Chapter Sixteen
The idea of murdering seven innocent people should have sickened Ovidio Natal Sanchez. Instead he felt a grim anticipation. These people were responsible for causing that festering wound on the earth. He only wished he had been given free rein to kill as many as possible. But he was a loyal member of BEAR, and he would carry out his mission, with pleasure. He sat in a nondescript van before the loading dock of the Lilac Copper Mine, holding an automatic weapon with the safety switched off.
His driver’s phone chimed, signaling a text.
“They’re all in,” he said.
“Give them twenty minutes to get to their desks,” said Ovidio.
His driver cast him a look.
“I don’t want to miss one who went for coffee.”
His driver’s sigh was audible, but he said no more, granting Ovidio a few more seconds to savor the moment.
His organization had supplied everything he needed: maps, head shots of each target, transportation and the automatic weapon he would use to kill every living soul in the procurement office of the Lilac Copper Mine. He didn’t know why. He didn’t care why. He just knew when and how.
Today. By his hand.
The twenty minutes ticked by.
A smile curled his lips. The next hole that went in the earth would be for their caskets.
“I’m signaling our man,” said his driver and began texting.
The van was parked at the receiving bays.
Ovidio had worked protection for his boss for years. Even had to kill a few people. But nothing like this. He licked the salt from his upper lip.
In life, he believed, people mostly got what they deserved. Today was the exception. These people deserved worse. If it were up to him, he’d tie the owners of this monstrous mile-deep pit with their own blasting cord and toss them in with the next load of explosives. But his leader said they had bigger fish to fry. This time they’d make a statement that would not be buried on page six. One that the whole world would feel, and know that the earth mattered. That people couldn’t keep assaulting the earth with impunity and that...
“You ready?” asked his driver.
The loading door was opening. He needed to focus.
“There he is,” said his driver and looked expectantly at Ovidio. “Hurry up.”
He wondered if his driver would really be here when he came out or would just leave him. But leaving him was dangerous. He might tell what he knew. He never would, of course. He believed too deeply in their cause. Still, they might kill him. Shoot him the instant he came out that door. He didn’t care. At least his death would matter and they’d never forget him here in this miserable mining town.
Ovidio checked his weapon and slipped from the van. His body tingled as he mounted the five cement stairs that took him from the bright sunlight to the shadows of the loading bay, the sensation reminding him of sexual arousal. Oh, yeah. He was getting off on it because he knew he was on surveillance now. And what would they do with only their rent-a-cops and crappy wire fences for protection?
How long until they spotted him? In the hall? After the first shots?
His conspirator stood holding the door and, as he passed through, relayed a message.
“Ibsen called in sick.”
“Address?”
The man passed him a sheet of paper. Now Ovidio had to get out of here alive to get Ibsen.
Somehow Ovidio thought after he told his commander at BEAR about the discovery made by the new purchasing clerk, Ibsen would know what was coming. Unfortunately it was too late to abort. Besides there was no way of knowing who in the office the clerk had spoken to about her discovery.
Ovidio stalked into the corridor. Today he would write his convictions in blood.
Ovidio continued toward his goal, inhaling the scent of machine oil coming from the automatic rifle heavy in his hands. He thought of the memorials and the anniversaries of the legacy he was about to leave behind. But this wasn’t his legacy. The removal of men who violated the earth—that was his legacy.
“I’ll be back soon.” Amber Kitcheyan stowed the last of the receiving slips she needed signed by her boss in her satchel as she spoke to their receptionist. Then she headed out from the receiving department in the Lilac Copper Mine’s administration building where she was a receiving clerk.
Their squat building sat at ground level perched over the thousand-foot cavity, which was the active open-pit copper mine. Below them, a constant stream of enormous mining dump trucks wove up the precarious roads, hauling ore to the stamp mills in Cherub. The pit covered two-hundred acres and the tailing piles covered even more ground. To Amber, it looked like a crater left by some absent meteor.
Amber
