by Nico Rosso
The more ghostly members of Automatik had supplied him with a New Jersey driver’s license and other relevant IDs for this op. But how far did the fake identity go? Or were the local police even interested in running his info at all? Most likely they were just looking for a reason to make things deadly.
“I’m sorry, I wasn’t aware of breaking a law.” Ben kept his voice even.
Angry cop just stared at his ID, then back at Ben’s face. “Registration.”
“It’s a rental.” Ben shrugged.
A vein showed on the officer’s forehead. His nametag read Green. He spoke through bared teeth, impatient. “Then you should have paperwork.”
“In the glove compartment.” Ben pointed at it, then reached slowly for the handle.
Green slid back and gripped the handle of his pistol. “Step out of the car.”
Ben froze. Fury raged through him. He’d done nothing to escalate the situation. It was all a fabrication, an excuse for Green to draw his weapon.
The officer reiterated louder, “Step out of the car. Now!”
If Green pulled his gun, Ben would have to reach for the compact automatic strapped to his ankle. No negotiations. This was clearly a setup, and Ben would have to fight his way out. For now he kept his hands up except to open the door.
The backup officer was also ready with his hand on his gun, but it remained in his holster. He looked more worried than angry and wouldn’t be the first to shoot. Green had a hard-on to let the bullets fly. Then plant a gun in Ben’s cold hand to justify the shooting.
“It would help if I understood why you pulled me over.” Ben remained even and rational.
“You shut up right now. Shut up, and I’ll ask the questions.” Green worked himself up further. He was smart enough to keep a good distance between them. Ben couldn’t charge him and would have to duck and move fast as he pulled his hidden piece if he wanted to survive what Green was planning.
Because there was no other way out. Words weren’t working. The deadly outcome of this traffic stop had been decided before Green and the other cop had even turned their lights on.
Tension rose in Green. He’d snap any second. Ben found his battlefield calm. Amping himself up to meet the cop’s aggression would just tighten his joints and get him killed. One flinch from Green, and Ben was ready.
The right rear tire of the police car exploded. Green drew his pistol but aimed it up the street, in the direction of the rifle shot that cracked after the bullet had impacted. Ben moved before the crooked officer could pull the trigger. He dove forward and rolled and came up within striking distance of Green.
The other officer also had his gun out but made himself as small as possible in a building doorway, eyes wide and scanning the street. He was in no position to help Green.
Ben engaged quickly with a punch to the side of Green’s neck. The officer swung his gun around. Ben grabbed his wrist and kicked him in the side of the knee. Green buckled to one side but was strong and pushed back against Ben. The cop’s sidearm fired, and the bullet struck a brick building across the street.
Glass shrieked and shattered from the back window of the police car. Another rifle shot. Mary had Ben’s back. Where the fuck was she?
He chopped an elbow into the side of Green’s head, then locked up and twisted his arm. The cop grimaced and shoved hard into Ben, pushing them both back a step. Ben regained his balance and torqued Green’s arm until his hand jerked open and the gun fell out.
They both looked at the pistol on the ground. Green surged for it. Ben drove a knee into his chest and splayed him out backward. Grabbing the pistol, Ben ran toward a gap in the buildings on the far side of the street, sure to keep the parked cars between him and the other cop who still took cover.
Another distant shot dug a chunk of the street out next to Green. Ben glanced back to see him scurry to safety in front of his police car instead of giving chase. But he did bark at the other officer, “Davis, don’t let him—”
A bullet tore through the left front tire of the police car.
Ben made it between the buildings and kept running. Behind him, the two cops shouted at each other, and the rifle shots continued. But Mary wouldn’t keep firing for long. Not in daylight, in an urban setting. She’d have to move soon to keep them from identifying her position. These last few rounds were just to keep the cops pinned down long enough for Ben to escape.
She’d cleared his path, and he snaked through the alleys and sides streets. Police sirens started blaring through town. He was able to keep hidden as the sounds gave away where the cars were and which direction they traveled. The rifle shots were silent. He had to find Mary. It was them against the world now.
The war had started.
Chapter Fifteen
She could’ve killed them. Both of the cops who’d stopped Ben were crooked. They worked for the gunrunners, not the citizens. The traffic stop had been a setup from the start, with the primary officer primed to start shooting as soon as he’d gotten out of his patrol car.
But leaving two bodies on the street, both in uniforms, would’ve made things a million times worse for Ben and Mary. As it was, police sirens swirled through Morris Flats below her. She lay prone on the roof of a one-story building, two blocks from where she’d put down covering fire for Ben. A false edge to the roof blocked her from the street view and unless the local PD had air support, she had the run of the tops of the buildings.
After hearing the start of Ben’s setup from the police radio in the Limert’s SUV, Mary had hurried back to the hotel and collected her gear. Daylight prevented her from fully equipping herself, but she’d gotten her boots on with her jeans and had stuffed her tactical kit in a duffel bag. From the high vantage of her room, she’d seen Ben’s car and the police car paralleling him one block over. The hotel roof was too far and too high for the single-shot pistol. She’d rushed out and tried to look as casual as possible as she’d walked out of the hotel and into town, where she’d stuck to the alleys until she’d found a ladder to the roof of a building.
