Chapter 15
Escalation
Ruby Grandstone liked being home by herself. Most of the time anyhow. Twenty-five years of raising kids before getting them all out of the nest had the effect of giving one an appreciation for peace and quiet. The fact that her police chief husband had always run his home in much the same way he ran his department was a substantial contributor to her appreciation for solitude as well.
He did a hard job, so to some extent it was understandable. Every complaint about his officers and every bad news story all landed on his desk. The buck stopped with him, most of the time anyhow. Sometimes there were ways to pass it on to the city attorney, or sometime he could just misread the law to justify himself and his department. Misreading laws was something he was pretty good at. Oftentimes though, his job ended with him coming home in a bad mood. But there were good times to be had with him too. His drinking was more or less under control and he hadn’t actually hit her in quite a while.
On this night, like most people in the region, she couldn’t take her eyes off the TV. At this moment they were showing video of the helicopter. Some enterprising soul had a camera trained on it as the tracer had struck the rotor, and that video shot was being repeated over and over. She was so engrossed in what she was watching that she didn’t even hear the car stop in front of the house, nor did she notice the approaching footsteps until they were right up to the door. She did hear the door being kicked though. That was a little tough to miss, especially with some of her porcelain knick-knacks falling off the shelves and shattering.
She started reaching for her phone, but not nearly quick enough. The next kick blew the door wide open.
* * *
Burt was back on the road again. There weren’t enough officers left to require a full-time coordinator at the base. So he had gotten behind the wheel of Jack Hayward’s patrol car and joined the search himself, with Jack riding shotgun.
Burt felt his phone vibrate and took it out. He looked at the screen with no small amount of irritation, as it read “Home,” and then he answered it. “Ruby, this is a really bad time –“
“This isn’t Ruby.”
Burt almost dropped the phone. As he was getting his grip back, he had to slam his brakes as he almost rear-ended a car at the intersection in front of them. He put the phone back up to his ear. “Are you where my phone says you are?”
“There’s a far more relevant question to be asked,” Randy’s voice replied. “Am I to understand that family members are valid targets in this dispute of ours?”
“You better not have hurt her…”
“Your sergeant broke my wife’s arm. Did you think that might not come back to bite you?”
“That was not a sanctioned action.”
“But it won’t be punished either, will it?”
“Let her go.”
“Or what, you’ll shoot me?” Burt left his siren off so Randy wouldn’t hear, but he flipped his overheads on and started speeding toward home. “Burt, I’ve watched how you operate for many years, and now I’m playing by your rules. And your rules are that anything goes, so long as some fucked up excuse can be fabricated. Well, take a listen to mine. Your wife is guilty of providing material support to a public criminal enterprise.”
“What support?”
“Did she make you breakfast this morning?” Indeed she had. “As such she is subject to citizen’s arrest and action to prevent future involvement and support of hostilities conducted against the citizenry. And preemption is all the rage these days, isn’t it?”
“None of this is her fault.”
“My wife was innocent too, but you still hurt her in order to hurt me. And right now, at this very moment, it’s time for you to hear what I heard.” Burt felt a twinge of nausea during the moment of silence that followed, and then his fear was borne out. The sound of a gunshot came through the phone, followed by screaming that was unmistakably his wife. Then Randy came back on one last time before he cut the phone line. “What do you think of phony justifications now?”
Burt looked over at Jack Hayward, and by the barest of margins he restrained himself from smashing the phone on the side of his head.
* * *
Randy didn’t feel bad about what he had done this time. Which was fortunate, because he had no time for distractions.
He was back on the road again, headed for what might be the hill he died on. He had sent his message regarding the threatening of loves ones, and now there was just one message he had to finish sending. For that he needed a good spot for a last stand, and he had just the place in mind.
He picked up Preston’s phone and turned it on. Having been turned off for a while, the phone was locked now, but that didn’t make any difference. He just wanted the phone to be tracked.
* * *
When Burt skidded to a stop in front of his own house, two other patrol cars were already there. He jumped out and ran for his front door, but Byron Palmer cut him off.
“Hold up, Burt…”
“My wife is shot!”
“No she isn’t.” Burt’s expression was stunned and incredulous. “He made her a deal that if she faked being shot in the foot, he wouldn’t really do it. She’s okay.”
Part of Burt still wanted to go inside and see, but part of him also wanted to go off on her for what she had just put him through, even if she had done it to save herself a major body part. With what remained of his force standing there watching, that would have to wait until later.
“There’s more news too,” Palmer went on. “Preston’s phone is on and they’re tracking it. It’s near the river.”
Burt started thinking like a leader again. “All right, here’s how we’re going to do it. Communications will be by phone only, on the two-way radio setting. We’re going to converge, in silent mode. If we can catch him in the open, we’ll mow the sonofabitch down.”
* * *
Randy remembered this place from when he was a kid. Many a war had been fought here, using such high-tech weaponry as water balloons, rubber-tip darts, and snowballs. His dad had given him strict orders to stay out of it, but like many well-meaning parental directives, this one had gone in one ear and out the other.
