus work-order number and push an out-of-order for maintenance spot on the control panel and taps “basement to six” on the diagram spaces. The panel’s red light pops on and a descending elevator above stops on the seventh floor. With a nod from the leader the team members start a rapid climb up a service ladder on the side of the elevator shaft.

  According to information Woll the Clone paid dearly for, four white three-carat diamonds, he knows that all three of his men are being held in a cell on the fourth floor. Today, the prisoner schedule lists their arraignments at ten-thirty and medical examinations at eleven. Armed with this information Woll's crew had been able to plan a rescue. Now, they have punched into the controls a fake work-order number and disabled this elevator shaft up to the sixth floor for at the most maybe ten minutes or less. But, as soon they are spotted on the building jail-area recorder screens the alarm will sound. They had planned on the whole operation of in-and-out to be less than seven minutes. Yet, Woll knows that when the alarm sounds someone with rank will investigation, check the work-order number, and void it. Each team member knew they had very little time and each one climbs as fast as they can.

  Another outside team of three is busy rerouting all calls for repairs from Police Station Number One to a fake repair Company office. Pretending to be the police they will in turn call the real Company to demand they schedule a crew to repair it after eleven.

  All five black figures are breathing heavily and starting to sweat by the time they reach the fourth floor. For a full agonizing slow half minute they catch their breath standing on the elevator shaft ladder until the leader nods. All pull on gas masks and side-step along a narrow ledge holding on to a hand rail. The lead figure touches a panel beside the door. As it slides open, five black figures quickly swing into the doorway, rush out, and gas all six guards at a station next to the elevator.

  Time is short.

  Down the hallway between cells three black figures race and are seen on view-screens all over the building. Two black figures guard the elevator. A husky female guard opens the elevator’s control panel. By the cell two in black guards stand back-to-back guarding the passageway with weapons ready. Their leader slices through the cell door’s lock with a portable laser-cutter. During the twenty-three second lock-cutting, alarms shriek throughout the building. When the cell-door opens the cutter tosses the unneeded laser aside and his three captured men are waiting. One in the middle with a badly bruised face is holding up the more seriously injured pair. The black figure waves to both outside guards inside to help him.

  Each man hoists a wounded man over his shoulder in a fireman carry and rushes toward the elevator. The leader yells a disabling removal code over the shrieking alarms, "Eleven, forty-seven, zero, six!" The black hooded woman elevator guard's finger poke at the panel punching in those numbers, and then presses and presses repeatedly the elevator down button trying to hurry the blocked elevator car down from the 7th floor.

  Each man carrying a wounded man trots toward the elevator through the passageway between cells. After what seems like two lifetimes, a red light pops on, and both elevator guards step to separate sides of the elevator door.

  The elevator doors open.

  She and the other guard gas a car full of five police officers charging out. Quickly, both drag the unconscious officers out of the car. Her fingers return to work on the elevator panel while the other guard clears a path through the down officers. Busy fingers punch in a new fake work order number to stop all cars from the fifth up to twentieth floor trying to slow pursuit.

  All crowd inside. Elevator doors seem to take two weeks to close. Seeming unusually slow their elevator descends to the New Dallas Police Station and Jail building’s sixth floor basement.

  When the elevator doors opens in the basement they rush out with three men each carrying a wounded man over a shoulder like a rescue worker. The leader motions a left turn, then a right, and lastly another left turn. Finally, they all can see the hatch to the tunnel below lifted by another waiting black-clothed figure. Lowering the wounded men down the shaft to the tunnel floor is not possible for the drop is over twelve feet. Each wounded man hangs on desperately and rides piggyback down the ladder. After the hatch is lowered, closed, and spot-welded shut with a laser from below all are loa
ded on two maintenance hovers and quickly zigzag through tunnels moving south, west, and east out of danger at maximum speed before turning toward the OpDyke Building’s secret basement level. Down here, tunnels cross and re-cross in a huge maze without police sensors or recorders.

  Just over 57 minutes later, all three injured men and their rescue team are safe in the secret seventh floor basement of the OpDyke Building. Two hours after that Doctor Tjercks reports to Woll, Bakman, and Breen.

  "Bruises and broken bones only it appears. One has two broken ribs and two more are questionable. Another has a broken foot, and a third has two broken bones in a left hand and a broken little finger. They can't be moved for a few days. It was either careful or deliberate torture or a very rough arrest with unusual injuries."

  With an angry expression Woll nods acknowledgement. “They never treat clones kindly.” Woll pauses a moment to get his anger under control before explaining, "I've got four families that want to go to the Silo for this day's work and these three men’s families. Yesterday, we sent off eleven of my people. The rest of these men’s families are in the tunnels by now and guides are leading them here. I'll bring all seven families down here this afternoon. I'll not be able to move anyone out to the Silo for at least two weeks. Does anyone have a problem with this?"

  "No. We'll make room on this floor for them as long as it takes," Bakman replies as he hands out eleven books, "One to each person for a good job and one to each of the three men for withstanding terrible treatment." Afterward Bakman lays seven more books on the table. "For transport," Bakman says. Woll nods and Bakman stands thinking a moment and lays eight more books on the table. "Pay a little more . . . an extra book all around to the set-up and back-up crew of this job. Call it a bonus."

  Woll nods.

  "I've got to get back upstairs. Tell your men . . . Great job today," Bakman tells Woll as he shakes Woll’s hand on the way out.