Cassamoqua Fairgrounds, Vanzhura, Page
11:41 PM
It had been more than a decade since a fleet of bikers rode through the gates of the Cassamoqua Fairgrounds. Back then, there was a fair. Motorists of all kinds came to these grounds. There were wealthy businessmen in their sports cars, families in their station wagons, retirees in their RV's, and plenty of motorcycle clubs. They came for the rides, for the animals, and for excessively deep-fried culinary creations. But by 2019, with the province of Vanzhura depopulated by economic stagnation and natural disasters, the Cassamoqua Fairgrounds were a ghost town. There were not even municipal authorities coming to mow the grass. This was a forgotten place. But it was not completely empty. The Covenant had set up shop there. The local police and OCET didn't know that the Covenant was here, but the Horsemen did know, and they were coming for blood.
Thirty bikers blazed through the parking lot. As they neared a decaying building that used to house livestock, they split off into groups of four or five, and each group came upon a different entrance so that there would be no escape for those inside. The first casualties were two men on guard duty outside of the front door, cut down in a hail of bullets that flew before the bikers who had fired even came to a stop. The Horsemen quickly dismounted to breach the door, and when the door came down, the first one through was a man named Oschka, a tower of a man with thick, blonde dreadlocks, a formidable beard, and arms tattooed from shoulders to fingers - and those fingers gripped AA12 shotguns. He had one in each hand. It wasn't long before he had run out of shells, but it wasn't long before his comrades cut down everyone else in sight either.
When it was quiet once more, Oschka surveyed his work.
''Where's this Count Dressler who runs the place?'' asked Oschka.
''This hole where a face used to be might be him'' suggested one of the Horsemen as he gave a swift kick at an unrecognizable corpse in a custom tailored suit.
''Oschka! I found a turtle in a shell!'' yelled Rolf, a young prospect on his first shooting mission. Oschka smiled with pride as Rolf dragged a cowering, bald, middle-aged man by his collar. Rolf dropped the man next to a dead Covenant associate. When the man got his face off the floor, there was wet blood on his forehead and a nose.
''You think he's a Count too?'' asked Rolf.
''No'' replied Oschka as he sized up the man. ''Looks like a customer to me. Are you a customer, turtleman?''
''Yes, yes, I'm not with them'' the bald man stammered ''I was just doing business! There's a meth lab in the old flea market. 20 kilograms! Take it all, and I'll be on my way! I didn't see you, I don't know you, I don't want to.''
''You'll be on your way'' said Oschka. ''Abel, Winston, Rasmus, go check out the lab. Pack up the glass and then burn it down.''
''Got it, boss.''
Michael, a long time comrade of Oschka, searched the bald man's pockets. He pulled out a cellphone, a wallet, and from the pocket of his jacket, a few condoms.
''Are you in the meth business then, turtle, or were you just going to get high and hit the clubs?''
''I ... I sell. Not in your territory of course, not in the Rim, up in Thalyin'' said the man.
''You don't look like a drug lord'' said Oschka.
''He's not!'' yelled Rolf from down the hall. ''Boss, I think I found what he really came here for.''
Oschka came to have a look, and he was horrified by what he saw. Some 20 people chained up in a filthy, crowded room, most of them teenage girls. It was obvious to Oschka that most of them were immigrants, probably taken by the Covenant not long after they arrived in Page. Reports of migrants disappearing from neighborhoods on the Rim, the overcrowded settlements just outside the city limits of Radi, were on the news every week. This is where they were taken.
''English? You speak English?'' asked Oschka in a soft voice. ''I'm not going to hurt you, I'm here to set you free, I promise. The men who did this to you aren't here anymore.''
For a long moment, none of them dared speak or even make eye contact. But then one girl spoke up.
''They make us work lab, drugs. And men come. Pay for us.''
''Rolf, did you find any keys on the suit?'' asked Oschka.
''Yeah boss.''