Part of him was surprised to see it still standing. The place had been a firetrap for decades. It was a sawmill that had been closed way back in the seventies, even before the spotted owl controversy had shut down most of the others during the eighties.
He pulled up in front of the building that used to house the planer mill. He popped the trunk and grabbed his bag of gear out of it. He set that down, then got back in the car and backed it away from the buildings to a spot where it probably wouldn’t get destroyed unnecessarily. It was probably fully insured, but all the same, there was no reason not to get it back to the rightful owners in one piece if possible. Plus he wanted it to be visible. So before he got out, he turned the emergency flashers on, in a place where they could be seen for at least a mile.
Here I am, you bastards. Come and get me.
* * *
All the unmarked cars in their fleet were moving in from the West, driven mostly by what was left of their SWAT team. Some of the cars were the semi-recognizable Crown Victoria’s and some weren’t, but the hope was that it might allow them to get close enough to get the first shots in.
Burt and his group were coming up from the south, spread out on all the back roads there were. Hayward still rode shotgun in Burt’s car, but he was keeping his mouth shut now. He was starting to feel the heat for the things he had done lately, and now he just wanted his chance at redemption. That meant getting the first shot on target when they found Gustin.
Both groups spotted the flashing lights at about the same time. They knew a trap when they saw one and stopped well away. Burt announced to the group over the Motorola phones that had replaced their radios. “Everyone bring your rifles and approach on foot. If that car is in the middle of his kill zone, then he’s in the building right back behind it.
”
Everyone did as ordered. The area was fairly desolate, with enough trees, brush, and other small buildings to provide cover for their approach. Gradually they worked their way into positions surrounding the front of the building, cloaked in darkness.
Burt and Jack stood together behind a small shack that was fairly close to the car with the flashing lights. Hayward shook his head with some dismay. “Well, now what?” he inquired of his boss. “We can’t shoot him if he doesn’t reveal himself, and we can’t walk out there without being right in his line of fire. He could be inside of any of those windows or holes in that building. We should have some cars up here to spotlight the building and blind him.”
“Really? I don’t suppose you’ve noticed how well our cars are holding up to gunfire, have you?” Burt fired back. “Why don’t you just go get his attention?”
“Sure thing.” Only Hayward didn’t go anywhere to do it, he shouted from where he was. “Gustin! It’s me, the guy you saw on TV with his hands on your wife. You gonna try and get me or what?”
Burt knew exactly what was coming and he dove down out of the way. There are a lot of misconceptions about the use of cover, and even some seasoned pros can’t get over them all. One of them is that if you can’t see through it, you must not be able to shoot through it. Unfortunately for Jack Hayward, the cover he stood behind was fairly small, made entirely of decaying wood, and he himself was a pretty big target. A burst of rifle rounds coming through it could scarcely miss him, and it didn’t. Randy fired eight rounds into the structure. Two of them penetrated where Burt had been standing before he had wisely hit the ground, and one of them went through the spot where Hayward still was. The sergeant jumped back with a short scream, and put his hands to his ribcage. He couldn’t see the blood but he could feel it, warm, wet, and sticky. He dropped to his knees, and looked around while trying to figure out what he was supposed to do next.
The return fire started pouring in. Half of the SWAT team moved in with their weapon lights trained on the spot the shots had come from, while the others stayed back and stayed concealed in case a shot of opportunity came along. Burt got up to direct the assault, and he turned to his bleeding sergeant on the way out. “Dumbass,” was the only word he had for him.
Burt took the time to radio a call for medical help. Then.as he and his men moved in, he thought it odd that there was no return fire coming out of the building. Gustin had been pretty dedicated up to this point, and he had drawn them here himself. So why would he –
There was the sound of a whoosh, and Burt had his answer. A streak of fire flew straight up from a skylight and into the sky, and three hundred feet up it popped open and deployed a parachute flare. Now they were all illuminated, mostly caught in the open, and more blinded by the flare than Gustin was by their weapon lights. It didn’t take long for Randy to capitalize on this.
His first shot, taken from another hole in the wall, struck Darren Tomlin directly in the helmet. Ballistic helmets are great for stopping pistol rounds, but heavy rifle calibers, not so much. After seeing what the already-expanded slug had done to his skull after penetrating the helmet, no one would even attempt resuscitation.
* * *
Inside the building, Randy heard Burt scream at his officers to take cover, and he heard them scramble to comply. They were in such a hurry that he only got off one more shot at them, and it missed his target clean. With more return fire imminent, he moved back and behind some solid machinery to figure out his next move. As bullets peppered the building again, he remembered an upstairs office, that used to have a mirror hanging on a closet door.
There was something he had always wanted to try.
* * *
Andy was 13 years old, and he was seriously blowing his first chance to impress a girl. Erica was his 12-year-old friend from Forest Hill Middle School, and he had brought her here for a little late-night adventuring, in much the same manner as the buildings only other occupant had done about three decades in the past. Instead of that though, they were hunkered down in a corner, praying for their lives.
