Phoenix Burning

by Isabella Maldonado

  Webster massaged his temples. “For how long?”

  “Until morning.” Hearst spread his hands. “Best I could do.”

  “What?” Her voice sounded shrill to her own ears. “That’s no help. We planned this for a couple of weeks from now. The whole point of doing the dry run tonight was to give us time to iron out the kinks before we go live.”

  “She won’t wait two weeks,” Sam said, speaking up for the first time since Veranda arrived. “Hell, she won’t even wait two days. She’s playing hardball. This operation goes down now—or never.”

  Webster straightened and faced Veranda. “Detective Cruz, this mess began a couple of hours ago. Once I saw how the wind was blowing, I told the detectives on the task force to go ahead and swear out the search warrants.”

  She closed her eyes for a long moment. Webster’s move had started the clock ticking. A signed search warrant had to be served within 72 hours. After that, it was toilet paper.

  “This is a full-scale practice exercise, so all the players are here,” Webster said. “We’ll just move the schedule up and go live tonight. We’ve already got paper on all the premises and we have an ops plan on file. Dispatch, helicopter, K-9, paramedics, and prisoner transport vehicles are on standby. We just need to divvy up the assignments, gear up, and head out.”

  She jammed her hands onto her hips. “We could be walking into a buzz saw, Commander. There aren’t even UC’s doing surveillance on the sites we’re going to hit.”

  She would have positioned undercover narcs to watch the search warrant locations prior to their deployment. The UC detectives would provide current information about who was present and other details critical to their safety when the time came to move in.

  “You think I don’t know that?” Webster sounded testy. “I had no time thanks to this breaking story.”

  She flicked a glance at Sam, who nodded in silent accord with their commander. With no other viable options, she accepted the situation with a heavy sigh and motioned toward the Fusion Center. “Is everyone here?”

  “Now that you’ve arrived, yes,” Webster said, drawing a deep breath before spitting out the details rapid-fire. “While I went over the operation with the investigating officers and reviewed the warrants, Sergeant Grigg provided a tactical briefing to the SAU operators. We’ve already notified dispatch and secured a dedicated communication channel. We were only waiting for your group to get here.”

  Her mind shifted into strategic planning mode. “What’s the plan of attack?”

  “I went through the locations and personnel list and split everyone into teams. We’ll hit a total of fifteen sites. Twelve are associated with the Villalobos cartel and the remaining three are South Side Soldados premises. Each address will have a designated team consisting of six SAU officers, one federal agent, and one detective from the PPD. I distributed the rosters to everyone else, and they’re interacting with their counterparts on their individual raid teams to enhance communication.”

  Despite her trepidation, Veranda was impressed. Commander Webster had certainly handled his fair share of large-scale operations. She listened intently as he finished.

  “Since we can’t do a dress rehearsal, we can’t plan for unexpected contingencies. We adjust on the fly.”

  Webster’s idea was sound, and probably the only way to save the situation. But it rankled her that her meticulous planning had come to this. A last-minute scramble without proper preparation. And if it blew up, she would be held responsible.

  She turned to Sergeant Hearst, hopeful for one more chance to stop the train before it left the station. “Did you explain to the reporter that her story could ruin our investigation? That both the cartel and the street gang could hide or destroy evidence before we arrive?”

  Hearst gave her a wry smile. “The more I explain, the more it verifies her source, and the more leverage it gives her. She can smell our desperation to keep this quiet, and it gives her juice.”

  A new thought made Veranda’s stomach sink. “I’ll hate myself for asking, but what does she want in return for keeping this quiet until morning?”

  Hearst pointed at the news crew several yards away. “See how they’re prepping as if they’re filming a live shot? That’s part of the negotiation from their end. They’re showing us they can break the story any moment if we don’t put meat on the table.” At everyone’s questioning looks, he added, “They have an exclusive at this point, which pressures us to come up with something tempting to offer.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “I’m not going to like this, am I?”

