False Flag (21 page)

“They’re wearing football jerseys, the Oakland Raiders,” said Sarge. An NFL team’s attire held a special appeal to gangs. Typically the gang would adopt a color and then find an NFL team that coincided with them. Black had always been popular, which related back to the early Westerns when the bad guy was always dressed in black. The Raiders jersey was highly symbolic for gang members, who were drawn to the black and silver colors together with the swashbuckling pirate logo. “These guys are part of J-Rock’s crew.”

Now screams filled the air as more gunfire was heard, closer this time.
Not good.
Sarge and Julia didn’t have much time. They left the rooftop and descended to the eighth floor, which contained their armory. Steven and Katie were due back soon, and the best they could do was hold off the approaching gang members. Sarge and Julia both put on tactical body armor vests. Sarge inserted the quarter-inch steel plates and pulled their cummerbund-style closures tight. These vests could withstand a range of ballistics up to .308 rifles and .44 Magnum handguns.

After grabbing an AR-15, they filled their utility pouches with magazines. They inserted a sixty-round magazine for starters. Sarge outfitted Julia’s vest with a two-way radio, and he did the same.

He looked her in the eyes and then he kissed her. “I love you, Julia. We can do this.”

“I love you too. You need to get across the street before they get closer. We have to turn them away, Sarge.”

“They’ll seek the path of least resistance. Right now, nobody is standing up to them. We just cannot let them enter the building.” Sarge led her to the stairwell and gave her gear one last check.

“I’m ready. We’ve got the high ground, and they’re cowards; otherwise they wouldn’t be doing what they’re doing. Now go. I’ll wait for your signal.”

Julia left and bounded up the stairs toward the rooftop. Her job was to keep the gangbangers from entering the fenced courtyard of 100 Beacon, where they could benefit from some cover. If they entered the building, then Sarge would have to clear every floor on his own.

Sarge went down the stairs and found his attorney friend, Mr. Marshall, manning the front entrance alone. He was sweating profusely from nervousness.

“You’ve heard the gunfire,” started Sarge. “Marshall, I need you to hold it together. Can you do that?”

The man nodded, unable to speak out of fear.

Sarge took him by the shoulders. “Here’s what we’re going to do, okay.” He led Marshall into the wrought-iron-enclosed courtyard and pointed across the street toward the five-story brownstone. Its doors had been broken in two weeks ago, and several windows on the second floor were broken. “I’m going to run across the street and take up a position on the rooftop. Julia has done the same upstairs. I want you to stay inside the doorway and shoot anyone who comes in, except me, of course. Got it?”

“I think so,” said Marshall. “I’ll stay in the building until you come for me.”

“Good. Crouch behind the reception desk but keep the gun pointed at the door. These guys are wearing black and silver football jerseys. I think they’re a gang from Roxbury. If we do our job, you’ll never see them. But, be ready, Marshall. Now is not the time to check out.”

“I’m good,” he said as he returned to the entryway.

Sarge checked the street and quickly darted behind the disabled U-Haul truck left there weeks ago by Steven. Finding the street clear, he ran through the crosswalk and up the eight stairs to the entrance of the building, which appeared to be vacant.
Where did everybody go?

Sarge’s heart was racing. He never imagined that he and Julia would be protecting 100 Beacon by themselves. The key was to prevent access to the building. If he could reach the rooftop, he would have mobility, the element of surprise, and the height advantage.

Sarge ran inside and looked for the stairwell. It was locked.
Shit!
He needed another way up. He remembered the fire escape on the front of the building. He poked his head back out and didn’t see anyone. He hopped over the railing and ran through the last remnants of hostas in the flower bed. Using the brick windowsill for assistance, he climbed his way up into an elm tree. Like a spider monkey, Sarge gradually made his way to the height of the second floor, where he could reach the railing, but it was just out of grasp. He decided to climb higher into the tree where he could jump down onto the steel grate landing of the fire escape.

He made the jump, but landed with a thud and rolled into the red brick wall. Pain shot through his shoulder that took the brunt of the blow. Julia’s voice came over the two-way radio.

