Chapter 26 of Princessa

K-Boom!

“So what’s the plan” says Colonel Valtos. “Where’s your team” asks Andy. “Close by” he says. “Got a vehicle.” “We do.” “What about weapons.” Valtos pauses for a moment, trying not to smile, that’s not part of how he wants to be seen by others. “I had… Zhrot and Luta, stop at a gun show, in Ohio, on their way here. We got weapons… but, I don’t know how much cash I have left.” “Good” says Andy.

Smet interrupts them with some ideas of his own. “You could get into the house through the outside cellar door. It’s one of those heavy wooden doors, flat to the ground, with a stairway beneath it. But it faces the yard to the south of the house. It’ll be hard not to be spotted there. But anyway, once you’ve gotten in and done with everything, I think you could get out through one of the windows in the living room upstairs in my apartment.

“The house next door facing that side, the north side, is very close. Not much distance between the two houses at all, just a few feet. And it’s dark, very dark on that side. Maybe you could get up to the roof. Run and jump across, to the roof of the other house. I think you could make that, easy enough. But if not, someone could throw you a rope from there, and then you could crawl across. Nobody’d see you, I don’t think.”

“Or we could… walk in the front door” says Andy “do our work, and leave through the side window, of the downstairs apartment.” “Yeah” says Smet, thinking it over “that’d work. But what if they’re inside, waiting for you. What then?” “If they’re in there waiting” says Valtos calmly “they won’t like what they find.”

He leaves to assemble his people while the others dress and ready themselves for the mission. “Smet, you gonna be okay” asks Andy. “I can drive the car” he says “if nothing else. I’m alright… gimme some novocaine, I’ll be fine.”

Once they’re ready, they pack everything up and leave the nice comfortable hotel room, with the feeling like it’s been home to them, and never gonna come back here again. “Wait a minute” says Andy “you guys go on ahead, I gotta do something.” “Shoulda thought of that sooner” says Maria. “No” says Andy, smiling at her “something else. I’ll meet you at the car.”

He goes back to the room, takes a piece of paper from his pocket and dials the phone number to the little grocery store close to Smet’s neighborhood in Jersey. “Hello” says the voice on the line. “The FBI is going to raid the house at 3817 Allen Street tonight” says Andy. “What?… who is this” asks the man. “A friend, 3817 Allen Street, tonight.” He hangs up the phone and leaves to join the others.

They’re using Smet’s ‘open cell phone’ means of communicating, but also have a couple of dime store walkie talkies to keep in contact with Valtos. It’s not long ‘til they’re in Jersey and in place for the op. Pitch black out now, so dark you can hardly see a thing under the starless cloudy night sky; and so very freezingly cold with the wind whipping up and blowing the snow around in sharp whiffs of air.

All up and down the block on all sides of Smet’s house, people are turning out their house lights, quickly getting all the kids and pets and old people into their cars and driving away. “What the hell’s goin on” asks a man in the house across from Smet’s. Fraley walks over and looks through the side of the shade, out the window. “They’ve been tipped off” he says curtly “in a close little community like this, word must spread pretty fast, I suppose.”

But even he is pretty surprised to see all the people leaving like that, all at once, like heading out for Noah’s ark or something. Even people in their own building are slamming doors, backing cars out, and hurrying away. One of the big secret service men comes over from the doorway where he’s been watching, peering out into the hallway and down the steps. “They’re all leaving” he says. Not a good sign, Fraley thinks to himself, then tells him “don’t worry about it. Maybe we can use it to our advantage, you know. The fewer people, the less to… get in the way.”

In the middle of the exodus they see a huddled figure appear out of the shadows, turn up the walkway to Smet’s house, then hurriedly go in through the front door. “That’s it” one of the men yells “that’s our mark.” “Wait” says Fraley, sternly authoritatively “just relax, be patient. See who else shows up; okay. We got plenty of time, just be cool. Get everybody ready, to move in… on my signal.”

The man at the computer is a big tough guy, dressed in black, like a ninja warrior, right down to the war paint on his face. He’s had all his men in place for hours now, poised, ready to strike. And tired of waiting around, like spoiling for a fight that’s been put on hold for some reason. And getting pretty sick of the guy in the fancy suit giving the orders.

Inside the house Colonel Valtos finds it very cold, very quiet. You can hear the wind howling from the outside, rattling the glass of old loose windows in wooden frames. It’s spooky, like walking into a haunted house, no lights anywhere, just ghosts and shadows. His kind of place.

He rushes down to the basement. Drops the heavy overcoat, borrowed from Smet, at the bottom of the steps. Counting the seconds in his head, switches on a small flashlight. Locates the gas main and shuts off the valve. Grabs the two pipe wrenches from his belt. Quickly unscrews the pipe at the next joint down, leaving it loose, hanging down, dangling. Locates the water heater and shuts off the gas feed, making sure there’s no pilot light left burning. Then he takes a deep deep breath... holds it in. Turns the main back on and runs for the stairway.

A ratty old car pulls into the driveway in front of the house. Just been stolen from a few blocks down the street, and has a small explosive charge on top the gas cap. Andy and Maria get out and hurry inside the house. She’s wearing white jeans and pink sweatshirt. Once inside she quickly pulls them off, leaving just a skin-tight pair of black warm-ups and clingy black sweater. She grabs a dark stocking cap and pulls it over her head.

