by Alex Ander
Hardy re-gained his composure, hoping his reaction to Cruz’s attire had escaped the notice of Charity and Dahlia. “Don’t worry, Cruz. It’ll happen. Just stick to the plan.” He checked the time on his watch. “It’ll take us twenty minutes to get in place…at ten after six, knock on the door. We’ll be good to go.”
Cruz had already made sure her pistol was loaded with a round in the chamber. The weapon was tucked into the waistband of the skirt at the small of her back. She grabbed the leather jacket and slipped two spare magazines into the left pocket before tugging on the door handle and stepping out of the vehicle.
Hardy beckoned her. “Be careful, Cruz.” He watched her lean forward and flash a smile before slamming shut the door. He started the Suburban and pulled away from the curb.
“So, I saw the way you ogled Cruz, Hardy.” Dahlia was smiling. “I assume you approve of her new attire.”
Hardy rolled his eyes, but did not respond.
“I’ll take your silence as confirmation.” She watched the traffic out her window. “It’s settled. For Christmas, I’m getting Cruz boots and a mini skirt.” She leaned forward and patted his right arm. “You can thank me later.”
The SUV passed by a streetlight and Hardy saw Charity’s reflection in the passenger window. She was facing away from him and smiling broadly, struggling not to laugh. He had not gotten away with anything. Both women had seen his reaction. He sighed and changed the subject. “We need to stay on task. Our heads need to be focused on assaulting the shop. There’s no room for distractions.”
He’s right, thought Dahlia. In less than a half-hour, the team would breach the antique shop and be confronted with armed men trying to kill them. She grabbed her pistol and readied the weapon. Hardy made a series of left turns that brought them to the beginning of the alley behind the shop.
Chapter 32: Raid
Special Agent Cruz strolled to the intersection of Kinross Avenue and Westwood Boulevard and turned right. She had twenty minutes to reach her destination, which was less than five minutes away. She had planned to leave Dahlia’s leather jacket behind, in order to have easier access to her weapon; however, she was glad she was wearing it, when a gust of cool wind rose from the concrete and ran up the length of her exposed legs. The temperature was in the fifties and forecasted to be in the mid-forties. A shiver went up her spine and she pulled down on the mini skirt for the third time since getting out of the SUV. In addition to the chill, she was feeling awkward, having never worn a skirt that revealed so much of her legs.
With time to spare, she walked into a store called Aahs, a gift shop selling all sorts of items from clothing to party supplies and gag gifts. Checking the time on her watch, she meandered around the store, staying close to the door. At 6:05 p.m., she picked up two baseball hats and a t-shirt and paid for them. Tucking the items inside the bag from Victoria’s Secret hanging from her arm, she exited the store.
Standing on the sidewalk, she tapped the communication device in her ear and made contact with Hardy and Dahlia. “Hardy, this is Cruz. I’m one minute out. What’s your status?”
…………………………
Hardy and Dahlia had taken a position in an alcove behind one of several dumpsters, not more than thirty meters from the back door of the antique shop. From their vantage point, they had a clear view of the door. Hardy glanced at his watch—6:06 p.m. In three minutes, they would move out. He retrieved his lock pick set from his jacket pocket, opened it and selected the tools he would need.
Dahlia saw the case in his hands. “Bringing out the relics, old man?”
Old man? “If my math’s correct, I’m two years younger than you.”
She feigned surprise. “You’re only thirty? Wow! I guess I thought you were, you know, pushing forty. I wonder what you’ll be like when you do hit that number.”
Hardy grinned. During his first encounter with her, Dahlia had displayed a sharp tongue and quick wit. There had never been any malice behind her words. She enjoyed back and forth banter. Hardy had thought she used it as a defense mechanism, deflecting attention from her questionable occupation. The best defense is a good offense, he thought. Either way, he was sure she meant no harm. He had seen her vulnerable side once, when she had told him the story behind her short tenure with the FBI. Whether she realized it or not, in those unguarded moments, she had let him in, and he saw a woman searching for a connection, a relationship, a friendship, with people.
