by Alex Ander
“Bravo team is standing by near the back door, out of sight and waiting for orders.” He gestured toward the man standing behind him. “Phillips and I are Alpha team and we’ll be going in the front door,” he pointed at her, “with you.”
Cruz jutted her chin toward Ashford. “What do our eyes in the sky tell us?” The FBI office in Albany, New York had been monitoring an aerial drone, equipped with night and infrared vision. The drone was hovering high above the cabin.
Ashford held up his hand. “Eagle Eye, this is Agent Ashford. Give me an update.” Eagle Eye was the codename for the agent controlling the drone.
“No change, Agent Ashford,” said Eagle Eye. “The two heat signatures have not moved since the last update—over.”
“Copy that.” Ashford eyed Cruz. “There’s no change. We still have one signature at the back of the structure and a second one in the middle.”
Cruz thanked her partner before turning around and staring in the general direction of the cabin. She rolled her shoulders. Her muscles were tense and her stomach churned at the prospect of seeing action. She thought of the work Hawkins had done on the first two murder victims, leaving behind grisly corpses. The presence of two heat signatures was a good sign. If the third victim was with him, that meant she was alive. Cruz’s instincts were telling her to rush the cabin and get to the victim as soon as possible to save her life; however, speed was not always the best course of action. A bull rush sometimes resulted in getting the hostage killed. That’s not going to happen. She was planning her course of action when the SWAT team leader spoke.
“Special Agent DelaCruz, I’d like to advise you to let my men conduct this raid. No offense, ma’am, but we’re specially trained for these situations. We can storm the place and have it cleared in seconds.”
She rotated her head and saw him out of the corner of her eye. Bull Rush, she thought before returning her attention toward the cabin. “Thank you. Your advisement is duly noted.”
Ashford stood alongside her. “So, what’s going through your head? Do we storm the place…sneak in…negotiate with Hawkins? Talk to me.”
She placed her hands on her hips. “My gut tells me to go in hard and fast, but we don’t know the mental stability of this guy. He could kill her as soon as the door is kicked in. We don’t know if Hawkins is even in there. For all we know, two kids could have stolen that car and are hiding out after a joyride.”
“We could call in a hostage negotiator…find out if he’s in there.”
Cruz shook her head. “No, the time for that was when we were in the air. I’m not waiting any longer. Whatever we do, we’re doing it now.”
“Okay, it’s your call, Cruz. I’ll stand behind whatever you decide.”
A full minute passed before she unslung her rifle, placed it inside the SUV and loosened the first strap on her vest.
… … … … … … … … … …
Nearly shouting at his partner, Ashford said, “What? Are you crazy?” He turned away. “I’ve changed my mind. I can’t get behind you on this.” Spinning around to face her, he thrust his finger toward the cabin. “You’ll be in there with a serial killer, unarmed.”
The SWAT team leader agreed with Ashford’s assessment. “I really must advise against this, ma’am. This course of action is way outside of normal protocol for these situations.”
Ashford jerked his thumb toward the man. “You heard him. This is outside of protocol. Or, in layman’s terms, this…is…nuts.”
Cruz placed her pistol next to the MP5 and removed her vest. “Ash, this whole investigation has been outside of protocol, beginning with a photo of,” she poked her chest with her thumb, “me in a bikini…to dismembered bodies…to some sick ‘this is your life in pictures, Raychel DelaCruz’ poster board in an apartment.” She put her foot on the bumper of the SUV and touched the top of the shaft of her left boot. “To me, using this guy’s twisted affections for me against him falls into that outside of protocol category. If I can get him to let down his guard, we can take him out before he kills again.”
Ashford pleaded. “At least keep the vest on.”
“No, I want him to trust me. I want him to see me as the person on his board. Hopefully, he’ll open up to me and we’ll get a shot at stopping him.” She slipped a communication device into her ear and spoke to the team leader. “Get your snipers in position and wait for my order.”
He shook his head and sighed. “Yes ma’am.”
Placing her hand on Ashford’s shoulder, she reassured him. “I’ll be fine, Ash. If anything goes wrong,” she smiled, “I know you’ll have my back.”
