The Organization Part 1: Extraction

By Kris Kramer

What happens when you take a tough guy with a soft heart, an adrenaline junkie Hispanic mechanic, a Communist Party torturer, a sniper with one eye, a socialite heiress con artist, and a hacker who’d rather be playing Call of Duty and put them on a team of criminals run by someone named Big Man? You have one of the Organization’s best tools in their quest to take over the world, that’s what.

Who wants to read about good guys? These people are bad and they love it. So check out their adventures as they destroy, betray, steal and assassinate everything in their way, even their own teammates. It’s all just part of a regular day’s work for them.

Part 1 – The Extraction
There’s little rest for Big Man as he gets out of jail only to be thrust right back into another mission for The Organization. He gathers his team for a high-stakes extraction in downtown LA, only things don’t go as planned and they find the federal task force known as Scimitar hot on their heels. When the dust settles from this particular job, everyone on the team will find themselves a changed man, and not necessarily for the better.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Kris Kramer
• Release date: Mar 4, 2012
• ISBN: 9781465889195

Kris Kramer

Who wants to read about me? I write because my characters are FAR more interesting than I've ever been.

Book preview

THE ORGANIZATION PART 1

THE EXTRACTION

By

Kris Kramer

"We’re looking for a few good… criminals."

SMASHWORDS EDITION

* * * * *

PUBLISHED BY:

Kris Kramer on Smashwords

The Organization Part 1

The Extraction

Copyright © 2012 by Kris Kramer

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this ebook and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously.

*****

Kris Kramer, the author of this work, is part of the the4threalm.com, a collaborative and community-based website that focuses on showcasing writers, artists and filmmakers. He would like to invite you to see more of his work, along with several other terrific people, at the site.

http://www.the4threalm.com

*****

Cover design by www.MotherSpider.com

Chapter 1

The first mission is an extraction - with a twist. We're picking up an assassin in town known as Duran. He's a dangerous guy, very expensive, and very, very good at what he does. He was hired by Smith's group to take out a Congressman speaking at a hotel here in LA five days from now. Smith's sending a message to everyone that he's a real player now, that he's a better alternative to how we do things. A louder alternative. That message is bad for business, so we're nipping it in the bud right now. We set up at the hotel, we grab this guy when he shows up, we take him somewhere secure, and we find out everything he knows about Smith. Then we start taking it to him for a change.

- Big Man,

5 days ago

*****

He could smell the blood in the water.

Alone in his police cruiser, Officer Mike Miller sped down East 4th Street in Los Angeles with his lights flashing and his siren wailing. He swerved into the right lane, figuring out in his head the best route to get in front of the speeding white van running parallel about a half mile north of him on 2nd St. When the original call went out, he'd been on patrol in East Los Angeles, which meant he had zero chance of getting to the Concord hotel before all the action was over. But those snipers, the ones who allowed the vans to escape, had unknowingly given him an opportunity to get in on the bust. He was on the Santa Monica Freeway when he heard over the radio that the eastbound van was moving past Westlake, and his gut told him he could cut north on Main and intercept it. He'd been right about the direction, but a few seconds late on catching up. The van passed Main just before he could reach it, so Miller turned right on 4th and tried to keep pace, praying the van turned south.

His radio squawked on.

Eastbound target just turned right on San Pedro. Repeat, he’s headed south on San Pedro.

Perfect. The van was coming toward him now. Miller slowed down, realizing that he was only a block or two away from where San Pedro hit 4th St. If he timed it right the van would end up right in front of him and he’d have a golden opportunity to get close and make himself part of the bust. Nearby pedestrians stopped and turned their heads, hearing Miller’s siren as well as the dozen or so others coming from the north. Miller turned his off and rolled down the window, listening for the approaching cruisers so he could gauge when to roll in after them. Surprisingly, he heard gunshots ring out instead, and the pedestrians, who’d been standing around curiously, scattered from the street, running to the safety of nearby buildings.

He saw the van only seconds later.

