Undeclared War (18 page)

“Well, yeah,” Bear said. “I phoned them last night after I had left the club and headed back to the hide. Both of them demanded to know where and when after I told them you needed help, and why.”

“Your family is involved,” Ben said bluntly. “You don't go after a man's family, no matter what. So why don't you sit the fuck down and tell us what you need?”

Reaper stood for a moment looking at the table and the men surrounding it. He understood the brotherhood of warriors, how those who had shed blood together shared a bond that outsiders would find almost impossible to understand. But Reaper
had never been someone who liked asking for help. He hadn't even thought of contacting men like these, his friends, to share danger with him. It took another member of that brotherhood to recognize the situation and put the call out. That would be something he would owe Bear for a long time to come, one of those debts that are shared between close friends but are never really spoken about.

Coming to a decision, Reaper sat down and started to brief his friends on the situation.

“Short version,” Reaper said, “we have an unknown number of hostiles who have taken two hostages and are holding them at an unknown place. Our only suspected location of the hostages is at a nightclub in a converted six-story factory building near downtown Detroit.

“The building is in a poor neighborhood with a limited civilian population nearby. My intention is for Bear and me to conduct a penetration of the target building to either locate the hostages and bring them out, or develop further intelligence as to their location.”

“How do you expect to develop that intelligence?” Warrick asked.

“I intend making a prisoner of the man in charge of the organization who took the hostages in the first place,” Reaper said with a cold stare at Warrick.

“Do we have identification on this individual?” Ben asked.

“Yes,” Reaper said, “he was positively identified at the target last night. His name is Steven Arzee. If he's not the top man in charge, he can tell us who is.”

“I think he may still be pissed about Reaper ripping the ass off his favorite car,” Bear said

“Always thought a Vette was a pussy-ass car,” Ben said. “Count me in.”

“Took your family, huh?” Max said. “Sounds like a good guy to mess with. I'm in. When did you want to take him down?”

Reaper looked at the men around the table. Bear leaned back in his chair with a soft smile across his face. Max and Ben both looked committed to action and intent on Reaper's every word. He felt a sudden surge of pride in the trust these men put in him.

“Time is something we don't have much of,” Reaper said. “We go tonight.”

Having made the decision to go ahead with the operation, Reaper lost no time in bringing Deckert, Max, and Ben up to speed on what he and Bear had observed the day before. All of the men around the table were experienced professionals. They knew the risks in conducting an operation—especially a clandestine one with no official support.

In fact, there was far less than official support for their proposed actions. What they were planning to do sitting around that kitchen table was just plain illegal. Even just talking about what they had in mind would be considered conspiracy to commit a criminal act. In spite of that, they committed themselves to the action without reservations. They knew Reaper and trusted his judgment.

And Reaper trusted the men he was briefing. Each of them would be able to recognize specific strengths and weaknesses in the tactical situation or in his plan according to their own experiences. The specific plan of assault on the Factory was some
thing Reaper still had to work out in his mind. A bull session with his friends would greatly help him finalize that plan.

“Here's the target,” Reaper said as he laid a large sheet of paper on the table. The sheet was an aerial view of the Factory and the area surrounding it. It had been made up by Deckert, taping together sheets of printouts from an Internet Web service to make a single large picture. The warped-diamond shape of the highway intersection stood out as the main feature at the bottom of the shot. Near the middle of the sheet was the roof of the Factory building. The angle of the shot showed some of the south side of the building but the detail was limited by the one-meter resolution of the original picture.

Pointing to the Factory building, Reaper continued.

“The basic structure was originally a small-scale auto plant. On the east end of the building were the administrative and engineering offices. They were separated from the construction floor by cinder-block walls. On the construction floor there are concrete support pillars every twenty feet the length and breadth of the building.

“This is a great big son of a bitch and the location of the building is an interesting one. It borders two major highways, so there are very limited avenues of approach from the south and east. It's right on the border of three different police districts but lies inside the Thirteenth District. It isn't known if the owner has paid off the local police or has some kind of arrangement with them, but during our time in the observation post, we didn't see a single police cruiser anywhere near the building.

“We can't have any contact with the local police or fire personnel. If they come into the area, we either have to withdraw or lay up until they leave. They're friendlies, whether they know it or not, so this isn't a permissive environment. We can't open fire on our own.

“So we'll have to keep it very tight, people. No firing whatsoever unless it is absolutely necessary and you are sure of your target. We are going to operate as if it's a hostile environment—but the rules of engagement are solid and there isn't any room for mistakes.”

