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[Greene Planet]

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THE KILLERS

C H A S E - M I C H A E L

author of the acclaimed

To Die Alone

1

MORGAN CHEYNEIN WALKED INTO the Gemenshaft Bank in Los Angeles. Six men entered behind him. Smokeheart needed money. It was one of the least favourite things Cheynein did, but he had to. Cheynein pulled out a silenced semiautomatic 9mm M9 Beretta.
Cheynein lashed out a terrifying look at the front cashiers.
“All right everyone, we’ve taken out the phones lines, so drop your cell phones, now,” He had changed his voice to an English accent.
Everyone did so. The six men behind Cheynein pulled out similar weapons, all with a silencer screwed on the end of the barrel.
Cheynein fired one shot into the ceiling. That was a good effect, Cheynein thought.

TWENTY FEET away, James Harding was meeting with another Intelligence agent, John Macarone, one of the agents that assisted Harding while exiting Iraq. John Macarone was the Directorate of Intelligence’s partner in crime. The DI is the analytical branch of the CIA, and responsible for all-source intelligence analysis on key foreign issues. The two agents did as they were told by the hostage-takers. However, Macarone had different plans. As the guard turned away, Macarone jumped at him, with his fist aimed at the man’s stomach. Suddenly, John felt a jolt of quick pain through his upper shoulder. He fell to the ground, with dark-red blood pouring out of his arm. Harding held his breath as he stood up and began to walk towards Macarone. It was Cheynein’s suppressed gun barrel aimed directly at his face.
“What do ‘ya think your doin’?” Cheynein lashed out an aggravated face.

“I’M A DOCTOR. THIS MAN needs medical help before he bleeds to death.” Harding let out his breath calmly.
“Alright,” the man nodded towards Macarone, ”don’t try anything funny though.”
“You don’t have to worry,” Harding had hoped that convinced him. Cheynein lowered his M9 and holstered it.
“I need medical supplies. If he keeps bleeding his injury may become critical.”
“Alright. One question. What medical school did you go to?” Cheynein smiled grimly.
. He had been at Camp Pendleton in California. He had been trained as a medic during battle.
“Pendleton.”
Cheynein bought it.

HARDING WALKED PAST Cheynein, accompanied by another man, armed with an-un silenced N4 Carbine. This time, he had much more careful. Harding had only been in one bank robbery. Back in 2000. Just before he was shipped over to Virginia to the USS Ronald Regan.
Harding walked through the cubicles searching for any alcohol that he could use to take out the bullet.

Edited by Greene Planet, 04 March 2009 - 04:17 AM.

[Greene Planet]

* * * * *

SGT. BAKER LIFTED UP HIS M-16 rifle and provided covering fire for Lieutenant Burns. Baker stared through the crosshairs of the scope. The bastard was in his sights. Baker fired six times at the enemy, a man with an AK and a turban. The Sergeant smirked and yelled at Pvt. Fawkes to continue towards the rendezvous point. Behind enemy lines, Baker though.
Fawkes ran through the explosion of bullets flying at the troupe, attempting to avoid any inside thoughts. Mainly about his kid, Sarah, and his wife, Debra. Once he settled behind some debris, he signaled the rest of the men to follow.
Baker was the first to leave the hot spot. Followed by several PFCs and sub-lieutenants. Once the whole team was settled with Fawkes, Baker radioed in to the Captain, who was just two blocks ahead.
What the hell am I doing here, Baker though.
It felt like the hottest place on Earth. He hated Iraq, everything about, and everyone in it. The troupe had tried to convince him there was still good people in this god-for-saken country.
But he wasn’t easily redeemed as Fawkes, the golden Marine, Baker thought. But the sergeant changed his mind about Fawkes, he had never once complained about being sent here. He truly was a damn good Marine. Fawkes was proud of his country. He always referred to it as “the US of A”. That always made the team laugh. It had given the men hope that they would return safely, but Baker wasn’t so sure about Pvt. Kessler. He was also an excellent soldier. But he wasn’t so sure about his ability to be open with the men. He always just sat still, or went to sleep before any of the others did. It was if he weren’t there.
Fawkes and Baker sprinted five meters forward into the nearest foxhole. Baker summoned his messenger, Pvt. Fretter, “tell Swards to get airborne support down here, now!”
Fretter nodded and ran back towards the command post. Baker needed all the help he could get…

* * * * *

“I’M GOING TO NEED SOME towels to slow down the bleeding,” Harding said to the guard following him.
The man nodded and went back into the break room.
This is it. James ducked down and rushed over to the generator.
He plucked several of the blocked wires so he could call Langley.
He dialed the secure line, “its Harding, I need him now!” the girl patiently connected the number to the directorate of Intelligence, Jeremy Duns.
“Duns here.”
“This is James Harding…” the DI cut off Harding, “Harding? Where the hell are you?”
“I’m at the Gemenshaft bank in LA, meeting Macarone. There’s a robbery in progress,” he was careful with his wording.
“I’ll get our local team there right away.”
“But keep it quiet, I have a feeling this man is on the inside.”
Harding rushed back into the break room.

IT WAS 1200 NOW.

THE TWO GUARDS BRUSHED him as he set down he supplies to heal the wound. One of the employees had found the courage to come forward and put pressure on it. Harding gave her the signal to back away so he could work.

