by William Oday
She somehow remembered the plan and peeked down to see that she’d launched YouTube instead. Taylor Swift was about to get her busted. A few swipes later and she activated Tracker 911.
The car swept through a section of West Los Angeles where the businesses were more spread out. The passing lights outside went dim and the illumination on the ceiling had to be obvious. She watched as the tracker map came up, pinpointing her position.
Please Dad. Please have your phone on.
She clicked the display off, knowing the app would continue broadcasting her position to the synced app on her dad’s phone.
If he had it on. If he was checking it.
Elio pulled away and stared into her eyes. She nodded just enough to let him know she did it.
And then she realized something totally insane.
Despite the clear danger of the situation. Despite the likelihood that any number of terrible things were about to happen. Despite everything.
She wanted to kiss Elio again.
Maybe it was the fuzziness that made her brain feel like sun-soaked cotton. Maybe it was that she’d never been more certain about anything.
Whatever it was, she went with it.
She leaned forward into Elio’s embrace and their lips pressed hard together.
55
MASON waited at a red light at Pico and Western. There had been no sign of police pursuit. Maybe he was wrong and they were going after someone else. There hadn’t been an update since the original report. It was possible they’d shuffled over to a private channel.
He looked in the rear view mirror and up and down Western. No flashing lights.
A few more miles and they’d be at the Santa Monica airport. He could drop off Iridia to whatever fate would decide for her. Get back home to check on the girls and Max. He needed to call Beth. Something big was going down and he didn’t like her being all the way over on the east side of the city. That was too much humanity between them.
If what the news showed was true, it was too many possible points of infection. Too many possible points of trouble.
He touched his phone to check in and started as it chirped at him. Not the ring of a call, but the chirp of an app notification. He pulled it from the change holder below the radio and flinched when he saw the illuminated screen.
Tracker 911 had an urgent message. He thumbed it on and the app showed an emergency alert from his daughter’s phone. A map showed it heading east on Pico. Less than a mile west of his position.
Why was her phone not at home, where she should be? Was it stolen? Was it a glitch? He pulled up favorites. Only two slots were taken. His wife and his daughter. His mother needled him about that constantly.
He tapped his daughter’s name and it went through to voicemail after the first ring, like she’d clicked it off. He left a quick message and then called again. Straight to voicemail.
Theresa knew not to play around with that app. He had stressed the importance of using it only in an emergency.
He had no idea why, but this was an emergency.
Maybe that was the definition of one. If it made sense, it wouldn’t have happened in the first place.
Mason prayed it had nothing to do with the madness he’d seen on TV. Why would it? His chest ached. His fingers tingled numb. What was she doing?
If she was safe, he’d kill her. If she wasn’t safe, he’d kill anyone that harmed her.
“What’s going on?” Iridia asked.
The supermodel was still with him. He’d forgotten her completely. She could forget about getting to the airport. Professional responsibility fell a far cry short of parental responsibility. He had one mission now.
Get his daughter.
“My daughter. It’s an emergency of some kind. I don’t know, but it’s serious.”
He tapped on the brake and focused all of his mental power on changing the red light to green. It stayed red.
“Whatever,” Mason said as he checked both ways and then floored it through the intersection, narrowly avoiding taking off the rear fender of a legally crossing car.
Red and blue lights flashed through the windshield as a black and white he hadn’t seen coming north on Western flipped a left and blasted the siren. The cruiser pulled up on his bumper.
“Pull over,” a loud speaker shouted.
He didn’t have time for a stupid ticket. Or worse. What if they were looking for him?
Who knew what was going on with Theresa. Every fiber in his body wanted to floor it. The dispatcher didn’t mention his name or license plate number. Mason knew they would have if they’d had it.
He had two choices. Pull over and hopefully get a quick ticket and continue on. Or two, initiate an OJ-style police chase. If he wasn’t identified yet, that would blow it in no time.
He nearly punched a dent into the steering wheel as he turned on the blinker and pulled to the side of the road.
“What are you worried about?” Iridia said.
Mason snarled a response and didn’t elaborate. He didn’t have the time or inclination to fill in Ms. AllMeAlltheTime.
“Let me handle it,” she said.
He shifted into Park but didn’t turn off the Bronco. If they got wind he was wanted, he wasn’t going to go quietly. He had no desire to break the law, but he didn’t have a choice. Theresa was in danger. He had to get to her. Everything else was secondary.
He glanced at his phone. Her phone was heading in his direction, now just four blocks away. He looked down the street and didn’t see anything obvious in the stream of traffic forcing their way through the congested lanes.
Tapping on the side window got his attention.
“Please roll down your window, sir.”
An LAPD officer with a Maglite as big as a baton stood by the window. He looked young, barely out of the academy young. His head was level with the window, which made him on the tall side. At least six feet. He tapped the hard metal casing to the glass again.
“Down.”
“Sure,” Mason said and he complied.
“License and registration.”
Mason leaned over to grab it from the glovebox.
