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Narcisi

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» » Four « «




“You’re sure this is the place?” Officer Nickelson whispered to the subordinate official, doubtfully peering at the building a few hundred yards in front of him.

Nickelson’s orders from Chief Officer Smith had been to find Zach Telmar no matter what the cost. ZT, as they usually referred to him as, was a professional hit man. He had been evading them for years, making hit after hit; disappearing each time without a trace. He had driven Smith nearly to the point of insanity, and now practically all the chief lived for was to get ZT behind bars. Unfortunately, even with the entire Pennsylvania state police force behind him, he had made very little progress. Until recently. Two days ago, they had gotten a tip from the owner of a motel located near the most recent ZT killing. Apparently, his employee had found it in his good will to inform him about a particularly suspicious-looking character who had recently stayed overnight.

He acted curiously. He carried a large black duffel bag and the employee said he could have sworn he had seen a gun barrel poking out of it at one point. The man signed in, demanded that he was not to be disturbed, and then holed himself up in his room for his entire stay. He did not emerge until the next morning at a very early hour. Before he left he offered a large amount of money to the employee in an effort to get him to erase all record of the man being there. Supposedly, the employee denied this money, and the man had left angrily. Of course, being the good person he was, the employee immediately called up his boss and reported all that had happened. The employer had wisely called the police, who were all over it in a matter of minutes.

10-Jul-2007 23:43:52 - Last edited on 10-Jul-2007 23:54:28 by Narcisi

Narcisi

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The entire following day, Nickelson’s team of investigators had scoured the motel with a fine-toothed comb. After three painstaking hours, they came up with the most valuable piece of evidence they had discovered yet in their search for Zach Telmar: remnants of two cell phones, found in the dumpster directly below the window of the man’s room.

One was hopelessly destroyed; they were, however, able to extract a string of data from the hardware of the second. The data contained a single fone number. When his investigators informed him of who it belonged to, Nickelson released a miserable groan. Sam Jones. The most powerful, wealthy, and corrupt man in the entire United States. Of all the people ZT could have been in cohorts with, it had to be Sam Jones. Of course, Nickelson had no choice but to take immediate action.

And so there he was, lying hidden in the dirt alongside a subordinate officer late at night, looking through binoculars at Sam Jones colossal mansion.

“Yes sir, we’re positive,” replied the officer.

“Ok then,” he said with a resigned sigh. “Send in the S.W.A.T.”

The officer relayed the orders through his radio. All around the mansion, 110 specially trained combat soldiers quietly burst into action. Their orders were to detain the target (which in this case was Sam Jones) through any means necessary, as quickly and stealthily as possible. The S.W.A.T. spread out into a large circle, encompassing the mansion. And then, bit by bit, the circle began to contract. Slowly, ever so slowly, the team began to close in on the unsuspecting inhabitants of the residence.

——————————

The inhabitants were, in fact, quite aware of the S.W.A.T. team’s presence, despite the effort the police had put into concealing their operations.

10-Jul-2007 23:47:02 - Last edited on 10-Jul-2007 23:54:12 by Narcisi

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10 people sat in front of monitors in one of the many rooms in Jones’ mansion, watching the S.W.A.T. team’s movements through night-vision equipped security cameras that were cleverly hidden behind, above, and within assorted underbrush and foliage. The very moment the police had stepped onto Jones’ property, the entire house was aware of their presence.
The second the police had been sighted, a silent alarm was set off. Immediately, all of Jones’ bodyguards and hired guns sprang into action, heading directly for their assigned posts, whether it was at a window, outside on the lawn (carefully camouflaged), behind one of the two Gatling guns that were mounted in well-hidden and strategic locations, or in some other tactical position. In approximately 1 minute and 38 seconds, every man in the building had his weapon trained on the forest line that surrounded Jones’ mansion. And then, they waited.
——————————
Colonel Dave Spacket, group leader of Squad Omega, advanced at a slow pace through the forest, clutching his M4 tightly. He shook his head irritably.
Stupid night vision, he thought. The green hue that bathed his vision was getting on his nerves. In all his years of service, he had never gotten used to it. Taking his left hand away from his gun for a moment, he flipped up his visor.
'Much better,' he thought. Even though it took a while for his eyes to focus, it was well worth it. He could once again see normally. As he pressed forward through the underbrush, something was nagging the back of his mind. Something was wrong. But what? He glanced around, but nothing seemed out of the order. On both his sides were his squad members advancing as he was. But something still seemed strange. He tensed up, half-expecting something terrible to happen. But nothing did.

10-Jul-2007 23:47:59

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He and his squad members, as well as all the other S.W.A.T. squads, continued to press through the forest. And suddenly it hit him. Silence. There was absolutely no sound whatsoever aside from the muted shuffle of 110 pairs of legs slowly moving forward. Surely, with a mansion as big as Jones’, there would be constant hustle and bustle, what with so much needing to be done all the time…
Before he had any more time to think about this, they were through. In nearly perfect synchronization, 110 soldiers burst forth from the tree line all at once.
Instantly, Spacket noticed it. He was sure, he thought, that the other 109 soldiers noticed it as well. Even a complete idiot would not fail to notice the moonlight glinting off of innumerable barrels, all of which were poking out of every possible window and alcove on the entire mansion.
“Get down!” he managed to scream, before taking a bullet in the head.
“Return fire!” an officer bellowed.
109 standard issue M4 semi-automatic rifles rose simultaneously and began to pummel all sides of the building with an unrelenting spray of bullets.
Even as bullets showered down around them, they steadily advanced. And, little by little, they gained ground.
——————————
“Sir, we’d better get you out of here,” said Sam Jones’ personal bodyguard. Sam nodded sadly.
“Yes, of course...I’m just so reluctant to leave behind my beautiful submarine…”
“It’s for your own good, sir.”
Sam seemed to snap out of a trance. “Yes, yes, of course,” he mumbled. He then managed a grin. “Well let’s get going then, shall we?”
——————————
The police were a mere 10 meters away from the building when the order came.
“Charge!” Eighty-four police officers rushed towards the building.

