Mamba Conspiracy

Mamba Conspiracy

Jack peered nervously at the warehouse through the side glass of his cream coloured Bentley. His car was parked opposite the big store at the other side of the road. The interior of the car was cosy and smelt of lemon apparently emanating from the air freshener stuck in one of the air conditioner vents. The warehouse was prominent in St. Luke Street for its wide metal door that rolls up like mat when a chain pulley is pulled by the side.
Jack hauled out a crumbled paper from his breast pocket and unfolded. He read the inscription on the paper silently to himself:
Park and Spray Warehouse 10:25pm
Customs Garage 12:05pm
St. Louis upholstery 4:30pm
He rumpled the piece of paper, opened the pigeonhole at the right end of his dashboard and threw the paper into it.
“I’ve never been wrong and that day is not today.” he muttered.
He opened the pigeonhole again, pulled out a stainless 9mm pistol and a drug container containing stimulants. He pooped one tablet into his mouth and swallowed. Then, he ejected the cartridge of his gun and observed the bullets; five was in it.
“This should be enough.” He said and pushed the cartridge back in. He inserted the gun into the holster strapped round his waist and glanced at his watch. 10:20 was displayed, the two digits separated by blinking dots.
He had become apprehensive after seeing the time. He pulled out a portable GPS device and entered the coordinates of the three locations he had on his paper and zoomed in. He was observing the distance between the other two locations from his current location when a call came in. Max O’Connor was the name on the screen.
He sucked in and calmed his nerves then waved over the screen signalling the smart phone to answer the call.
“Sup boss!” he said in a tone devoid of emotion.
“Jack! You gotta be very careful out there.” brief pause, “Our intelligence department at the FBI headquarters have been gathering intel on the locations you sent in.”
“What have you got, Ladies or fried chicks?” Jack cut in.
“This is serious Jack. We are getting simultaneous activities from the locations. Looks like the people in those locations are holding a conference call. We are still trying to hack into their discussion but it seems they are using an encrypted network. I smell something fishy.”
“I like the smell of fish. Think I should join the conference, huh?”
“I almost forgot, about the bombs suspected to be in those locations, be very careful when you find it. If the rumour turns out to be true and you find the bombs, inform us immediately so we can send down experts. The audio tape released by the terrorists claim the bombs are atomic. You know what that means, one wrong cut and it goes kaboom and a good portion of the city goes down in ruins.”
The clatter noise from the warehouse swayed Jack’s eyes to that direction instinctively. A man in blue jeans and a hooded black sweater had come out and was pulling together the chains of the warehouse to lock it with a big padlock. His face was hid under the hood; the white candescent street lights weren’t enough to illumine his face under the moonless night.
“Hold on!” Jack said hastily as he unstrapped his seat belt. Maxwell had begun to say, “What’s the problem Jack?” when Jack touched the call drop button. By the time Jack stepped out of the car, the man had finished locking the door of the warehouse and had begun walking hurriedly down the street. Jack followed with quick steps; a hand curled over the handle of the pistol strapped to his waist.
The man disappeared into the next right turn after the warehouse block. Jack broke into a slight run to cover his distance but on turning the bend, he was shocked to a standstill. The man was gone. Jack was puzzled because the next bend was metres away and there was no way the masked man would have reached it so fast, “Not even Usain Bolt can do that!” he gasped.
He looked around for a while then headed back to the warehouse. He gave a quick glance at his watch; 10:25 it was. “A minute behind schedule this time,” he muttered. His phone began to ring again. He dipped his hand into his pocket, brought it out and glanced at the screen. It was Max calling, “Not again.” He sighed. He stopped walking and picked the call.
“Jack, the boys at the HQ just nailed it. This whole thing is a Mamba conspiracy. I am talking Mamba – the international group of religio-phobias that vowed to bring every form of religion in the world to an end.”
“Wow! Finally caught the big fish for dinner.”
“Drop those jokes Jack; you know Mamba has no named leader. They are faceless and invisible at the moment. Anybody can be anybody.”
“C’mon boss. You still believe this invisible crap? Even ghosts have been caught on cameras. Or haven’t you seen this movie, ‘Paranormal Activity’? It’s a real cool horror or should I say comedy. Moreover, I have a list and a map. What could possibly go wrong?”
“With Mamba, a list and a map aren’t enough. You need tactics, men and ammunition. Stand down Jack. I repeat, stand down. I am sending in backup.”
“Boss I think you need a good rest. You’ve had a long hard day. I’ll see you by morning with a bottle of chilled beer. Don’t bother to tell me which, I know your brand.”
Max began to say, “Working undercover doesn’t make you above the rules,” but Jack feigned bad network connection, “What?” “I can’t hear you,” “The connection is bad.” he finally said and dropped the call then switched his phone to airplane mode.
