THE INSIDE of the warehouse was pitch black. It was like entering another part of the world.
"Hey Clay," my partner whispered "I can't see my nose."
Cameron was a joker. He would make jokes from even the darkest situation. Excuse the pun.
We entered cautiously. The air inside here was still and dry. Like the air of a museum I visited some days ago.
Being partners for 5 years, we knew each other's weaknesses. Cameron had a blind spot outside of his left eye, so I always stayed by his left.
We had just taken a few steps when I heard a shuffle above and felt the air above me stir. I pushed Cameron with my right hand and leapt towards the left as bright lights flooded the warehouse. It illuminated everywhere. It was the type of lights you would find in a football stadium.
The warehouse was massive. About a hundred feet long and a hundred and fifty high. There was a balcony, about eighty feet high that ran round the whole length of the warehouse. Kind of dividing it into two almost equal halves. Upper and lower. There may be a couple of backdoor or offices or holding pens behind it because the whole balcony by our sides were filled with trigger-hungry men. Their submachine guns were trained down on us.
Luckily, Cameron had enough sense to roll behind a large machine. I, on the other hand was not so lucky. The only thing protecting me was a large wooden crate.
Thinking fast, I reached into a strap in my long sable coat and took a canister. Cameron got what I wanted to do and did the same.
We both pulled the pin and dropped the can. A thick grey fog covered the whole place around us. The men, not liking one bit of our little show, opened fire.
The mixed sounds of more than 50 SMGs blasted the air.
We remained calm. Waiting for the reload moment. I could pick out the sound of an Uzi, a calico, an MP5 and a Beretta model 38. These people were loaded for a bear.
After some time, Most of the guns started clicking shut. Mag empty. That was our cue. I added an extended clip to my H&K MP7. We moved out. Placing well-aimed shots. A couple of bullets per person. Taking out the ones still blasting before the ones reloading. It felt like a scene from James Bond.
Then I saw it. It was our lucky day. Oil containers placed at some strategic places. Probably to fuel some type of machine. I don't know. I don't care. I placed a shot there. The bullet hit home.
The container exploded and sent six men tumbling down over the rail. Cameron saw what I did and followed suit. Shooting the container and taking care of more than 4 men per shot. It saves bullet. I smiled.
It was all going smoothly until a black Volvo sedan drove in from behind us. The guy on the passenger seat, a black guy with half chipped front tooth. He looked like a big guy from the way his arms were long and they bulged with muscles.
He held an M16. An M16 is a lot of fire power. Having a magazine capacity of 30 rounds and a fifteen round per minute rate of fire, It has a point target of almost 2,000 feet. It was a powerful gun.
He placed the M16 on the windowsill of the car. and sprayed bullets. I ducked just in time to hear a whizz pass my ear and feel a draft of hot air.
I saw three bullets cut into Cameron and watched him go down. The black guy, obviously thought we were both hit because he guffawed loudly. The driver horned twice. Another black pickup truck drove into the warehouse before stopping at a door at the front end. The big black guy stepped out of the Volvo. Big was an understatement. He was gigantic. Maybe six feet seven inches. And he looked three-twenty, three-thirty pounds. He was no featherweight.
He stepped out with an easy elastic grace of an athlete. He opened the door and stepped aside for two men to escort a blind folded white girl out of a room and inside the pickup truck. That was our mission. He slammed the door and slapped the behind of the truck. The truck drove away. He entered the Volvo. Said something to the driver. They both laughed before the Volvo screeched out too.
I crawled to Cameron, who was slowly bleeding to death. Accessing the wounds, a bullet had grazed an artery, another had entered his chest, hopefully not his heart. And the last one was just a flesh cut. Tearing a piece from my coat, I applied pressure on the artery wound.
"Go after them. I'll call for backup. Hopefully, they'll respond before I bleed to heaven." He tried to laugh, but ended up coughing and almost choking on his blood. He was breathing with wheezing sound. Punctured lung. But no time to waste.
I grasped his hand and squeezed before getting up and running towards the door, dialling out emergency code for medical backup at the same time.
I jogged outside to the street. Luckily, I saw a shop with bikes on display. Jumping on a Honda CBR 1000rr. The keys were in. I pressed the start button and felt the powerful engine rumble to life.
"I'll be back. I promise." I called to the shop owner as I put on the helmet and gunned down the engine. I was almost thrown away by the powerful lurch of the bike.
I sped down the street. At this time of the year, Venice is sprawling with tourists. I pressed down the horn as I watched the speedometer rise from 0 to 60 mph in 4 seconds.
I caught a glimpse of the black pickup and accelerated even more.
THE DRIVER MUST have seen me because he sped up. But his engine was no match for mine. I caught up easily. He swerved into a narrow side street. I followed close behind. I tried pulling up to the sides but the driver closed up the gap pretty quickly. I held out my Sig Sauer P320 with my right hand. I levelled the gun at the left back tire and shot. The back of the pickup rose as if attempting to do a somersault. I shot the right tire too and the car spun out of control and crashed into the side of a building.
The driver jumped out with a Glock 17 but before he could react, I hit the butt of my gun on his nose. He staggered back. Still trying to regain balance. I picked up a broken side view mirror from the pickup and chucked it hard at him. It hit him square in the forehead. He was going to have a nasty bump on his head. I chuckled as he went down like a bag of rice.