10-Jul-2007 23:49:01

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Windows shattered and doors splintered as they forced their way inside. In five minutes, eighty-two policemen stood inside a massive lobby. Scattered throughout the room were about fifteen gunmen. After a quick skirmish, bullets and marred the walls and smoke clouded the air. Seventy-six S.W.A.T. men advanced into the next area. Each room was the same; there were always a few enemies lying in wait, all with one goal in mind: to stall the invasion for as long as possible.

Nickelson stood just on the edge of the forest, a spectator to all that was happening. He was reasonably disappointed now; most of the fight had moved inside. His radio suddenly spoke up. “Ah, Officer Nickelson?” a tentative voice asked. Nickelson brought he radio to his mouth and answered.
“I’m here; what do you got for me?”

“Ah, well quite frankly sir, it would probably be better if you came to see it yourself.”

“Well alright then; I’ll be there momentarily. Send an escort, if you please.”
''Of course, sir.''

Time dragged on, and finally five policemen emerged from the building and headed for Nickelson. He met them halfway.

“Alright, then. Let’s see what they’re getting all worked up about, shall we?” Three of the five marksmen knelt and trained their barrels on the upper story windows, making sure that no gunman would try taking a shot at their commander. As Nickelson was escorted through the mansion, he could hear distant gunfire from upstairs.

“It seems we’ve taken the first floor, then, have we?” he asked one of the policemen.

“For the most part, sir. There are still a few rooms that haven’t been checked yet. It's been slow going, but Mr. Jones has only one way to go: down. Don’t worry, sir. We’ll get him.” Nickelson nodded, encouraged by this information.

10-Jul-2007 23:49:21 - Last edited on 10-Jul-2007 23:53:24 by Narcisi

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Finally, they arrived at their destination. It was a large room that lay behind what used to be a thick metal door. A few pounds of strategically placed explosives had made short work of the entryway, though. The room was incredibly vast. It seemed almost larger than the building itself. It was rather obvious that the size of the room, however, was not what the policeman had called him about. Instead, it was what lied, or floated, rather, at the center of the room.

“A submarine,” Nickelson gasped.

“Yes, sir,” said an approaching policeman. “And it seems there used to be two, by the size of the pool.

“Unless,* the policeman added with a grin, indicating the room they were in, "Mister Jones just likes things to be a bit roomy.”

The two were given no more time to contemplate things, because just as the policeman finished his sentence, a strange sound reached their ears.

“Is that…Oh nooo,” Nickelson moaned. “Tell me you’re kidding.” His radio started squawking.

“Sir, please come to the front of the building immediately!”

“Sir, Officer Nickelson, come outside ASAP!”

“What the heck…Sir, the roof appears to...it appears to be opening, sir!”

Nickelson was outside in an instant. Sure enough, the roof of the mansion had opened lengthwise, and was now slowly coming further apart. The more it opened, the louder the sound became.

“Sir, that sounds like a – ”

Nickelson sighed, interrupting him. “A helicopter. Yeah, I know.” He turned and pointed to the nearest policeman. “You! Get me a Stinger.”

The man glanced at him as if he were crazy, but complied. After a few moments Nickelson was kneeling with a rocket launcher resting on his shoulder. By this time, the roof seemed to have finished opening, and the sound had grown to be quite loud.

10-Jul-2007 23:49:58 - Last edited on 10-Jul-2007 23:51:28 by Narcisi

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Nickelson flipped open the sight and pressed his eye up against it. He would capture Sam Jones, dead or alive. As he had expected, up from the roof ascended a helicopter. It rose steadily, and then spun to face the opposite direction.

'That’s right…' Nickelson thought. 'Show me your weak and vulnerable rear…'

Right as the helicopter began to lean forward and begin its escape, Nickelson pulled the trigger. The rocket sped straight and true towards its target. Nickelson smirked with confidence as it homed in with pin-point precision. But then, mere seconds before it was going to hit, flares began to pour out of some unseen hatch in the back of the helicopter.

“No!” he screamed in anger, as the rocket diverted its course to home in on this new heat source. It exploded a few meters off target, rocking the helicopter momentarily. It quickly regained control, however, and started off towards the horizon.

“Reload!” Nickelson ordered desperately, but he knew it was too late. The helicopter was much too far away now to hit. Standing, he let the launcher fall from his grasp. He rubbed his temples and groaned.
The chief wasn’t going to be happy.

——————————

Sam sat grumpily in his plush leather seat as he flew over the Atlantic Ocean.

“Good-for-nothing Zachy,” he thought venomously. “Always getting me into trouble with the authorities. Tch, tch…He should be ashamed of himself.”

Sam suddenly had a burst of inspiration. Pressing a button on the armrest of his seat, he spoke to the co-pilot.

“Good man, would you be so kind so as to connect me to Mister Zach Telmar*s watersuit? Thank you.” He clicked the intercom off and settled back into his seat. After a few minutes, a voice came through the speakers.

“You’re connected, sir. Whenever you’re ready.”

Sam took time to stew a while longer, and then picked up a fone that sat in front of him and put it to his ear.



» » End of Chapter Four « «

10-Jul-2007 23:50:44 - Last edited on 10-Jul-2007 23:53:47 by Narcisi

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