Jahlbad Ramir Kehochi, known to the rest of the world as Jihad, stepped off the blue, red, and silver Greyhound bus. Stretching, he avoided the eyes of the blonde haired women who brushed past him. But he followed her non-chalantly, as she walked around the corner. She stepped up to a Wells Fargo automatic teller, and fumbled in her small purse, hitching her small backpack up on her left shoulder. Next to her, another women, her dark hair contrasting the other's bright hues, lounged waiting for the bus to be ready for loading. The dark haired women also carried a backpack, one slightly larger than that carried by the blone. It appeared to be a little too heavy for her. Anyone might have guessed she was carrying too many books to and from class everyday. She appeared to be just any other sun-tanned beach bunny attending Stanford University.
Finally finding what she wanted, the blonde inserted her card into the teller machine, and in a moment got her "express $40" and turned away from the machine.
Jahl once again avoided eye contact, but insured he could keep an eye on the pretty women's figure. Not that he could see any details of a figure through the peasant's dress, but the long hair and an occasional glimpse of hip and buttocks as it bumped along under the cloth gave him a small bit of tintillation. Standing about ten feet away, a young man winked at Jahl, and a brief flash of understanding passed through the two, as male hormones pricked it's ugly head into civilized behavior.
"Too much travelling, not enough pleasure" Jahl said to himself, returning the wink. He was glad he blended in so well, but he needed keep his mind on his work. He ignored the faces of the five other people he knew as they climbed off the bus, intent on going their own way after disembarking.
In moments they would all be in the funny pink building. Then it struck him why he was so interested in the young woman. She looked remarkably like the women he had seen while getting information on some of the people in the H.P. building. She had been watching her child race up and down the sidewalk in the decadent suburbs of Silcon Valley, the little one's plastic tricycle making an uproarious noise. He had wondered at the "Big Wheel" and had even stopped in this huge toy store and looked at all the different types hanging on the wall. Such madness, this American obsession with motor cars and motor cycles. It started at childhood. Soon every child in the nation would be virtually in a frenzy over their "first set of wheels". It amazed him. It was also contagious, he wanted to take one back to Sirfilly, the little ragged girl he had accidentally killed in Gaza a year ago. Of course that was impossible, in more ways than one.
Looking up now, he saw that Schrina was already straightening out her dress, the nice clothes making her look like a young female engineer ready for her first interview out of college. Quite impressive looking, he thought. She was more sensual in the desert, but looked so young and vulnerable in these American synthetics. Allah, she looked like a women hunting for a good American husband, not a Palestinian freedom fighter from the desert. Now that was a transformation he could brag about. She was a fine piece of work that one.
As they all began to move into place, Jahl watched a non-descript blue sedan slowly pull up to a stop sign. Decadence again, this one had a little antenna on the roof. He thought at first that it might be some U.S. agents, but relaxed as he realized that all these high tech executives had telephones in their cars. Maybe the dark haired one was Hewlett or Packard themselves. They were obviously inspecting their building. Probably gloating over all their money, or even crying over all the money spent on the expensive but useless glass.
As the car turned back into the front lot, Jahl suspicions were confirmed. The car pulled into a parking spot right up front, and the two men got out and walked toward the building. Excellent. They would not only capture the dogs' house, but the dogs themselves.
Noting no other activity in the area, he lit up a tasty American cigarette, thus giving the signal to the rest of his team to move toward the building in phases. They would not all arrive at the front door together. In fact he would arrive third, while the two women would sit chatting quietly on the benches on either side of the entrance, presumably waiting for someone to come out for lunch.
In a few moments he was putting his cigarette out in the ashtray, and checking his appearance in the glass of the front doors. In a few minutes he would be entering the lobby to ask for one of the people he had been checking on earlier that week. Of course this person would not be in work today, having suffered a terrible bout of food poisoning brought on by Shereche's handiwork in that employee's bedroom the night before.
Glancing at his watch, he steeled his nerves and opened the glass doors and stepped into the foyer. He strode up to the desk and asked,
"Jerry Sanderson to see Bob Inman, please."
"I'll call him for you, Sir. If you'd like you may wait in the side lobby there."
"Thank you" he replied and relaxing a little he strode over to where the two gentleman were sitting arguing in quiet voices. He avoided their eyes, as he didn't want them to notice him. At least not yet, not before they were weeping to be set free.
Jud looked over at the tall, dark man, and felt a chill. He thought he recognized the face. Was it a local criminal he had arrested before? Would this fellow recognize him and report it to his cohorts here? Could he be one of the drug dealers so prevalent in high tech today?
He doubted the latter, very few open office sites like these had open drug dealings, it was mostly confined to the manufacturing facilities. Besides H.P. didn't seem to have as serious problem as many others in the area. Their problems tended to be more onesie-twosie. Certainly not enough action for a drug dealer, especially one that Jud would recognize.