Iridia stopped him.
She was weeping. Her face a puffy mess of tears and anguish.
Where did that come from?
“I’ll get it, Uncle Mason,” she said. She got his wallet and the registration paper and handed it over. The paper fluttered in her trembling hand. She collapsed forward, sobbing into her knees.
Uncle Mason? Did he have to be the old uncle?
The officer shined his light into the car, illuminating her face.
“Are you okay, ma’am?”
Iridia turned and wiped away the moisture on her cheeks. Mason would’ve sworn her favorite pet fish had died or something.
“Hey, are you that Sports Illustrated girl?”
Iridia nodded with a sad smile.
“Wow. The guys are never gonna believe this.”
He coughed, as if remembering his position as enforcer of the law and not as lusty teenage stalker.
“Sir, are you aware you just ran through a red light?”
Mason was about to answer when Iridia let loose with another howl of anguish.
“Ma’am—“
She sniffed and turned to him. “Iridia. Call me Iridia.”
His eyes widened like he couldn’t believe it.
“Iridia, are you okay?”
Iridia shook her head and buried her face in her hands.
Mason decided to play along. He didn’t know what else to do. He patted her back.
“There there, honey.”
Iridia faced the officer again. She really was convincing.
“It’s my mother. She’s been in a bad accident. Uncle Mason was taking me to the hospital. If she dies…”
She let loose with another pained howl.
Mason almost forgot it was nonsense. He wondered what happened to her mother. That director made a huge mistake. She was good.
“I’m so sorry to hear that, Ma’… Iridia.”
He handed the papers back to Mason.
“Listen, I understand wanting to get to her, but just slow it down. Getting into an accident yourself isn’t going to make things better.”
“Thank you so much, officer,” Iridia said. “You’re my hero today.”
His face turned pink and he looked down. He patted the window sill. “Well, I’ll let you off on this one. Just obey the traffic laws and we’ll all get where we’re going in one piece.”
“Thank you, sir,” Mason said. He tapped the brake, hardly able to keep his hand from the shifter. They needed to go.
Now.
The officer looked at Iridia again.
“I hope she’s fine.”
Iridia pursed her lips and nodded at him, doing her best not to break down again.
The officer walked back to his cruiser and shut off the lights.
Mason shifted into Drive and did his best not to squeal the tires as he pulled back into the lane.
“You’re welcome.”
Mason turned to Iridia wiping away the last bits of moisture from her cheeks. She was already normal again. Which meant irritating. But she did save him there.
“Thank you. And if I were a director, I’d hire you.”
She grinned.
“You’d be an idiot not to!”
Mason checked the map on his phone. Theresa’s tracker icon was right in front of his. Practically on top of each other. He scanned through the windshield.
And then he saw it.
The metallic red lowrider he’d seen cruising down his street earlier that day.
Of course. He should’ve trusted his instincts. Now Theresa was in trouble. And it was his fault. From start to finish.
The lowrider cruised past.
He stared at it but couldn’t see anything through the dark tinted windows. He checked his phone again. Her icon passed his and headed away behind him.
He whipped a U-turn as soon as a car length opened up in the opposing direction.
The interior of the Bronco washed out white as a blinding light hit. Mason slammed on the brakes.
“Stop and exit the vehicle!” a loud speaker roared.
The light wavered away an instant.
A black LAPD Huey hovered above the next intersection, not fifty feet off the ground.
The red lowrider passed under the chopper and continued heading toward downtown.
“Stop and exit the vehicle!” the loud speaker thundered.
Black-clad SWAT guys fast-roped to the ground. The six man team spread out across the road, each taking cover behind a nearby vehicle. Their rifles all aimed at the Bronco.
Mason checked the rear view. Red and blue lights flashed from behind as two cruisers screeched sideways, blocking off both lanes. While looking in the mirror, he noticed a cloud of bright red dots swarming on his chest and face.
If he had any options, he couldn’t think what they might be.
56
“Exit the vehicle and get on the ground! You have ten seconds to comply.”
Mason remembered the police scanner and turned it up.
All teams, this will be a sniper initiated assault.
Team two, ready for go.
Team five, ready for go.
Team four, ready for go.
All teams, on my count. Wait for my count.
Mason shifted into Park. Was this really happening? He just wanted to get to his daughter. That was all. If they took him away in handcuffs, he’d never get to her in time.
“This is your final warning. Exit the vehicle now!”
Iridia grabbed his arm. “What do we do? I don’t want to die! I don’t want to die!”
Would they open fire? Surely it was a bluff. Where was due process? The right to life and liberty? But they thought he’d killed one of their own. They thought he was a murderer.
All teams, on my count. Three, two,—
Mason opened the door.
Hold fire!
Being hauled away in a body bag wasn’t going to save Theresa.
He stepped out with his hands up and squinted hard when the blinding spotlight jabbed his eyes. He turned back and held a hand out for Iridia.
“Come on. Move slow and keep your hands visible.”
