by Ethan Cross
“Who?”
“Answer me!”
“It’s an independent system. No access to it from here. Besides, as soon as the alarm triggered, four feet of steel dropped down and sealed the shaft.”
“There has to be a way to open it. Tell me!”
The Hispanic woman’s whole body shook, and he could barely understand her over the sobbing. Not just hers, but the cries of the others as well. He felt like a monster, but he had to know. “Tell me!”
“That’s above my pay grade. I have no idea how to reverse a lockdown. It’s never happened before.”
“One of you has to know.”
He found the manager, who was still passed out. The old British man’s skin was as white as a corpse, and he had clearly lost a lot of blood. Franklin felt for a pulse. It was weak but present. He tried to shake the manager awake. What the hell was the guy’s name?
“Quentin,” Franklin yelled as he shook the old man. “Quentin. Wake up.”
But it was no use; it was a miracle the guy was still breathing in the first place. Who else would know? Was there an assistant manager? Who seemed to know all the ins and outs? Who among them was a leader?
He searched their faces, looking for the person he should have asked in the first place. He spun in a circle, checking all the couches. Then he spun another 360 degrees and shook his head in confusion.
This couldn’t be happening. Where was she? The little princess had disappeared just like the others. Was he losing his mind?
To no one in particular, he whispered, “Where’s the Indian chick?”
Chapter 54
Gabi had merely stood there frozen as the gunman asked about the vault. Shocked that he had yet to notice her absence, she tried to hold her breath and keep still, as if by not disturbing the air around her she could become invisible or will him not to see that he was one hostage short.
When she saw him spin in a circle, she knew, and she inwardly cursed her own stupidity. Of course he would eventually see she was missing. She hadn’t exactly tried to blend with the others and keep attention away from herself. She had basically appointed herself as the de facto leader, representative, and wannabe savior of the group. But she had been arrogant and ignorant. Her brothers always said she didn’t know when to quit.
But she figured now wasn’t the time to start learning how to quit. Now was a time to stand. A time to fight.
But how was she supposed to do that? A pair of scissors was hardly a match for an assault rifle in the hands of someone with obvious military training. She needed to get in close, but the same problem as earlier one again presented itself: she needed a distraction.
She heard more yelling and threats coming from the other room. No one had ratted her out yet, but they would, and soon. It was human nature, self-preservation instinct. One of the most basic primal urges shared by all living creatures. It was only a matter of time before someone spoke up out of fear, and the gunman came for her.
When that happened, she needed him to come on her terms, to be focused away from her, even if only for a second.
Then she had an idea. She hadn’t found a gun in Yarborough’s desk, but she had seen something combustible and a way to make it go boom.
Moving quickly now, not even caring how much noise she made, Gabi snatched up her manager’s trash can. Then she returned to the desk. From the bottom right drawer, she retrieved the box of cigars and the can of air freshener. Opening the lid to the carved wooden box, she retrieved a butane torch lighter she found inside.
Now all she needed was some kindling to get the fire going. With a small smile and a swivel of the desk chair, she quickly pulled open Yarborough’s file drawer, pulled a few random folders, and emptied the paper contents into the trash can.
The shouts from the neighboring room had grown more urgent. Muffled by the door, she heard the gunman’s threats, then a woman’s scream, then someone else begging for the young black man to stop whatever he was doing. Her focus remained on her preparations. Time was not on her side, and the seconds were too precious to waste on indecision.
She positioned the trash can beside the desk, facing the door. Then she added the purple can of air freshener to the mix and used the torch lighter to set the papers ablaze. It took a couple of tries to get the fire going, but once it took off, the can full of old dry paper burned bright and hot.
Gabi moved to a spot behind the door and waited as smoke filled the room. She had no idea how long the pressurized contents of the can would withstand the heat but she had watched a kid on YouTube try something similar, and his little experiment had only lasted a matter of seconds and resulted in first-degree burns.
She waited, scissors in hand, pointed toward the floor.
The smoke had turned purple and was crawling under the door.
Someone in the next room yelled, “What the hell?”
Boots pounded the tile, coming toward her. This was her moment. Time for action. Time to stand and fight. To put her father’s training to good use. To roll up all of her anger into one ball and hurl it with reckless abandon at the person about to step through the door.
She saw the door’s handle move. She flattened herself to the wall and refused to breathe for fear of coughing and giving away her position.
The door swung inward.
Her enemy coughed from the smoke and cursed.
Not yet, she told herself. Patience.
He stepped toward the fire, and the aerosol can exploded with a deafening pop.
The metal trash can absorbed most of the blast, but the explosion was enough to start Yarborough’s desk to burning and create a brilliantly bright ball of flame.
Now was her moment, the opportunity she had been patiently awaiting since this ordeal had begun.
Gabi stepped out from behind the door.
She knew where to strike. The maneuver had been practiced in her mind, over and over. She raised her arm high and, in a downward arc, embedded the blunt scissors into the side of the stunned gunman’s neck.
