“There’s a 12-gauge up front,” Lee said, “and look at this stuff . . . We’re ready to rumble.”
“Meaning what?” Omo wanted to know.
“I have two choices,” Lee replied. “I can make a run for the border right now. Or I can go back, get Amanda, and make a run for the border.”
Omo looked at her. “Where do I come in?”
“You don’t.”
“I know what you’re trying to do,” Omo replied. “But here’s the deal . . . If you’re going after Amanda, so am I. Not because I’m in love with you, but because I’m a cop, and you need some backup.”
Lee felt torn. On the one hand, she didn’t want Omo to risk his life for her. And she was concerned about the true nature of his motivations. But he was a cop—and a good one.
Ultimately, it came down to his final argument. It might be possible to rescue Amanda, but she wouldn’t be able to do it alone. Two people would be the absolute minimum for such a raid. She looked at him. “You’re sure.”
“I am.”
“All right, let’s gear up. The patrol car will allow us to get in close. After that? Well, things are likely to get interesting.”
The next half hour was spent revising the way the vests were loaded, checking their newly acquired weapons, and testing their com gear. Then it was time to get in the car and head back to the hotel-casino complex. Both of which were open twenty-four/seven. Omo was driving, and that left Lee free to think. “Remember the trip through the tunnel? And the exit we passed? Let’s find the point where the stairs reach the surface. Maybe we can use the exit as an entrance.”
“Sounds good,” Omo said, as they left I-10. “We’re about ten minutes out.”
Lee nodded. “Okay, put out the call.”
Since both of the dead cops were male, Omo was the logical choice to call in. “This is Two-Ida-Four. We have a terrorist attack, repeat terrorist attack, taking place at four-one-one North Central Avenue. It looks like they’re parachuting in. Code 6A. Oh shit, they blew up a building!”
Then, as the dispatcher started to respond, Lee killed the radio. “They blew up a building? Where did that come from?”
“I was ad-libbing.”
Lee laughed. “Well, that should keep ’em busy for a while.”
Once they entered the vast parking lot that served the mall-hotel-casino complex, Omo wound his way over to the open area that separated the hotel from Nickels Peak. And sure enough, there was a small, shedlike structure, right where they thought it would be. And when Omo turned the headlights on for a brief moment, Lee saw the EMERGENCY EXIT sign. “Okay,” she said, “let’s do this.” The hope was that they’d be able to leave the same way they went in. So Omo parked with the car headed out—and was careful to lock the doors.
Omo had replaced his hood with a knit mask issued by the Tucson Police Department. He was wearing a SWAT helmet and a face shield over that. He made his way over to the door, tried to turn the knob, and found that the barrier was locked. “Stand back,” he said. “It’s time to use the master key.”
The so-called master key consisted of the patrol car’s 12-gauge shotgun loaded with eight “breaching” rounds specifically designed for opening doors. The trick was to destroy the hinges rather than the lock because that might jam. There was some risk, however, since the shells were designed for wood doors.
Omo stood at an angle, fired, and saw the top hinge part company with the door frame. Tiny bits of metal peppered his face shield, the Kevlar vest, and his forearms. They stung but did no real damage.
So Omo pumped another door buster into the chamber and blew the second hinge away. The door sagged and gave when Lee stuck a tire iron into the gap and pushed. She said, “Nice job, Cowboy,” and Omo felt a silly sense of pride.
He thumbed two additional rounds into the shotgun as Lee led the way down a flight of steep stairs to the tunnel level below. Then it was time to pause as she cracked the door and peeked into the hallway. “It’s clear. Let’s go for it.”
Omo had slung the shotgun across his back by then and was holding a six-shot 40mm grenade launcher instead. It was loaded with canisters of pepper spray in the hope that they would be able to incapacitate people rather than kill them.