… … … … … … … … … …
Cruz shivered, feeling the cold night air rush under her overcoat. With each step, the snow crunched under the soles of her knee boots. Winter was in full force in this part of the state. She looked to the sky and saw the full moon. There were no clouds to hide it. No clouds also meant the earth was losing the warmth of the day. The thought sent another shudder through her body. Perhaps, the shudder was from what she was about to do. Reaching the beginning of the driveway, where the property opened into a clearing, Cruz heard radio chatter in her ear.
“This is sniper one. I’m in position, awaiting orders—over.”
“Sniper two is in position, standing by—over.”
Cruz neared the middle of the front lawn. Her heart was pounding in her chest and her pulse had increased. Is this a mistake? What if I’m wrong and he kills her anyway? She felt the weight and burden of leadership. It was easier to follow someone else’s orders. Being in charge brought with it a heavy feeling of doubt. She could not imagine what Director Jameson faced on a daily basis. Should we have just stormed the cabin and rolled the dice? She shook her head to clear away the self-doubt and cobwebs. You can do this, Raychel. Trust your gut. Stopping in the middle of the front yard, she held the megaphone to her mouth and pressed the button. “Harold Hawkins, this is Raychel DelaCruz. Don’t shoot. I just want to talk.”
… … … … … … … … … …
Harold Hawkins flipped over, his body propped on his elbows. He blinked and rubbed his eyes. Throwing the covers off, he swung his legs over the side of the bed. Was the voice real or was he dreaming? Rotating his head from side to side, he strained to hear into the silence of the night.
“Harold Hawkins, are you in there? This is Raychel DelaCruz of the FBI. I only want to talk, Harold.”
Hawkins jumped from the bed, scrambling to get his pants around his waist. He grabbed the pistol on the nightstand, ran out of the bedroom, crossed the living room and slid to a stop at the front door. Down on one knee, he pulled back the window curtain a fraction of an inch.
… … … … … … … … … …
“All teams, I’ve got movement on the east side, front window.”
“Sniper one has eyes, but no joy on the shot—over.”
“Copy that. Stand by.”
Hearing the chatter, Cruz focused on the front window and spotted the drawn curtain. She raised the megaphone. “Harold, this is Raychel DelaCruz. Can we talk?”
Hawkins stood and darted to the center of the room. He pointed the pistol at the woman lying on the couch and touched the trigger. He heard the voice of Special Agent Cruz through the megaphone. He turned and paced.
The terrified woman was on her left side with her hands behind her back. Her hands and ankles were bound. A strip of duct tape covered her mouth. Her eyes were wide open, watching her kidnapper pace in front of her. She saw her life flash before her eyes when he pointed the gun at her face. Each time he turned away from her, she struggled against her restraints.
Hawkins passed by her, his arms crossed above his head, his gun pointed toward the ceiling. “No, no, no, this was not supposed to happen.” He stopped. I can’t believe she’s here. He had spent much time fantasizing about meeting her, and she was standing outside the door. He paced. “But, it wasn’t supposed to happen this way.” He had envisioned meeting her under different
circumstances. This is all wrong.
… … … … … … … … … …
“Come to the door, Harold. Talk to me.” Cruz waited, but no one came to the door. “Harold, I’m coming in. I’m unarmed. I just want to talk to you.” She heard Ashford’s panic-stricken voice in her ear.
“Negative, Cruz, negative. Stick to the plan. Get him to open the door.”
Dropping the megaphone, Cruz stepped toward the front door. “He’s not coming out and we’re losing the upper hand. The longer this goes on the more time we give him to think through his options. He needs to know he’s out of options. I’m going in. All teams stand down.” She heard the team leader’s voice.
“All teams, be advised. We have one confirmed friendly and one possible friendly in the structure…all team members respond.”