Instead of speeding by him at the San Pedro intersection, it swung left onto 4th, and he was just close enough to catch a glimpse of the driver and the passenger, both wearing tan jumpsuits, black ski-masks, and tinted, bubble-shaped goggles. The van itself was solid white, with no side or back windows, and the words LINENS BY LOPEZ painted in big, blocky blue letters on the side. The van floated to the far side of the street, running up onto the curb and smashing through a stack of newspaper dispensers before swerving back onto the road and straightening out. The engine roared as it lurched down 4th street followed by at least five police cruisers, along with three black sedans and a black SUV, all with tinted windows. These were the property of Scimitar, the federal task force no one in the LAPD had heard of before today. When the tip was phoned in this morning about American-born terrorists trying to kidnap Congressman Albert Ross at the Concord Hotel, these Scimitar feds in their black suits had swarmed the city like flies on shit. They'd almost caught the terrorists at the hotel, pinning them down in two identical vans at the hotel's loading docks, before sniper fire gave the bad guys a chance to escape. So in Miller’s mind, Scimitar blew their chance, and now, through the grace of God, he had one of his own. He floored it, hoping to catch up and pull into the front of the chase, but he never had a chance. The van's driver swerved smartly around a white Volvo that had stopped in the middle of the road, but he wasn’t prepared for the silver Audi coming right at them. The van pulled hard to the left, hopped the curb and crashed right through the glass doors of the 4-story office building at the next intersection.

The pursuing vehicles screeched to a stop in front of the building, and all of the officers and agents in front of him hopped out with their guns drawn, urgently waving people away from the scene. Glass littered the sidewalk, and concerned shouts filled the air as policemen and feds both tried to make sense of the situation. Miller stayed in his car and drove past slowly. He got a good look at the van, which had punched itself halfway through the wall of one of the ground floor office suites. Miller parked his car at the far end of the other vehicles and got out, realizing almost immediately that no one had thought to cover the back. One of the Scimitar agents seemed to be trying to take charge, ordering men around and setting up a perimeter, but they were all staying in the front, where they could keep the van in sight. Miller recognized an opportunity when he saw one. He needed a big break right about now, and if he could play a prominent role here, he could save his career. So he drew his gun, made sure no one else was watching him, and darted around to the back of the building, hoping that today would finally be his day.

*****

Flex slowly lifted himself off the deflating driver’s side airbag and leaned back in his seat, groaning from the impact and resisting the urge to shake his head clear in case he had a concussion. He thought he’d banged it against the window during the crash but everything happened so fast that he wasn’t sure. Squealing brakes and shrill sirens filled his ears, reminding him not to dawdle. He blinked until he could focus again and took inventory of his situation before the authorities could get to him. His chest hurt, but most of his pain came from the gunshot wound in his left forearm, which burned like hell. That was good news; that meant he probably didn’t have any broken bones. He gripped his forearm tightly to control the bleeding. He was wearing a tan jumpsuit with the Lopez logo on the front, which covered the black suit he wore underneath, and the Smart Shield body armor under that. But no armor on his arms meant he'd start bleeding through in moments, and he needed to be extremely careful not to leave any DNA around.

His face was itchy and he knew he might start breaking out in a cold sweat from shock, but he resisted the urge to take off his mask. The plan had completely gone to hell, but he still had a slim chance to get out of this mess, and letting someone see his face as he ran from the van was a sure way to make things even worse. He looked over at Tox, slumped to the side in the passenger’s seat, her head resting against the window. He couldn’t see her eyes through the tinted goggles but he was pretty sure she was out cold. Her chest rose and fell, so she was breathing at least, but she needed to get conscious in about three seconds.

Tox? he said, grimacing. No answer. The interior of the van smelled like gasoline, and he cursed at his luck today. The van had a leak somewhere, which meant he couldn’t risk gunfire, but it did give him an idea on how to get out of here. He gingerly reached into the center console, trying not to leave any blood smears, and grabbed the remote trigger, putting it in one of his pockets. There were small explosives lining the interior of the van, with double-plated armor protecting those locations on the outside, just in case a stray bullet actually managed to pierce the bullet-proof walls. The inside had no protection, though, so once he activated the detonator and pulled the trigger, all evidence of them ever