''Unlock them, right now'' commanded Oschka. ''My friend is going to get you free. Then we'll go outside together, and I'll call the police to take you home.''
Oschka stormed out of the room. He returned to the bald man and kicked him in the jaw.
''Rolf, when you're done, bring me one of those chains!''
A few of the Horsemen lead the liberated victims outside. Oschka pitied them that for all they suffered, they would have to see the carnage his men wrought on their way to freedom, but he hoped they might take some comfort in seeing it.
Abel, Winston, and Rasmus soon returned. ''I got it loaded to the truck'' said Winston. ''20 kilo, just like he said... who are those girls?''
''The Covenant took them. And this piece of shit was here to buy one'' said Oschka as he gave them man yet another kick.
''No, no, only meth, I swear, only meth! I don't... I... I like men, your friend was right, I do some meth and go pick up guys at the club.''
''Lying sack of shit'' growled Oschka. ''Rolf, a chain!''
Rolf brought the chain, and Oschka revealed its purpose. He dragged the customer outside, locked one end around the man's ankle, and tied the other end to the back of his motorcycle.
''I don't know how long you'll last, but I hope you enjoy the ride.''
Oschka ignored the man's pleas and shrieks. He took out a burner phone and placed a phonecall.
''Cassamoqua Fairgrounds, kidnapping victims alive in front of the livestock pen.'' Without another word, he threw the phone to the ground. ''Alright, get the fuck out of here. Half of you escort the truck to the seaplane and get paid for that meth, the rest of you get straight back to the clubhouse. I'll be there a little later, I might be slowed down dragging some dead weight along the asphalt.''
The bikers left with haste, knowing they shouldn't be anywhere near the fairgrounds by the time the police got there. Oschka was the last to start his engine. He flashed a smile at the human trafficking victims huddled outside, and then took off with the customer in tow. The customer lasted for 12 kilometers.
Port of Torska, Radi, Page
1:22AM
''So, 780,000 striva as agreed. Feel free to make sure it's all there'' said the foreign man who handed a briefcase to Count Zhaler.
''If I ever feel the need to make sure it's all there, then you will know you have just seconds to live'' replied Zhaler.
''Yes sir, of course, I didn't mean any offense'' said the foreigner.
When the foreigner heard the vibration of a phone in Zhaler's pocket, he was relieved that the conversation might go no further, Zhaler was a humorless man and every arms deal felt like a game of Russian roulette. But the foreigner's relief faded within seconds and an even worse dread overcame him as Zhaler began to scream into his phone.
''Everybody?! Are you fucking with me because I swear to the stars I will... And what about the cargo?! Torched? Not the fucking meth, I mean the OTHER cargo! What's that... NO, YOU TELL THE DUKE! YOU GO THERE AND TELL HIM!''
The foreigner contemplated taking a few steps back into the shadows and then making a run to his ship, but he stood frozen in fear as Zhaler lowered his phone. Zhaler's nostrils were flared with rage. His hand was shaking. He glared daggers.
''What are you still doing here? Take those guns to your shithole country, and call my man when you want some more'' growled Zhaler. The foreigner obeyed without hesitation.
Zhaler walked down the dark docks, breathing in deeply, trying to regain his composure. He found his colleague, Count Rodget smoking a cigarette and staring at the full moon, the only celestial object visible in the light-polluted night sky of Radi.
''The Horsemen hit Warehouse Five. Count Dressler and his associates are all dead, the cargo is gone, and a pack of pigs has already got to the scene before our cleaners could take care of it.''
''The war has certainly escalated'' said Rodget. ''The Duke will want an appropriate retaliation.''
''No shit'' said Zhaler. ''It disgusts me to say it, but it may be time to recruit mercenaries to deal with the Horseman problem.''
''You would bring foreigners to our shores to deal with our problems? Who am I talking to?''
''We don't have the numbers anymore! The feds have taken our best associates. Money is money and blood is blood, what does it matter?''
