SWAT Standoff

by LENA DIAZ,

  “Whoa, whoa, hold it.” The man raised his hands high in the air. “Think carefully, son,” he said. “I really don’t think you want to shoot the director of the FBI.”

  Blake slowly lowered his gun, recognizing the man in the business suit standing there. “No, sir. I wouldn’t.” He holstered his gun, and motioned for Donna to do the same.

  A dozen men filed out of the tunnel from behind the director.

  The sound of more footsteps echoed in one of the tunnels behind them—the same tunnel from where Blake and Donna had emerged. Everyone drew their pistols, even the director, and aimed them at the opening to the tunnel.

  Officer Lynch and half a dozen Destiny police officers burst from the tunnel, guns drawn.

  “Hold your fire,” Blake, Donna and the whole SWAT team yelled.

  Everyone froze for several seconds, Lynch’s eyes so wide, they looked like they might burst from his head.

  “It’s okay,” Blake announced. “Everyone here is on the same team.” He eyed Lopez. “Well, most of us.” He motioned for Lynch and the other officers to holster their weapons. As soon as they did, the director’s men did, too.

  “Well, that was exciting.” The director’s voice was bland, with a hint of laughter in it. He stepped over to Blake. “Can I assume that you’re Detective Blake Sullivan? The one who called Maloneyville a few hours ago and warned them that Sanchez was going to try to escape? And then called half a dozen special agents, making an outrageous claim about Supervisory Special Agent Richard Grant being a dirty agent, who may have orchestrated the kidnapping of a SWAT team and the murder of one of the members of that team?”

  He swallowed and cleared his throat. “Yes, sir. Guilty.”

  The director offered his hand. “On behalf of the FBI, I offer you my sincere apology for whatever the hell is going on. And I promise you, we’ll get to the bottom of this. Together.”

  Blake stared at him in surprise then shook his hand. “I don’t understand. How did you end up here? When I called, I didn’t know where the team was being held.”

  The director motioned to Lopez. “I was in Knoxville for an FBI function, and one of the local field agents told me about your phone calls. A few minutes later, he patched a call to me from Lopez, saying he had a life and death situation on his hands and needed backup immediately—but that I couldn’t tell Grant. He gave us the GPS coordinates of the entry to this tunnel, down by the quarry, and met us there.”

  “So there’s another entrance,” Donna said from beside him. “We must have missed it when we were in the quarry.”

  “It’s well hidden,” the director said. “Not sure my men would have found it if Lopez hadn’t been watching for us. And now that the crisis seems to be over, I think it’s time that Special Agent Lopez told all of us what exactly is going on.”

  As one, the chief and the SWAT team stood in front of Lopez, shoulder-to-shoulder with the director, facing a sweating, terrified-looking Lopez as his gaze darted from one to the other.

  Blake waited until Lopez was staring directly up at him. “Start talking.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Blake and Donna were given the honor of stepping into the police station first. It was a bittersweet victory, knowing what they now knew, to see SSA Grant turn around from speaking to one of the other agents and watch them walk through the doors. Dillon and the chief followed, then Chris and Max. And finally, the director, Lopez and the small army of special agents and Destiny police officers, who’d all been in the tunnels together.

  What struck Blake was how unsurprised Grant looked to see them, as if he’d known his time had run out. It wasn’t until he saw the director and his entourage that he went pale and his eyes widened in shock. No, that wasn’t accurate either. He’d already been pale, alarmingly so. But he did seem to blanch when the most powerful man in the bureau strode toward him. All in all, the haggard, gaunt look to his features and the lack of surprise at seeing the SWAT team went toward corroborating what Lopez had told them back in the mine.

  “Director,” Grant said. “What a...surprise to see you here, sir.” He aimed a questioning look at Lopez. “What’s going on?”

  “Knock off the innocent act,” the director told him. “Lopez told us everything. How Sanchez had armed men break into your home, holding your wife and daughters hostage with the threat of killing them if you didn’t do exactly as he said. Lopez was there with you at the time, so he was looped in. But he warned you that if anyone else found out, you’d come home to a dead family.”