  “We agreed to do a major press conference first thing tomorrow morning. We’ll set up tables with seized narcotics, cash, weapons, and any other contraband we snag. We’ll include arrest photos and press kits.” Hearst spread his hands. “The whole dog and pony show. Chief Tobias already spoke to the mayor, who liked the idea once he understood our predicament.”

  Unease slid down her spine. “But you just said this reporter has an exclusive. She won’t agree to be part of the herd tomorrow morning if she has a scoop tonight. What else did you offer her?”

  Hearst hesitated before he met her gaze. “You.”

  “Excuse me?” Veranda put a hand to her ear. “It’s hard to hear over the sound of the revving engine.”

  Hearst’s brows arched. “What are you talking about? The sat truck is idling.”

  She dropped her hand to her hip. “It’s not the news van. I’m talking about the bus you just threw me under.” She leaned forward and got in his personal space. “Right before you stepped on the gas.”

  Sam stifled a laugh, Webster became interested in his cell phone, and the two federales exchanged nervous glances.

  “That was Kiki Lowell’s price,” Hearst said, his face reddening. “She wants an exclusive one-on-one with you immediately after the presser.”

  Veranda crossed her arms. “No. Fucking. Way.”

  Hearst drew himself up to his full height. “Detective, you’re the lead on this task force, and this entire multiple warrant service was your idea, so I’ll put it to you. Would you rather scrap the entire operation, or complete it now and talk to the reporter in the morning?”

  She wanted to throttle the sergeant. The fact that he was right only fueled her temper. “I don’t have much of a choice, do I?”

  Sam’s dark brows drew together. “You play the hand you’re dealt, Veranda.” A hint of irritation edged his voice as he turned a cold glare on Hearst. “And sometimes, you’ve got shit for cards.”

  21

  Five minutes later, Veranda pushed open the inner door to the Fusion Center and breathed in the pre-op chaos. Others might find it hectic, but she thrived on the industrious turmoil. Packed with personnel, the cavernous room buzzed with activity. Screens flickered on tabletops, phones beeped, and black-clad SWAT operators pointed at oversized maps taped to the walls as they slurped steaming coffee from Styrofoam cups.

  Glad she’d changed into tactical gear at her mother’s house, she blended seamlessly into the group as she strode to the far corner of the room. Commander Webster, Lieutenant Diaz, Sam, and the federales followed in her wake. Mind still on her confrontation with Sergeant Hearst, she crashed headlong into a solid black wall in her path. She stopped short and looked up.

  Sergeant Grigg towered over her, head-to-toe body armor making him appear even more gargantuan than usual. “Better get your head in the game, Cruz.” His rugged face twisted into a wry grin. “Or at least, pull it out of your ass.”

  She returned his smile. “Speaking of my ass … why don’t you pucker up, Grigg?”

  Grigg guffawed and held a sheet of paper out to her. “The entry teams are listed by radio call-sign order.”

  She took the page and found her name near the top. Sergeant Grigg, five other SAU tactical personnel and the two FBI agents were listed under her name, forming
one of fifteen entry teams. She assumed the two FBI agents were together because Tanner was new. The other Feds were dispersed among the teams. “How were these groups assigned?”

  Agent Gates had walked up behind her. “I requested your team because I want to be on a high-value target. I reviewed recent activity reports with one of your vice detectives this morning while you were gone. This address looks like our best chance at Carlos Villalobos.”

  She wasn’t sure if she detected a slight note of judgment in the senior FBI agent’s tone, or if her own guilt about taking personal time during an important assignment colored her perception. Gates continued, pulling her back to the discussion.

  “Two weeks ago, a dealer your PPD narcs arrested tried to work off his charges by providing the location of a brothel he claimed was run by Carlos. The informant said he witnessed Carlos inside the premises. It’s a single-family home rented under a false name. Undercover detectives did surveillance there last week and confirmed the intel.” Gates included her junior partner, who had appeared next to her, in her comment. “We believe Carlos will be there in person.”