A chorus of ‘copy that’ sounded in Cruz’s ear. She stopped at the door and extended her hand. Twisting the doorknob, the muscles in her back convulsed and she was keenly aware of a nearby presence. A prayer from her childhood raced to the forefront of her consciousness. She let the words slip past her lips, whispering, “St. Michael the Archangel, defend us in the day of battle. Be our safeguard against…”
… … … … … … … … … …
Hawkins stood behind the door, watching it move inward, his gun pointed at the leading edge. The side profile of the woman he was obsessed with came into view. Her slim figure cleared the door and his eyes scanned the length of her body. “Don’t move. Don’t turnaround. Stay where you are.” He eased the door back to its closed position before pressing the muzzle against the back of Cruz’s head. “Hands,” he ordered. When she stretched out her arms, he searched for weapons on her body. Not finding any, he circled around her and backpedaled, heading for the couch and the woman lying on it. Never taking his eyes off Cruz, he grabbed a handful of the woman’s hair and yanked, forcing her into a sitting position. Tears flowed down the woman’s cheeks. He moved around the couch and went to one knee, pointing the gun at the base of the woman’s skull.
Cruz held out her open hands. “Please, Harold, you don’t have to do that. I’m here. We can talk this through. She has nothing to do with this.”
Hawkins jabbed the gun toward Cruz. “Shut up! You know damn well this has everything to do with her.”
Cruz flinched and took a step backward.
He put the gun back against the woman’s head. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have yelled at you like that.” He wrenched the woman’s head backward, until it hit the back of the couch. Pressing his lips to her ear, he said, “Stop…your crying.” Her knees up and her feet hovering, she whimpered behind the duct tape.
For the first time, Cruz got a good look at Hawkins’s latest victim. The woman was bound and gagged, naked and trembling, shivering. In the dim light of a single lamp, Cruz could not be certain, but she thought the woman’s skin had a bluish tint. Her eyes scanning the room, she felt the absence of heat in the cabin. The inside temperature was not much warmer than the outside temperature. Her eyes went back to the woman. The poor thing…she must be freezing.
“You shouldn’t be here. You weren’t supposed to see this.” Hawkins moved the muzzle around to the woman’s ear. “You would have found out when it was over.”
Cruz squinted at him, grinding her teeth, while her right hand moved a fraction of an inch toward her pistol before she remembered she had left it behind. Seeing the naked woman, Cruz saw the pictures of herself in shorts, skirts, dresses. Did he ever see me naked? Did he ever peek through a window and catch me undressing? Revenge resurfaced in her heart. So many lives shattered…so much pain and misery. He needs to pay.
Standing, he used his weapon in place of his finger. “You should have been Miss America. You know that?” He jammed the gun into the woman’s stomach. “She and the others took that away from you.”
Cruz focused on his finger, resting on the gun’s trigger. I need to calm this guy down before he twitches. She willed herself to smile. “Is that what this is about, Harold?” She took a couple steps to her left. “I’m okay with the results of that contest.”
“What’re you doing? Stay where you are.” He squatted behind the woman.
Cruz held up her hands. “I’m just going to sit down.” With her right hand in the air, she used her other hand to spin around a straight-back chair. “I’m just sitting down.” Holding her hands in front of her chest, she sat. “Second place is not that bad. You don’t have to—”
“Why are you here?” Hawkins stood. “How did you find me?”
Cruz crossed her left leg over her right knee. “You left a trail of bodies, Harold. It was only a matter of time before someone followed the trail.”
“There’s no way you could have identified them.”
She crossed her hands over her left knee. “There’s always a way.”
He shook his head. “No, there’s no way. I was careful.”
“You got sloppy.” Cruz slipped the fingertips of her right hand inside the opening of her left boot, her left hand concealing the movement. “You hung around at both crime scenes long enough to be caught on camera.”
Hawkins gazed at a distant corner of the room. His mind connected the dots and he glared at Cruz, his nostrils flaring. “You’ve been in my apartment, haven’t you? You invaded my privacy.” He lifted his gun hand toward her. “How could you do that?”
She raised her hands. “Take it easy, Harold. That’s my job…I find people who don’t want to be found.”
“You’re like all the rest.” His voice boomed. “I thought you were different.” He punctuated his words by thrusting the gun toward Cruz. “I thought we could’ve had something together…once I got rid of that boyfriend of yours.”
Cruz arched her eyebrows. He was planning to kill Derek. She heard Ashford in her ear.