  Although it didn’t seem possible, even more color washed from Grant’s face, leaving his skin translucent.

  The director continued. “In exchange for postponing the trial, you were to look the other way and allow the Destiny SWAT team to be taken hostage.”

  A chorus of grumblings erupted in the room, most of it coming from the Destiny police.

  Chief Thornton raised a hand, and they quieted down.

  The director nodded his thanks but didn’t look away from Grant. “You didn’t feel you had a choice. I know that. But because of your inaction, a man died. Detective Randy Carter.”

  Grant swallowed, looking miserable. But he didn’t say anything.

  “But you did do what you could to protect their families,” the director allowed. “You and Lopez created a fake charity to ensure that the SWAT team members’ wives were on a cruise, out of harm’s way, when the team was kidnapped. And since you had negotiated a daily proof of life from Sanchez for your own family, after the SWAT team was taken, you negotiated daily proof of life for them, as well. Lopez was the go-between. He took a picture of the SWAT team every day and took it to Sanchez at the detention facility. In return, Sanchez would have a picture texted to Lopez’s phone while he was there, a picture of your family.”

  Grant braced a hand on the desk closest to him, as if he was afraid he might fall without the support. “It was the only thing I knew to do, the only way to try to keep all of them safe—the Destiny SWAT team, and my family—until I could figure out how to resolve this, or find my family so I could organize their rescue. That’s what I’ve been trying to do. But something happened. Sanchez’s escape plan went wrong.”

  “Yes.” The director’s voice was harder now, no hint of the earlier empathy he’d had when talking about Grant’s family being taken. “And two more police officers paid with their lives. That’s unconscionable, Richard. You should have called me. You should have trusted your team to have your back before this went too far. Before good men died.”

  Red heat flushed Grant’s cheeks, and his spine stiffened. He let the desk go, his anger appearing to give him renewed strength. “It’s easy to judge me.” His eyes flashed as he looked at Donna and Blake, and the rest of the SWAT team, before meeting the director’s gaze again. “And it’s pathetically easy to say what I should have done, looking back. I argued with Sanchez, tried to reason with him. In the end, arranging that cruise, warning Sanchez not to hurt anyone—which I did—was the only thing I felt I could do. I was buying time while Lopez and I tried to find my family without Sanchez knowing we were searching for them. I never expected anyone to get killed. I was doing everything in my power to try to ensure just the opposite.”

  “You should know by now,” the director said, “that you can’t negotiate with criminals. That was your first mistake, believing that Sanchez would follow through on the deal that you made. Three men have paid the price for your poor choices. And if it wasn’t for Detectives Blake Sullivan and Donna Waters, four more men would probably be dead right now.” He waved to the chief and the others. Then he motioned to one of the FBI agents beside him. “Arrest SSA Grant, please. Put him in one of the holding cells I see at the back of the room.”

  “No, wait. Don’t.” Grant struggled with the strength of desperation. It took four men to subdue him and put him in handcuffs. “My family,” he yelled,
as they dragged him toward the cells. “You have to find them. Sanchez will have them killed!”

  “I’ll do everything in my power to keep that from happening,” the director called out.

  Grant swore viciously, but as soon as the cell door shut behind him, he collapsed onto the bunk, put his head in his hands and wept. He’d obviously given up all hope and believed his family was doomed.

  “We have to find the mole,” the director whispered to Blake and Donna. “Other than Lopez, who in here are his right hands, the ones who are around him the most? Agents who would know what Grant is doing at all times and could report that to Sanchez?”

  Donna turned to Blake and frowned up at him. “This room always felt big until half the county pushed its way inside. Can you see over everyone’s heads? Where are Joel Lawrence and Stacy Bell?”