Chapter 55
Sam Carter cracked his neck and stretched out his back as he downed the last of what must have been his fourth cup of coffee. And it wasn’t even good coffee. Edgar and Taz sat at the conference table, discussing the best way to breach the building. Carter was more worried about what Burke and Nic had learned on their little field trip. He didn’t see a breach coming any time soon. They hadn’t even provided a list of demands. He checked his watch, not that it mattered to him how long the standoff lasted. He had no one waiting at home, not since the accident.
All eyes shot open and all heads turned when one of the technicians yelled, “We have smoke and gunshots in the building.”
Carter looked to the Henderson PD officers, since it was their show. He saw Taz glance at Edgar, who nodded his head vigorously. Carter knew that Taz had the authority to order the breach if the hostages were in immediate danger, but his small deference showed a great deal of respect for the deputy chief. And to Edgar’s credit, he showed no hesitation.
Taz ran for the door, speaking into his radio as he went. “ERT is a go. Pop the doors and throw the smoke. Don’t wait for me!”
Carter started to follow, but then he realized that he wasn’t actually a field agent anymore. He supposed the youngsters could take care of this without him.
He and Edgar moved behind the row of technicians, watching the breach unfold on a series of bouncing helmet cams. It didn’t seem real to Carter, like he was merely watching one of those fraud footage dramas play out on TV. He wanted to be there, kicking in doors and making arrests. Not doing so made him feel old and worthless. He supposed that his part in this was over, and tomorrow he’d be back to the world of performance reviews and requisition forms.
He supposed it didn’t really matter. He had been out in the field all day today and still felt like he’d made very little difference. He knew that he’d done everything in his power to help those hostages, but the responsibility of any of their dea
ths would still fall on his shoulders like a piano from a fourth-story window.
He held his breath as he watched the SWAT officers breach on the monitors. The officers had tossed smoke grenades for cover, and a haze of black still filled the air from whatever event had led to the breach. But then he saw them, the hostages moving through the smoke toward the front door.
The officers guided the coughing and hacking former captives outside. Carter directed his gaze to the camera views of the team members still pushing forward into the building. Taz’s camera showed three guards on the floor of the lounge. The security officers had been bound and hooded. Taz and his men quickly cut them free, and the guards moved to help a remaining hostage from the couch who wore a blood-soaked eye patch and looked completely dazed and weak. The man, who Carter recognized as the GoBox manager, appeared as if he was knocking on death’s door and completely oblivious to the chaos unfolding around him.
Taz directed his men with hand signals toward the remaining rooms. Sgt. Ortiz moved toward the vault room, which was where Carter expected to find the big South African. To all of their surprise, the room was cleared within a few seconds with zero resistance.
The sound of gunshots over the computer speakers made every muscle in Carter’s body tense. He scanned the other shaky helmet cams for the source of the shots.
He saw the camera marked as Stromberg jump back from the door of the manager’s office. In the brief glimpse of the room, Carter saw flames licking against the desk and the young gunman in the corner of the room, firing his M4 at the encroaching officers.
The young gunman screamed, “Stay back! I still have a hostage!”
Carter swore under his breath. He had attempted to count the escaping captives, but the multiple camera views and pandemonium made that an exercise in futility.
A radio on the desk crackled to life. It was Taz. “Carter, we need you in here. We have one tango holed up in the office with a hostage, and the room is about to burn down around him. Can you talk him out?”
Snatching up the radio, Carter replied, “Affirmative. On my way.”
He moved quickly toward the exit, but Edgar said, “Hold on.” Turning back to the deputy chief, Carter saw Edgar pulling body armor off one of the room’s chairs, the same vest Carter had worn earlier. As Edgar tossed him the vest, the deputy chief added, “Good luck.”
“Thanks. I’ll need it, but at least I know the youngsters still find me useful. You have to find the silver lining.”
He didn’t wait for a response. He pushed out the door to the comm center and took off in a run, slipping the vest over his shoulders as he moved. As he crossed the expanse of blacktop and concrete, an unraveling thread frayed at the corners of his mind. His main priority had been the safety of the hostages, and so it took him a moment to grasp the implications of all he’d seen on the video feed.
But when the realization struck, it hit him like a windshield to a bug. There was one very important detail he hadn’t glimpsed on the video screens …
Where were the woman and the giant?
Chapter 56
Nic pounded his palm on the dashboard of the ’67 Firebird three times in rapid succession.
“Come on,” he said. “Don’t you know how to drive this thing? It sounds like you’ve got a beast under the hood, and we’re moving at like ten miles an hour. Let’s go!”
Burke didn’t take his eyes off of the road, and Nic couldn’t see those eyes behind a pair of mirrored aviator sunglasses.
“I’m traveling at the designated speed limit,” Burke said.
“A blue-haired old lady in a go-cart just passed us.”
Burke didn’t say a word, but he appeared to be checking his mirrors and the road ahead for the alleged go-cart.
Nic felt his phone vibrate with a text message. He pulled it from his green tactical pants and swiped across the screen to unlock the device. The message was from Bristol and read: “Are you okay? I’m at the mayor’s office, and we heard that all hell is breaking loose over there.”
