My very first post here, on wordpress.com, continues my tale at part 17. Why did I shift here? You’ll know why pretty soon, whoever you are, whoever reads this.
Ah, who am I kidding. I’m probably writing for an audience of 3.
Part 17 – Cutting
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The building was dark, for its had long been abandoned. Although a buyer for the building had been sought, no action had been taken. Paula led Craig through an unlocked back door and up the fire escape stairs. She’d been here at the motel before, on a training mission a year ago. Then, it was pure hell, as Judy Lee made them run up and down, up and down before starting the sniper training. She always believed in realism, and that night, they’d shot at a few stray animals for practice. Jane was a helluva shot, but she herself missed a few, securing herself the task of collecting all the empty cartridges and removing traces of their presence.
The first few levels were usually populated by junkies from the nearby Vice Street, who hid in the empty rooms and snorted cocaine or smoked cannabis. Paula wisely avoided these floors and led Craig up to the 8th storey, where the rooms were bigger and sometimes used by illegal prostitutes who roamed the streets without pimps. Paula stuck a key into 810, and they went in.
“You have a key?”
“Yeah.”
“Why..?”
“Shh…” She seductively put a finger to his lips, as her free hand fondled his crotch.
Craig kicked the door shut.
***
The screen flashed once, and went blank. Hide cursed. He knew it was coming, but it still was at an inopportune time. The hack was still running, and he wanted to monitor its progress. Picking himself off the bed, he stubbed a toe on the computer table, and cursed again.
Good thing Jane was here, or he’d be in an even fouler mood.
He walked out the open doorway and into the spare room. Inside, one could find tons and tons of new and used computer hardware, stuff Hide acquired cheaply from used stores and serviced himself, or totally new pieces of equipment.
The new CRT monitor he’d ordered a week ago had thankfully arrived earlier in the day. It was a 17″ Philips 107S4, top-of-the-line in today’s shrunken CRT market. But due to his extensive usage and his knowledge of its inner workings, he decided to return to the bulkier but more reliable and longer-lasting monitor of yesteryear.
Heaving the carton into his room and still cursing under his breath, he unpacked it and set it up in place, removing the dead LCD monitor he had been using for barely a year. He was going to send it back to the manufacturer’s tomorrow.
But for now, he plugged the CRT into a power source and hit the switch.
The screen came to life, and on it was:
“Mainframe Access Screen
Please enter your username and password.
User ID:
Password:”
Hide let out a whoop of joy when he saw it. One night’s work, finally bearing fruit. Jane came to the door, holding a spatula and knife.
“What’s happening?”
“Nothing, good luck charm. Go continue cooking.”
She saw the mess he created while replacing the monitor.
“Clean that up!”
“Yes mam!” He mocked.
She smiled and went back to the kitchen while he launched the password sniffer program.
***
ASP Joy Lee sat in the command tent, laptop in front of her. The report from the forensics and pathology department regarding Emmanuel Ungaro Choo’s death was unconclusive and provided little evidence. All it said was that his head was sliced off by something sharp, probably some type of glass thread or metal wire. It was a clean break, cutting through the aorta and nerves, killing him almost instantly.
She muttered a prayer and switched files, opening data on the first two bomb blasts.
The modus operandi, or mode of operation, was similar. Remote explosions, no immediate claim of responsibility, and no sign of suicide bombers. The letter from the Holy Army of Noobunan could not be confirmed or ascertained with regards to its true source, although the group existed but were not known to operate in the region.
Craig’s analysis of the blast pattern and pictures was also online. He had written a detailed report, along with Koo, on the explosives, effect and mode of administration. The submission was full of technical terms, but the point was clear: the perpetrators had used the military grade C4 plastic explosives, matched with remote detonators connected to wireless mobile signal receivers. They had also intelligently used the construction of the buildings to their advantage, turning glass and metal into lethal shrapnel.
Joy Lee sighed. She was tired.
“Coffee?”
It was Koo, holding out a large cup of takeaway coffee.
“Thanks.”
“Sure.”
He turned on his heels and was about to leave, when she called out:
“Wait.”
“Yes?”
“You co-wrote the report with Lieutenant Craig?”
“Yeah.”
“Can I ask you to explain certain things to me?”
“Sure.”
So Koo sat down and patiently began explaining things about blast area , detonation speed, shrapnel velocity, and others to a grateful Joy Lee, who sipped coffee and listened quietly to the expert.
***
Only the shrill ringing of the mobile phone broke the crystal calm of the command tent, which had gone silent save for Koo’s clipped tones and Joy’s murmur of understanding.
“Yes?”
“…”
“What?!”
“…”
“Why wasn’t…”
“…”
“I’ll be right there.”