Neither officer from the traffic stop had expected Ben to have backup. They’d strutted like they were invincible until her first bullet had hit. When she’d started shooting, Ben had taken over. He could’ve used the officer’s gun against him but knew what she did about the escalation. His fight had been efficient, and then he’d run.
But to where?
The police cars continued to zip over the streets. If they’d found him, or even a trace, they’d concentrate in that area. He remained undetected. A siren blasted past her position and stirred the cold air. The fall sun tried to push through a white hazy sky. A clearer day would’ve provided better shadows to hide in, but everything in the town blended in the flat light.
She pulled her purse close and found a set of earbuds with an attached microphone. The rest of her kit, along with the break-barrel pistol, was in the small duffel bag. Easy to ditch and hide if she had to pretend innocence. So far, Ben was the only one they were looking for. But they didn’t want him as badly as she did. She plugged the buds into her phone and fired up the secure communication app.
“Are you on line, Jackson?” One ear listened to the radio silence while the other was open to the world in case someone tried to climb up the service ladder one building away. “Jackson, I’m one floor up, north of the hotel and south of Edison Street.” No answer. “Copy and respond.” Her voice was even, but her throat tightened with concern.
She had eight more rounds for the long-range pistol. Would that be enough to hold off the entire police force from finding Ben?
A click, and an electronic connection hummed in her earpiece. Ben whispered, “You were my angel, shooting bullets from the heavens.”
Her chest opened up with relief. “What’s your position?”
“On the other side of the highwa
y, in the lettuce. I had to go low.”
“How far north?” The map of the town spread out in her mind.
“Past the feed supply place.”
The highway was raised above the town level in that area, with greenbelts on each side. It was just south of where they’d ditched the car after the state park op. “I don’t have an angle on you from here.”
“I have to move soon. The cruisers stopped buzzing and are crawling now, picking through town.”
Her sector was quiet. She peeked her head just over the false wall to survey. “You have two rollers in your area, both on the other side of the highway.” The cars crept over the streets like poisonous insects. And from the south, more trouble. “Security forces moving out on foot. Two per street, heading north. Submachine guns and sidearms.”
“Fuckers,” he muttered. “They wearing walkies? Linked to the police?”
She pulled out her long-range pistol and peered at the men through the scope. “Doesn’t look like it. They’re communicating by cell phone. One shooter, one talker.” Any other details were unnecessary. She ducked back below the wall before the sun caught in her optics and flashed her perch to the enemy.
Ben’s voice hushed further. “I’m getting bottled up. You up for a distraction?”
The pistol was still in her hands. “What do you need?”
“How about hitting that cell phone tower next to the highway?” It sounded like he rustled through foliage. “It’s a little south of me, but it would draw them off.”
The shot was within her range. “We’ll take them back to the early ‘90s.”
“Can you stick and move?” Concern spiked his voice. “Don’t take the shot if it’ll compromise your nest.”
She glanced over the wall again, spotted at the cell tower in the distance, then located the closest security men to her. Three blocks. She could be two buildings over and down on ground level before they reached her spot. “I’m good.”
“Hell, I know that.”
“Get ready to fly.” Two long breaths steadied her. She checked the pistol. Loaded. Safety off. Hammer cocked. She’d have to pull off the four-hundred-meter shot and get back under cover before she was seen.
One last breath. She held it halfway through the exhale and swung the pistol to the top of the false wall. The crosshairs in her scope lined up with the meatiest part of the cell tower. Heat shimmered from nearby chimneys, telling her that a light breeze moved from left to right. She compensated her aiming point, fired the shot and ducked back beneath the wall.
She gathered her gear and vaulted over the false wall on the north end of the building then jumped the three feet to the next roof over. The pitched angle didn’t have much cover besides an HVAC stack. She glanced to the street below and didn’t see any pursuers yet.
Cold air burned her lungs as she sprinted toward the next building north. She surged and leaped over the gap, landing with her chest against the low lip of the roof and her arms over it. The wind was forced from her lungs and she coughed to regain herself. The hard edge of brick dug pain into her arms. She pulled herself up and secured her duffel behind a large vent. Clipped voices echoed back where she’d fired the shot. She scurried across the roof toward a service ladder on the alley side.
By the time she hit the street, the two security men who’d been closest to her were both behind a parked car, aiming submachine guns up at her former nest. One of the men kept checking his phone with growing exasperation. Their eyes went wide when they saw her and they waved furiously for her to retreat.
“What the fuck are you doing out here, lady?” The first security guy wore a soft-shell jacket and a fleece cap pulled low over his eyes.
“Didn’t you hear the guns?” The other man had dark sunglasses and a light beard.
“Are you with the police?” Her purse bounced against her hip as she strode across the street, the .38 within reach.
Ben’s voice came through her earpiece. “Are you engaging? I’m in the clear and hustling to get to you.”
Both security men hesitated. Then the man in the soft-shell answered, “We’re assisting them.”