For a moment it didn't occur to him to check the man's face against their present purpose. He was concentrating on watching the bored rent-a-cop at the security desk. A young women, about 25 or 26, she had on a dark blue blazer, over a simple white blouse. The blazer had an indistinguishable patch on it, he knew to say "California High Tech Security". A badge of dubious honor, it only meant that H.P. didn't have their own people guarding their doors, but hired it out to one of the larger plant security firms in Silicon Valley. She looked about as capable as the fragile women behind the reception desk.
But Jud's attention came back to the front door as another man, this one dressed in less formal clothes and sporting a backpack slung over one shoulder. The new entry siddled up to the receptionist, but Jud couldn't hear what he was saying. The receptionist nodded, and fished around underneath the semi-circle of the wooden reception desk. Finally she came up with a wire hanger, and Jud grinned to himself. Obviously an H.P. employee who had locked his keys in his car. Poor guy.
Tall and clean now paced by he and Able, and Jud realized that Able was looking at him with strange look.
"What" asked Able, in a low voice.
"Oh, sorry, I don't know. Just a funny feeling. Thought I recognized 'tall and clean' there when he came in."
"One of your local boyos?"
"Na, don't think so. Can't place him. It'll come to me though."
"Well what are we going to do here?"
"I'd like for the volume of people to slack off a little first. Maybe we should wait til after lunch. There'll be less coming and goings then, and we'd have a better chance of marching unnoticed up to the security office. By the way, you know where it is?"
"Nope, but I'm sure our little helper over there will just be so happy to show us, don't you think?"
"Yeah, she looks tough all right. How much you wanna bet she doesn't say a word through the whole thing?"
"Yep."
Jud surreptitiously glanced over at tall and clean again, and received another chill. The man was looking right at him, an intent look on his face, as if he too recognized a fellow member of the cops and robbers world.
Jud smiled at the man and turned back to speak in a low, but seemingly friendly manner to Able.
"I've been made, I think. This guy thinks he knows me, I'm sure of it. Just in case, let's separate. I'll head over to the desk, and if he squeals on me, maybe you can slip in during the commotion."
"Okay, see ya'"
Jud shook hands with Able, and stood up ignoring tall and clean again, and walked purposefully over to the Receptionist. Just as he was half way there, his beeper went off, startling him and the two young women who had just entered the foyer through the glass doors. He smiled at them as he reached over to his hip to retrieve the beeper, noting with some concern that the two women were staring intensely at him. But when they saw the beeper, they seemed to relax, and walked over toward the side lobby.
"Strange" he thought. It was like they had never seen a pocket pager before. Certainly a few H.P. people carried pocket pagers. Why were they so interested in them. He was also struck with the one woman's sharp features and beautiful tan. Too bad it was ruined by too long next to the swimming pool. She had that tight, leathery texture of skin which he had noticed on women who overdid their sun exposure, bringing on "weather wrinkles" as his ex-wife had called them. As he reached the Receptionist, he noticed another person come into the lobby.
"Getting quite crowded in here" he quipped to the receptionist, who replied,
"Oh its near end of lunch. It's like Grand Central Station from noon to one. Can I help you?"
"Yes I need to call this number on my pager. Can I use one of these phones here."
As he finished he noticed out of the corner of his eye that the fellow who had just come through the door had stooped down to set his bag down, and had disappeared while he fiddled with it.
"Bags" he said out loud without realizing it.
"What" said the Receptionist, her head tilted as if to bring her ear into better hearing posture.
But the chill now spreading through Jud's body was generating waves of adrenalin. Bags. In his mind's eye he was counting bags. Tall and clean had a rather fat briefcase, the two women each had backpacks, and come to think of it there had been yet another person outside reading a newspaper with a good side duffel next to his leg. With the newcomer fiddling out of sight that made five bags, each large enough to hold..."
Again out of the corner of his eye he saw the fellow who was reading the newspaper coming in through the door, the big bag open at the top, the contents dark and not visible. He carried as though it were somewhat heavy, certainly more heavy then the gym clothes he would have expected to see.
Shouting, "Oh Shit!" in his mind only, his right hand moved back from the phone as the Receptionist shook her head and said, "I'm sorry but these phones do not dial out. You'll have to use the pay phone over at the bus station.
But Jud really didn't hear her, despite the fact that she had given him a perfect excuse to get out.
"Thank you" he said, and quickly moved out away from the light wooded desk and briskly made his way to the glass doors. Each step seemed wrapped in danger, and so, when he finally reached the doors, he again unconsciously let out a sigh, just as his hand touched the smooth brass surface of the handle.
But the realization of what was still in the lobby kept him from completing his movement. His right hand swinging back and round, his entire body pivoted. His hand went to the 9mm strapped behind his back, his coat flying. Just as he finished his turn, he could see the last fellow dragging a bulky object from the duffel bag, and beginning to stand up. Unfortunately, Jud couldn't see the details of most of the object, but his swing around had confirmed another chilling fact. The two women were also busy with hands in their backpacks, as was tall and clean in his briefcase.
