David Golemon - Ripper

“I’m leaving under protest,” Niles said as he stomped toward the door. He waited when he saw Everett pick up the phone on his desk to alert the gate he was sending Niles through the tunnel.

“Your protest will be duly noted in the security log,” he said as he waited for his men to pick up the phone inside the pawn shop.

Compton shook his head and saw the concern cross Carl’s features. He saw him hang up and then try pushing the buttons again. Everett waited and then slammed the phone down.

“I’m going to have someone’s ass,” he said angrily as he turned to the Europa terminal on Compton’s desk.

“What’s wrong now?” Niles asked stepping back into his office.

“No answer at gate two,” Everett said as he slammed the communication link down with his finger. “Europa, what in the hell is happening at—”

“Alert, alert! We have an intruder alert on level three, loading dock east. I repeat, we have a security breach on level three, loading dock east,” Europa said, interrupting Carl’s question. “All security personnel are required at this time to report to loading dock east, transport rail.”

Everett couldn’t believe what he was hearing and Director Compton felt his face go flush.

“Maybe with all that’s happening, Europa has blown a circuit,” Niles said as he quickly moved to his desk next to Carl. That question was soon answered when the doors to his office opened and Charlie Ellenshaw and Pete Golding burst through.

“Captain, we think we heard gunfire somewhere on the upper levels,” Pete said breathlessly.

Everett looked up and then went into action. “Get the director the hell out of here,” he said as he ran through the double doors.

As the intruder warning sounded again, Charlie was the first to take Niles by the arm and pull him from the office.

“You know the drill,” Charlie said as Pete took Compton’s other arm.

“Damn it let go of me!” Niles protested.

“Sorry, the captain is a little bigger than you. Let’s go,” Pete said as the warning notice sent by Europa continued.

All around them the warnings blared.

As they hit the elevator in the large area where Pete’s assistants normally sat and worked, they stopped as the sounds came down from above them and entered the office through the closed doors of the elevator, making Pete and Ellenshaw come to a stop while still holding Compton’s arms.

The sounds wafting through the double doors were of gunfire and screams.

The assault was well coordinated by a group of men who had served in Special Forces units trained by the United States government. They were all patriots and believed deep in their souls the righteousness of the missions they were sent on.

After the larger of the tram system cars had transported the teams to the loading facility, it had only taken a brief moment for the two-man security team manning the dock to succumb to the assault team inside the first transport. Sarah cringed as the two men went down without firing a shot. The confusion generated by the biohazard alarms and evacuation announcement by Europa had contributed to the quick subjugation of marine and air force security men.

The two men had at least been spared. Sarah was so angry and felt so helpless that tears were rolling down her cheeks. The most horrible aspect of the initial phase of the assault was the death of the young soldier they had brought along to force Sarah’s cooperation. Smith had performed the murder himself, placing two quick shots into the dying security man’s head even as he sat wounded on the rear plastic seat of the magnetic transport. She didn’t understand why he spared some and not others.

As Sarah was pulled from the car and pushed onto the concrete loading dock, she took a hard swing at Smith who moved easily away from her blow and then backhanded her once more across her face. Then he again grabbed her by the arm and pulled her into the complex following the team-by-team movement of his men.

“Is there a code to get into the elevator system beyond this point?” Smith asked as he slid into a heavy set of body armor.

“Kiss my ass!” Sarah shouted as she spit blood weakly toward the man who was handed an M-14 carbine and bandolier of thirty-round magazines.

Smith smirked, admiring the small geologist’s desire for vengeance. He then scanned the large facility that housed the incoming freight destined for either the vault levels or various other facilities inside the complex. As the large man passed a crate of apples, he used the folding stock of the M-14 to break the wood covering the crate. He reached in and brought out a bright red apple and bit into it. He then gestured for one six-man team to cover the first set of elevator doors and then, as he chewed a bite of apple, pointed to another set of stainless-steel doors on the far side of the warehouse. He then tossed the apple away and, pulling Sarah along with him, walked over to the first set of doors.

“The target level is seventeen,” he said into the microphone near his mouth. “It looks like we’ll end up at opposite ends of the level, so Team Two set up from that end and wait for my word to cover us if needed. In and out in fifteen minutes gentlemen or it will screw up our timetable.” As Sarah watched, Smith reached into his vest and brought out a small device. “How much security is on level seventeen?” he asked Sarah.

“There’s a team of twelve heavily armed men on seventeen,” she said with a smirk, hoping to throw a kink into Smith’s plans.

Sarah tried to pull away as the elevator doors opened and the first team of six black-clothed men and Smith stepped in.

“Level please?” asked the Marilyn Monroe voice of Europa.

Smith smiled at Sarah and then clicked the on button of the small recorder, making McIntire close her eyes in frustration. He rewound the small digital recorder to the point he wanted. He then held it up to the small Europa terminal just beside the door and pushed the play button.

“Seventeen,” Sarah’s voice said through the electronic trap he had set for her.

“Thank you Lieutenant McIntire, level seventeen. You must be aware there is a current state of emergency on that level. Please follow supervisory procedure for entry onto the affected level.”

Smith smiled as Sarah grimaced in frustration at the way she was outsmarted.

“Level seventeen, formulas, serums, colognes, and aftershaves, all aboard,” Smith joked as he pulled a fuming Sarah McIntire in with him.

As the first elevator started lowering on a tube of compressed air downward into the bowels of the Event Group Complex, the second Black Team waited for the second set of doors to open. They weren’t stupid in their method, as they didn’t want a surprise to greet them when the doors opened. They were broken up into three sets of two, covering the doors as the level indicator above signaled that the car was arriving. The one flaw in their coverage was the fact that they didn’t know about the stairwell to the far right of the warehouse area.

Without warning and according to the “Use of deadly force is authorized for trespassing onto this federal reservation” signs they walked past with just a cursory glance, a security team of ten men led by Sergeant Jessie Sanchez, a U.S. Marine with ten years experience, opened fire on the men before they knew what was happening.

Sanchez had been in the process of securing the facility and, as protocol dictated they not use the elevators, had entered the stairwell when the security team on the dock didn’t answer his calls. Without checking with Captain Everett, Sanchez fell back on the training he had received from Carl and Jack. Within three-and a-half seconds the six-man Black Team had been cut down with clean shots either to the back of their heads or to their exposed necks. The sergeant was the first man to stand from behind some of the incoming freight. His ears were still ringing from the unsuppressed gunfire as he examined the dead men on the floor.