by CJ Lyons
Lucy dialed Jenna in the lead car to see what the problem was.
“The road’s blocked,” Jenna reported. “Propane tanker. It’s taking up the entire intersection so we can’t go straight and can’t turn down Lexington. Not sure what the problem is. We’re going to have to—”
Before she could finish, gunfire cracked through the night. Red lights filled Lucy’s vision as the Tahoe jammed on its brakes. Haddad stopped the Suburban inches from the Tahoe’s rear bumper. Lucy heard more gunfire, mingled with the sound of tires squealing, as Jenna tried to turn her Mustang around.
“Holy shit!” Jenna yelled over the open line. Then it went dead.
Lucy rolled down her window, craned her head out, and was able to see a large black SUV roll up on the south side of the intersection, coming to a stop beside the propane tanker. A man was standing up through the sunroof, aiming at Jenna with a submachine gun.
“We have to give her cover,” Lucy shouted. Haddad was already backing up to gain them room to maneuver.
“Tell Walden to get out of here with Raziq.” Haddad cranked the wheel hard, driving the Suburban up onto the curb and down the sidewalk.
Lucy called Walden. “We’ll run interference, you and Jenna get out of here.”
"On it," Walden said.
“Weapons?” she asked Haddad. This was his personal vehicle, but she hoped he was prepared.
“In the back.”
She squirmed into the rear of the Suburban to see what armament they had. The cargo compartment was nicely stocked: a ballistic vest, which she slipped into even though it was too large, a Colt M4 submachine gun with spare clips, a Remington 870—her own weapon of choice—spare ammo, night vision goggles, and a Kevlar helmet and second ballistic vest, both in camouflage and bearing the insignia of a skull impaled on the tines of a three-pronged pitchfork. Haddad’s personal armor from when he led the FAST squad in Afghanistan. No radios. Damn. But at least they weren’t rushing in without protection and firepower.
Bumping along the sidewalk, they passed the Tahoe as Walden reversed it back the way they'd come. The man firing the gun turned his weapon on the larger target, giving Jenna the chance to pull out of the kill zone using the Suburban as cover. To Lucy’s surprise, Jenna then made an abrupt right turn into the parking garage on the north side of the street.
She didn’t have time to wonder whether Jenna was abandoning them or simply planning a strategic retreat to get help via the 911 Communications Center that was on the other side of the parking garage. Headlights filled the street behind Haddad's vehicle: two Escalades, one in each lane. One of them was equipped with spotlights on a roof rack. Men leaned out the windows of both vehicles and fired machine guns at the Tahoe.
“Walden, get out of there!” Lucy yelled, not even sure if her call was still connected.
The Tahoe lurched from reverse into drive as it stormed into the parking garage, following Jenna's route. Haddad made a wide U-turn, angling their larger SUV crossways to block the narrow entrance to the garage from the oncoming Escalades.
By blocking Lexington to their east and the cross street behind them to the west, the shooters not only cut them off from any help, but they’d also cut off the 911 Communications Center. The ravine with the train tracks and Busway was on the other side of the 911 Center, leaving no escape except through the shooters. It was a perfect ambush.
Gunfire pinged against the Suburban’s passenger side. The front window cracked, then shattered, but Haddad was already sprawled out on the floor below the back seat. Some of the shots must have gone past them into the garage because the air filled with the whoops and beeps of car alarms.
“They must want Rashid,” he shouted over the noise. “But why also target the county cops’ offices?”
“Not the cops,” Lucy said. “The communication center. It handles all the 911 calls and dispatch for county first responders." This time of night, most of the personnel in the 911 Center would be unarmed civilians. No help there. "It won’t be down long. Not once they get the NIMS system up.” The National Incident Management System was the emergency preparedness communication system in place for mass casualty and terrorist attacks. Pittsburgh also had a RED—Rapid Emergency Deployment—team that would respond as soon as word got out about the attack on the 911 Center. Plus, all the federal agencies had reactive teams that would be rolling.
The five of them just had to hold out until somebody responded.