Nic swore under his breath and said, “Something’s happening at the scene. We need to get back there now. Kick this old hunk of scrap metal into high gear, or I’ll knock you out and do it myself! Move!”
He saw Burke’s jaw clench, and his knuckles go white on the wheel. But the young doctor did increase his speed and the aggressiveness of his driving.
“For the record, you insult my car or threaten me again,” Burke said, “and we’re going to have a problem.”
“Is that so? It wouldn’t end well for you. And I wouldn’t let you get in any cheap shots like you did with that idiot back at the bar.”
“What cheap shot?”
“You sucker punched him in the balls. You try that with me, and it will just piss me off.”
“Why? You don’t have balls to kick? And so we’re clear, I had calculated the precise level of force necessary to end the confrontation with the least amount of injury possible for all parties involved.”
“Do you actually listen to the crap that comes out of your mouth?”
Nic felt the speed of the Firebird increase again, and Burke took the next turn at full speed, pulling the emergency brake and drifting around the corner into oncoming traffic. Nic wasn’t expecting the maneuver and banged his head off the passenger-side window. Burke pulled them back to the proper lane at the last second, amid a flurry of honking and swerving cars.
Nic rubbed his head and glared over at Burke, who didn’t take his eyes off the road, but said, “I’m not stupid, and I’m getting real sick of people like you treating me as if I am.”
“I don’t think you’re stupid, kid,” Nic said. “But you sure act like it sometimes. You should remember that I’m a Juliano, and we’re known for our explosive tempers.”
“And I’m a Burke. We’re known for putting arrogant idiots in their place. I don’t like being pushed around, and I wasn’t about to let that troglodyte back at the bar talk to LJ that way. Next time, he’ll think twice.”
“You still don’t realize the world of hurt you would have been in if I hadn’t been there to rescue you and smooth things over, do you?”
Burke’s lip trembled, and his nostrils flared.
“As I said, I had the situation under complete control,” he said. “I saw the bouncer check those three for weapons when they entered. Perhaps because they’ve caused problems before. I also saw the security cameras, and so I knew that the proprietor of the establishment would be monitoring the situation. In the reflection of the bar’s mirror I could see a sawed-off shotgun hanging easily accessible under the bar. I also knew that Joey had a .45-caliber Beretta under his coat and would not allow the situation the escalate. With all of those factors, I was well aware that the first act of aggression would also be the decisive one, and there would be no opportunity for retaliation. If I allowed Wally to make the first move, then there would be a high probability of injury to myself or LJ. By striking first and temporarily immobilizing my opponent, I allowed ample time for one of my three potential backup sources to step in and de-escalate the confrontation. Sometimes the best defense is to go on the offensive.”
“Well, you certainly are good at being offensive.”
“Thank you,” Burke said, oblivious to the insult.
“But for all you knew that guy was a professional killer, or the son of someone very dangerous,” Nic added. “You should realize better than anyone that you can’t judge a book by its cover. Plus, even if he’s a nobody, he could have pressed charges, which would have come back on both the HPD and the FBI.”
Burke sighed. “He wasn’t a hitman or anyone connected to true organized crime. He and his companions displayed ink for JPK. The Jefferson Park Kings, a very low-level and disorganized local gang. I also noticed one of his tattoos matched the description from a liquor store that was robbed yesterday afternoon, so him pressing charges did not have a high probability. Not to mention that I detected decreased breathing, constricted pupillary respo
nse, sluggish movements, and slurred speech. All consistent with the overuse of alcohol or another depressant. And his breath smelled like a distillery. All that adds up to a person with significantly impaired reaction times, vision, and coordination. I don’t start fights unless I can predict the outcome to be in my favor. So, next time you want to insult and underestimate me, at least try to get your facts straight.”
Nic said nothing, starting to doubt himself and wonder if he had overreacted to Burke’s handling of a tricky situation. Within a few moments, they pulled up to their destination. He jumped out, and Burke revved up the big engine as soon as he was clear and yelled out the window, “Tell Carter I’m retiring from the FBI.”
Then Burke peeled away, leaving a trail of smoke and rubber behind. Nic shook his head in confusion, certain this would come across as his fault. But at that moment, he had a lot more pressing concerns than hurting August Burke’s feelings—he had brothers in danger and lives to save.
Chapter 57
Carter held up his hands as he entered the manager’s office. The desk burned brightly, and the fire wouldn’t take long to spread. The heat was unbearable, even from his position in the doorway.
The young gunman had positioned himself in the corner of the room farthest from the fire. He was on his knees with his hostage sitting in one of the visitor chairs directly in front of him. He held a black pistol in one hand, while his other pressed firmly against the side of his neck. Even from a distance, Carter saw blood flowing out between the man’s fingers. His hostage, the young Indian woman, had streaks of mascara running in trails down her cheeks. Sweat soaked her forehead and face, forming into small rivulets which dripped from her chin.
Carter shielded himself from the heat with his left hand and yelled, “Please let us put the fire out, kid. Burning to death is not a pleasant way to go.”
