The Storm Maker (26 page)

       Suddenly
the main door was flung open, hitting the wall. The police chief dropped his
pen, looked up and then stood up. Five men lunged into the room; one of them
pointed his pistol at the chief, while the other four aimed their rifles at the
rest of the staff. The elderly policeman had dropped his newspaper when the
door had slammed open, and picked up his shotgun and was aiming it right back.
The young policeman making coffee had also managed to grab a repeating rifle
out of the rifle rack and aimed it at the intruders. But the rest of the
policemen were caught off guard and no one had managed to draw their pistols.

       “Nobody
move,” the intruder with the pistol shouted.

       “Why,
you have to be mad, fellow,” the police chief said as he eyed his own pistol on
the table. “You are attacking a police station.”

       “Seems
like we hold all the aces now,” the same intruder said smirking at the shocked
policemen who were still holding their cards in their hands.  “I am Capitan
Suka Manx, and if you want to live you will order your men to drop their guns.”

       The
police chief took stock of the situation. He could not reach his own pistol in
time and fire it before this man called Suka opened up. A couple of his men
were ready to fire with a shotgun and a rifle, but they could not take out all
five before the invaders opened up. The rest would try to draw their pistols;
he would be sacrificing at least five to six lives in the gamble. He would not
do that. He decided to stall for time.

       “Capitan
of what?” police chief asked. “What kind of a syndicate dares attack a police
station?”

       “Concerns
you none,” Suka said. “Now I know what you are thinking, chief. You are
thinking ‘can I reach for that pistol’ and ‘can my boys draw their pistols fast
enough
’
, but let me tell you, don’t bother. Instead ask that grandpa
with shotgun to look out the window behind him.”

       The
chief nodded at the elderly policeman who slowly moved back while keeping his
shotgun aimed at the intruders and then turned his head to look out the window.

       “My…”
he stuttered, “There are ten...fifteen men outside with rifles.”

       “Now
tell that boy to look out his windows,” Suka pointed to the policeman near the
coffee table who stepped back a bit to reach the window and look out.

       “Chief,
same here,” he said, “ten to fifteen armed men in our parking lot.”

       “So
what is it going to be chief?” Suka asked.

       Police
chief realized that his situation was hopeless. However, there were still a few
policemen off duty. He had to bide his time and hope they would call the
colonel of the local warrior class.

       “Throw
down your guns boys,” police chief said. A few dropped their pistols to the
ground right away; a couple were hesitant and looked at him and he nodded to
them. He stepped away from his table.

       “Take
them away,” Suka said to his men, and they led the policemen outside. They also
picked up their pistols and took all the rifles and shotguns from their
respective racks. Suka was still holding his pistol as he walked over to the
chief.

       “Call
in your off duty policemen,” Suka said, “one by one.”

       “They
patrol in twos,” Chief said.

       “Fine,
call them in pairs, but call them all,” Suka said. “I know you have seventeen
policemen in Coldwoods; eleven are here, now you call the remaining six.”

       The
police chief was now distressed, realizing that there would be no one left to
call for help. The town folk would take a while to realize that their police
were in trouble. There was barely any crime in Coldwoods; the last arrest they
had made was more than three months ago. Police absence would not be noticed
quickly.

       Suka
saw that the police chief was lost in thought and stepped closer, directing his
pistol right at him. “Start making the calls, or else.”

The
chief had no choice and he complied with Suka’s demands. As the off duty
policemen came in, Suka’s men grabbed them in the parking lot.

* * *

       It
was a long drive from Southstar to Coldwoods and Sayett felt strange once again
traveling down the same road where he had been ambushed. But now he had some
serious muscle with him. The road was nearly empty, as it had been before, and
Sayett struck up a conversation with the driver.

       “What’s
your name, son?” he asked. “Are you from around here?”

       “I
am Qyett,” the driver replied, “I live in Southstar...have lived there all of
my life and have driven all over this area. That’s why they made me your
driver.”

       “You
must know this area very well?” Sayett said.

       Qyett
nodded.

       “Ever
been to Coldwoods?” Sayett asked.

       “Actually,
yes,” Qyett said, “and I am not surprised that is where the trouble lies.”

       “What
do you mean?”

       “I
have a friend, well he is actually a distant cousin, who owns a hardware store,
well it’s actually an industrial supply store and I drive a truck for him every
now and then, delivering to customers,” Qyett said. “Some months year ago he
started having these foreign customers who bought a lot of materials from him
and they always had it delivered to Coldwoods when they didn’t pick it up.”

       “Foreigners?
Ranxians?”

       “We
wouldn’t know I don’t know what a Ranxian looks like, neither does my cousin.
They were foreigners for sure though.”

       “But
why do you think they were suspicious?” Sayett asked.

       “He
found it odd that they always paid cash even when they were buying expensive
equipment and machinery. But what made him real suspicious was that when they
had their purchases delivered, they never gave an office address. They had it
delivered at the side of the road in Coldwoods where they would load it up on
their own cars. What’s more, some of the goods they ordered were so specialized
that even my cousin’s big industrial supply store did not stock them. He had to
order it from the manufacturers and then deliver it.”

       “What
kind of goods?” Sayett interest was heightened.

       “Now,
I know what you are thinking, Detective Sayett,” Qyett laughed. “Industrial
goods, all paid in cash, shady foreigners—you are thinking illegal arms makers
and smugglers. But it wasn’t that. It was more radio, electrical and
meteorological equipment and parts. So my cousin knows that I am a guard in
SPASI. He had me deliver it to them one time and I went down to Coldwoods and
exchanged products for cash on the side of the road. That was during my off
hours and I didn’t wear the uniform so they didn’t suspect me.”