She climbed across the seat and down out of the open door.
The loud speaker barked again.
“Both of you! Face down on the ground with your hands behind your head! Now!”
Mason lowered to his knees and helped Iridia do the same. This wasn’t how he saw this job going. Putting a client in the middle of a SWAT takedown wasn’t in the playbook. Or maybe it was, under the examples of the absolute worst things to do. This op had been a wreck from the start. That’s what you got with no planning and a world famous client.
The Huey spun up and lifted higher into the air. Buffeting wind nearly pushed him over backward. He kept his hands up, not wanting to give anyone the slightest reason to pull a trigger.
Uniformed police officers rushed bystanders on both sides of the road away from the action.
Two SWAT guys broke cover. Running in a low crouch, they leapfrogged from car to car as they approached.
“Face down on the ground!” the loud speaker ordered again.
It felt like a Hollywood action movie, only he was the bad guy that everyone wanted to see get taken out. But for the knowledge that any sudden movement would result in his immediate death, he’d already have been sprinting down the road after his daughter.
A furious thumping approached from behind. Mason turned and saw the ominous silhouette of an AH-64 Apache gunship about a block north. It hovered with its M230 chain gun and missile bays aimed at them.
Wasn’t this overkill? He wasn’t an international terrorist. He wasn’t even a bad guy, if anyone would take ten seconds to find out for themselves.
Team two, get back to cover!
The advancing SWAT soldiers retreated back to join the rest of their unit.
Mason watched as all their muzzles raised into the air and acquired a new target. The Apache.
The police scanner cut through the whirling winds.
Unauthorized Huey helicopter, I repeat, you are in restricted airspace.
This is LAPD SWAT! It’s our airspace!
Unauthorized Huey helicopter, this airspace has been closed by presidential order. No local operations are approved. Ground your bird immediately.
We are about to apprehend a murder suspect! Back off!
Mason felt like a rabbit caught in a bear fight. This wasn’t where you wanted to be if the claws started flying.
Unauthorized Huey helicopter, your mission has not been cleared by federal authorities. Ground your bird. We will shoot you down if necessary.
Back off! You can’t order us down!
The Apache’s chain gun let loose. Thirty millimeter rounds lanced through the air, less than twenty feet from the nose of the Huey. A warning shot.
Hold your fire! I’ve got six snipers zeroed on your fuel tank!
The Apache’s chain gun roared again, this time shredding sheetmetal and glass.
Several SWAT guys went down. The howl of the chain gun swallowed their screams. Cars didn’t do much to stop the onslaught. One guy in black ran for the cover of a building. He fired bursts at the Apache as he went. He didn’t make it. A volley from the gunship literally tore him in half. His upper body ripped loose and tumbled to a stop as his lower body ran another step before collapsing.
Iridia screamed. At least it looked like she did, but Mason couldn’t hear anything above the whumping blades and the thundering cannon.
Several uniformed officers behind them opened up on the Apache with service pistols. Their bodies exploded. Vaporized by a torrent of fire. Their black and white cruisers crumpled and caved inward as rounds chewed them to pieces.
The scanner squawked.
Noooo! Noooo!
The Huey tilted up an
d clawed for altitude. It swung around as a gunner leaned out the side. He aimed at the Apache and went cyclic with an M4.
He barely got his finger on the trigger when a missile shrieked from the Apache. It lasered through the air not fifty feet above their heads and broadsided the Huey.
Mason grabbed Iridia and dove under the Bronco as an enormous fireball exploded in the sky. He curled around her as a blast of superheated air washed over them. Pieces of twisted metal fell to the ground like a tornado had touched down on a junk yard. Shrapnel exploded through glass store fronts. Store alarms went off, adding to the sonic tsunami.
Mason took a breath and choked on the acrid stink of burned oil, and worse. He lay still, curled around Iridia, a shell keeping her alive. He blinked to clear his head as much as his vision.
“You okay?”
The words croaked out, but she seemed to understand.
She nodded, eyes wide and unblinking.
Mason crawled out from under the Bronco, staying close to the side, wondering when a bullet would take off his head.
None did.
He looked around.
The cars in the middle of the street that the SWAT guys used for cover were hardly recognizable. They were twisted heaps of fragmented slag. Partly demolished by the chain gun. Partly melted by the Huey explosion.
Dozens of bystanders sprawled on the street. Some injured. Some worse. The lucky ones filled the street with their wailing voices. Mason turned back to the still-present whumping of the Apache a block away.
His shoe squished on something.
He didn’t want to know.
The Apache’s loudspeaker boomed.
“Citizens of Los Angeles. Return to your homes. Martial law is in effect. Curfew hours will soon be declared.”
Mason had no intention of returning home. Not without his daughter. He reached under the Bronco and helped Iridia stand.
She leaned hard on him as she took in the scene.
He nodded toward the Apache.
“You’re not getting out on a plane tonight. And I have to find my daughter.”
“What about all these people?”
