by Irene Hannon
If he could pull this off despite the change in plans, Dan would be impressed—and perhaps entrust him with other high-profile assignments. Carrying signs and marching against oppression was fine, but he was capable of doing more. Much more.
And taking out Eve Reilly despite the challenges he faced would help him going forward. Perhaps Dan would even involve him in the planning for future events.
Not that being in charge was important, of course. Hierarchies were inherently undemocratic. Organizations should be horizontal.
Nevertheless . . . someone had to arrange and manage events like this, and he was more prepared than—
A movement behind him caught his eye, and he swiveled away from the tent.
The black bloc folks who’d been infiltrating the woods during the delay, trying to catch a glimpse of what was going on at the picnic site, were drifting back toward the parking area.
Someone must have finally taken charge or gotten direction on how to proceed.
That would be a positive development.
He checked the tent again, where cops were stationed every few yards around the perimeter.
An idea began to take shape in his mind.
Having Eve on stage—and clueless about the planned attack—was ideal, but isolating her could also work to his advantage . . . if he could convince the small-group Antifa leaders his proposal had merit.
He followed his fellow protestors back to the lot, formulating his spiel as clusters of people drew close to their leaders to hear the low-pitched updates.
“From what we’re observing, the organizers and cops think the keynote speaker should have extra protection. She’s been secured in a tent.” The thirtysomething guy who was in charge of his group pulled up his hood and shifted away from the cop loitering a few yards away. “We assume that’s why they’ve delayed her speech. Worst case, they could cancel it. We’re of a mind to proceed with the march, but we want to hear your thoughts.”
Buzz let a few people speak first. No one had any alternate ideas, and the consensus seemed to be to proceed with that approach given how far many of them had traveled to take part in the protest.
“I have another suggestion.” Buzz pulled up his own hood. “I think we’re missing an opportunity here. Eve Reilly stands for everything we hate. I have to believe, given the original plan, that our gathering was designed to call attention to the disparity between her view and ours—and the danger she poses to our cause thanks to her wide platform.”
Nods of assent gave him the confidence to continue—and as he outlined the tactic he’d come up with for the group to home in on her, they grew more vigorous.
“I like your idea.” The leader glanced around at the other groups. “And we have to make it happen fast. She could leave the park at any moment. Let me touch base with the others. If everyone’s in agreement, we’ll head over there ASAP. Be prepared to move. And you”—he indicated the woman with the smoke emitter—“watch for my signal as we get close.”
Buzz faded back, avoiding the quiet conversation taking place in his group. He didn’t have to say anything else. His idea had been well-received by everyone, and the other groups would likely fall in line.
This wasn’t as perfect as the original plan, but it would give him the access and black bloc anonymity necessary to carry out his mission.
And before this day was over, if all went as he hoped, he’d make history—by making Eve Reilly history.
“No way.” Brent folded his arms tight against his chest and gave Eve his sternest look. The one that never failed to intimidate even hardened street criminals.
It had been bad enough to arrive on site and find she’d refused to leave until the two of them talked, but her idea to smoke out Al was short-circuiting his lungs.
Unfortunately, his intimidation tactic didn’t work with the woman standing toe-to-toe with him.
“Brent . . . be reasonable.”
“I am being reasonable.” He scanned the officers, who’d withdrawn a few yards to give them privacy while they conversed, and dropped his voice. “Eve, I know you want this solved. I do too. And I promise you, we’ll work relentlessly to identify and find Al.”
“But Al is here today. With my plan, we don’t have to wait. We just force his or her hand and end this now.”
“No. It’s too dangerous. Your plan could get you killed.”
“Not if precautions are taken. Put several officers around me, give me a bulletproof vest like all of them are wearing, and I’ll be fine.”
Appealing to her own safety wasn’t working.
Time to switch tactics.
“Other people could be hurt or killed.”
“That’s why I suggested a buffer area between me and the Republican group during the speech. This Al can’t be toting a rifle in the Antifa crowd. Everyone would notice it. So he or she must have a pistol or a knife. They’ll have to get close for either to be effective. If someone darts from the crowd toward me, your people should have more than sufficient opportunity to take them down.”
“We don’t know that Al is part of the black bloc group. This person could be a hired sniper—and a proficient marksman can hit the T-zone”—he traced a line with his none-too-steady index finger between her eyes and down her nose—“from very far away.”
She swallowed. “You think Antifa hires snipers?”
“Never underestimate the enemy.”
Her brow knitted . . . and then she shook her head. “No. If they’re somehow trying to pin this on Steve, we know he isn’t a sniper. It’s someone in the group hiding under cover of black attire and the crowd.”
No surprise that she’d found the flaw in his logic, but it had been worth a try. Because he really hated to resort to the easy solution—asking the president of the Young Republican group to cancel the remainder of the event as a matter of public safety. The man had been amenable to that suggestion earlier, according to the lieutenant hovering near the entrance to the tent. It was a viable option.