“Being anything else other than the boss is always a pain in the butt – pricks harder than those syringes from tight faced nurses.” He said to himself as he walked to the warehouse.
Standing in front of the warehouse, he tried pulling the chains that controlled the gate but it would not bulge; the two sides of the chain had been locked together with a padlock. He pulled out his hand gun and screwed the silencer onto its muzzle – he didn’t want to wake or scare the neighbourhood with gunshot sound. He took a few steps backward, aimed at the padlock and pulled the trigger. The sound was sharp but low and the padlock chimed and jingled to the ground.
He pulled down the chain until the gate was half way up, bent and crossed over the gate. Once in, his gun was aimed at the darkness. Inside of the warehouse was dark, warm and quiet. He located the switch and flipped it on. White light from fluorescent bulbs filled the room and Jack ran a quick surveillance to make sure he was the only one around.
Empty crates of beers were piled up neatly in one corner into a stack; ten pallets high. Another side was filled with drums of paint – one on top of the other. It took up most spaces in the warehouse.
“How on earth am I supposed to find a bomb in this kinda condition? Moving all these crates and barrels?” He said, pointing his gun at each material as if he was speaking to someone, “No way! Am not gonna do that.”
He holstered his gun and made to leave. As he peered one last time around the room, he saw a dark corner – not illumined by the fluorescent – in a space between two barrels – and moved closer to have a look. He saw the bomb – a small brown rectangular box with a timer on one side attached to a gas cylinder.
“Voila!” he said, “Just knew I could never be wrong. All that is left is to disarm this bomb and move to the next location.”
Jack had had series of trainings in various fields including an anti-bomb training, martial arts, snipping and so on. His vast archive of knowledge contributed to his confidence.
He removed a screw driver and a plier from his pocket. He used the screw driver to open the apartment for wires. He looked at the jumbled wires; it was nothing like he had seen before (all the wires were black instead of multi-coloured), then he paid attention to the timer; it was at 58:37 and counting down every second.
“Ah! Enough time to do irreparable damage to this small box.”
He pulled out his phone from his pocket, changed the profile back to general. He dialled Max’s number but ended it before it connected. “No! I know the right man to call.”
He scrolled down his contact list, “Yes Fred! The geek should be able to walk me around this.”
He rang the number and waited patiently, “Hi Fred,” he said. There was a sharp response from the other end.
“Fred, how do you disconnect a bomb with mono-coloured wires?
“That’s easy Jack, counting from the left, cut the second and fifth wires.”
“Thank you.” jack said and ended the call before Fred could reply.
He cut the wires and the timer stopped.
“Haha. Technology breaks any barrier, am sure these dumb terrorists doesn’t know that yet.”
Just then, a call came in. He stared at the screen of his phone; there was no caller ID or number. Normally, he would have ignored the call but somehow he didn’t. The voice was husky and demonic.
“How much do I owe you?” Jack said.
“I like your bravery Jack.” The voice said and laughed dryly, “We need people like you in Mamba organisation.”
Jack was shocked – he wondered how Mamba got him – but maintained a steady voice.
“Am sorry to disappoint you because am an exterminator. Am trained to kill snakes.”
“I like your sense of humour Jack. But it won’t last longer.”
“My face…” Jack began to say but the caller cut him off.
“No need for long talks Jack. Listen attentively, we have monitored you for some time and we were certain with the right crime, you could be baited so we designed this. To cut the long story, the three bombs are triplets. Each has a chip and to disarm them, you need to join the three chips. The timer was just a decoy, it would have reached zero and stopped. Its high tech, I mean you don’t disarm by cutting wires but digitally. Cutting any wire would trigger and accelerate the real timer and there would be no stopping it and once one explodes, the others are triggered. You just triggered the triplet Jack. This time, you are not saving – you set up a mass murder. The blood of the millions will be on your hands tonight.”
Jack narrowed his eyes to the timer and discovered the caller was right. The timer was counting down very fast and for the first time he was clueless. His mouth was ajar.
“I know you must be surprised Jack but I’ll assure you it’s going to be a fast death. You won’t even feel the pain. Haha…” there was a dull hum as the connection died.
Just then, the backup team rushed in to deliver the same information. Max had tried to reach him unsuccessfully. Jack froze, with his hands on his chin.

3 thoughts on “Mamba Conspiracy” by Gamebaba (@Igwegameboy)

  1. Omena (@menoveg)

    I love the suspence. Wow! I wish this continues.

  2. Kosnie (@Kosnie)

    Thrilling piece…hope it’s a series

  3. Gamebaba (@Igwegameboy)

    Sorry to disappoint all of you but this is the end… *sobs*

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