But Lee was carrying an ugly-looking submachine gun (SMG) and was ready to use it if necessary. Omo followed her down the tunnel, turning occasionally to check their six. He figured that an alarm had gone off the moment they forced the door. Maybe, if they were lucky, a rent-a-cop would be sent to investigate. If so, he or she would see the cop car and assume that Dokey’s goons were responding to some sort of problem. And if a real police officer showed up? Then the poop would hit the fan in a hurry.
* * *
Lee was happy with the way things had gone so far—but knew that couldn’t last. And her premonition came true as a pair of stainless-steel doors opened to reveal a load of well-dressed passengers. Guests perhaps? Leaving some sort of function? Lee raised her weapon so that the barrel was pointed at the ceiling. “Sorry, folks . . . We’re running a routine security sweep. Nothing to worry about. Have a nice evening.”
One of the men raised a hand by way of an acknowledgment, and the group left for the casino, chatting merrily as they went. Lee felt a sense of relief and followed Omo onto the elevator. Having been there only hours earlier, she knew that the level labeled GUESTS was the one she wanted. She pushed the button.
As the car rose, Lee prepared herself for trouble. It seemed likely that security had been strengthened since their last attempt to free Amanda. Lee was ready to fire as the lift came to a stop, and the doors opened. But there was nothing to fire at. The elevator lobby was empty. Omo stood ready to provide cover fire as Lee took a peek around the corner. There was no one in sight.
That meant absolutely nothing, of course. The corridor had been empty last time as well. The trap had been waiting inside unit G-3. Lee waved Omo forward. He switched to the shotgun and pointed it at the door. There was a loud BOOM, quickly followed by a second blast. The door shattered. Lee kicked it open and went in ready to kill. The apartment appeared to be empty. Omo stood guard while Lee raced from room to room. Amanda was gone! She swore. “Maybe she’s in one of the other apartments.”
So Omo went down the hall firing on door after door. Lee was right behind him, ready to dash in and check each apartment out. All of them were vacant.
By that time, Lee was both frightened and frustrated. Had they walked into an even larger trap? Was Amanda being held at some other location? If so, the chances of finding her were nearly nonexistent. “I think we should go upstairs and pay Mr. Nickels a visit,” Omo suggested. “Maybe Amanda is there. But even if she isn’t, we can arrest Nickels and take him with us. We don’t have jurisdiction, but who knows? Maybe Sheriff Arpo can trade him for Amanda.”
Lee looked at him. “You’re a freaking genius! Let’s go.”
“Well, I’m a freak anyway,” Omo said. But Lee didn’t hear him.
Somewhere between the guest level and the floor above, Lee felt all of her doubts drop away. She was going to do what she had to do, whatever that turned out to be, and God help anyone stupid enough to get in the way.
The elevator doors opened, and there was a cop! He looked at them, frowned, and went for his gun. Lee shot him in the head. The second and third bullets were superfluous, but the submachine gun was set for three-round bursts, so he got more than his share.
Omo was already on his way to the bar and great room by then. The shotgun was slung across his back, and the grenade launcher was ready to go. A party was under way, about two dozen nicely dressed people were standing around holding drinks, and most of them were looking his way. Which was to say in the direction of the shots heard moments earlier.
As Omo aimed the launcher at the crowd they backed away. “Hold it right there!” he ordered. “Drop the drinks and place your han
ds on your heads! Do it now!”
Lee had arrived by then and fired a burst over their heads. The bullets passed through the blackout curtain and shattered a window on the far side of the room. That was when she saw motion out of the corner of her eye and turned just in time to see a man and the chair he was seated on disappear! Nickels? Yes . . . But wait . . . A bikini-clad girl was chained to the platform! “There she is!” Lee shouted. “It’s Amanda! Free her . . . I’ll cover the crowd.”
* * *
Amanda could hardly believe her eyes! Here, out of nowhere, were the police officers who had been sent to their deaths! And not only were they alive, they were heavily armed and in charge. She was fumbling with the leather collar when the man came to help her. “Don’t worry,” he said. “We’ll get you out of here this time.”
Amanda felt the collar drop away and immediately went over to where Mac was standing with her hands locked behind her neck. Amanda could see the fear in the other woman’s eyes as she reached in to tug the stun gun out of its holster.