  Blake craned his neck—for once, his height not helping a lot, since so many of the other men in the room were nearly just as tall. But then he spotted one of the agents. “There, in the back right corner. The agent talking to one of the Destiny police officers. That’s Joel Lawrence. Grant introduced him as one of his longtime core team members. Where Grant is, he is for the most part. Him and Lopez, of course. And Stacy Bell.”

  The director spoke softly to one of his men, who then forced his way through the crowd to Lawrence.

  Blake continued his slow circle, looking for the always smiling agent who’d offered her condolences over Randy’s death to both him and Donna when they first arrived.

  “She isn’t here, is she?” Donna said, staring up at him.

  “I don’t think so.”

  Donna immediately turned away and threaded her way through the crowd. Blake was about to ask her what she was doing, but Dillon stepped in front of him.

  “What’s wrong?” Dillon asked.

  “Someone’s missing. One of Grant’s direct reports, Stacy Bell. She’s Caucasian, has shoulder-length brown hair, is about five foot four, maybe 110 pounds.”

  Dillon motioned to Max and Chris, who immediately headed to the doors and blocked them to ensure that no one went outside. Then Dillon and Blake walked the entire room, looking in the interview room, the chief’s office, his private bathroom, the squad room’s bathroom.

  Blake winced as he passed Grant’s cell. The man looked absolutely stricken. And he had a good right to be.

  They returned to the director.

  “The mole has to be Stacy Bell,” Blake said. “But she’s gone. She must have snuck out when we were confronting Grant.”

  The director briefly closed his eyes as if in pain. “When I was confronting Grant, you mean. I was so angry with him that I didn’t secure the scene first. I should have posted someone at the doors. I should have—” He frowned. “What’s that noise?”

  The distinctive squawking of someone talking through a police radio sounded from a few desks over. Dillon and Blake cleared a path. Donna was sitting at the end of the second row, her handheld radio unit sitting on top of the desk, the sound turned up. It was plugged into one of the mobile switchboards the 911 operators used.

  “Go ahead, Billy,” she said. “Say that again?”

  The room grew silent as everyone tried to figure out what was going on.

  “I said no one’s been down Brook Hollow Road all day,” the voice came through the speaker. “I’ve been out here fishing. I would have noticed. The cars scare the fish.”

  “Okay, Billy. That takes care of all the routes north of town. Thanks.”

  “Anytime, Donna.”

  She punched some buttons on the mobile switchboard.

  “Hello?” a woman’s voice came through the radio speakers.

  “Molly, hey, it’s Officer Waters. I’ve got a situation here. A missing woman, about five foot four, brunette. She’s not from around here and might be lost. She’s probably driving a blue Toyota Corolla, late model. Have you seen anything like that in the past hour out your way?”

  The director shook his head. “What is she doing?”

  Blake grinned. Leave it to Donna to get the logistics of what Stacy might be driving and get to work to try to find her while the rest of them were still standing around, pondering their next steps.

  “She’s initiated a call tree,” Blake said, unable to keep the pride out of his voice.

  “A call what?”

  “A call tree. It’s Donna’s version of an AMBER Alert, or a BOLO. But much more effective. Trust me. I know firsthand.” He crossed his arms, smiling as he watched her.

  The director didn’t seem impressed. He motioned to another one of his men. “Get a team together. We need to organize roadblocks and get some volunteers out here to help us look...”

  Blake tuned the director out and waited for Donna to work her magic.

  Dillon stood beside him. “Firsthand, huh?”

  “Long story.”

  “You can tell me about it later. Detective.”

  Blake shot him a surprised look. “Does that mean what I think it means?”

  “I’m sure I don’t know what you’re asking. I never fired anyone, no matter what you might have heard.”

  “What about the chief, and the mayor? Grant told me that—”

  “Leave the mayor to me.” It was the chief this time who spoke from behind them. “Knowledge is power, and I’ve been around this town long enough to have plenty of knowledge. Don’t you worry about your job, Blake. It’s here for you. If you want it.”

  Blake smiled, and couldn’t help looking at Donna, and what he hoped having his job back could mean as he replied, “Thanks. I do. Very much.” He cleared his throat and looked at the chief. “That is, if the rule about officers not being allowed to fraternize with each other can be lifted.”