Reaper went on describing the building and what he and Bear had seen during their long vigil. Bear pointed out details of the exterior of the building where he had seen them, and he carefully described the interior of the first floor and the layout of the club facilities there.

A single huge band and dance area dominated the western end of the building, the stage stretching half the width of the building. Four additional smaller band stages and dance areas stretched along the rest of the floor. Scattered about were sections of tables being served from the bar that ran along the northeast wall, and the kitchen area in the first floor of what had been the admin offices.

Bear had seen no sign of Arzee or the two goons that Reaper had carefully described. The briefing/ planning session continued with more and more details being brought forward and described. The photographs that Reaper and Bear had taken had been cleaned, cropped, and printed by Deckert. Reaper brought these out and handed them around. In addi
tion, Deckert had been doing research on the Internet about the plant and its history. Through that source, he had come up with a number of photos of what the inside of the plant used to look like.

An unusual feature of the cinder-block and steel construction building was that the floors were covered with thick blocks of wood. These blocks helped dampen vibration from the various machines when they had been running. Bear said that it made a very interesting walking surface.

But the biggest question couldn't be answered from the information they had in front of them—where was Reaper's family? Nowhere could they find a specific area where hostages would probably be taken. The only real clues they had came from the observations taken by Reaper and Bear.

“The only floors that were lit at all,” Reaper said, “were the first and sixth floors. The first floor was lit up because of the club. The sixth floor had some of the offices on the eastern end of the building lit up during the evening, even past the 2
A.M.
closing time of the club. That's a pretty good indicator that nothing much happens on the four middle floors of the building.”

“Unless they just shield the lights,” Ben said. “That's a pretty big floor area to try and search.”

“No arguing that,” Reaper said. “But we did see some lights being used in the middle area of the sixth floor. According to the information Keith came up with, there are no rooms or walls to speak of on almost any of the construction floors. So any rooms that we do see had to be added after the place was
turned into a club—and we search them. But the main target I see is the sixth floor.”

“There were ramps, a big stairway near the front door, and several elevators going up to the rest of the floors,” Bear said. “But they are all either locked up or closed off. There's only one set of stairs near the front door that aren't secured with a lock and chain—and they have a guard, or at least a big goon acting like a bouncer, stationed right in front of them.”

“Looks like the upper floor is it then,” Ben said.

“Yes, I think it is,” Reaper agreed, “besides, we have no other real choice.”

“You know,” Max said, “if I could climb up on this billboard to the southeast of the building, I could control the entire eastern face of the place with a good rifle. The trick will be getting up there with something like that without being spotted for what I am.”

“Oh, I think we can find you something suitable for the job,” Deckert said with smile. “There's some stuff in the vault downstairs that just might fit the bill perfectly. You leave that stubble on your chin in place, dirty up a bit, and wear some old clothes, and you could pass for a street person just wandering around. No one would even look at you twice.”

“That's a hell of an idea,” Reaper said. “We scrounge up an old shopping cart and fill it with crap and make up our own street person. We could hide a rifle easily enough with a little work.”

“What I have in mind won't take a little work,” Deckert said. “I'll be back in a minute.”

With that, he rolled away from the table and went over to the door to the basement.

“Bear,” Deckert said, “could you give me a hand bringing some gear up?”

“Not a problem,” Bear said as he got up and walked over to the stairs.

A lift device had been bolted to the wall that combined with tracks on the stairs to let Deckert travel to and from the basement of the building. As soon as Deckert had cleared the stairway, Bear followed him down and the two men disappeared under the house leaving Reaper, Ben, and Max still sitting around the table planning.

While Bear and Deckert scrounged around down in the basement, Reaper and the others continued to detail out their assault on the factory. Max would provide fire support from his billboard sniper hide while Reaper and Bear went into the building itself. Ben would have the hardest job on the site. He would provide transport and maintain security around the outside of the building while Bear and Reaper conducted the assault. Deckert would remain at the shop where he could coordinate communications over cell phones.

By the time Deckert and Bear had come back up from the basement, Reaper and the others had worked out a basic plan. When Reaper saw the packages, cases, and boxes that Bear and Deckert had brought up from the security vault in the basement, he couldn't hide his surprise. He recognized what the men were carrying. This was more than he could have honestly expected.

“Keith,” Reaper said, “you can't do this. These are the most expensive parts of our inventory. I can't let…”

“Shut up, squid, and give us a hand,” Deckert said as he cut Reaper off. “It's not up to you to say what I can and cannot do with the inventory. I may not be able to go out and operate with you guys because of these wheels of mine, but I can damned well still be a supply sergeant if I choose to!”