For a moment it all seemed to stand still. He and Able had stumbled upon the very thing they were trying to test against. The coincidences were staggering, if not the logic. Certainly Able had been right about the ease of entry into an H.P. building. The strike team would cut right to the heart of the buildings security, effectively disabling it in less then two minutes. Meanwhile, other folk could wrap up the exits, quite easily. Then shepherding the people into several large areas, they would have excellent hostages in well protected areas within the building with little need for real confinement. A perfect setup.
He purposely had not warned Able, perhaps the bad guys would ignore the older man, his appearance would not pose a threat to anyone. Now as he got a better glimpse of the last fellows object, he knew it was now or never. The object was as he feared, an Uzi machine gun, bristling with double clips taped together, commando style. Knowing that he presented a lovely target to the two women and tall and clean, he never-the-less concentrated on the first weapon shown.
As he saw the Uzi come up, he shouted "GUN!".
As the man straightened up, Jud centered in and fired a shot right through the man's neck, the 9mm round bursting out the barrel with a rather loud pop indoors, and subconsciously he noticed that the round had passed through the man's throat and far down the hall where a glass mural of sorts had exploded into glass fragments, painting a cloud of glass beyond the man's silhouette.
Knowing he only had seconds left, he now dropped down into a crouch, both arms locked in his best firing pose. Luckily he had always stayed competition ready, and the little Glock 9mm fit well in his hand. The recoilless action had already spit the spent shell off behind him, and the quiet "shink" of the slide told him the gun was ready to fire again. His arms now scanned looking for a new target, and luckily, the next target came up right away, as the number four man through the door turned toward him with a grenade in the left hand, and the requisite shortened AK-47 in the other. Noting that the man hadn't yet gripped the handle of the grenade, Jud knew in an instant that the grenade was stilled pinned.
"Bang" went the automatic again, just a split second after the first shot, and the number four man's hand opened to let the grenade drop. Before it hit the floor, Tall and Clean leapt for it, probably thinking it was armed, and wishing to dispose of it properly. Jud, thinking it was a wasted motion, continued his turn towards the two women. As he turned, he noticed Able fishing behind him for his 9mm, also tucked in the back holster. Jud had insisted that they go truly armed, despite the plastic bullets in the wicked looking 357. He hated being without a real piece, and as in the past, his caution had probably saved them, at least for a moment. But time was running out.
As he started to shout "Freeze" at one of the women who was dragging something out of her backpack, he heard the surprisingly loud "clink" of the grenade handle. Of course, he realized suddenly, tall and clean was not a dope dealer, he was in on it too. He had simply grabbed the most available weapon, the grenade, and was about to make deadly use.
Out of the corner of his eye he could just make out that the man was starting to stand, and at the same time directly in front of him Able's arm was slowly coming out from behind his back with the second of Jud's matching Glock 9mm's in his hand. It looked like he was targeting one of the women, and Jud only had a hair of a second to decide which one. He again went for the first weapon shown, as the blonde with the dark tan came up with a wicked looking pistol, he didn't recognize.
Before the gun could really target anyone, the women's forehead blew apart as Jud's 9mm now offered his two glazer slugs. One left for the next target, if he had the time to get to it. He didn't think so, though. The other girl was being much slower, and Jud could see slow old Able was surely going to win the race, he turned again to look at tall and clean. The shock was complete now, the adrenaline coursing through him. He confronted a jackal smiling, his uneven teeth making him to appear somehow even more deadly. The coal-black eyes burning into Jud, his stomach rolling from the tension.
The man's outstretched right hand grasped the grenade. The pin was gone, and the man's knuckles were not white. It meant only one thing, and Jud felt a wave of despair. It was a professional, probably Jihad himself he faced. The hand loosely holding the grenade, so loosely that if Jud shot him, the grenade would be sure to fall. How long was the fuse. Five seconds, ten? He couldn't sweep it up and toss it in five seconds, what about ten? It it was five, he would die with it in his hand, and probably not save anyone else's life.
He heard a bang off to his right, and he hoped it was Able finally deciding he needed to take a shot. If it wasn't Able, then his own back would be receiving the next shot, somewhere at heart level.
In front of him, the jackal lost a little of his smile. Jud hoped that meant that the man was alone now, less to worry about. He heard another shot, this one a very loud roar, and he wondered how Able had gotten a "load" like that. Leave it to a Chief of Police to have fancy ammunition around...then it struck him. The 9mm was Jud's pistol. He had taken it from his competition bag, it matched the gun in his own hand. Able hadn't loaded it, Jud had given him one of his own clip. Not Able's shot, was the last thought as he felt a horrible pain in the back of his head. Then he thought,
"Oh shit I'm dead."