Joy clapped her mobile phone shut and stood up in a hurry, banging her knee on the underside of the table.
“Oww…”
“You ok?”
“Yeah, I gotta get back to the office. Something new’s come up. Do you need to stay here?”
“Not really. Lieutenant Craig is back in camp and I’m supposed to be reporting to the medical and engineer officers-in-charge, but they don’t seem to need me around.”
“Ok. Screw them. I officially discharge you from those duties. You now report directly to me. I need you to come with me back to the crisis management centre as the subject-matter expert.”
Koo shrugged.
“Fine by me.”
“Let’s go.”
***
For probably the very first time, Craig managed to stand up and walk out of the building with Paula, instead of falling asleep like he always did after some intense action with her. The relationship was strictly lust-only, love later, but probably for the very first time, Paula felt something give; the woman in her wanted to be hugged, loved and cared for.
But the job had to be done first.
Craig absent-mindedly walked with her to the nearest road that was open to traffic, saw her into a cab, and waved as it disappeared down the road and headed left at the next junction.
Adjusting his uniform as he walked back towards the disaster site, Craig fished for his mobile phone and dialled Koo’s number from memory.
“Sir?”
“Where are you, Koo?”
“I’m currently in ASP Joy Lee’s car, sir.”
“Where are you going?”
“To the CMC.”
“Aren’t you supposed to be on the ground?”
“I was. I’ve been relieved of my duties.”
“By who?”
“ASP Lee herself, sir.”
“Oh, just as well. Cuts through all that damned red tape.”
“Are you back in camp, sir?”
“No, no. I’m at the site. Going to look at the tunnels once again. Something still bothers me.”
“Yes sir.”
“Ok Koo. You go with ASP Joy. Call if you need any help. I’ll cover you.”
“Thank you, sir.”
Koo hung up and looked straight ahead at the road, as Joy Lee swung a hard right into the car park and nose-first into her reserved lot. Springing the door of the red Beetle open, she dashed up the stairs and into the building, followed closely by Koo.
Descending into the basement room known as the Crisis Management Centre, officers on duty snapped to attention upon seeing ASP Lee, but cast doubtful looks upon Koo, who was in his Army dress uniform, chevrons stitched to the sleeves.
“He’s with me. This is Sergeant Koo, the Subject-Matter Expert in this case. He was seconded to us by the army’s Explosive Ordnance Squad.”
“Hi.”
The officer-in-charge handed Joy Lee a file marked “Confidential” and gave a running commentary for the benefit of Koo.
“This morning, at about 0830 hours, a call came in to the dispatch centre about a dead security guard at Central train depot. Officers arrived at 0848 hours, cordoned off the site, and waited for the crime scene experts to arrive. But, with the explosion at City Centre, most of the investigative and rescue personnel were not available, and it was not until 0930 hours that an ambulance and paramedics arrived. Crime scene technicians arrived even later, at 1045 hours. Even reporters, who are usually vultures for news like this, did not arrive until 1200 hours. By then, massive efforts were underway at City Centre, and the discovery of two identical cases at the East and West Depots did not get the attention required. For those two cases, calls came in at 0845 and 0847 respectively, and officers only arrived at 0900 hours or later.”
“The initial case drew little suspicion, for there was no visible trauma and the guard was a retired police officer. However, the other two cases suffered either a slit throat or head wounds, indicating foul play. But without further confirmation, little could be done.”
“The results just came in not long ago. The guard with no visible injuries died of a broken neck, and the one with the cut throat literally bled to death as his aorta was severed. The last one died of two gunshot wounds to the back of his head.”
“As soon as we got the info, which, as usual, took a little too long to arrive, we informed you immediately, mam.”
ASP Joy Lee nodded thoughtfully while Koo finally understood how the charges were placed for maximum damage.
“So that was how…” They spoke simultaneously.
“You go first, mam.”
“Ok. So that was how they placed the explosives. In the dead of night. So there were no witnesses, no ‘suspicious articles’ in the stations or trains. No proof we can use.”
“Yes. And that explains how they managed to plant the charges at the most effective areas for maximum damage and shrapnel.”
Just then, a young corporal came in bearing a tape.
“Sir, from the forensics department.”
“Put it in the player.”
He popped it into the VCR and pushed play. On the massive 61-inch projection screen rolled footage with the date and time imprinted.
It was footage from the West depot. As it rolled in slow motion, a black-clad figure crept up behind the security guard, who was on the phone, and slit his throat from ear to ear. He was dead even before he hit the ground. Then the figure moved under the table, and the screen blacked out.
It was rare footage, a rare glimpse of who had been behind all the mayhem in the past few weeks.
(To Be Continued…)
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This is a long drawn fight. Keep awake.
