Moosehill Militia (Book 1): INFECTED (7 page)
Mike parked his truck in the garage across from the DCU center and along with Mac for moral support walked the quarter mile to the county Court house for the meeting. Mike’s contribution to the D.A.’s Rourke’s programs and re-election campaign was the only reason he was getting this meeting he realized. Most crime victims hardly get to meet with the D.A. until the day of their case is brought to trial, or a deal was being cut. Usually victims of crimes deal with a victim witness advocate. Mike wasn’t satisfied with that and let it be known through sources from his police days.
They were shown into a conference room where they were meeting with Assistant D.A. Justin O'Connell. “Mr. Mohan I took this meeting to keep you apprised of the investigation at the urging of D.A. Rourke. He told Mike a little testily. “Thank you Justin I appreciate it. Now tell me what you’ve been doing.” Mike replied back just as short.
“There’s not a lot on the tapes, all five men involved wore black full face masks and non-describable clothing.” The only thing we have is on one of the man’s hands is a partial tattoo which looks like a Capital M and possible a number one and a percent sign. Focusing in that much makes the picture very blurry, we sent the tapes off to the State Police labs to see who much they could enhance those pictures.”
I have another question for you Mr. Mohan. Do you know a Seana Mohan by chance?” he asked. “Yes I do, my cousins daughter, I haven't seen her in five or six years I think. Why do you ask?” Mike asked concerned.
“Well, the name just struck me. We are looking into a missing persons her car was left at the old Buzzards Pub toward Greenfield along Route 2 about two weeks ago and she hasn’t been seen since. I guess she has been giving her parents a hard time and staying at friends’ houses for a night a two here and there. Her parents reported her missing twelve days ago, and her old Camry was found at the pub two days later. I just wondering if you were related and if you knew about it.” Justin O'Connell told Mike and Mac.
“Thank you, I didn’t. Will you let me know of any further developments please?” He asked.
“Of course Mr. Mohan. Anything for a former respected Police officer.” He stood, along with Mike and Mac and shook hands. They left the building without speaking and waited, a mile down the road, Mike asked Mac. “What do you think?”
“I think you know more then you said in there. Am I correct?” Mac said.
“You are.” We have to go review tapes from about a month ago. I was stopping in to discuss some details with you and two men dressed in colors came into the shop and were looking at some guns, looking around. They sent my internal radar off. One of them had hand tattoos. I’d like to check the video and see what we see.” He told Mac, who only nodded.
Three hours later back at Mike’s house, they found the tape and were reviewing the video. “There, Those two.” They watched the video to the end when the two males left the store without buying anything. It was late right before closing. Looking back at it now they were definitely casing the place. They started the video again and started to pick the two apart. Zooming in when they asked to see some knifes in a case they got a pretty good close up of their faces, there jackets boasting a Marauder motorcycle gang rocker on the back of their leather coats. One also had a hand tattoo with a capital M and what looked like a one percent tattoo. “This is it, those are our men.” I’ll hand this raw video over to the police in the morning, in the meantime spread the photo of these two around our contacts in the Police communities on the QT. I thought I remember a bulletin about a new Chapter house for a motorcycle gang starting somewhere up around the north end of Quabbin reservoir.” Mike said. “I think I can research that and find out where it is. It’s not like there trying to hide or something.” Mac stated.
***
Next morning Mike turned the new tapes over to the D.A.’s office with an explanation that their meeting yesterday jogged his memory about the earlier visit.
Mike met with Mac for Lunch at Tiny Tim’s diner in Rochdale, one of his favorites for lunch.
They sat down and ordered. After the waitress left, Tim yelled at them for not eating here enough. While Tim cooked in the open kitchen they discussed events of the last day. “I have it.” Mac told Mike smiling. “In New Salem, the Marauders have a Chapter house at the end of east Main Street. Their house or more like a farm from what I can tell from Google maps, boarders up against the Quabbin reservoir on the West side, about a half mile through woods from the water.” He told Mike. “Okay, I turned over the unedited tapes and pointed out the interesting parts. It’s still going to take them a week or more to act on this with applying for search warrants and bureaucratic red tape. They have those two M60’s of ours, if that gets out where in trouble.” Mike told Mac.