FINALLY, I CAN USE THE TRAINING to help someone not in battle, James thought.
Macarone groaned as the pressure was relived on the bleeding. Harding reached into the tool bag and pulled out a pair of small pliers. The man gasped in the thought of nauseating pain. Harding pushed through the access flesh and grasped the bullets with the pliers, the man’s face turned pale.

THE BULLET WAS OUT. Harding gave Macarone the whisky and Macarone drank in sips. The two men sighed as the employee put pressure back on.

Edited by Greene Planet, 07 March 2009 - 10:27 PM.

[Greene Planet]

[TWO]
1340 HOURS
BAGHDAD


FAWKES CRAWLED OUT OF the foxhole and pulled out his Beretta. The Captain gave him cover fire as he sprinted through hell. Once the private reached the checkpoint, Fawkes gave the captain the “go”.
Baker fired his machine gun at the man covered in grenades. The rest of the team followed repeating his actions and military tactics. Fawkes took out the last Iraqi.
“Suppressors, now!”
The team attached the silencers to their weapons. Fawkes turned towards Baker swiftly, “one o’clock, ten to fifteen targets.
“We’ll have to go around, sir. Its too risky, but the time we get into firing position, they’ll have spotted us.”
“Alright…” Pvt. Fretter cut him off, “sir, Swards has sent a black hawk for re-enforcements. He can’t afford to risk the fighters during the day…”
“When will they be here?”
“0130.”
Baker looked at his watch:
0100.
.
The team would either have to engage the enemy, or wait there for half an hour. After a few moments, Fawkes spoke, “sir, we need to move now.”
Baker turned to Fretter, “did you tell him our exact position?”
“No, sir. I estimated and told him we’d be one or two block ahead of where we are now.”
“Sir,” Fawkes repeated.
Baker pulled out a smoke grenade.

FIVE QUICK MINUTES LATER, Baker re-filled his clip, standing with one foot on the body of his target. Al-Asaad. But he was still alive and well. The Sergeant had been given strict orders to simply capture Asaad and transport him back to base.
Baker reached into his jacket and pulled out a small box. The team was surrounded by curiosity. A cigar box. Baker handed out the smokes, the men thanking him for one of the first times.

Edited by Greene Planet, 10 March 2009 - 02:49 AM.

[Greene Planet]

[THREE]



AL-ASAAD WAS LEAD THROUGH a dimly lit hallway towards the interrogation room. The terrorist looked around, watching other prisoners that had a label on them that read: GITMO.

THE INTERROGATION ROOM looked as it were bombed. Special Agent of CTU, Richard Winters walked in the second Asaad sat down.
Winters gave the man a dirty look and then opened Asaad’s file.
“Says here you’ve given the order to bomb six major United States locations. Do you mind telling me what they are?” Winters was calm, a new approach to interrogating terrorist. Usually, they seemed to yell the entire interrogation, that method was found insufficient.
Asaad met the man’s stare, “Seattle, Pentagon, White House, CIA HQ, Empire state building, and Hawaii.” The words seemed to slip out of him quickly, Winters thought. He’s testing my abilities.
Winters nodded for him to continue talking.
“And here.”
Richard Winters eyes opened slightly, trying not to give his fear away.
“Why here, none of your men are here. And you’re not al Qaeda.”
“Yes, but I’m am also a servant of the Black Legion.”
What the hell? Black Legion. Was it another part of Smokeheart?
“Is it Smokeheart?”
“No. It is Smokeheart.”

MORGAN CHEYNEIN AIMED his weapon at Harding’s face.
“What did I ing say? No ing funny business.” Cheynein smirked, “bye-bye, doc.”
Harding smiled slightly, not giving away his plan. As Cheynein pulled the trigger, the bullet chamber exploded causing the gun to blow to bits.
The man screamed, holding his hand with the other, with shrapnel in the gash.
“!” He looked at Harding, “don’t just stand there you , and fix this!”
Harding once again reached into the tool bag and pulled out a bundle of cloth. He wrapped the man’s hand and tied it tight.
Cheynein squirmed as he stood up.
“Thanks.” Cheynein turned his head, and put his sights on one of his men, “did you get the money?”

“WHAT IS BLACK LEGION?”
“What do you think, ?”
Winters stood up and walked out.
Asaad smirked and crossed his arms.

Edited by Greene Planet, 15 March 2009 - 09:11 PM.

[Greene Planet]

[FOUR]
1910 HOURS
WASHINGTON D.C.


THE VICE PRESIDENT WALKED into the oval office just after he got the news.
President Sean Bauer stood up, making his stature dramatic through the lighting of the windows.
“Mr. President, we have just gotten word that our agent in Baghdad and his unit has been bombed.” The VP was sweating, waiting for the POTUS’ answer.
“When?”
“1500, sir. We’ve sent a letter to Karen Fawkes. Before his unit was bombed, he contacted my secartary, saying he had vauable intel.
“Do we have Al-Asaad at the base?”
“Yes.” The VP nodded.


THE BOMB WENT OFF AT 0300 in the morning. Winters, Asaad, and all the other prisoners were blown to bits.

Edited by Greene Planet, 18 March 2009 - 09:58 PM.