But he’d rather not pull rank on Eve. That kind of high-handed tactic could undermine their relationship. Best case, she’d come to terms with the situation on her own and decide to walk away. After that, they could have her out of the park in—
“We’ve got movement at the perimeter.”
As one of the officers at the edge of the tent relayed that terse observation, the lieutenant joined them. “We have to leave. The Antifa folks are heading this direction.”
Brent gritted his teeth. The time for talk—and negotiation—was over. If Eve hated him for taking control, he’d have to live with the consequences.
At least she’d be alive.
“What’s the plan?”
“Officers are asking everyone attending the event to vacate the site as fast as possible. Most of them are parked nearby and shouldn’t have any issue getting to their cars.”
Over the man’s shoulder, Brent watched the crowd begin to stream toward the parking area as black-clad figures appeared from several directions in the distance and surged toward the picnic area.
Further debate with Eve about her harebrained scheme to flush out Al would be pointless.
Al was coming to them on his or her own.
Pulse skyrocketing, he took Eve’s arm. “We have to get Ms. Reilly out.”
“A cruiser is waiting in the parking lot.” The lieutenant waved over the officers on security duty, who closed in around them. “Let’s move.”
He took the lead, while Brent stayed close to Eve as the officers tightened the circle around them and set a fast pace toward the lot.
In four minutes, they should be safe.
But four minutes was an eternity in a volatile situation—and much could go wrong.
So until they were in the car, on the road, and speeding away, the danger remained.
And at this juncture, all he could do was pray they’d make it to safety.
They’d waited too long.
Eve was getting away!
> Buzz glared at the small cluster of officers bunched around her as they left the tent and hustled her toward the parking lot—and the large contingent of uniformed officers between her entourage and the encroaching black bloc force.
His fellow Antifa supporters, who’d split up to come in from different directions, continued to march toward the picnic site, but with their target on the move, no one seemed sure what to do.
“Follow the speaker!” He called out the command and ducked low, leaving his group behind to work his way into a cluster closer to Eve.
It was time to hurl those smoke cartridges and create chaos, slow down her exit.
As if they’d read his mind, the group leaders began lifting their hands.
Within seconds, smoke began to swirl through the air.
Yes!
He had three minutes to carry out his mission.
“Hurry! Close in on the speaker, keep her from leaving!” He grabbed the arms of the two people closest to him. “Link up!”
They did as he instructed, while a dozen people managed to muscle past the police and block off access to the patrol car waiting for her.
The cluster of officers around her stopped. Unholstered their weapons.
Not good.
Dan had assured him he’d be able to complete his task and get out before the confrontation turned nasty—but no one had expected a leak would alert the cops that Eve could be at risk or the heightened police presence.
Should he give up? Abort his mission?
No.
He was too close to back off.
Around him, the chanting was growing louder, and the anger swirling through the air was almost tangible as police began to tussle with several of the more aggressive protestors.
Buzz flexed his fingers, his respiration quickening. Pointing his gun at someone other than Eve today hadn’t been part of the plan, but if that’s what it took to get to her—so be it.
Because whoever came between him and his target—or him and escape—was fair game.
She should have agreed to go when the lieutenant asked her to leave the picnic after Brent’s phone call. Had she done so, she wouldn’t be watching dark smoke billow in the sky above her, nor would she be putting others in danger.
If anyone got hurt today, it would be her fault.
As Eve grappled with guilt and regret, the officers around her halted their forward momentum and closed ranks.
At the abrupt stop, she stumbled.
Brent’s grip on her arm tightened, steadying her, and she rose on tiptoe to try and see what was going on.
“Watch your head!” Brent snapped out the order and tugged her back down as the angry shouts and loud chanting around them grew louder.
“Is it too late to say I’m sorry?” She looked up at him.
“We can discuss it later.” His razor-sharp gaze was focused on the black-clad crowd that was getting closer and closer, the grim line of his mouth and every taut angle of his face screaming red alert.
“Why did we stop?”
“No access to the car. We’re surrounded.”
He retrieved his own weapon—and her heart rate rocketed to warp speed. Would it really come down to a shoot-out?
She clenched her fingers and tried to keep breathing.
“Brent.” She had to raise her volume to be heard above the shouting and chanting that continued to crescendo as the Antifa contingent advanced. “Do they have weapons?”
“Unknown. That’s why ours are out.”
“You won’t shoot unless they do, though—right?”
“That’s the general rule, especially in today’s world. St. Louis police can’t afford to be in the news again.”
True. Disputes about discrimination or race relations or anarchy or a dozen other lightning-rod issues could rip a community apart—as she’d often discussed on her program when covering current events.
But she’d never expected to be in the middle of one.