       “Did
you report it to SPASI?” Sayett asked.

       “Before
we delivered, a junior detective and I went through all their purchases. We
compared it to the list SPASI maintains of the tools and the machines needed to
make arms. Not many products in common. Further, the orders and visits to my
cousin’s store by them suddenly stopped. So we didn’t pursue the matter
further.”

       “That’s
quiet strange I have to admit,” Sayett said, “although large cash purchases
would explain why they robbed so many banks—they needed the Starfirian currency
to buy these tools. At the same time these people did not buy any material that
would pique SPASI’s interest either, as you found out.”

       “I
might be getting excited and connecting things,” Qyett said. “This might not be
the syndicate that we are going after on this raid.”

       “Well,
we will find out soon enough,” Sayett said. “Let’s see if your cousin’s
products turn up during the search.”

       Sayett
then relaxed against the back of the seat. He took out his pistol and kept it
on the dashboard and closed his eyes. “Wake me up when you see the Coldwoods
town board.”

       “Will
do.”

       They
drove a few hours, Sayett had a nice nap, and he was quite wide awake now. His
pistol was still on the dashboard. He rubbed his eyes and yawned once.

       “Feeling
fresh?” Qyett asked him.

       “Ready
for the raid,” Sayett said smiling. “How far to Coldwoods now?”

       “Almost
there,” Qyett said, pointing ahead at a one lane side road. “That road is a
shortcut to the town police station. I am going to turn there.”

       “No,”
Sayett said. “Keep going straight. We are not going to the police station, but
directly to their address.”

       “Not
bringing police with us?”

       “I
don’t know if they can be trusted,” Sayett said. “With all the millions of
stars that these people have robbed from the banks, they could have bribed one
or two policemen who might alert them of our presence.”

       “As
you say, Chief,” Qyett answered and kept driving straight, past the side road,
followed by the other nine trucks.

       Now
they were deep in the backcountry. Dense trees lined both sides of the road,
there were barely any other cars and the mountains were visible at some
distance. Suddenly Qyett braked hard, pointed ahead and shouted, “Four men on
the road! They have rifles.”

       There
were four men standing in the middle of the road with their rifles aimed and
ready to fire.

       “Pointed
right at us,” Sayett said grabbing his pistol.

       Sayett
ducked under the dashboard, Qyett grabbed his submachine gun from the dashboard
and ducked just as a hail of bullets shattered their large windshield and
covered them with broken glass.

       “We
could run them over,” Sayett said.

       “I
don’t think so,” Qyett replied, “I saw two big cars parked across the road just
behind them.”

       “You
are right,” Sayett said. “They would have shot out our tires as well.”

       The
bullets were hitting the back of the front seat compartment and although they
were losing velocity on impact, the ricochet hits still felt like stings.

       The
next moment it appeared as if the entire forest had opened up with automatic
fire with bullets hitting both sides of all the SPASI trucks. SPASI guards
returned fire into the woods with their submachine guns. They had a one-foot
tall opening in the middle of the truck across the length of the each side,
bifurcated with a steel rod. It allowed the SPASI guards to fire back;
unfortunately it also meant that the bullets came in as well. Sayett heard
sounds of both the SPASI submachine guns as well as the Ranx Rifles. The
bullets were hitting trucks, trees, tires, roads, whizzing into the air as well
injuring and slaying the fighters on both sides.

       “We
are under fire from both sides,” a SPASI guard in another truck shouted through
the radio.

       “Stay
off the radio for my orders,” Sayett replied. The shouts on the inter-truck
radio died down. Both Sayett and Qyett were still under intense fire that
wasn’t letting up. Sayett knew the gunmen were smart, they were firing one at a
time; when one of them ran out of the bullets, another took over. Sayett and
Qyett occasionally returned fire over the now open front; however they could
barely lift up their hand for more than a quick moment to avoid getting hit.
Their position was already elevated in the truck and they would have had to
point their guns downward. Thus their bullets were mostly going in the air at
an upward angle.

       “There
must be tens of them in the woods,” Qyett said. “Bullets are splattering the
truck left and right.”

       Sayett
took the main radio and connected directly to the SPASI headquarters.        “Chief
Detective Sayett to SPASI Chief...Sayett to SPASI Chief, we are under
attack...I repeat, under massive attack!”

       Within
a minute Chief Yucker was on the radio, “Sayett where are you? What is going
on?”

       “Under
ambush,” Sayett said, “by tens of riflemen. We are inside Coldwoods area,” he
looked at Qyett who nodded his head, “approaching the target.”

       “Can
you fight them off?” Yucker asked.

       “Unlikely,”
Sayett said, while the bullets kept passing and hitting over their heads. “They
got us good; we are caught in the middle.”

       “You
hold strong, Sayett; I am going to the House of War right now,” Yucker said, “I
am going to get help.”

       “Alright
then,” Sayett said.

       Yucker
clicked off on his side. Sayett put down the radio speaker and changed his
pistol magazine.

       “How
long before the help comes?” Qyett asked.

       “Chief
Yucker will call the Supreme Commander and get the mobilization going,” Sayett
said. “But when they reach here depends on where the closest army base is.”

       “They
should mobilize the local warrior class,” Qyett said.

       “They
might do just that. But they will take at least a couple of hours as well.”