Monday, 5 October 2015

The Operation

"Sweet child o' mine, sweet love o' mine." Bellowed Cassidy, having to try exceptionally hard not to beat her foot against the pedals too much. The radio blared away in front of her, Axel Rose's voice drowned out by her own. Rain pelted against the hood, creating metallic tinkles with each droplet. She was thrashing her head up and down, spraying her long brown hair out in either direction as she did. "Sweet child 'mine, sweet love o' mine!"
She slid her fingers in a one hundred and eighty degree turned, pointing towards her passenger. Tom, who had also been beating his head along to the music, instantly grabbed an air guitar and began to thrum his fingers against it. Cassidy, who had been taught how to play a guitar as a child, knew that he wasn't in anyway playing the right notes, but she didn't point it out. They were both having a good time, that was enough.
At least he was keeping time with Slash, blaring out of the radio like he was stood just in between them. Tom's fingers slid across the imaginary strings, plucking all sorts of cords. His heads rocked and his hair swung, his feet bumping against the floor with such momentum that he was surprised he hadn't kicked a hole in the floor.
"Doors open in two minutes." The radio announced, Guns N' Roses ending instantly. Cassidy picked up her radio and thanked HQ, reassuring them that they were getting ready. Tom held back a laugh as he fitted his ear pieced into his ear and then clipped his radio onto his belt. His hand sunk to the glove compartment, where an biometric scanner studied his finger prints and then validated his privileges. The glovebox swung open and he took two square boxes from it, handing one to Cassidy and keeping the other for herself. She tied her hair back into a strict pony tail and then opened the box. She took her handgun out of it and examined it. The Heckler and Koch VP9. It was seven hundred and twenty grams, so just lighter than a bag of sugar. She slid a magazine of parabellum rounds into the handle and flicked the safety off. Tom did the same, pulling the slide barrel back so that the ammunition was live. He took a quick look at Cassidy, his eyes saying Ready?
You bet it. She said back.
Like one well oiled machine, they both opened their doors and climbed out into the drizzle of the early autumn air. Tom thrust his gun into his pocket, ready to fire it through the lining of his jacket should anyone jump out at them. Cassidy put her's through the waistband of her trousers and closed her jacket over it. Not ideal but better hidden. Less likely to be found if they decided to search her.
The ground squelched under their Doc Martens as they took synchronised steps towards the warehouse door. It was an imposing building, decrepit and rundown with just enough strength to project an air of horror about it. It was meant to have been knocked down a week ago, but a mysterious benefactor had bought it at the last minute, intent on preserving it's brutalist architecture. And committing even more brutal activities within.
They got to the door, a six foot rectangle carved out of the corrugated iron wall. There was a keypad to it's side, a flashing red light laughing in their face, refusing them access. Cassidy risked a quick glance towards the watch on her wrist. Five seconds.
"Opening in three, two, one." Said the voice in her ear, it's pronunciation almost deafening. The light to the side of the door blinked green, the door clunking open. "We won't be able to see you in the warehouse, so you're going dark. Good luck."
They stepped into the warehouse. Their feet seemed to echo against the concrete floor but they didn't let that phase them. They kept moving, creeping alongside the wall until they came across the first doorway. It was closed, so Cassidy took her time as she crept to the far side of it, Tom staying on the near. They both drew their guns, nodding at each other when they were ready; urging each other to go first. In the end, Cassidy decided to make the first move. She stepped in front of the door and lifted her foot, slicing it just left and below the centre. A wobble reverberated through the door but it burst open, revealing an empty room. There were two doors opposite, one in each corner. Cassidy returned her gun to where it belonged and went over to the tables in between those two doors.
Tom kept his gun at the ready, training it on one door then the other. His ears were more alert than ever to the patting of footprints, the buzzing of flies, the blink and hum of the electric lights. He could hear a slight movement on the other side of the right door, so he lingered slightly on that before turning to the next. He had already noted the position of the knives in the small kitchenette in the corner, knowing that would be where he retreated to if he ran out of bullets.
Cassidy search through the files and found nothing. They were just the deeds of the property and the acquisition rites for a couple of cars. She made a mental note of the registration plates then gestured to Tom for them to head towards the doors. He pointed to the right one and made a quick gesture which meant, 'Occupied.'
'How many?' She signed back.
He shrugged, pointing his gun to the left door. He crept over to it and gave it a brief nudge with his foot. It swung open easily enough, revealing a broom cupboard. He routed through the shelves but found nothing of any use, instead resorting to his gun again. He joined Cassidy at the right door and motioned to it with his head. She nodded and kicked it open.
The door swung open fully and they burst in, guns waving in every direction. Within a few seconds, they'd both mapped the entire room, understanding where everything was in relation to everything else. A selection of barrels were arranged in clusters in front of tables which held tools and make shift contraptions which Tom knew were for bomb making.
In the centre of the room was a single chair, a girl sat on it tied in chains. She looked thinner than she had in her most recent Instagram post, taken a week ago. The bags under her eyes didn't look as small, but probably because they hadn't had plenty of makeup to cover them up. She looked at them with a desperate plea in her teary eyes. If the masking tape had not been tight over her mouth, she probably would have attempted a smile.
To her either side were four men with machine guns, none of whom looked very impressed to see them there. Cassidy raised her gun and shot one of them through the head, jumping away from where she had been stood and hiding behind one of the long metal struts which cut through the air. Bullets scattered after herself and Tom, one of them reaching the blue rubber barrels they'd noticed earlier. Upon impact, the barrels tore themselves apart in a gigantic ball of fire. Whilst the gunmen were distracted, Tom took out a couple of their legs and raced towards the chair, falling to his knees behind. Cassidy fired a few shots to draw the final gunmen's attention. Another barrel exploded, it's booming ricochet deafening everyone within the warehouse.
Tom dropped his gun into his pocket, pressing the button of his flip knife and slicing the ropes which bound the girl's hands. Her hands fell free and she used them to pull the tape from her mouth. Over the bang of gunfire and the continued explosions, Tom shouted, "Are you Rosemary Travers?"
"Rose." She shouted back. "Who are you?"
"We're the Secret Service." He shouted. "We're here to save your life. Get up and follow me."
He emptied his VP9 into the surviving gunman and then grabbed his machine gun. Rose was behind him, Cassidy in front. The three of them raced through the burning building, towards the door they'd entered through and the car they'd got there in.
Yes, they'd saved the damsel in distress but the game had only just begun.

No comments:

Post a Comment