She handed Haddad his ballistic gear and the M4, then tumbled forward into the rear seat to join him as the SUV rocked unsteadily. One of its tires had been hit. The Suburban wouldn't be going anywhere. For better or worse, they’d have to make their stand here in the garage. “You go, I’ll cover.”
They crouched by the door, ready to move. The sounds of car alarms and sirens and gunfire all faded from her awareness as Lucy concentrated on the task at hand.
“Now!” she shouted. She sprang from the vehicle and took up a position behind the engine block, providing cover fire. Automatic weapons spit a barrage of bullets her way and she only got off two shots before being forced to duck for cover. Haddad sprinted towards where Walden waited, the Tahoe backed into a strategic spot behind a concrete pillar.
Walden had grabbed the M4 from the Tahoe. Once Haddad was in the clear, he and Walden began firing to cover Lucy’s escape. She backed away, zigzagging between the garage operator’s shack and support beams on the right-hand side. The Escalade operator fired up a high-powered spotlight, aiming it in her direction.
A sudden flare of light filled the air, followed by an explosion. Inside the cover of the garage, the blast wasn’t very powerful, but it caught Lucy off guard. The spotlight from the Escalade centered on her and more weapons’ fire flew her way. She dove to the ground, rolling beneath a vehicle and out the other side.
Haddad reached a hand to help her back to her feet.
“What blew?” she asked.
“Propane tanker,” he answered.
The fire would block any hope of rescue or escape. They were cornered.
Lucy shook her head to clear the ringing in her ears then backed away with him, her gaze and aim on the entrance while Haddad watched her back.
“Who are these guys?” she shouted over the din of car alarms.
“Wish to hell I knew,” he shouted back.
<><><>
Operator 14: 911, what is your emergency?
Caller 234513: There’s been an accident. A truck—I think it’s a propane truck—just blew up. Corner of Lexington and Thomas.
Operator 14: Sir, are you safe?
Caller 234513: Yeah, yeah, I’m fine. But I can see the smoke. God, I hope no one was in there.
Operator 14: Sir, stay away from the windows. The Fire Department is on its way.
Operator 23: 911, what’s your emergency?
Caller 234515: There’s a bomb. Fort Pitt Bridge and Tunnel. You have twenty minutes.
Operator 23: Sir, are you still there? Sir?
Operator 34: 911, what’s your emergency?
Caller 234519: It’s gone, it’s just gone!
Operator 34: What, ma’am?
Caller 234519: The police and fire station on Northumberland. There was a car. Then—oh my God! Everything exploded. Send help. It’s on fire, everything’s on fire. Oh my God, I can’t, I need—help, please, help.
Chapter 12
The gunfire stopped. For now. Outside the garage, men shouted to each other as they regrouped. No need to rush. Their quarry was cornered.
Lucy pulled her shirt collar up to cover her mouth and nose as thick oily smoke from the burning tanker roiled through the open walls of the garage. She tried her cell. Couldn’t get a call through. Stupid parking garage. “We need to get to the Tahoe so we can radio for help,” she told Haddad.
They moved from the cover of one vehicle to the next, the smoke provided a bit of concealment, but not as much as she’d like. If the shooters had the numbers, they could climb over the ret
aining walls and easily surround them. Walden joined the two of them behind a minivan two vehicles from the Tahoe. He handed Lucy and Haddad each a radio.
“Is Rashid okay?” Haddad asked, coughing.
“He’s fine. Jenna’s covering him. But we’re screwed. No one’s coming anytime soon.”
“Why not?” Lucy asked.
He nodded to her radio. “They took down Zone Four. Car bomb.” The Squirrel Hill police station was in a small building it shared with a fire company. It was their closest back up. “There are bomb threats all over the city. 911’s overloaded. Locals are going nuts trying to respond to the calls that can get through.”
“What the hell?” This couldn't be a coincidence, and that kind of attack took precise timing and coordination. “Did you see anything to ID these guys?” It would help to know who they were up against.
“I saw a couple of guys wearing Ripper colors,” Walden said.
“This is way too sophisticated to be a gang hit. And why the hell would the Rippers want to target Raziq?”
They both stared at Haddad. He was hunkered down, scanning the perimeter for signs of movement.