I pried open the back door where the girl was. Becky white. The daughter of a senator. I removed her blindfold to see scared Hazel eyes. I helped her out. She didn't break anything from the crash. That was good.
I could hear the familiar sound of the Volvo coming our way. I looked at the building the pickup had crashed into. Might have been the side of a church or a museum. Big building with open spaces supported by massive pillars. There were different sculptures inside. Looking up, I saw the building also had a bell tower.
"Find your way to the bell tower and wait there." I said to her.
She nodded and ran inside from a side door. I went to my bike and saw the Volvo coming from my front. I reversed. The crashed pickup truck made little way for another car to pass through. That was going to slow them down a bit.
I drove back the way I came from and waited to make sure they didn't go inside the building. They didn't. They came for me instead. Good.
I sped off leaving a plume of smoke behind. The Volvo bashed past the pickup. Pushing it to one side. I heard a headlight smash and the clang of the fender as it bounced on the concrete. But the car still did its job and drove smoothly behind me.
The bike accelerated past 80 mph and the Volvo still kept gaining on me. Tourists jumped out of the way left and right. I heard them telling curses at me.
"Sorry, sorry." I shouted at them and hoped they heard me through my helmet.
A large building-like pavement rose up in front. It divided the road into two. It was built to serve as a rain or sun shelter of some sort. Pillars held up the roof but the sides were open.
I took the right. The Volvo went left and caught up with me. The pillars were flying by. The black guy on the passenger seat looked at me. Our eyes met and locked for a moment. He smiled widely showing his chipped tooth. Then I saw the infamous M16 rising on the windowsill of the car. I saw his shoulder muscle tense as he prepared to press the trigger.
I was sure the gun was in full automatic. I braked hard. The back tire of my bike rose up about 3feet. The front tire screeched to a stop and the Volvo sped to the front.
Chipped-tooth brought his head out to look at me, his face changing to frustration. I smiled at him. Overhead, an helicopter passed. Backup. I reared the bike on its back tire and reversed. I drove out to the warehouse. I saw Cameron being loaded up to the ambulance helicopter. I watched it take off. I hoped he was still alive. I drove inside the warehouse.
The smell of gun fire and burning oil was still in the air. Smoky fires were still burning in some places. The stadium lights were still on.
I drove up to the door they had brought Becky from. Becky. I dialled the extraction unit and told them where to find her. The door in my front was fully metal. It was locked. I shot a bullet in the lock. It swung inwards on oiled hinges. It led to a dark passageway with another door on the far end. This one was wood. Heavy wood from the look of it. I kicked it, expecting it to hold but it gave way. It was unlocked. I stumbled inside to a room where about 5 malnourished girls where blindfolded and chained. They were not less than 16 and not more than 25 of age. They were probably drugged. Seeing the way they were pale and groggy.
I removed the blindfold and spoke to them gently. Broke the chains and called for more extraction backup. They were all shivering and underdressed. One of them pointed at another small hidden door.
"The men are in there?" I asked.
They nodded. I walked to the door. Cautiously. I brought out my Sig. One in each hand. I pushed the door gently with the tip of my right gun. The door creaked in.
Peeping through the little crack, I could make out four men. The stench of cigarette smoke and alcohol seeped through the door. They were all boozed up. They would be slow to react. Good.
I walked in. One bullet in the head. Another in the chest. One in the knee and then head. The last in the head. All shot with precision. No wasted bullets. No macho bullshit.
I took the blankets in the room and walked out to the girls. I placed the blankets around them. One was left out, I removed my jacket and put it on her shoulder. I'm a gentleman, I know. I felt a vibration. My phone. I brought it out. It was a Samsung model I didn't really fancy their apple counterparts. Backup was here.
They'd either drive in or go round to the back. I told them to drive round the back and blow the wall up. I checked my watch. It was 3:07pm.
By 3:15, the back wall exploded and BIRD agents filed in. They guided the girls out and into the van waiting. I didn't follow them. I went back into the main warehouse where I left the bike.
I pressed the start button and was about to drive off when a gleam of light caught my eye. It was phone on the floor. It was lying on its screen. It had an half eaten apple logo at the back. An iPhone. It was the logo that had reflected the light. I pressed the home button to power on the screen and the picture of Chipped-tooth glared back at me. His phone.
I put it in my pocket and drove to the shop where I took the bike. Paid for the bike. It wasn't a bad bike and it was worth the money. I'd enjoy it anyway. While waiting for the documents of the bike, a ping sound came from the iPhone in my pocket. A new message.
I pressed the home button and the screen came on. It was locked with a password.
No problem.
"Hey Siri." I said, putting the phone to my mouth. "what time is it?"
Still in locked mode, the phone displayed a clock. On this clock screen, I did some simple commands. What I learnt in a book I read some weeks ago. Created a new time zone for the clock. Adding a photo. Asking to share the new time zone via SMS. Instead of clicking send, I hit the home button.
The phone unlocked. I opened the iMessage app. Opened the new message. Another country code. +234. I read the message and smiled.
'Hello boss. Just wanted to tell you that the packages are ready here and Oga Joe Amadi wants you back here ASAP. Take the next flight to Nigeria. We'll be waiting for you.
Sam.'