Deckert and Bear quickly laid out the materials they'd brought on the kitchen counter. Deckert started opening up some of the boxes while Bear went back down to the basement for another load.

“I think you may find this to your liking, Max,” Deckert said as he set out on the countertop what looked to be a soft-sided laptop computer case. D-ring attachment points were sewn into the back side of the black Cordura nylon case, making it able to be secured a number of ways for carrying. As Deckert unzipped the sides of the case, he folded back the top to display the contents.

Inside the case lay the components of a tactical sniper rifle—broken down so that no single part was more than sixteen inches long.

“Holy shit,” said Max, impressed by what he saw, “just what the hell is it?”

“It's an Arms Tech Limited Model TTR-700 rifle,” said Deckert. “That's their Tactical Takedown Rifle. It looks like something out of Hollywood, doesn't it?”

“I should say so,” Max said.

“Well, this ain't from the movies,” Deckert said. “This is the real thing. That's a modified Remington 700 bolt-action fitted and bedded to a custom Choate
folding stock. The Schneider match-grade stainless steel fluted barrel is sixteen inches long with a recessed muzzle crown. It's also threaded for an MD-30 muzzle suppressor which is in the bottom of the case. There's a Leupold VARI-X IIc three to nine power, 40mm variable tactical scope on quick release mounts guaranteed to hold their accuracy. And there's room for two twenty-round boxes of ammunition. The whole weapon goes together in thirty to sixty seconds from the time that you open the case. It's chambered for 7.62 NATO and is black oxide-finished for protection and cutting down reflection.”

“Is it accurate?” questioned Max.

“Fires to half an inch, a half-minute of angle, with the proper ammunition,” Deckert said. “And we have the proper ammunition. There's Federal 308 Winchester Match, 168-grain boat-tail hollowpoint ammo in these white boxes. In this blue box may be something you're not used to. It's Engel Ballistic Research Incorporated's 7.62mm Thumper ammo. That's match-grade 220-grain subsonic ammo. With the suppressor in place and using EBR's Thumper ammo, that gun isn't much louder than a mouse fart.”

Max looked like a kid in a candy store as he professionally examined the weapon in the case, and started to assemble it. Bear had brought up the rest of the boxes from the basement and Deckert was displaying more materials and weapons. The next weapon Deckert laid out proved to be just as impressive as the takedown rifle in its case, only this weapon was much smaller still.

“That is the smallest shotgun I have ever seen,”
Ben said as he looked at what appeared to be a giant pistol.

“That's a Serbu Super-Shorty 12-gauge shotgun. That front operating handle folds down and locks into place so that you have something to hold onto when you fire it. And you need something to grab, this gun does not play nice. It's a modified Mossberg pump-action shotgun, fitted with a pistol grip and a folding front grip. The whole gun is only 16.5 inches long with a 6.5-inch barrel and weighs 4.5 pounds empty. It holds three rounds, two in the magazine and one in the chamber, but those are full-sized 12-gauge rounds.

“Right here,” Deckert said as he opened up a cardboard box, “is from SKI Industries. It's the first holster made for the Serbu Super-Shorty. It's a black nylon CQB-style drop-down leg holster with a partial break-front that holds the shotgun with its forward grip folded. It has straps to hold it to your thigh, and an elastic restraining strap for the gun. The loops on the outside of the holster hold an extra three rounds and the whole rig is ambidextrous. You could fast-draw this thing if you wanted to. Makes it just about the biggest handgun you could ask for.”

“Pretty much answers the question about whose gun is bigger, doesn't it?” Ben said.

“A manly gun for manly men,” Bear said with a grin.

“Yeah, and a pretty special one with the ammunition I have for it,” Deckert said, picking up a smaller ammunition box from a larger case. “This is Mark II Aerodynamic, drag-stabilized, expandable-baton
shotgun ammunition. And it will feed and fire in that Serbu Super-Shorty.”

“You sure you don't have a job with the company making this stuff?” Bear asked. “You sound like an ordnance salesman.”

“Yeah, well it's not like I expect you to pay for it,” Deckert said.

“Bear,” Reaper said, “will you shut up? I think I know what he's leaning towards with this one.”

“You got it,” Deckert said. “These are really good beanbag rounds. You load up the Super-Shorty with these and it'll give you a less-than-lethal option. These shells throw a forty gram nylon bag with a stabilizing tail at about three hundred feet per second from a standard riot gun. That stubby barrel on the Super-Shorty will cut way back on that velocity, but they still should be effective to at least twenty yards. It'll be like hitting the guy with a Sunday punch—while wearing brass knuckles.”