Andy throws off his overcoat, runs over to the vacant apartment and kicks the door open. Maria and Valtos are right behind him. He opens the side window, then they’re out, closing it behind them. Scurrying over the bare hedges, into the backyard of the house next door.

Jori’s in the shadows, keeping lookout, watching, waiting. He sees them, and motions for them to follow him. One of Valtos’ people whispers “all clear” into his earpiece. Quickly they cross the yard from shadow to tree, over another leafless snowy hedge and fence, into the next yard. Still no one around to stop them. And hurrying now like moving shadows to the street. A car with no lights on pulls up at the curb to meet them.

Across the other street, in the opposite direction, Fraley speaks loudly, excitedly into his hand-held radio. “Everybody move in, now! Go. Everybody, this is it. Target is in place. I repeat target is in place! Everyone move in now. And remember, take the girl alive… if possible.”

From all sides swarms of black-clothed men move in at a fast jog. Crouched over, only feet and legs moving, carbines in hand, held at the ready. Eyes focused on the objective. Orderly, fast, soundless; within seconds they’re all in position covering every exit. They’re almost invisible, in-place, motionless, ready.

One of them signals for two of the men to break down the front door. Then quickly gives them another signal to halt, fall back. Then a choking sign - hands around his throat - chemical hazard. Too much gas smell around the house, even in the cold wind. He motions for everyone to fall back, pass the word with hand signals, no radios; no electrical spark.

Before they can retreat, a number is dialed on a cell phone. The old car in the driveway blows apart with a roaring boom! Shattering the dark and the silence. Flipping up on its front end, balancing for an instant, and streaming rockets of red yellow flames from the back and underneath. Catches the men off guard for a split second, knocking them backwards into the snow, down onto their backs. All familiar to them, from the war, Iraq. Their only thoughts - what’s gonna be next.

Another call trips the bundles of C-4 in the overcoat in the basement. The massive explosion blows the front door out, apart, and the entire front side of the house comes flying at them in splinters, hurling the men off their feet and backward with the powerful force of the concussive blast.

The deafening boom knocks everyone down. Stunned, shaken; even hardened veterans fearing this is it for them. The whole house blowing up in a thundering quake that shakes the air and ground like a hurricane. The entire building disintegrating into a fireball; glowing burning bits of wood roofing brick and dust blasting straight up in all directions. Windows crack and shatter in neighboring houses and blow out into the darkness.

“What the hell!” yells Fraley, throwing his forearm up over his face “goddamn!” He lowers his arm and sees nothing out there now. Just a ball of flame beneath the cloud of smoke and dust, burning his vision in the black night.

Andy and Valtos kick open the door to the room, pick their out targets, and quickly dispatch them. The armed guards in the room immediately drew their pistols after the massive explosion. But the one by the window, and the big man looking up from the computer, are both shot dead before they can fire.

Another guard is hurrying a short heavy-set older man toward the bathroom. He turns to fire but is hit repeatedly before he can get a shot off. Fraley and Whitson are leftovers. Andy covers them with his gun. Valtos goes after the little fat man.

Whitson vainly grabs for his pistol in the back of his belt but is killed with one shot, followed by two more just to make sure. Fraley weakly extends his hands to his sides. Then raises them with no expression on his face, just blank quiet numbness.

Valtos finds the older man trying to crawl out a small bathroom window. He grabs the man’s shoulder, spins him around, but is shocked when he sees the man’s face. “Well... what have we here.” Pete Myerinck looks up at him with an angry defiant glare. “You’ll never get away with this” he says, sneering at the man.

Valtos is carrying a silenced Uzi that hangs from a strap on his shoulder. In one quick move he lifts the gun over his head and thrusts it downward, butt first, striking the top of the older man’s head. Then turns to Andy and sees him frisking the distinguished looking man who is kneeling on the floor with his back to them.

The four members of Valtos’ team are calmly targeting the men around the demolished burning house. The black-clothed men on the ground are staggering and trying to get to their feet, eyes and ears burned, concussed, ringing in a dazed dizzy effort to follow through on their mission.

They’re highly-skilled professionals, fully capable of reacting to surprise attacks. Even so, it’s all useless. They’re fitted with body armor, bullet proof vests, but unseen soundless shots strike them low and knock them back to the ground. They try to account for how many of their numbers are still with them, where the shots are coming from, and how this all could’ve happened so suddenly in the middle of a city on a black winter night.

Colonel Valtos goes over to Whitson’s body, pushes him onto his stomach with his boot, then goes through his pockets trying to find car keys. He’s the least threatening looking of the bunch. Least likely to have a satellite monitor in his vehicle, or some other high-tech irritant. “What are you gonna do with him” he asks Andy, motioning toward the nicely-dressed man. “I think I’ll keep him” he says “see what he knows.” “Yeah” says the colonel, thinking the same thing. The distinguished looking man could be quite interesting to talk to. “Go ahead then. I’ll be right behind you.”

Andy grabs the laptop,  pushes the man up to walk in front of him. He goes compliantly with fingers intertwined behind his head. The Colonel scoops up his prize and carries the older man over his shoulder and down the steps of the apartment building. He’s fat, heavy, hard to manage down the narrow stairway.

But it’s a short distance and with enough adrenaline pumping you can do anything; barely even notice it; just on the lookout for other guards or civilians or not to stumble and fall. Trying not to hurry as fast as you’d like to, following the other men and carrying the fat man down the steps, to the least threatening looking car.