''It's up to the Duke'' said Rodget.
Indeed it was up to the Duke. But Count Zhaler had a plan in mind, to pay 10,000 striva to any paid killer who would come to Page and kill a Horseman. This would be total war.
OCET Command Center, Radi, Page
7:19 AM
Ten years after the war and half a world away, a part of Agent Natalya Baker's mind was still in the jungles of Camaguey. She was a veteran of the Western Cuba War who had been awarded the Medal of the Midnight Star, a senior field agent for OCET twice commended for heroism above and beyond the call of duty, and a sleep-deprived, anxious wreck of a person staring deep into a bathroom mirror. She had splashed water on her face, combed her hair, and gave herself a minute to take a few long, deep breaths. She had been briefed by her partner Karsen on the situation that was about to be addressed at the conference she was late to. The gang war was escalating on the streets, and more Pagian made drugs and guns were being exported than ever before.
In the glovebox of her car 80 stories below in the parking lot was bottle of alprazolam and a letter from a doctor authorizing extended medical leave. One of these things she had accidentally forgotten, the other, she intentionally left behind. Reflected in the mirror was a 29 year old woman with beautiful gray eyes, youthful skin, and thick locks of brunette hair. Anyone else would have seen an attractive, well-adjusted, happy person. But Natalya saw something else.
''Fuck it'' she whispered. ''Just walk away'' she said to the mirror, her voice steadily raising in decibel, ''Hang up the badge and gun before you die and it's all for nothing!'' Then she heard three knocks on the door, and Karsen's muffled voice.
''Talya, are you alright?''
''I'm fine, Karsen.''
She burst through the door and walked at a brisk pace to the conference room. When she arrived, she entered a room packed with more than fifty other OCET agents. Chief Westmore made his impatience clear on his face.
''Now that everyone has arrived'' said the Chief, ''Let's get down to business.''
''Last night, we found out two things. First, that the Cassamoqua PD are more useless than a blind sloth on heroin, letting the Covenant make meth and sell sex slaves right under their noses. Second, that there will not be any new suspects in our cells today because the Horsemen killed every last one of them. The scumbags, the biker scumbags I mean, were apparently feeling magnanimous as they made sure every victim got out of there alive. Unfortunately, none of them are in the mood to speak to our investigators and most of them don't speak a word of Pagian or English.''
Natalya felt her blood pressure surge as she was once again reminded what a callous ass of a boss she had. ''What the fuck is wrong with you?'' she thought. ''You're trying to get info from human trafficking victims before they've even had a chance to sleep or talk to their families? Asshole!'' She dared not say those words aloud in that room, but she would certainly say those words to Karsen when the conference was over.
''So, we have translators from ISS on the way, but I don't have high hopes'' the Chief continued. ''I was honored this morning by a personal phone call from our Premier. Doctor Novodaro says that this crime wave is really fucking up our 'international standing', that we need to get aggressive in bringing down the Covenant and the Horsemen. Drugs, guns, and worse are being shipped from the shores of Page to every corner of this bloody planet. Therefore, we are establishing Task Force Judgment. I named it. It's a good name, right?
Task Force Judgment will be composed of our best field agents working in cooperation with law enforcement agencies of foreign nations affected by Pagian organized crime. This isn't just coke and heroin killing junkies in the slums. Guns are falling into the hands of jihadis. Explosives too, alright? If another church in a foreign capital is shot up, then shit will go nuclear.
So, I would like you all to give a big round of applause to the excellent although chronically late agent who will lead Task Force Judgment in the field. Natalya Baker, come on down! You're next contestant on the-price-is-maybe-your-life!''
Natalya could appreciate dark humor, but she found it hard to appreciate this promotion. ''Go to your car and get the damn letter'' she thought to herself, but that's not what she would end up doing and she knew it. She stepped forward to accept her mission as she had always done before.