  Veranda would have preferred to locate Adolfo, but he’d dropped from her radar recently. Still, Carlos made a good second choice. The search warrant could get them inside to look for human trafficking victims. If they found Carlos on scene, they could take him into custody, along with any of his coyotes or clients, and begin the interrogation process. The youngest Villalobos son brought a lot of cash to the cartel with prostitution rings. His coyotes smuggled workers into the US and weapons back to Mexico, doubling their profits on each run and fueling bloody wars south of the border. Shutting down that portion of the operation would not only save lives, it would seriously choke the cartel’s income stream. She understood why Gates wanted to be at that address, but she had concerns about Tanner. She doubted he’d ever been on a raid before.

  Veranda leaned in close and whispered to Gates. “Just keep a tight leash on your partner. I better not see Tanner with his FBI raid jacket on perp-walking Carlos in front of the cameras.”

  Gates gave Veranda a discreet nod.

  Commander Webster raised a hand to get everyone’s attention and the general chatter died out. “Has everyone received your assignments and met with your teams?”

  He waited for heads to bob in agreement. “And each team has a hard copy of the search warrant for their assigned location?”

  After nods all around, Webster continued. “Every warrant is no-knock, so SAU operators will make dynamic entry with the investigators immediately following them in.” He jerked a thumb behind him at a digital wall clock set to military time hanging behind him. “Synchronize your watches with that clock. Simultaneous execution will occur at exactly twenty-one-hundred hours. That should give each team time to check equipment, load up, get to the location, deploy discreetly, and observe the premises for a short period of time. Some of you have longer to travel than others. Are there any final questions or issues?”

  A voice called from the back, “What’s our frequency?

  “Channel one is dedicated to this op,” Webster said. “Anything else?”

  Silence.

  “Then let’s go.”

  Everyone began filing out through main door toward the parking lot.

  Sergeant Grigg leaned down to her ear, speaking in an undertone. “Lucky us. We got the junior G-man.”

  She snorted. “Don’t get me started. Just do me a favor. If Tanner tries to pry Carlos out of my cuffs, shoot him a little.”

  Grigg grinned. “I’ll make it look like an AD.”

  “No good. No one would buy an accidental discharge coming from you. You’ll have to think of something else to keep the Feebs from taking my prisoner.” She grew serious. “All kidding aside, I want Carlos. I want him bad.”

  A dark scowl replaced Grigg’s easy smile. “I’ve read the reports on that asshole and his human trafficking ring.” His eyes hardened. “You and the FBI can fight over his carcass when I’m finished with him.”

  She appreciated the sentiment. Sergeant Grigg was a pro. He wouldn’t use excessive force, but he wouldn’t go out of his way to be gentle with a man in the sex slave trade. One of many things she liked about Grigg. She inclined her head toward him in tacit approval and continued to the parking lot. “At least the news van is gone. Which one is our ride?”

  Grigg pointed to his right. “The BearCat. She’s a beauty, right?”

  “More like a beast.” The midnight blue urban assault vehicle was straight out of a combat zone. She gaped up at Grigg. “People in the ’hood where we’re going will shit themselves when they see this bitch coming down the street.”

  Grigg waved a dismissive hand. “We’re not going to pull up at the driveway in front of the target address. We’ll be … what did the commander say?” He tapped his chin with a gloved index finger. “Discreet.” He winked as one of his men heaved the rear bay doors open and walked around to hoist himself into the cab in the driver’s seat.

  “Sure. This thing screams ‘discreet.’” She rolled her eyes and climbed into the back. Four SAU members followed her. Gates and Tanner clambered inside next. Grigg hauled himself in last, banging the doors shut and taking the last seat on a thick metal bench soldered to the interior wall.

  The monstrous twin-turbo diesel engine roared to life, its guttural growl thrumming through her body. As they bumped along, she checked her weapon, fitted an earpiece on, and tightened the elastic band holding her ponytail. The SWAT team pulled balaclavas over their heads before donning black helmets and goggles.