They had been in the middle of a game of hide-and-seek when Randy showed up. Erica had agreed that if he found her in five minutes, he might get a kiss on the cheek. At Andy’s age, that was a pretty powerful motivator. He was down to two minutes remaining when the unknown man walked into the building. At first Andy thought it was a homeless man, until he saw the silhouette of a rifle being unslung.
Erica saw him too. She poked her head out from her hiding place and waved Andy into it with her. “That’s that guy!” she whispered.
“I know. We have to stay hid,” he had replied.
Erica agreed, but she had a slightly better idea too. She took out her phone and sent a text to her father. All it said was, Im @ sawml nd hlp. Her teenage text-speak was a little vague unfortunately. If it had included some more info her father might have known he needed to call 911 and ask if the police would be so thoughtful as to not shoot his daughter and her young friend. As it was he didn’t really know if anything was actually happening. Because he knew so little though, he also didn’t call her back for fear of alerting the wrong person to her presence. But he did jump in his car and start heading in the direction of the sawmill.
* * *
“Cease fire!” Burt’s men had been firing blindly into the building and burning up their ammo, so he had to call a halt to it.
An ambulance had arrived and the medics were loading Jack Hayward into it. He appeared to have some lung collapse issues going on so they had strapped a ventilator mask to his face.
Raymond Ward, the second in command of the SWAT team who had taken over on Darren Tomlin’s demise, shouted to Burt. “We’re ready to enter the building.”
“Negative on that,” Burt yelled back. “Your body armor won’t stop a .308, and we’ve got other options. Load up your tear gas guns.”
From right next to Raymond, another SWAT cop named Ralph Waterbury shouted out. “Movement, top floor!” They all looked, and indeed the blind was being pulled open. When it was out of the way, they clearly saw Randy standing in the window, aiming his rifle at them. Just as they opened up on him, the green light of his rifle-mounted laser came out the window, utterly wrecking the night vision of whomever it hit in the eyes.
The rifle fire poured in through the window, shattering the glass, but the green laser beam coming out seemed largely unaffected. It continued shining around until almost everyone with a rifle had been hit in the eyes at least once. Gustin had to be wearing some hellacious body armor, Burt thought. It was maddening that he hadn’t been put down already, so Burt finally drew his own .40 caliber Glock and put a burst of his own into the window. Finally the green light went out.
* * *
This was going to be one fancy shot. The incoming fire had just abated, and Randy looked at what was left of the mirror, which wasn’t much. It was made of plastic, so it hadn’t shattered outright, but every hit had knocked another little piece out of it until there wasn’t enough left to use. He had propped it up in front of the window against some old cabinet drawers. It was set at an angle, which allowed him to stand safely to the side of the window, while giving the appearance to those outside that he was standing right in it.
He had done the best he could at dazzling the riflemen outside with his laser, and he had a pretty good fix on the location of one in particular. He could only plan on having time to get one shot off at best, and it was now or never.
He stepped into the window, swung his rifle around, put the crosshairs on target as fast as he could and fired. Then he jumped back, just as another fusillade came pouring in. He wouldn’t get to see for himself, but SWAT officer Jeff Wright had been hit in the throat. His spine had been snapped clean, and though his body lay thrashing with violent convulsions, the man himself was long gone.
Then Randy heard Burt shouting. He couldn’t make out much of what he said, but he did catch the words “tear gas.” He decided this would be a good
time to grab his gas mask.
He ran back down the stairs to the ground floor where his duffel bag waited, and as he reached the bottom he saw the faint light of a cellphone coming from a dark corner of the building. It was almost certainly a SWAT cop who had made his way in through the back, but even under the circumstances Randy knew better than to shoot without being certain. He swung his rifle up and lit up the area with his weapon light. “If you’re not one of them, you better say so now!”
It was a young, terrified female voice that answered. “Don’t kill us!”
SWAT cops could be tricky, but not that tricky. Randy ran down to where they were and put his light on the two petrified kids. “What in the hell are you doing in this place?” he almost screamed. “Don’t you know this place is a firetrap, and it’s full of rotted boards you could fall through, and… and…”
“Rats?” Andy offered.
“Yeah, rats!” Randy began to fear he was going to die while delivering one of his father’s lectures. “This is so screwing up my plans…” Randy heard a voice shouting on the other side of the girl’s phone. “Who is that?” he asked.
“It’s my dad.”
“Give me that.” He took the phone. “Hello?”
“Mister, these kids are NOT a part of your fight!” the voice replied.
“I know that, and I’m going to get them out of here. Call 911 and tell them to let these kids out.” He handed the phone back to the girl, and right then they heard something hit the outer wall. The thing broke through the wall and bounced around inside the place, making a hissing sound after it stopped. Randy shined his light at it and saw green gas rising from the spot. “Aw, sonofabitch.” Randy ran to his duffel bag and grabbed the police radio. “Attention police, there are two kids inside of here. I call a cease fire to let them get out.” Randy waited a few seconds for the response, and then it came. Four more tear gas canisters blew through the walls and windows. The air started becoming unbreatheable in a hurry, and something else happened too that he didn’t notice right away.
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