Amanda heard the male police officer yell at her but ignored his command in order to aim the stun gun at Mac and pull the trigger. Nothing happened. Amanda looked, saw the brightly colored safety, and thumbed it off. Then she tried again. Mac knew what was coming and tried to fend it off with her hands. The shock put her down hard, and Amanda was kicking the woman in the head when Omo grabbed her arm. “We don’t have time for that,” he said. “My name is Omo. Come with me.”
* * *
Lee was still holding the crowd at bay by aiming the submachine gun at them. “Stay here. If you try to follow us, we will kill you.” And with that, she backed away.
Omo had pushed the STOP button prior to getting off the elevator, so it was still buzzing when they arrived. Lee paused to grab the Glock that lay a few feet away from the dead policeman. She gave it to Amanda. “Hold it straight out in front of you, aim, and pull the trigger. Can you do that?”
Amanda looked up from the pistol and nodded. “But stop pointing it at Lee,” Omo said. “Come on, let’s move.”
They piled onto the lift and rode it down to the tunnel without incident. Nickels was on the loose. That meant members of his private security force and the police would be on the way. So Lee figured that an armed reception committee would be waiting for them when the elevator came to a stop. But the only person there was a surprised kitchen worker with a hot cart. He stood with his mouth hanging open as two heavily armed cops and a girl in a bikini left the lift and began to run.
* * *
Amanda took two steps, realized there was no way she could run in high heels, and paused to kick them off. Then she had to sprint in order to catch up with the others. And that was when she heard Omo yell, “There they are!” and saw a hastily constructed barricade in the distance. It consisted of two golf carts parked crosswise across the tunnel. At least a dozen people were hiding behind the flimsy barrier, and they opened fire.
Amanda saw the police officers hit the floor, so she took a dive as well, and hit hard. The Glock skittered away, and she had to crawl after it. Meanwhile, bullets were glancing off the ceiling, walls, and floor and zinging all about. That meant it was only a matter of time before somebody took a hit. Then she heard a chugging sound as Omo fired a short, stubby weapon. That sent an object hurtling down the corridor. There was a flash of light and a loud boom as one of the golf carts took a direct hit.
But in spite of the damage, more than half of the security people remained unharmed and came charging out of the swirling smoke. That was brave, and it was smart, since they knew that the grenade launcher was a long-range weapon. And if they could close in on Omo, he wouldn’t be able to use it effectively.
* * *
Tom-Tom was in the lead. The twins couldn’t run very well, but they came shuffling forward, firing from the hip. Lee responded with a burst from the SMG. Two bullets went wide but the third hit Ethan and killed him instantly.
The dead head flapped wildly as Orson continued to advance shouting incoherent swear words and sobbing at the same time. Suddenly a grenade struck his chest and blew his body apart. By that time, all the security people were down, and the tunnel looked like a slaughterhouse.
* * *
Amanda had to run barefoot across blood-slicked concrete in order to follow the others through a maze of bodies to the exit beyond. Omo opened the door and held it for her. She ran up a steep flight of stairs, came to another door, and pushed it open. Cold air hit her mostly naked body and caused Amanda to shiver, but she didn’t care. She was free!
Lights blipped as Omo aimed the remote at the cop car and all of them hurried to get in. “Buckle up,” Omo advised. “This could get interesting.”
Omo took off, with the roof lights lit and the siren on. Meanwhile, Lee was on the radio providing a mostly accurate report about the fight in the tunnel. Except, according to her, “. . . The perps are heading into the hotel. We need backup, and we need it bad.”
Maybe the goons were onto the fact that Two-Ida-Four had been hijacked. Or maybe, in the midst of all the confusion, they would buy the latest false report and send every available squad car to the hotel-casino complex. Especially since they had corroborating reports by then. And, judging from the number of police cars that passed going the other way, the trick was working.