“Hey there, Spiderman, aren’t you a little old for that?”

Sarge looked up to the top of 100 Beacon and then his middle finger was raised upward.

Julia commented, “So rude.”

Shaking off the pain of the fall, Sarge climbed the stairs and reached the roof. He swung his legs over the edge and found a solid surface. He took a moment to gather himself and catch his breath.

He looked up and down Beacon Street. The building housing Starbucks was fully engulfed in flames now. There were no fire trucks responding. Afternoon showers had rolled through Boston yesterday afternoon, but the skies were clear now. To the west, several cars drove slowly in front of the buildings containing the attackers. Periodically, a Raiders-clad thief would run out of the building carrying some form of loot. He would deposit the goods in the car and run in for more. The occasional gunshot was an indication that a resident had attempted to thwart the gang.

“Now we wait,” said Sarge into the two-way. The two groups were working their way up the street, but the group on his side was advancing faster. He hadn’t considered this. He’d secured a position with the intent to secure 100 Beacon. Now, he found himself protecting this side of the street first.

“Do you copy?” he asked Julia.

“Go ahead.”

“This side is advancing faster than your side. I doubt they’ll come to the rooftop. Do we make our presence known and defend this building first, or wait and see how it develops?”

Julia hesitated before responding to Sarge. “It’s getting late. I don’t think these guys will want to conduct these raids in the dark, do you?”

“No,” replied Sarge. He glanced at the progress of the other group. They were approaching Fisher College, the long stretch of buildings next to 100 Beacon. “They’re operating by force and intimidation. By wearing their gang colors and blasting their way indoors, they send a clear message to the building’s occupants.
Stand down, or die
.”

“If that’s the case, the end of our block is a natural stopping point for them,” said Julia. “The next building down from you takes them to Arlington and Boston Common. On my side of the street, they’ll be in the next block where the fire is getting worse.”

“Stand by,” said Sarge. He would prefer to take them separately. Ideally, one group would be preoccupied in a building while he and Julia took the other group out in the crossfire. If the others rushed to their side, then Sarge and Julia, taking advantage of the confusion, could pick them off as they made their way down the sidewalk. Several gunshots to his left interrupted his thoughts.

“Sarge, they’re coming,” said Julia.

Sarge’s heart was racing. He needed the groups to split in two. The men were running in and out of the building next to his location. He looked west on Beacon, and then the decision became clear. The gangbangers broke through the entry doors to Fisher College. They faced a maze of hallways, corridors, and classrooms. Unlike the residential brownstones, which contained a couple of units per floor, the gang members on Julia’s side of the street would be tied up for some time trying to find anything of value.

“Get ready,” said Sarge. “We’ll take this group first. Also, take out their vehicle. The others will come pouring out of Fisher College like a bunch of cockroaches. We don’t have a very good line of sight because of the tree canopy. We’ll take out as many of them as we can, as well as the trailing vehicles. There are four cars altogether.”

“Got it,” said Julia, adding, “Happy hunting.” She had become a stone-cold killer.

Several minutes later, the last of the Raiders exited the building next to him and tossed a few fur coats into the back of an awaiting dry cleaner’s van. There were five men, plus the driver. Sarge fired first, raining NATO 5.56 rounds on top of the vehicle and into the bodies of two of the men. The other men ran for cover at the back of the van, and Julia tore up the asphalt, missing them at first. Then she found her mark. The final rounds sailed through the windshield, instantly killing the driver, who slumped over the steering column, activating the wiper system.

Because the gang was clustered together, it took less than thirty seconds to kill all of them, plus the driver. The other group of looters were still inside Fisher College. The sound of squealing tires filled the air as the other three cars sped into reverse.

“Shoot the other cars!” Sarge yelled into the mic as he began shooting. He shot out the tires of the closest vehicle, and the driver attempted to exit through the passenger side. Julia shot the driver several times. One of the cars attempted to turn around and crashed into the side of a black maintenance vehicle. The driver, in desperation, backed up and pulled forward, continuing his attempt to turn around. Sarge emptied the rest of his magazine through the car’s windows, killing the driver.