“He’s losing control. This is going south. All teams move in.”
Hawkins screamed at her, spittle shooting from the corner of his mouth. “I thought I could trust you.”
Cruz brought her left hand to her ear. “Belay that order. All teams stand down.”
“Who are you talking to?” He spun his head left and right toward the windows, while ducking behind the victim. He shouted. “Who are you talking to? Who’s with you?”
Cruz lowered her hands. “It’s over, Harold. There are two FBI SWAT teams outside. They’ve got the house surrounded. New York State Troopers are backing them up.” She leaned forward. “There’s nowhere to run.” She studied her adversary. His eyes were wide and his skin was glistening. Ash is right. He’s losing control. “No one else has to die, Harold.” She slipped her hand into her left boot. Just take a step to your right you son-of—
Hawkins squinted and wiped the sweat from his forehead with his forearm, never releasing his grip on the woman’s hair. He locked eyes with Cruz. “No, you’re wrong. One more person needs to die.” He let go of the woman’s hair and stood behind her, pointing his weapon at her head.
Cruz drew a quick breath and shouted, “NO.”
… … … … … … … … … …
At the end of the driveway, Curtis Ashford sat in the passenger’s seat of the SUV. Cruz’s shriek sent his heart into his throat, paralyzing him with fear. The gunshots that followed jolted him back to reality. He pounded on the dashboard. “Go—Go—Go.” The driver stepped on the accelerator and the vehicle lunged forward, fishtailing as the wheels struggled to find traction on the snow-covered path. Ashford’s mind envisioned the worst. He hated himself for letting his partner go ahead with this stupid plan. I should’ve stopped her. He reached for the door release. Before the vehicle had come to a complete stop, he threw open the door and took off on a dead run toward the cabin. Three feet from the opening to the structure, he launched his body. The cabin door flew inward and bounced off the interior wall, swinging back at him. He took a few awkward steps, stopped and assumed a firing stance with his MP5, his eyes shifting left and right. Two SWAT members rushed in beh
ind him, once more sending the door crashing into the wall. One man moved left, while the other went right, searching for Hawkins. Ashford’s eyes settled on the couch and the two women on it. A split-second later, he brought a walkie-talkie to his mouth and yelled into the device, “This is Agent Ashford. Get those emergency vehicles up here now.”
… … … … … … … … … …
Thirty seconds earlier…
Hawkins squinted and wiped the sweat from his forehead with his forearm, never releasing his grip on the woman’s hair. He locked eyes with Cruz. “No, you’re wrong. One more person needs to die.” He let go of the woman’s hair and stood behind her, pointing his weapon at her head.
Cruz drew a quick breath and shouted, “NO.” Drawing her hand from her boot, she leveled her Glock 27 at Hawkins. Closing her left eye, she aligned the pistol’s sights with his right eye. She pressed the trigger, but stopped when she saw Hawkins put his gun to his right temple. She reapplied pressure to the trigger. Oh, no, you don’t. You don’t get the easy way out. You’re mine. She was a hair short of completing the stroke when she swung her pistol to the left. The report of the weapon sounded in her ears with each successive tug on the trigger.
Lowering the gun, she sprinted forward and kicked Hawkins’s firearm away from him. Slipping her pistol back into her left boot, she produced a pair of handcuffs and dropped to her right knee, driving it into his back. Hawkins’s cries filled the room when she jerked his arms behind his back and clasped the steel manacles around his wrists. His right hand showed signs of trauma. At the last second, Cruz had opted not to take his life. She shot his hand, forcing him to drop his weapon before he could commit suicide.
Cruz hurried around the couch. She flipped open her knife and the bound woman reeled backward. “It’s okay. I’m just going to free you. It’s okay.” After cutting the ropes, she wiggled out of her overcoat and wrapped it around the woman’s naked and shivering body. She carefully peeled back the duct tape from the woman’s mouth before sitting and cradling her. “It’s okay, sweetheart. You’re safe now. He can’t hurt you anymore. You’re safe.” Cruz shook in unison with every tremble and twitch from the sobbing victim’s body.