Omo could see better with the headlights on. There wasn’t much traffic, but what there was hurried to get out of his way. A series of deftly executed turns took the car onto I-10 northbound. There was no plan. Maybe that was an oversight. Or maybe it was because neither of the police officers had thought they would get that far.
Having been left to his own devices, Omo was going to make a run for Phoenix. Sheriff Arpo would be pissed, there would be all sorts of hell to pay, but they’d be safe. And Lee had no objection to that so long as it worked.
But as Lee eyed the highway ahead, she could see lots of red brake lights and stuttering blue lights up ahead. It was a checkpoint! The Tucson police knew the people they were after would head for Phoenix and were determined to stop them.
They were in the fast lane. Omo saw the problem, too, said “Hang on!” and whipped the wheel to the left. That took them through a “turnaround” in the concrete barrier that separated northbound traffic from southbound traffic. Such passes were normally used by the police as a way to access accidents more quickly.
But rather than turn south, the way he might be expected to, Omo went north and into oncoming traffic. Lee swore and held on to a grab bar as a horn blared and a semi missed them by inches. Then they were speeding up the inside shoulder with lights flashing and siren bleating. Cars swerved, ran into each other, and piled up.
Shortly thereafter, Omo saw an opening and drove diagonally across the road in order to reach the opposite shoulder. Once there, he continued northbound, which forced southbound traffic to move left. That triggered a series of fender benders as he waited for an opportunity to exit the freeway. That chance came as Omo pulled up alongside an off-ramp.
But in order to take advantage of the escape route, Omo had to slow down and make a hard left. Unfortunately, the car’s turning radius wasn’t up to the challenge and he had to brake or hit a concrete retaining wall. Tires screeched as he was forced to back up and turn some more. Rubber burned as Omo stomped on the gas. Moments later, they found themselves on North Freeway Road. It paralleled the freeway and was lined with shabby homes, small businesses, and empty lots. “What we need is a major road that will take us west!” Omo said. “Keep your eyes peeled.”
Lee understood, but there wasn’t much she could do to help. She caught a glimpse of the brightly lit roadblock as they passed it for the second time. When she glanced back over her shoulder she saw Amanda’s frightened face beyond the wire-mesh screen. Flashing lights were visible through the back window. “We have a cop car on our six,” she warned.
“Yeah, I know,” Omo sa
id grimly. “I’ll shake him.”
Even though the blackout was in effect, traffic signals were still working, and Lee saw one up ahead. It was red. Omo slowed but blew through it as he took a right-hand turn onto West Grant Road. He continued on for three blocks before taking a sudden right. That was when he killed the light bar, pulled in under an apartment house, and turned the engine off.
All three of them were looking back through the rear window when the squad car roared past with lights flashing. That was Omo’s signal to turn the engine on, back out, and return to West Grant Road. Then, with everything except the parking lights extinguished, he drove along at the legal limit. And with no streetlights to give it away, the squad car would look like any other vehicle unless someone got up close.
Lee stared out the back, expecting to see the cop car appear at any moment, and was glad when it didn’t. “Nice work, Cowboy . . . Let’s continue for a few miles, look for a good ride, and pull it over.”
Omo glanced at her. “You would do that to mom and pop?”
“I’ll be sorry,” Lee said. “But we need some new wheels. When the sun comes up, this thing will be very easy to spot.”
“Excuse me,” came a voice from the back. “But could we stop somewhere and buy some clothes? I’m freezing.”
Lee looked back, remembered the bikini, and chuckled. “I’ll bet you are. Crank up the heat, Ras . . . Maybe that will help.”
There was a moment of silence. Then Amanda spoke again. “Thank you. I will never forget what you did.”
“You’re welcome,” Lee told her. “And, based on what I’ve seen, you’re well worth saving.”
“You heard what Mr. Nickels said,” Amanda replied. “About the deal with my father.”
“Yes, we heard,” Lee said.
“That means Mr. Nickels will try to get me back, hoping that my father cares.”
Omo glanced toward the back. “Does he?”
Deadeye Page 25