The last car, a Lexus
grocery-getter
, had backed out of range, using the tree canopy for protection. As predicted, the remaining five looters came out of Fisher College, but using different points of exit. Both Sarge and Julia fired on them, killing two and wounding one who rolled into a hedgerow. The other two thugs piled into the Lexus and sped away.

“Hold your position,” said Sarge. “Let’s make sure there are no surprises.”

The last attacker lay in the bushes, screaming in pain. He was crawling through the boxwoods, trying to make his way to a descending stairwell that led to a drug counselor’s office.

“What do we do with number fifteen down there,” said Julia, referring to the man’s blood-soaked replica of the jersey worn by Raiders’ wide receiver Michael Crabtree.

Sarge adjusted his sight and shot the man in the head. He replied, “Nothing. He just retired.”

Chapter 33

Sunday, September 25, 2016

12:26 p.m.

100 Beacon

Boston, Massachusetts

“Hey, we’re out front. Over,” said Steven into his two-way radio. He and Katie chased a lead on Pearson that took them toward Albany, New York, before they were turned around by the New York Army National Guard at the Hudson River. The state was experiencing an unprecedented nuclear disaster just fifty miles to the south of the checkpoint at the Indian Point Nuclear Power Plant.

When Steven and Katie were taken in for the night at Port Jervis weeks ago, a small fire department operated by a former soldier at Fort Devens named Hector took them in for the night, giving them some much-needed rest. On the next day, the entire volunteer fire department left to help their comrades put out a fire at the main transformer of Indian Point #2. Also, several transformers in unit #3 had caught fire. Apparently, the battle to put out the fire was lost.

Refugees were streaming northward along Interstate 87 towards the New York state capital of Albany, where FEMA camps had been established. The prevailing winds would carry any radioactive contamination to the east into Connecticut. When Steven encountered the checkpoint, their letter signed by O’Brien didn’t grant them passage into the state, but it did allow them to fill up their gas tank for the return trip.

“Roger, come on up,” replied Sarge.

“What the hell did I miss, bro? There are dead dudes all over the road out here.”

“We’ll fill you in. Over.” When Steven checked in late last night, Sarge alluded to some visitors, but refused to elaborate over the radios, which made sense. Steven counted nearly a dozen Raiders strewn all over Beacon Street.
The dead bodies were beginning to pile up
.

Steven and Katie stopped by the kitchen to grab something to eat. They were operating their generators sparingly, but the refrigerator remained cold, allowing them to preserve leftovers from meals. They made themselves a tuna salad wrap and headed up to the rooftop, a welcome change from the MREs of the last two days.

Julia welcomed them as they walked out into the unusually warm fall day. “Greetings, weary travelers. I see you found the tuna.”

“Yeah, my favorite,” replied Steven with a mouthful of the wrap. He used the remainder to gesture over his shoulder. “You guys create all that carnage?” He took another bite and studied his brother. Sarge had impressed him in the past with his abilities as they trained together. But shooting at stationary targets and experiencing live rounds were different matters altogether. Over the last few years, he’d elevated Sarge’s training to include real tactics that had been proven in combat and black ops. From the looks of Beacon Street, the student had digested everything and put it into practice.

“Julia did it,” replied Sarge dryly.

“It wasn’t all me,” she protested. “Sarge started it. Those poor men were just minding their own business, and Sarge opened up on them. The welcome-wagon people fired him because of it.”

Steven polished off his sandwich and started laughing. “There’s broken glass everywhere, in addition to the dead guys. What were they doing?”

“The
Raiders
, as we called them, are part of J-Rock’s gang,” replied Sarge as he started walking toward the front of 100 Beacon. “They were forcing their way into buildings down the street by shooting up the entry doors. This form of doorbell ringing probably scared the residents into hiding, allowing the gang to have their way with any valuables.”

“Like what?” asked Katie, who was leaning over the roof’s parapet to get a better view.

“The last guy was loading fur coats into that van before Sarge closed down their operation,” replied Julia. Then she laughed. “I guess they were getting ready for winter.”