The Alpha Chronicles (4 page)

While the contractors played a dangerous game at the ambush site, Stoke and his two comrades continued toward the dam’s control house. The plan was simple enough – pull as many of Ditto’s men away as possible while giving him a level of comfort that his
enemy still remained some distance off. Stoke hoped the aggressors were as exhausted as his own men.

Bishop was walking point when the smell of water alerted his senses. A few meters later, the crest of a small knoll brought the lake into view. The dam
had been constructed across a narrow gap that nature had cut through the surrounding cliffs. The gorge below the dam’s spillway wasn’t especially wide, but looked to be about 150 feet deep and ran for as far as they could see into the distant plains below.

Monsoon rains that drained from the mountains to the foothills before flooding the savannah
would have been channeled through here before the dam was constructed. It was easy to visualize the torrent rushing through the narrow gap on its journey to smother the flatlands below.

Given the recent weeks of nonstop deluges, the lake nearly topped the dam, moonlight glistening on its undisturbed surface. Two huge spillways at the bottom of the chasm roared with the sound of high-pressure water
being allowed to escape downstream. From their angle, Bishop estimated that the two flood control gates were opened to one-quarter capacity – enough water to form a medium sized river surging toward the valley below.

At the edge of the lake was a concrete block structure about the size of a modest American home. A circle of light surrounded the facility, courtesy of an overhead, florescent fixture mounted high on a utility pole. The hum of a generator sounded in the distance, the engine barely audible above the crash of the water rushing from the bottom of the dam. The three contractors identified four sentries almost immediately, their attention drawn to the distant popping noises
being generated from the firefight occurring just over a mile away.

Stoke tapped Bishop on the shoulder and pointed to a nearby bush. A quick scan with the night vision identified another guard hiding in the foliage. That made five, and all three spies were positive there were more.

Ditto may have been a successful business-crook, but he wasn’t skilled in the tactical arts. Once Stoke identified the sentry hiding in the scrub, it was simple to find the other three, all using similar vegetation for concealment. An amateurish mistake.

Stoke glanced at his team and waved the two men in close. He whispered, “Lads, I know I don’t have to say this, but you both know
I do
have to say it – we’re in stealth mode as of now.” The other two men signaled their acknowledgement.

Spider immediately dropped his pack and began digging out the components to assemble his bow. Stoke produced a long, canister shaped object and screwed it onto the end of his barrel. Bishop pulled a similar device from his pack and attached it to the muzzle of his pistol.

While Spider rummaged for arrows, Stoke and Bishop rearranged magazines for their weapons, each man loading special sub-sonic rounds for his respective firearm. The change was necessary to maximize the effect of the noise cancellation devices, or CANS.

Bishop unloaded the lethal rounds from his shotgun, replacing the deadly lead-filled shells with special purpose rounds that amounted to small sandbag pellets. These non-lethal projectiles would disable a man for a few moments with a properly placed shot – normally to the chest. It had been determined in the
planning phase that Bishop was the primary takedown man - should Mr. Ditto decide to resist. Remembering a line from a science fiction television show, Bishop looked up at Spider and whispered, “Resistance is futile.”

The changeover to stealth mode wasn’t without sacrifice. The lethality of each of the three men
was now greatly reduced by either range, kinetic energy, or rate of fire. It was a compromise unstated, but one the trio fully understood.

In a perfect situation, Stoke would have ordered their target observed for many hours, the knowledge of sentry placement, shift changes, and the general habits of the opposition increasing the odds of success. This morning, there simply wasn’t time. The sun would be rising in three hours, daylight providing an advantage to the defenders. Reinforcements
were thought to be on their way, and every minute that passed increased the chances that HBR’s equipment would no longer be within reach. In addition, the game of cat and mouse being played by the rest of their team at the ambush site couldn’t go on forever. It was time to roll the dice.

The sentry closest to the three contractors had to
be eliminated first, his position denying a route that would provide the attackers the best angle. “There’s some good news, lads,” Stoke announced. “The crash of that waterfall will muffle the noise of our weapons – somewhat.”

Stoke shouldered his rifle and looked at his teammates, “Ready?”

Each man nodded his status, and Stoke’s gaze returned to his optic. Three “thumps,” not unlike someone slapping a pillow with an open hand, sounded from the shots. Bishop watched the dark outline of the sentry start to rise and then slump over flat on the ground. Before the body came to rest, the three HBR employees were moving.

Bent at the waist and running hard, the men stayed together until they reached the hide formally occupied by the now deceased sentry. After verifying their first target was no longer capable of sounding the alarm, it was Spider’s turn to test his marksmanship.

Lying on his side in the grass, Spider raised the complex-looking, compound bow to his shoulder. The carbon fiber frame and hi-tech cord were further enhanced by a red dot optic similar to the one used on Bishop’s shotgun. It took a few moments to acquire a point of aim, and then a solid “thack” sounded as the arrow disappeared into the night. Another guard fell, Spider’s steel-tipped projectile finding its mark right behind the unfortunate fellow’s ear.

The fall of the second sentry completely exposed the lakeside approach to the remaining guards, all of whom were focusing their attention in the direction of the trail and the distant sounds of the firefight beyond.

Within four minutes, the dam’s control house was completely unguarded.

The entrance consisted of a single metal door slightly recessed in the block wall. Faded, peeling green paint and a rusty knob indicated the facility hadn’t been a top maintenance priority of any local authorities.

Spider and Bishop bookended the opening, the two men’s hustling approach abruptly challenged by their shoulders slamming into the wall. Stoke calmly approached and whispered, “Alrighty, lads. Let’s hope the master’s asleep, dreaming fitfully of his soon to be received, ill-gotten gains.”

