The Alpha
By Adam Morgan

Se.Doc The quick eruptions of clicks and taps on the keyboard disturbed the silence of the small room. Against the back wall stood a desk, with a small flat screen computer on and a rotating chair under it. In this chair sat Angel, captain of The Alpha, his long gold coat looking out of the place in the almost pitch black room. His blonde hair was barely visible in the dim light that was bursting from the screen. By the door rested Crooks, a small, shorthaired man whose long black leather coat was flat against the wall, his body angled lazily off it. His arms across his chest, his gun rested uneasily over his left forearm. His shades hid the worried look that was spread across his face. His foot tapped impatiently on the rotten floor. The plain green wallpaper looked even more decrepit in the light and the tall door loomed over the room, it's flaking paint rolling off to the floor. Crook's phone rang, slicing the silence with a freshly sharpened knife, causing Angel to jolt and turn around with an aggravated plastered over his face. 'Amoena, what have you got?' 'You've been in too long, turn it off, I've got a clear signal here, if I can see it so can they.' Crooks slapped a hand over the receiver and leaned forward to Angel. 'Come on man wrap it up, Amoena says there are Agents coming.' 'Oh shit, how long have I been in?' 'An hour' 'Shit!' he turned around and manoeuvred the mouse to a position and clapped a finger down on a button, he leant over and removed a disk from the A Drive, on it was written in smeared writing, 'Se.doc'. He spun around on the chair and stood up, he was met by a confused look on his partner's face, 'What about the hard drive? Aren't you gonna wipe the thing's files?' 'Crooks?' A muffled voice came through on the phone. 'Amoena?' 'They're in you've gotta get to the roof, go now.' Crooks wrapped up his phone and tossed it in his pocket and held the door handle nervously, leaning over to Angel. 'Come on.' 'Go, I'll be there in a minute.'
Crooks reluctantly ripped the door open and launched him self through to the stairwell. Angel was still mesmerised by the screen, frantically running through files, deleting them, half turned ready to run.

************************ 'They're inside.' Roberts said, monotonously. 'How many? Six or Seven?' 'Eight. We'll have two teams, one on the stairs and one in that room. We'll have a third and fourth at different points in the building.' 'For us?' King asked, curious, with his voice still at one level, determined, casual, stern. 'Yes. Tell them to move in thirty seconds.'
Behind them four vans opened up, four men pouring out of each, weaving between the cars and flashing lights, Roberts and King pressed their ear pieces in and watched as four SWAT teams swarmed into the Brooklyn Residential home.