She looked over their weapons and fabricated a false realization of danger. “Because the mayor said the police were running some drills, and I thought they were just shooting blanks.”
Sunglasses Man motioned her toward him with one hand, the other still holding his 9mm submachine gun, set to burst fire. “Come on over behind the car.” He softened his tone like speaking to a child. “Sometimes these drills can get a little dangerous.”
“Is anyone hurt?” She pitched her voice for concern.
“No,” Sunglasses Man continued, “but it really isn’t a safe place for you.”
She stepped behind the car and stood within two feet of Sunglasses Man. “Not yet,” she spoke firmly.
“What?” He tipped his head at her, confused.
“The correct answer to ‘Is anyone hurt?’ is ‘Not yet.’” She stared into their blank faces.
Ben whispered, “Oh my God, girl, you are the badass.”
Sunglasses Man hissed frustration. “Listen, lady—”
She jabbed him in the throat, grabbed his submachine gun and knocked him backward with an elbow to the chest. He stumbled into the other man, who still hadn’t processed what was going on. Soft-shell Guy half held his own weapon and half supported his sputtering security teammate. She kicked Soft-shell Guy just below the kneecap and felt the tendon pop. He screamed out and twisted against the car.
The submachine gun locked into her hands. She slid backward and trained the barrel on the men. “Flinch, and you get a bullet, understand?”
Soft-shell Guy only grunted and clutched his knee. The submachine gun hung limply over his shoulder. But Sunglasses Man had regained his balance and his hand hovered close to the pistol in a drop holster on his thigh.
She told him, firmly, “You’re not a hero.”
His eyes were invisible, but she read his body. Uncertain, afraid and angry. Shoulders climbing toward his ears. Feet constantly shifting. The idiot reached for his weapon.
She pulled her trigger. Burst mode on the submachine gun spit three bullets at a time. She placed one in the man’s biceps, the other in his shoulder and let the third punch into the side of the car.
Pain tightened the man’s face. A groan choked in his throat, and he pulled his arm close to his body and clutched at the wounds.
Ben came through her earpiece, urgent. “That you shooting?”
No time to answer yet. She kicked the wounded man in the front of the hip. He spun to the ground, facedown.
“I work with heroes.” She leaned over him. “You’re not a hero.” She took the man’s pistol and pointed the submachine gun at Soft-shell Guy. “On the ground, on your face.”
The man’s mouth twisted with hate and he complied. She stripped him of his weapons and a satchel of extra magazines, slung the second submachine gun over her shoulder and filled her purse with both men’s sidearms. They didn’t need any more attention. She sprinted away from the car, back toward the building where she’d stashed her gear.
She muttered for Ben, “On the move again.”
“Copy.” His breath rushed as if he was running. “Approximately five blocks from where I think you are.”
“Two security down. I have their weapons.” She reached the alley and sped up the ladder on the side of the building. “Back in the clouds.” The architecture hid her from the view of the two compromised security men. If they’d watched her run, they’d only seen her swing around the back of the building.
“Hustling,” Ben responded.
She hurried to her stashed gear, grabbed the duffel and took off again. “North.” But there were only three more buildings on this block, then an empty lot. She jumped the gaps between the ro
ofs and stopped at the last one. A sign protruded eight feet up the front, giving her cover from the street. But for how long? Police sirens started to pierce into her sector.
Ben announced, “Four blocks.”
Security men would come, too. Without clear egress, any run she tried would be a fight.
“Three blocks.” His hurried footsteps came through his mic.
She whispered, “Pinned behind a bakery sign.”
“I’m—” He cut off, then grumbled, “I’ve got to clean up some trash.”
A police car pulled onto the street just below her hiding place. She couldn’t see it, but heard the tires rolling slowly. Hunting.
Chapter Sixteen
There were two men between Ben and Mary. Their backs were to him as they stalked fifteen yards up the street, submachine guns at the ready. He might be able to sprint across an intersection without detection and swing around their field of view. But a police car crawled one block parallel, blocking that path. And it was closing in on Mary.
He warned her through the mic, “Patrol car northbound toward you.”
“Copy,” she replied, terse. “Another one already here.”
Ben had to take the street. “I’m incoming.”
He leaned from the cover at the corner of a building and aimed Officer Green’s pistol at one of the security men’s legs. The man wore camo fatigues tucked into combat boots. The way he and the other man, who had a backpack heavy with gear, talked to each other, Ben could see they weren’t longtime partners. A good operator wouldn’t have to use words at all.
Ben fired a single bullet into the thigh of the man in camo fatigues. He spun to the ground and immediately started firing his submachine gun in Ben’s direction. Bullets sprayed in an uncontrolled panic. The man with the backpack joined in, not bothering to find out what they were shooting at.
Chips of brick and concrete danced around Ben, and he ducked back behind cover. The firing stopped. The wounded man groaned, and Ben heard his foot dragging as he stumbled across the sidewalk. Metal weapons clanged together. Ben knew if the other man was that close, he was helping his wounded partner and wouldn’t be quick on the trigger.