Stowing the lock pick set in the right pocket of his jacket, Hardy put the two tools he had taken from the case in his left pocket. His tone of voice serious, he answered her inquiry. “I don’t know. You’ll have to tell me, when you get there…first.”
It was dark inside the alcove and Dahlia could not make out his facial features. “Was that a joke?” She laughed quietly. “Nice, Hardy…Here I didn’t think your computer programming allowed for a sense of humor.”
Hardy was preparing another comeback, when he heard Cruz’s voice in his earpiece.
“Hardy, this is Cruz. I’m one minute out. What’s your status?”
Hardy tapped his earpiece. “We’re moving into position. On your order, we’ll breach—over.” He stood, motioned for Dahlia to follow and hurried to the back door of the antique shop.
…………………………
“Copy that.” Cruz turned and walked north on Westwood Boulevard, the shopping bag swinging over her left forearm, keeping her gun hand free. She approached the antique shop and saw it was dark inside. Light was coming from the back room, casting a dim glow over the showroom. Stopping in front of the door, she observed two men in the back office. Will they even see me? She rapped on the glass door with her knuckles and peered through the pane before putting her hands against her temples and getting closer to the glass. One man looked in her direction, but he ignored her. Making a fist, she pounded on the door.
The man jumped to his feet and exited the back room. He cupped his hands around his mouth. “We’re closed.”
Cruz shouted back at him. “I just need in for a minute.”
He emphasized his words, “We…are…closed,” before he turned his back on her.
Pounding on the door with such fervor that the man whirled around again, she repeated her request. She watched him speak to the others before ambling toward the front door. Cruz had positioned herself, so the minimal light coming from behind her could shine on her clothing. It worked. The man took special notice.
“What do you want? We are closed.” His eyes dropped to her legs.
“A friend told me about this place. She said you might have something for my father. If you open up, I’ll just take a quick look around and be out of your way.” Cruz rocked back and forth on the heel of her left boot. She watched his eyes travel the length of her body before he glanced over his shoulder at his companions. “Please,” she begged, hoping her schoolgirl-pleas would convince him to open the door. “I promise it won’t take long.”
The man reached into his pocket and produced a set of keys. Finding the right key, he unlocked the door. He heard a noise from behind him and cranked his head around to see the commotion.
…………………………
Down on one knee, Hardy put the lock pick tools back into his pocket and readied his pistol. Dahlia had been standing with her back to him, hiding him from the view of bystanders, while he picked the lock. She had her pistol in her hand, tucked inside her blazer. Getting to his feet, he tapped her on the shoulder and took a position on the right side of the door. Dahlia retreated a few steps, until her back was against the building on the opposite side of the door. They waited for Cruz to give the code word that she was in the building. He and Dahlia maintained radio silence.
Hardy checked his watch; it read 6:13 p.m. Come on, Cruz. Give us the order. He tightened his grip on his nine-millimeter Walther PPQ M2 and glanced at Dahlia. Her eyes were narrow slits. Her body was rigid. Her hair fluttered at the back of her head, when the occasional breeze blew p
ast her. She looks like a tiger that’s spotted its next meal. She averted her gaze from the door and signaled she was ready. Before he could acknowledge her, the back door opened.
A man stepped outside and jumped back, when he saw Dahlia. Holding the door open with his left hand, he and Dahlia stood motionless, staring at each other. He spied the gun in her hands and his eyes grew wider. Twisting his body to the right, he bolted back inside, shouting in Arabic.
Before the man had taken two steps, Hardy was on him, wrapping his left hand around the man’s mouth and hauling him backward. Dragging the man to the pavement, Hardy motioned toward the door and hollered at Dahlia. “Go, I’ve got him.”
…………………………
Cruz did not hear the disturbance at the back door, but sensed something was wrong when the man on the other side of the door quickly whipped his head around. Taking advantage of the distraction, she grabbed and yanked on the door handle, jerking the man’s arm toward her. She thrust her open hand under his chin and his head rocked backward. Lifting her right leg, she drove her boot into his chest and the man stumbled into the shop, falling to the floor and sliding into the end of the wooden display case.
