A pressing tension enfiladed the small group of would-be rebels that were gathered in the basement of Bob Hunt’s home. The group was having a short briefing before heading out into the night to wreak as much havoc as they could. It was already 8:30 p.m. The city was generally quiet at this time of the evening save for a few citizens walking around as well as the odd armored NAP patrol. Hunt produced a Sig Sauer handgun, on the end of which was a sound suppressor.
“Bob, where in hell were you able to get that?” Jeff Hinton asked.
“I’m a retired police officer. I can acquire damn near anything. Now, as I was saying…”
Benjamin half-raised his hand.
“That priest who was here the other night. Where is he now?”
“Yeah,” Jeff chimed in. “You said he was helping us.”
“Oh, don’t worry, Tuck is every bit a part of this group as you all are. That seemingly quiet man has access to most of the big government buildings around Kamloops. You may find it hard to believe, but there are still many folks in our society who trust priests and ministers, including NAP officers and those foreign soldiers who’ve been terrorizing our city. That is why Tuck is such an integral part of this team.”
Though nervous, Hunt felt quite confident about what he was about to do.
“As I was trying to say,” Hunt continued. “Jeff, Ben and myself will take out the first target. Chris, you’ve done some recon on that house in the West End, have you not?”
“I certainly have,” Templeton replied. “From what I can gather, many of the homes in the vicinity of that old Victorian-style house are empty. That means no innocent civilians living in them. Four high-ranking members of the North American Police are living there. To the best of my knowledge, there is a lieutenant, a sergeant-major and maybe two staff sergeants.”
“You say you have gelignite?” Hunt asked.
“A small amount that I acquired from an individual who will remain unnamed,” Templeton stated.
Ron Storey lived by himself in a small bungalow in a neighborhood a short ten-minute drive from downtown Kamloops. The veteran law enforcement officer and prison warder had been married once, over ten years earlier. Storey’s ex-wife accused him of being controlling and verbally abusive, allegations he flatly denied. Although the night was dark, stars filled the sky. Storey was beat tired from the twelve-hour shift he’d just logged at the former provincial jail. He pulled his three-year-old Prius into the driveway of his home. He’d have just enough energy for a glass of bourbon and then it was right off to bed. Storey got out of the Prius, locked it and moved toward the house.
Hunt, Jeff and Ben Hinton lurked in the thick vegetation of a hedge that separated Storey’s home from his neighbor’s. Ensuring that nobody could be watching them, the three insurgents, their faces concealed by black balaclavas, moved slowly out of the hedge. Ben Hinton’s heart pounded wildly as he watched Ron Storey walk up to the doorstep.
Storey fiddled with the umpteen keys that were attached to the ring of his driver’s keys. He was tired, cranky and simply wanted to put another stressful day behind him. As Storey found the house key, he felt a slight movement. It was either around or directly behind him.
“What the Hell?”
Storey turned around. His body went numb with fear as an individual whose face was concealed by a ski mask pointed a Sig Sauer at him. Before Storey could get any words out, the intruder fired a muted shot point-blank between his eyes. Storey collapsed onto the doorstep. Hunt quickly retreated back toward the shrub where Jeff and Ben Hinton waited anxiously.
“We have to get out of here fast,” Hunt stated as he breathed heavily.
As the trio removed their masks and sauntered out onto the boardwalk as if nothing had ever happened, Hunt discreetly dropped the Sig Sauer into a storm sewer. Further down the street, the three bicycles they’d used to get here were hidden in a small suburban park.
“If we get stopped for questioning,” Hunt said, “We’re simply out for a quick bike ride before curfew.”