  She assessed the row of tactical officers, ending with Grigg, all geared up and mission-ready. She shook her head. “They’ll need to change their chonies after you and your band of merry men burst in.”

  She couldn’t see Grigg’s grin, but the corners of his blue eyes crinkled behind his goggles.

  In the confines of the armored vehicle, she lost all sense of time. Without windows, the sense of motion rising from the floorboards under her feet was her only source of orientation. No one spoke, everyone seemingly going through a mental checklist for the final time.

  When the vehicle stopped, Grigg’s voice carried through her earpiece. “We’re on scene.” He opened the hatch and she scrambled out with the others. The sun had set, but it wasn’t quite pitch dark.

  She checked her watch. “We have time to get in position and watch the house for a few minutes.” She squinted to see the target location several doors down. The modest two-story detached Craftsman occupied a secluded lot off a cul-de-sac at the end of the street.

  Grigg pointed over his shoulder, indicating they should get behind him. “Form a line. We need to move to our recon site. I’m on point.”

  She sized up the SAU operators, aware the largest person would sometimes go in first during a dynamic entry to provide tactical as well as psychological advantages for the team. She figured Grigg had opted to use his overwhelming physical presence as an immediate deterrence.

  The sergeant continued to give orders through her earpiece. “Brinkowski will take rear guard. I want the detectives and agents just ahead of him.”

  This made sense to her. Five of the SWAT operators would enter first to clear the premises. The sixth would watch their backs for anyone who might come out from hiding to attack from behind as they went through. Agents and detectives, who weren’t tactically trained and equipped, would have the most protected positions.

  They got in line with the sergeant in the lead and made their way toward the target house in its deep-set lot surrounded by mesquite and palo verde trees. The dense foliage hid their progress as they moved in unison, like a giant centipede, to the side wall of the house. Once in position, each person in line used their non-weapon hand to grip the shoulder of the person in front of them and waited for the cue.

  Veranda heard nothing coming from inside the house but
figured they couldn’t possibly be asleep this early. A sense of foreboding cascaded through her as the moments stretched.

  Finally, Grigg raised his hand in a silent signal to make entry. Weapon in low-ready position, she waited for Brinkowski, at the rear, to confirm he was set to go by squeezing her shoulder. After an interminable second, she felt his gloved fingers press down hard. She mashed Agent Tanner’s shoulder and knew each person would repeat the motion up the line. Every muscle in her body tensed, waiting for the moment when Grigg felt the tightening of the hand resting on his shoulder and raced forward.

  Time, which to Veranda had been frozen, slammed into high speed. She moved her feet quickly, taking short, rapid steps to stay in formation. They whipped around the corner to the front door and two SWAT operators peeled off to take positions on each side of the entrance. A third smashed a battering ram into the door directly below the knob.

  The door flew back on its hinges and crashed against the interior wall. Sergeant Grigg’s wide shoulders filled the doorway as he barreled inside. The officer breaching the door laid the battering ram down and joined in the stream of team members charging into the house yelling, “Police! Don’t move!”

  Guns drawn, Veranda, Gates, and Tanner trotted forward with the tactical personnel in rapid search formation, calling out “Clear!” with each room they checked.

  Every time Veranda heard the word, her apprehension grew. Something wasn’t right. The sound of their boots thumping against the floor echoed off bare walls. Where was the furniture? The clothing? Any sign of life at all? The place had an abandoned air.

  They finished clearing the house and gathered in the living room. In the oppressive silence, all eyes swiveled in her direction.

  This couldn’t be happening. “We had good intel,” she said, attempting to keep the pleading note from her voice. “They must have just left.”

  “Obviously,” Tanner said, his tone acerbic.

  She raised a hand to her earpiece to secure it more firmly in place before pressing the transmit button on her portable radio. Enough time had gone by for other teams to begin reporting in. As the task force leader, she should give the first update.