  The chief followed Blake’s gaze to Donna and grinned. “I’m sure I can arrange that.”

  Dillon clasped Blake on the shoulder. “We’ll be glad to have you on the team again. From what I’ve seen, you’ve learned a heck of a lot more about teamwork over the past week than I ever tried to teach you. Great job. And thanks for sending Ashley and the others into hiding, keeping them safe. Donna told me about that while you and the director were talking during the drive here. I imagine Ashley’s keeping an eye on the news. As soon as the media gets a hold of this, and she hears we’re safe, they’ll all be back in town. I can’t wait to see her again. And my little girl. It’s been way too long since I held them in my arms.”

  Blake wrinkled his nose. “You might want to shower first.”

  Dillon gave him a good-natured shove.

  “I heard we’re down a man,” a deep voice said behind them.

  Dillon and Blake turned to see their former SWAT teammate who’d moved away when he’d gotten married, Colby Vale. His eyes were red-rimmed. Max and Chris flanked his sides, having obviously relinquished their door guarding duties to someone else.

  Dillon grabbed Colby’s shoulder and hauled him in for a hug that should have cracked his ribs.

  Colby tightened his arms around Dillon, his eyes looking suspiciously wet when they broke apart. “I’m so sorry about Randy.” His voice sounded raw.

  “I know.” Dillon grasped his shoulder again. “We all are.”

  “I’ve got it,” Donna called out, jumping to her feet and waving a piece of paper. “I’ve got Stacy Bell’s location.” She read the address out loud.

  Dillon exchanged a startled look with the rest of the team.

  “What?” Blake asked. “You know that address?”

  “You could say that.” Dillon’s face looked grim. “It was before your time, before you joined the team.”

  “Mind if I tag along?” Colby asked. “It would be my honor, for Randy.”

  Dillon nodded as Donna joined them. They all stood in a circle, and Dillon put his hand in the middle. “For Randy.”

  Max fo
llowed, placing his hand on top of Dillon’s. “For Randy.”

  “For Randy,” Chris said, slapping his hand down on theirs.

  The chorus continued until all six of them—Dillon, Chris, Max, Colby, Blake and Donna—had joined hands in the middle. Then the chief leaned in, tears unabashedly flowing down his cheeks as he placed his hand on top. “For Randy.”

  “Gear up, team,” Dillon ordered. “Destiny, Tennessee, SWAT has a job to do.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Blake crouched beside Dillon beneath the window, cradling his assault rifle. He and the rest of the six-person SWAT team waited for the green light to begin the rescue operation in the one-story office building of Gibson and Gibson Financial Services.

  Once again, the team stood ready, in the same spot where they’d rescued Ashley a few years earlier at a workplace shooting. Or so they’d told Blake on the way over here. That original mission was referred to as Tennessee Takedown.

  But today, they were there to rescue someone else—a mother and her two teenage daughters. And the team had a brand-new member—Blake, who finally, for the first time, felt like he really belonged. Randy was there, too, in spirit. And they were all anxious to get inside and do their job.

  Beside Dillon, his friend since childhood, Chris Downing, watched the screen on his wristband, showing surveillance from the tiny scope he’d raised up to the window.

  “Casualty at three o’clock,” he whispered into the tiny mic attached to his helmet. “Appears to be the security guard. No sign of anyone else.”

  The building had been abandoned since the shooting that had nearly claimed Ashley’s life. The owner of the building had told them that there was one guard who kept an eye on the place, until he could find a buyer. The chief had asked the owner to try to contact the guard to warn him. But he couldn’t get through, even though he’d called a dozen times. Now they knew why.

  Blake’s earpiece crackled, and the chief’s voice came on the line. “Witness says there might be two shooters—Special Agent Stacy Bell and one other, possibly the man assigned by Sanchez to watch the family. No descriptions of weapons. Be extra vigilant.”