“I know. What’s you play?” he asked. “All depends Mac, how far you willing to go?” Mike asked. “It’s too late to back our now, we need to act to protect our investments and plans.” Mac stated the obvious. “I agree. Tomorrow night we take action. Just you and me.
The rest of that day and the next morning Mike and Mac made plans for their night time excursion. Sunset was around six twenty p.m. Around five thirty Mac pulled up to the end of Old North Dana Road in Petersham and got out, cut the lock and drove his truck in and replaced it with another master lock. They drove down to the end of the dirt road, about a thousand feet down a trail to the edge of the water. Mike exited the passenger side of the truck and quickly dressed in a black ankle to neck lightweight wet suit. He put on similar foot gear and carried two water tight bags similar to what he would have used on the Seal teams. The two shook hands. “I’ll wait here until five a.m. same time the morning after that if you’re a no show. If you don’t show by then I will figure your dead and I’ll take action my way.” He told Mike. Mike just nodded and started walking down the path to the lake, he didn’t want to arrive on the reservoirs shore until dusk. He went over his plan in his head. Swim the thousand feet across the water, then hike across Moore Island. Mike then had to enter the water again cross swim across to Pittman Hill on the peninsula sticking out south from the north shore, swim across a narrower cove, maybe a little less than a thousand feet, pulling and carrying his equipment while doing it. Mike was in good shape, he’s been running and working out steadily since he was shot and felt good, not up to top seal team shape but not far off either. So he gave himself three hours to traverse the water and land to the other side.
Around six thirty Mike entered the water towing his two water tight bags using flippers to power himself across. The water was fairly calm and cold but soon warmed up inside his suit, he propelled himself across the thousand feet or so on his back using his legs and flippers checking he was on course every five minutes. If he heard any engine noise at all he would stop and drift until he was sure it wasn’t related to him. Soon he was pulling himself up onto Moore Island which he had to cross, a thousand feet or so according to the maps. His biggest worry was running into a bear or other large wild life. They all roamed the Quabbin reservoir lands. Mike was soon entering the water again to crossover to Pittman Hill on the Peninsula cross that piece of land then back to the water for a short stretch which he did in around fifteen minutes.
By this time it was dark. The kind of dark you only get when you’re in the deep woods with no moon. Mike dressed in his black BDU’s and stashed his wet suit in the bag that held his gear he was putting on. BDU’s, black boots load bearing vest with a light weight ballistic panels inserted in it. He put on a pair of night vision goggles over his black face mask, before the mask he painted his face in black and green just in case he had to remove his mask. Next he screwed on his suppressors onto his M-4 rifle and his M & P .45 caliber both barrels were altered to fit the suppressors too as you couldn’t just pick one up at your local gun store and he wanted no records of it. The actual suppressors he and Mac made in his Machine shop in Mac’s Garage. It’s a hobby of his. Using subsonic rounds he figured he was good for around forty rounds each before the noise level became noticeable again. Anyone could still hear the actions on the guns, the suppressor only stopped the crack from the gas escaping at sonic speeds, the suppressor slowed down the gas escaping in baffles in the suppressor cutting down the noise to something and average person’s ear would probably mistake for something other than a gunshot.
He took a moment and breathed in a controlled manner. Time to move, he got to his feet and after checking his GPS he marked his location on his device and moved into the forest slipping between the trees with hardly a sound. Everything was in hues of green, it was enough for him to move through the woods silently. Ten minutes he should be on the perimeter of the Marauders chapter house. From what info they could gather at any one time there were between four to twelve members present at any one time. Mike was in the operational mode now, he could see lights at a compound, and it looked like two buildings a house with a fairly large barn and a shed behind the house.
