Chapter Seventeen
‘Stand by, stand by’ the command crackled in the earpieces of every member of the AOS who were all dispersed into the quiet suburban street. ‘The front door is opening, standby for target conformation’ Sgt Gary Stone was acting as spotter and negotiator and had radioed the instructions to his squad. Ken Moore, his second in command, who also acted as the squad sniper, had taken up position beside Stone. Ken’s rifle, the Accuracy international AW sniper rifle was against his shoulder and pointed directly at the front door of the ordinary looking house. Gary knew he would have a clear line of sight through the powerful scope. Whoever stepped through that door would be in Ken’s crosshairs, and he would be able to neutralise any threat they presented with one small movement of his trigger finger.
The rest of the squad carried Bushmaster M4A3 Carbines as well as Glock 17 pistols. Gary had dispersed them between outer cordons to stop anyone entering the street and finding themselves in crossfire, to the inner cordons that would contain anyone inside the area that might decide to make a run for it.
It was something the squad trained for constantly and had done countless times for real. The difference today was that each member’s emotional state was on a knife-edge. They all knew and liked John Mouller and Jo Williamson, the frustration and disappointment had been extreme when they had not located them back at the pad. If he put all of that with the adrenalin from earlier still in their bloodstream, and the fact that some had expressed their concerns that they were wasting time with this job while not looking for their friends, made Gary Stone a very nervous man.
He knew his priorities should be with his missing colleagues but this was a legitimate call, more than one person had reported hearing gunshots and that meant they had to deal with it. He did not want an incident today; they did not have the time to waste if someone on his team let his discipline slip in any way.
He had no further time to think about it as the door across the road from them opened fully, and a figure stepped through and out onto the porch.
“Be advised, we have a male in the doorway, dark hair, medium build, dark clothing” Stone was watching him through his binoculars but his arms were obscured by a small bush that was within his line of sight, he needed to see what he was carrying. Moving sideways to get a better look, he still tried to stay within partial cover in case this male posed a threat. His fears were borne out when he saw the unmistakable shape of a shotgun, one that had its barrels shortened. The male was carrying it with one hand, barrels towards the ground, hand around the wooden stock, finger in the trigger guard. With the other hand, he saw him wipe at his face, as if brushing away sweat, or tears.
“That’s Martin McLaren.” Ken Moore said with certainty, his index finger moving from outside the trigger guard to rest lightly on the trigger itself.
Stone saw Ken Moore’s breathing slow down in preparation for a shot.
“Alpha one to all members, we have one male combatant standing on the front porch. He has a shortened double barrel shotgun in his right hand. It’s being held at waist level pointing at the ground” Stone took a breath; he had obligations now in relation to standard operating procedure and police general instructions “Be advised F061 applies, do not engage unless he poses a threat or tries to break the cordon.” There was more to it than what he had said and he knew that all of his squad members knew this ‘General Instruction’ back to front and inside out. As always, he had to tick every box in case they ended up shooting someone. It was not so much to safeguard himself, more to protect his fellow squad members, who in most cases would only be doing their job. The public outcry would attract all the anti police establishment types, and there would be heads called for if any discrepancy was found. The bosses in Police Headquarters based in Wellington would do their best but there always had to be someone to blame. He was buggered if he was going to let it be one of his squad.
“I have a shot Gary,” Ken said, not taking his master eye from the scope.
“Okay Ken, but let me try and talk him down first. We don’t want to get tied up in a shooting today, not with Jo and John still out there somewhere” Stone picked up his loud hailer and switched it on.
“There can’t be too many sawn-off shotguns floating around this city” Ken said “I’m betting this one was used on the shopkeeper in the robbery and I’m willing to double the odds that it was used to kill Tama Wilson as well. If Martin was involved in all of that then he deserves to be shot”
Gary looked down at his colleague “You might be right Ken but it doesn’t stop me having to do this by the book” he put his mouth to the speaker.
“I need you to put the weapon down and move into the street… do it now.”
No movement.
“Put down the gun and move into the street now, we have armed police surrounding you”
Martin looked up, shielding his eyes from the sun he scanned from left to right, then his eyes located Gary and Ken and that is where they stayed.
“We have firearms trained on you right now; if you present a danger to us you will be shot. Put down your gun and move out into the street.”
Martin started moving, slowly, taking one small step at a time, eyes fixed on Gary and Ken.
“He’s moving Gary, he still has the gun,” Ken said urgently.
Gary glanced quickly at Ken and saw the knuckle on his trigger finger go white. “Stand down Ken, his gun is still pointing to the ground. You have to let me do this my way”
Martin kept advancing towards the front gate, walking slowly on the concrete path. The gun held loosely in his right hand.
“If that gun moves even a small fraction in our direction, he’s dead” Ken spat out angrily.
Martin reached the front gate and kept moving.
“Martin McLaren, stop where you are and put down the Gun” Gary knew this was the last throw of the dice, if Martin didn’t stop then Ken would shoot, and he had seen what 7.62mm rifle ammunition could do to a body at close range. Whatever Martin McLaren had done he did not deserve that. He heard his colleague take a deep breath and then release it slowly, he knew he was preparing to shoot; it would only be a fraction of a second more. He did not take his eyes off the target, willing him consciously to stop.
Then Martin stood stock still, gun hanging limply by his side. He was less than fifty metres away and Brian could see he had been crying. Bloody great, he thought, all he needed now was an armed person in an emotionally fragile state, the worst kind there was. Martin just stood there with wide eyes looking directly at the barrel of the rifle pointed in his direction, as if contemplating a decision.
“This guy wants to be shot, Gary. He knows what he’s doing; we have let him come to far as it is.” Ken’s voice sounded on edge.
“We’re not in the habit of assisting people to commit suicide Ken, just give me a chance.” Despite the situation, what Brian Johnson had said about Bridger’s request was playing in the back of his mind. Bridger did not always play by the rules and he kept things pretty close to his chest, but if he needed to speak with Martin, he would have a good reason. John and Jo’s disappearance may even be connected.
“Put the gun on the ground and move to your left.” The distance between them almost made the loud hailer redundant, but he need it to be clear enough to all that may be listening that Martin had heard his instructions.
Martin just stood there and did not move.
Wasted Lives, a Detective Mike Bridger novel Page 18