Suddenly, an amplified voice thundered over the car alarms. “Give us the Arab and we’ll leave you alone. All we want is Raziq.”
Right. Like the Rippers were known for keeping their word or sparing cops’ lives.
Lucy angled the van’s side view mirror up and out to get eyes on the speaker. He stood above the smoke, on the running board of an Escalade just beyond Haddad’s stranded Suburban at the garage entrance behind them. Early thirties, shorter than her own five-five, Hispanic, dark hair, arrogant set to his jaw, designer suit, no weapons. He left that to the men ringing him, all of who wore full body armor and carried automatic machine pistols and AK-47’s.
“That’s no gang banger,” she said. The spotlight from the second Escalade made him a perfect target if only they could get close enough for a clear shot. It wasn't going to happen. Not without exposing their position. The Suburban blocked the Rippers from coming after them in their vehicles, but it also made it damned difficult to fire back. They needed to find higher ground with better cover.
Haddad pivoted to take a look. “Shit. That’s Victor Zapata.” He said the name like a curse.
“Who’s Victor Zapata?” Walden asked. Lucy had a feeling they wouldn’t like the answer.
“Youngest son of Marco Zapata, leader of the Zapata cartel. Victor’s a real psycho, always trying to prove himself a badass. He once torched a nightclub full of kids just to send a message to one of their dads who was blogging about Victor’s business. Made a few rap songs about it, put the videos on YouTube.”
Lucy swallowed. She'd thought dealing with pornography and child predators was ugly. “You said the worst case scenario was the Mexicans teaming with the Afghans. Is that why they’re after Raziq?”
“If they have Rashid, they could learn everything they need to cripple the Afghan operations, force them to partner with the cartel. Not to mention intel on DEA ops.” Haddad used the back of his hand to slick the sweat from his forehead. “We can’t let that happen.”
“A Mexican cartel here in Pittsburgh?” Walden said in disbelief. “No way. Homeland Security will fry their asses.”
“Like the combined forces of the Mexican Army, Mexican Police, DEA, ATF, and ICE have in Mexico?” Haddad said bitterly.
“Yeah, but this is Pittsburgh. What the hell would they want here?”
“They want to own the streets. The Zapatas only need one night—less than that, a few hours—to stake their claim. This isn’t like conventional warfare, fighting over a grid on a map. They’re fighting for control of hearts and minds. For that split second of indecision every cop and first responder will have next time they’re called out. For the fear that will make normal people stay home and hunker down. And as soon as news hits that a cartel was able to cripple a US city, even for one night, they’ve won.”
Lucy couldn’t waste time on speculation. Right now Pittsburgh first responders would be headed here, thinking only a vehicle fire waited them, and speeding right into the Zapatas’ trap.
She raised the radio Walden gave her. It was set on the local police channel. Unfortunately there was overlapping chatter from officers trying to help their comrades at the bombed out Zone Four station house. Half of the radio calls were garbled as everyone rushed to get through. She switched to the central dispatch channel. “Dispatch, this is FBI Supervisory Special Agent Guardino. Please advise all units responding to the tanker explosion and gunshots on Lexington and Thomas that we have multiple gunmen armed with automatic weapons and wearing body armor. All units should proceed with extreme caution.”
The channel was also crowded; she wasn’t sure she got through. Infuriating since the operator was less than a hundred yards away in the 911 Center. The scream of approaching sirens reverberated from the concrete walls. Not police, fire. The Shadyside station responding to the tanker fire.
Either the dispatcher didn’t get Lucy’s message or she hadn’t gotten one out to the firefighters fast enough. Lucy clicked through the channels on the small Motorola handheld. “Walden, what channel is Fire on? We need to warn them off.”
Too late. The sound of automatic gunfire was followed by another explosion, this one smaller. Grenade? The sirens were drowned out by men screaming and shouting.
Jenna skidded over to Lucy, wearing one of the ballistic vests from the Tahoe. Lucy realized Walden must have given Raziq the second one, leaving himself unprotected.
“We need to get out there, protect those guys,” she said, raising an AR-15 assault rifle in her hand.