Mike circled the perimeter completely crossing the road to check the other side out toward the front of the house and back again around the other side until he was to the rear of the barn. He could hear a whimpering coming from the barn, Mike had a bad feeling about this, but he was committed. Observing a bulkhead cellar door entrance to the basement of the barn, he listened for a full fifteen minutes. Other than the occasional whimper he heard nothing. Circling around to the side of the barn again to observe the house he could see shadows pass the lit windows a few times. Looking at the house it was an old farm style with wrap around porch with two floors and a steep roof on top of the second floor, maybe twenty eight hundred feet of floor space. Eight motorcycles were parked in front of the porch. He figured at least eight, probably a few more maybe with some girlfriends too. It’s a lot, he was concerned. Mike went back to the rear of the barn and listened for a few more minutes, with no sound he gently lifted the bulkhead cellar door and listened again, he then entered. Pitch dark darkness greeted him with just a little ambient light from outside the bulkhead his night vision goggles enabled him to see enough to see the interior. Four cages were built between support posts and sleeping in each cage, which was around eight by eight with maybe five feet of headroom were at least three girls to each. They had metal collars around there necks with a chain attached to the bars on either side.
One of the girls whimpered out loud, recognizing the whimper he heard earlier. These F*&#k’s were human traffickers he concluded right away. A burning fury was building in him while starting to come up with a plan. Mike read and knew about human trafficking, but it was something removed from America, rationalizing like most people. He should have known better, being familiar with such things in the slums of the Middle East. In the past, Mike compartmentalize those things when he came home from deployment.
Analyzing the situation, nothing has changed he could still follow the Plan. Backing out of the barn he checked the shed next. It was just a shed with equipment in it. Mike guessed even shit heads like these had to do yard work. Pulling a small gun out of his back pack and inserting a barrel then hooking up the CO2 cartridge and presto he had a dart gun with an accurate range of fifty feet in the hands of an expert, and no mistaken, Mike was an expert.
The M-4 rifle with its suppressor hung from its three point strap, his suppressed 45 was in a specially built holster on his right side slung low and tied off to his leg. He carried his dart gun as his primary weapon with an injectable tranquilizer dart strong enough to put down a horse. He hoped he didn’t kill any on them by accident, but he needed enough medication to put them down fast and silent. Looking at his watch it was nine p.m. he had a little wait ahead of him. Someone passed in front of the window and he could see that they were drinking, Mike smiled and hunkered down in some bushes near the side of the barn.
Three hours later most of the light in the house were turned off. Two shadows exited the house and started to walk across the gravel yard toward the barn. Mike could see they were both male about his size or so. Times up he thought, they must be going to check on the girls, he was surprised they didn’t have guard on them.
Mike could hear them talking as they approached without a care in the world. “Hey man, that Seana was some hot piece of ass.” Mike exploded in fury, coming out of the bushes in a silent rush, shooting the closest in the left side of his neck from four feet away as he ran past drawing his knife from his vest, slicing down the second shit heads right arm because chances were he was right handed, and reversing the handle in the same move punching into the back of his head just above the neck as he passed. Both subjects were down and silent behind Mike as he faced the house with rage fueled adrenalin pumping through his arteries. He observed the house and there was no motion. Nobody heard the commotion, what there was of it. He dragged both unconscious idiots around the side of the barn and injected the one he cold cocked with a Tranquilizer to make sure he stayed out. Two down uncertain number of jackasses left. Mike told himself.
He figured within fifteen to twenty minutes someone else was coming out to check on the two that never came back, thinking they were having a little fun with the merchandise. Mike normally a calm and calculating person who now smoldered to kill these A-holes. Ah, here comes someone to the front door. Mike timed it so he was approaching the front steps as the man after closing the front door turned and was coming down the steps. Mike shot him in the front throat with the tranquilizer gun, he caught him as he fell and guided him to the ground for less noise. He quickly reloaded the dart gun as it was only a single shot gun. Immediately advancing opening the front door, a couch was facing away from him with a man and a women necking on it.