Charging through the door, she gave the code word for Hardy and Dahlia to breach the back door. Gunshots filled the enclosed space of the shop. Cruz recoiled. Feeling bullets rush by her head, she dove to the floor.
On her knees, facing the end of the display case, Cruz slid her right hand inside her jacket and grabbed her pistol. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw movement before feeling one hand on her right breast and a second hand on the collar of her jacket. The man on the floor was not out of the fight. He was grasping her clothing, pulling her down to the floor.
Chapter 33: Gunfight
Special Agent Cruz had no room to draw her pistol and shoot the man. She brought her hands together and forced them upward between the man’s arms, breaking his grip on her. His upper body fell back to the floor. Cruz struck him in the throat and delivered several blows to his head. Clutching his throat and gasping for air, he stopped his attack. She drew her pistol and pressed her left shoulder against the display case. “Hardy, Dahlia, I’m taking fire. What’s your status?” Cruz heard more gunfire, coming from a larger caliber weapon.
“Southeast corner…pinned down by fire,” replied Dahlia above the noise of rifle rounds, hitting the corner of the wall where she was taking cover.
Hardy’s voice filled the airwaves. “I’m on Dahlia’s six. One man down…how many left?”
“I’ve neutralized one at the front door.” Cruz leaned to her right and fired three rounds down the length of the display case. “There’s one left…he’s toward the back of the store behind the counter.” More bullets zipped past Cruz.
The terrorist had positioned himself in the small area where the two wooden display cases came together to form an L-shape. The display cases did not come together completely, giving him a place of cover. Cruz was situated to his right and Dahlia and Hardy were straight ahead of him. He had a pistol in his right hand, firing at Cruz and a semi-automatic rifle in his left hand, the stock wedged between his left arm and body, firing at Hardy and Dahlia.
Cruz squatted and fired four shots over the top of the display case before taking cover once again. “We’ve got to take him out before he kills someone on the street.”
Dahlia put her pistol in her left hand and shoved it past the corner of the interior wall. She pressed the trigger several times and drew her weapon back, when pieces of the wall exploded in front of her face. “I can’t get a clear shot.”
Hardy was crouching behind her, surveying the room. He saw the staircase to his left and thought about making a run for it. Gaining the advantage of height, he could get off a shot at the man. After closer inspection of the area, he re-considered. There was a lot of open space between him and the bottom of the staircase, and the terrorist had a semi-automatic rifle.
Cruz peeked around the left side of the display case. She had a clear path all the way down to the back wall of the room. “I’ve got an idea.” She dropped the magazine from her pistol and stowed it in her jacket pocket. “Don’t return fire. Just keep him busy.”
Hardy cranked his head away from the staircase. “What’re you doing, Cruz?”
“I played softball in high school,” she said, retrieving a full magazine from her pocket. “The best part about the game was stealing bases.”
Hardy had a bad feeling in his gut.
Dahlia twisted her head toward him. “What is she talking about?”
Cruz slammed the full magazine into her pistol and got into a low crouch, facing the display case and the terrorist. “I was pretty good at it, too.” A couple more bullets went by her on her right; one ricocheted off the side of the case before it left the store.
“Talk to us, Cruz,” said Hardy.
Dahlia leaned left and tried to spot her teammate. “What are you planning, Cruz?”
Cruz took a deep breath and let it out. “I’m stealing second base.” She leaned to her right and fired three times before taking off on a dead run down the left side of the display case. Halfway down, she heard the rapport of the man’s weapon several times.
Dahlia caught a glimpse of Cruz’s head, moving left to right before it disappeared. “What the hell is she doing?”