Lucy didn’t waste breath asking where Jenna had gotten the rifle favored by SWAT operators. It must be hers because she and Walden hadn’t brought it in the Tahoe. “They’ve got the exits covered. Only way out is on foot. We'll have to climb over the rear retaining wall and sneak past their men at the end of the block. Then we'll be in a position to help.”
“Okay, then.” Jenna’s cheeks were flushed and her eyes sparked with adrenalin.
“You’ve got to be kidding,” Haddad put in. “Those firemen will have taken cover or retreated. Either way, we can’t do anything for them. We need to get Rashid out.”
He was right. Raziq was the cartel's target. Lucy rethought her plan of action. “Jenna, I need you and Walden to protect Raziq.” She glanced at Haddad, hoping he had some brilliant military strategy he’d picked up in Afghanistan, because other than a suicide run in the Tahoe, she didn’t see any way out of this. “We’ll provide a diversion.”
“They want Rashid alive,” Haddad said. “That should buy us a little time.”
“Walden, you and Jenna get Raziq and make your way to the rear of the garage. When you hear all hell break loose, you run for it.” Lucy gave up on using her cell to get assistance—the towers were either jammed or simply overloaded with all the 911 traffic, and she couldn’t get through to either the Federal Building or to Burroughs. The radio was no better. The police channels were crammed with overlapping calls as officers all over the city responded to the multiple calls for assistance. From the newly charged chatter, it sounded like Zone Five, their best remaining bet for backup, was now under sniper attack.
The dispatchers in the 911 Center calmly routed units to support their brothers in blue and cover firefighters and EMS under attack both here and at Zone Four, and sent special response teams to the multiple bomb threats all over the city: hospitals, mosques, synagogues, tunnels, bridges, even a high school hockey tournament.
Zapata had left nothing to chance.
The cartel had declared war on Pittsburgh and Lucy and her team were caught right at the heart of it. She blinked away smoke. At least Megan was safe with her mother in Latrobe for the weekend. And Nick would be home, wondering where the hell she was, but safe.
“We’ll use the training channel, that should be clear.” Lucy switched her radio channel and clipped the radio to the inside
collar of her vest where it would be close at hand.
“What are you going to do?” Walden asked.
Lucy studied the layout. Entrance at their six o’clock, exit leading out onto Lexington Avenue at three o’clock. It would be covered by Zapata’s men and the Rippers, of course, and physically blocked by a gate. If they drove around the garage’s outside lane, built momentum, and came through it fast enough, they’d break through the gate, scatter the cartel shooters, and hopefully lead Zapata’s men on a chase that would divert attention from the others. “We’re going to take the Tahoe for a little spin.”
“It’s suicide,” Walden protested.
“It’s our only chance of saving Rashid,” Haddad argued.
“Then I’ll go—”
Lucy shook her head. She wasn’t about to send someone else in her place. That was the price she paid for being the boss. “You have your orders. Get any gear you’ll need from the Tahoe and start moving.”
Jenna and Walden duck-walked back to the Tahoe while Lucy and Haddad covered them.
“Send the Arab out, now!” The voice on the bullhorn sounded impatient.
“He’s not an Arab, you ignorant bastard. He’s Pashtun. And he’s not going anywhere with you,” Haddad muttered, his voice barely audible over the din of car alarms.
Before Lucy and Haddad could make their own move to the Tahoe, Jenna popped up in the aisle, her red hair gleaming in the fluorescent overhead lights. Shots rang out. Jenna dove to the floor as a barrage of bullets pinged against the cars and impacted the concrete beams.
“Rashid’s gone!” she shouted.
<><><>
The champagne burned, the final drops sliding down the wrong way. Andre choked and coughed, turning away from Darius, covering his mouth before he could bring it all back up again.
As he bent over coughing, he fumbled for his waist pack and grabbed his inhaler. Mad Dog stepped forward, as if worried Andre was reaching for the M9, then laughed as Andre straightened and puffed on the albuterol. Andre caught Darius’s expression in the mirror: smug. Satisfied. Like Andre was a puppy who’d finally learned to heel.