Thank God there were men and women who were willing to put their life on the line every day to keep citizens safe, despite the constraints and lawsuits and vilification that had become part of a career in law enforcement.
If she got out of this alive, that was going to be the topic of her next broadcast. If being the operative word, given the mob scene around her.
The truth was, there was a high probability this wasn’t going to end without someone being seriously injured—or worse.
Including her.
He had sixty seconds left until the smoke emitters ran out of juice—and Eve Reilly was still twenty yards away.
But the surging crowd was gaining ground, and the police were on overload trying to deal with the belligerent protestors, the noise, the smoke, and the media that had rushed into the fray.
He was going to be able to do this.
A rush of exhilaration coursed through him, and he pushed the black-clad guys ahead of him toward Eve.
“Surround her!”
As he yelled the battle cry, he dove into another cluster of shouting protestors that was also closing in on Eve.
The stars had aligned at last.
Around him, the strident voices were loud, the smoke was creating a screen, and there were a sufficient number of similarly dressed black bloc people to provide anonymity.
He slid his hand into his pocket.
Clamped his fingers around the handle of the pistol.
Took a deep breath.
This was it.
In less than thirty seconds, he’d take out the cop blocking his view of Eve—and then with a fast pop . . . pop . . . pop . . . fire the next bullets into her. He’d drop the gun, dive back into the teeming mass of people as chaos reigned, and disappear.
It was as good as done.
27
THIS WAS A NIGHTMARE.
Heart pounding, Brent did a rapid three-sixty sweep.
The protestors had broken through the police lines on two sides, and other breaches appeared to be imminent.
A loud cry went up on his right, and he swung that direction.
Tear gas had been deployed.
He winced.
There may have been no other recourse, given the deteriorating state of affairs, but getting a faceful of oleoresin capsicum would only make a confrontational crowd more hostile.
“Taser! Taser! Taser!”
The shouted alert by an officer on his left was followed by the crack of the discharge.
It sounded like a gunshot.
Screams erupted from all directions.
The chaos worsened as about half of the protestors scattered while the rest pushed harder against the uniformed human barricade with enraged shouts and curses.
This was as volatile and dangerous as any situation he’d encountered in all his years as a street cop.
But his precarious position wasn’t what jacked his pulse into the stratosphere. Personal risk came with the job. He could handle that.
The risk to Eve?
Not so much.
“We have to keep moving.” As he spoke, he urged the cop ahead of him to press on toward the patrol car. Hunkering down wasn’t going to protect them if more of the protestors broke through the barrier.
The officer in the lead started forward again.
Eve’s grip on his arm tightened, and he gave her a fast assessment.
Face white. Eyes too big. Lips quivering.
She was scared out of her mind.
He could relate. This crowd was beyond hostile.
But reinforcements had to be on the way. Someone would have called this in to dispatch by now, alerted headquarters that the simmering conditions had exploded. The already large law enforcement presence would soon swell and they’d regain control—if the officers on site could hold off the crowd that long.
“Taser! Taser! Taser!” Another warning shout . . . followed by the sharp crack of a second shot.
More screams added to the pandemonium.
The small entourage around Ev
e stopped again, and Brent scrutinized the area ahead.
A half dozen or more hooded activists were barreling toward them.
“Back off!” The officer in front shouted the command and yanked out his pepper spray.
Not the best tactical weapon, given the direction of the wind. If the OC blew back at them, they’d be—
A rock sailed past his head, and Brent ducked, folding Eve beneath him.
Ugly didn’t begin to describe the scene.
And with a hundred feet separating them from the squad car, it could get a lot uglier.
He was almost there.
Buzz pulled out his subcompact Glock and tucked it against his hoodie, barrel aimed at the ground as his feet pounded the pavement in rhythm with his pounding pulse.
All around him black-hooded figures were breaking through the uniformed human barricade and shouting the slogan of the day—Less Power, Less Politics, More People—and waving signs with the same message.
The noise level was rising, and the Tasers that had been fired had conditioned everyone in the area to the bang of a gun. A few more shots would get little attention.
Perfect.
He tucked himself into the middle of the group racing toward Eve Reilly.
The protestors around him planned to block her path—but he would do much, much more.
In T-minus ten seconds and counting.
A bead of sweat slid down Eve’s forehead as Brent remained bent over her, forcing her to lean forward.
It was hard to breathe in the close huddle of bodies.
Or maybe fear was paralyzing her lungs.
Whatever.
She had to have air.
Lifting her head as high as she could, she tried to inhale a few wisps.
No go. There was zero ventilation in these claustrophobic quarters.
Black spots began to flicker in her field of vision—but just when she thought she was going to pass out for lack of oxygen, the bodies around her shifted, and a slight opening let in a puff of fresh air.
Thank you, Lord!
She leaned toward it and filled her lungs. Started to repeat the process.
Froze.
One of the hooded protestors running toward them was holding a gun against his chest!