Three feet before the end of the display case, Cruz threw her left foot forward. Her right leg was under her left knee, when her right hip landed and she skimmed along the floor. Clearing the end of the display case, she saw the terrorist. He had his back to her, pointing his pistol toward the front of the store. Cruz’s legs were straight out, while she slid on the right side of her body. Pointing her pistol at the man, she squeezed the weapon’s trigger four times. Four times, she hit her target. The first two bullets struck him the back of his neck. The third bullet penetrated his skull, while the final one cut his ear and sliced a gash along the left side of his face before hitting the wooden case, sending splinters into the air. On his knees, the man slumped forward and his head banged against the display case.
Cruz continued to slide, her body rotating ninety degrees to her right, until she came to rest with her back against the interior wall. With her weapon trained on the man, she hailed her teammates. “Target is neutralized…I repeat…target neutralized.”
Hardy responded. “Cruz, are you all right?”
“I’m fine.”
Hardy tapped Dahlia on the shoulder. “Check the rest of the main floor. I’m going upstairs.” He ran toward the bottom of the staircase and ascended the stairs.
Dahlia moved out from behind the corner of the wall and cleared the main room, ending her search in the back office. Re-emerging from the small room, she checked to make sure the terrorist Cruz had shot was dead, before giving the ‘all clear’ and heading toward Cruz.
Hardy’s voice came over their earpieces. “Second floor is all clear.”
Cruz was lying against the wall. Her legs were crossed at the ankles and her leather skirt was split up the right side. The zipper had split apart and the back half of the skirt was under her butt, while the front half rested on her stomach. She put the heel of her left boot on the floor and reached out with her left hand.
Dahlia clasped Cruz’s hand and helped her get to her feet. “Really, Cruz…white briefs? At least add a little color…maybe some reds or blacks.”
Cruz bent over at the waist and tried to push the skirt’s zipper back down the side; it wouldn’t budge. The skirt had a permanent slit in the side, running to the waistband. She stood erect and fiddled with the zipper. “I think I ruined it.”
“Don’t worry. I’ve got plenty more.”
Hardy came down the stairs, talking on his cell phone. Joining the women, he put away his phone. “The Hostage Rescue Team is making their assault now. I’ll have a report in fifteen minutes.”
Charity interjected. “Is everyone all right?”
“We’re all good,” replied Dahlia.
“Hardy, I can hear the sirens. The police are on their way.”
“Intercept them at the front door, Cherry. I’ll be right out.” He acknowledged Cruz and Dahlia. “Is anyone still alive?”
Hardy had dragged the man, who exited the back door, to the concrete. Once the man was on his stomach, he pulled a weapon from the front of his pants and fired upward at Hardy. Hardy had no choice. He put two rounds into the back of the man’s head and his body went limp, the gun in his hand clattering against the hard surface.
Cruz pointed. “The one at the front of the store still is.”
Hardy commanded Dahlia. “Get what you can from him.” He spun his head toward Cruz. “Take a look around in here and see what you can come up with. I’ll send Cherry in to help.”
Cruz nodded her head, while she massaged her right knee.
“Are you okay?”
She waved her hand at him. “My knee’s sore. I’ll be fine.”
“I don’t know how you did it, but nice work.” Hardy left her and hurried out of the store, fishing out his FBI credentials from his pocket. He could see the flashing lights on two squad cars from the Los Angeles Police Department.
Chapter 34: FBI Credentials
With both hands in the air, his right one clutching his FBI credentials, Hardy identified himself to the LAPD. “Aaron Hardy of the FBI,” he said, approaching the nearest police vehicle. “This is a federal investigation, officers. I’m operating under the direct authority of the President of the United States.” He told Charity to go help Special Agent Cruz. When she had gone, Hardy began speaking with an officer.
The officer examined the badge and gave Hardy his bi-fold. “What’s going on here? We received reports of gunshots being fired and people on the streets, scrambling for cover.”
“This is a federal investigation, officer. I’m tracking down a kidnapper.” He swung his head left and right and gestured with his hands. “I need your men to stay back and set up a perimeter.” Hardy took out his phone and dialed the number for Director Jameson. “I’ll have confirmation for you shortly, officer.”