The door was unlocked, and since Bishop
was armed with the primary nonlethal weapon, he went first. Swinging around the doorframe in a crouched position, the contractor swept the lighted reception area with the shotgun, ready to pull the trigger on anything that moved.

The HBR team was greeted by two metal desks, a pair of inexpensive office chairs, and a water cooler devoid of the large plastic bottle that would normally rest on its crown
. Bishop moved inside the room, making a hole for his teammates to follow. Within seconds, the lobby was cleared.

Without a sound, the three men proceeded down a hallway lined with bare walls and three wooden doors. Boots stepped heel to toe, Bishop’s shotgun sweeping left and right, the motion matching the movement of his pivoting head.

When the team approached the first doorway, Spider rushed past, quickly taking a knee and covering the remaining length of the hall. Bishop positioned himself opposite of the entrance, as Stoke reached for the brass door handle. It was locked. Both Bishop and his team leader sized up the portal, the two men concluding that the flimsy frame and lock would be no match for a well-placed war boot. The breech should be easy, but the noise generated would announce their presence to anyone in the building. “Next,” mouthed Stoke.

Bishop had to agree with his boss. Surprise was a huge advantage, especially when the mission called for taking someone alive. If their target wasn’t in the next room, they could always come back and kick in the door.

The next office was empty, a storage area for manuals, moldy smelling, cardboard boxes, miscellaneous office supplies, and discarded tools.

As the squad moved to the last option, the door at the end of the hall surged open, a large man in disheveled clothing filling the threshold while rubbing the sleep from his eyes. His arrival surprised the team as much as the presence of the team shocked him.

Bishop recognized the man instantly from the file photographs, centered the shot and pulled the trigger. Ditto Ombomtu possessed quick reactions and was extremely lucky. As the enormous blast of the shotgun filled the tiny space of the hallway, Ditto managed to step back and spin at the same instant. The sandbag projectile brushed the man’s shirt, punching a quarter-sized hole in the plaster after missing the target.

Ditto’s natural reaction was to slam the door, and just that quickly he was out of sight. “Fuck!” hissed Bishop, as Spider and Stoke made for the walls on each side of the entrance. Bishop had just caught up
with his friends when the door beside them splintered out fountains of wood chips from several rifle rounds fired from the other side. Ditto was announcing that he was officially armed and dangerous.

Before the wood-dust from the abused entrance had begun to fall, Stoke commanded, “Banger…
hurry!”

Spider reached into a pouch on his chest rig and pulled out a flash-bang grenade, extracting the pin on the device and tossing it over to Stoke. The 3.5-second timer began its countdown as soon as Spider’s thumb released the spoon. Slightly longer than a can of tomato soup, the cylindrical device
was designed to emit a super-bright light and debilitating pressure wave of sound. The intent was to leave anyone in the vicinity of the explosion unable to resist, stumbling around blind, deaf, and confused.

While the device was still airborne, Stoke reached for the doorknob and pushed in. In a sub-second span of time, the Brit caught the “hot potato” and tossed it into the opening. All three contractors half-turned away, covering their ears and squinting their eyes closed.

The concussion of the blast rattled the building and the contractors’ chests. Stoke didn’t waste any time, throwing the door open and ducking low as Bishop swung around the frame, scanning with his scattergun.

This room appeared to be another office - littered with scattered papers, an overturned chair, and a thick blanket of smoke. Bishop noticed a cot in the corner, rumpled quilts, and a single white pillow, evidence of where Ditto had been catching his beauty rest. Their target was nowhere to
be found.

There was only one other way out, a single exit adorned with a distressed metal sign reading “Machinery Room.” Bishop and Spider both moved for the door.

“Careful now, lads,” Stoke warned. “Our friend isn’t just a desk jockey and clearly isn’t afraid to fight. Let’s make our next move a smart one.”

Stoke shifted to the wall and slowly twisted the knob, slightly surprised the lock was not engaged. He pushed gently, and the door opened inward. Without exposing himself, Stoke called out, “Ditto Ombomtu, we only want the HBR equipment you stole. Give us our property back, and we’ll be on our way.”

For a moment, the contractors didn’t believe they were going to receive an answer. Bishop and Spider maintained eye contract with Stoke, waiting on his command to enter the room. Eventually, a raspy voice retorted, “The equipment I
found
has already been sold. You’ve wasted your time and many lives for nothing.”

Stoke actually smiled before responding. “I see. If what you say is true, then there’s no reason for us to take you alive then, is there? We should just kill you for revenge and be on our way.”

The words that came from the machinery room chilled the three contractors to the bone. “If you kill me, tens of thousands of others will die. Step into this room, and I’ll show you why.”

For the first time during the entire ordeal, Bishop saw indecision cross
Stoke’s face. While his boss said nothing aloud, the dissonance of thoughts streaming though the man’s head was obvious.
Was it a trap?
What the hell was the cornered man talking about?

Ditto either liked his position or didn’t have patience for the status quo. “Come on in. I won’t shoot you.”

Shrugging his shoulders, Stoke stepped carefully into the doorway, ready to dive out of the way. Nothing happened, so he continued a few steps further inside. Spider and Bishop followed immediately behind.

What the contractor saw was a slice of Ditto’s face peeking from behind a large steel and bronze console decorated with rows of lights, buttons, meters and switches. The entire room
was lined with pipes, large valves, and other assorted machinery, obviously used to control and maintain the nearby dam.

“This instrument is used to control the spillway below,”
Ditto said calmly. “The lake is full from the recent rains. If I open the gates all of the way, the dam will fail. The flashflood of water will kill thousands of innocents down in the valley. Leave this place…. Leave now, or the blood of thousands will be on your hands.”