But he also felt in his heart that this was going to be over in a matter of minutes. He wasn’t worried about the feds. He believed that Susan had killed that first hostage for a reason, because even when a suspect is holding a gun to someone’s head, protocol requires some attempt at negotiation before the use of deadly force is authorized. But if the suspect has already killed, the green light is essentially automatic. She wanted this thing to move fast. She wanted, quite literally, to force Jacob’s hand.
From the roof, he saw SWAT team members move into view. Two-man teams covered the door and crouched below the windows.
In a great circle around the entire scene, the media and public watched.
It’s time.
* * *
There was a flash of light as the front door opened, reflecting the setting sun. A figure emerged. It was Jill and Susan, so close together they formed one silhouette. Jacob already had his rifle positioned on bipods, his body settled into position.
Through his scope he saw Jill and Susan. So cleanly magnified, it was as though he could touch them. Susan held a gun to Jill’s head. Jill’s face was so bruised and swollen that she was nearly unrecognizable.
The two women were impossibly close. There was no shot.
Susan kept Jill near to the exterior bank wall—ensuring that no shot could come from behind them. She knew what she was doing. A semicircle of hundreds of people watched.
Cowell yelled to Susan, “What do you want?”
“It’s very simple. I want Deputy Jacob Denton to shoot me. Somebody is going to die today. Me or her. You’ve seen me kill already. You have no other choice.”
Cowell said, “Suicide by cop? All of this because you want us to shoot you?”
“No, I want Denton to try to shoot me. With his precious pregnant wife in the way. Get it?”
Cowell got it. His mouth hung open as he realized the bloody bruised beaten hostage was Jill Denton. He hadn’t recognized her at first, but there was no doubt in his mind now.
“I don’t think he can do it. Not with his bitch in the way, carrying his baby. I’ll bet he misses and kills her. Let him live with that the rest of his fucking life!”
For perhaps the first time in his career, Cowell did not know how to proceed. His sniper’s wife was the hostage. This shit was not in the procedural handbook. There was no protocol for this. Jacob Denton was compromised, but he was the only person on scene qualified to save the hostage.
He needed time to think, but Susan wasn’t going to give it to him.
She said, “I’m pulling the trigger in five seconds. No time for reflection. No time for backup.”
Above, Jacob looked through the rifle scope.
He saw that the revolver to his wife’s head was cocked. It was pushed so hard into her temple that Jill had to hold her head at an unnatural angle. Susan’s knuckles were white with tension. He could see that the pressure of her finger on the trigger had moved the trigger inward, to the first stop. He had never seen a hostage in such imminent danger. The suspect appeared to be putting three and a half pounds of pressure on a four-pound trigger.
Over Kathryn’s earbud, Jacob heard the tinny crackle of Cowell’s voice.
And Kathryn’s response, “Copy. Suspect at street level. Obstacle. Team Two ready and in position.”
More from Cowell.
Then Kathryn, “Team Two copies.”
Then directly to Jacob, “Hostage in imminent mortal danger. Green light.”
Jacob took careful aim. Variables were going through his mind. So many variables went into a shot. So many. They were endless. He just wanted to melt into his scope, but the variables were torturing him.
Below, Susan held on to Jill like a rag doll. Jacob tried not to see his wife’s injured face, the blood, the dark bruising, one eye swollen completely shut. He tried not to see that, not to feel it.
Susan’s body and head were behind Jill’s. There was, at most, only a hairline of an opportunity for a shot.
Jacob’s finger tightened on the trigger.
The shot was plainly impossible.
Jacob’s finger tightened even more on the trigger. So close. So close to release.
It’s time.
CHAPTER 26
Everything was in play.
The same sets of variables shuffled through Jake’s mind with every shot he ever took—whether it was range practice or an actual hostage situation. His mind worked the same. He never took into consideration the humanness of either the target or the obstacles. Why would he? How would that improve his accuracy? It wouldn’t, and he knew that.
He remembered that he had told Sesak, “You have to learn to look past them. Make them obstacles, block them mentally, do whatever you need to do in your head to negate that familiarity. If you can’t do that, bad things happen.”
He’d said, “Doubt. Hesitation. Guilt. These things can destroy you. After the shot is taken. Doubt. Hesitation. Guilt. These things can destroy the hostage. Before the shot is taken.”
And now, on this rooftop today, he went through his familiar list of variables, so that he could tick off each one as he always did and then jump down the rabbit hole. Melt into his scope and find the perfect peace of the reticle.
Today was different, though. Today he was plagued by doubt, hesitation, and guilt.
He knew that the one thing he needed to do, the most essential thing, was to forget Jill. To be there for her, to save her, he needed to pretend that she didn’t exist. He had to dehumanize her. To make Jill an obstacle.
You have to do it, son. Killing’s hard sometimes.
What was the perfect path between the rifle and the target? The clicks on his scope were like the clicks of tumbler pins in a combination lock. Which path, no matter how miniscule, bypassed the obstacle? What was the combination that unlocked that path?
From the street, he heard Susan’s voice. Her voice carried well.
She yelled, “Five!”
He blocked it out and focused on the combination. He ticked off the combination that would open the perfect path.
He thought about the wind. Always. Always there was the wind. What he felt on his face here on this rooftop was a steady, gentle four miles per hour breeze from the north, but that could be completely different at street level where Jill was—Jill, that was Jill down there.
On the street, particularly given the topographical breaks of the city buildings, there could be gusts, so he looked down—Jill, that was Jill down there—for dust, papers, leaves on ornamental trees, anything he could see to gauge the wind.
From the street, he heard, “Four!”
Distance. It looked to be 105 yards. Long range estimation was one of the hardest assessments to make, second only to judging the wind. The only concern was where the projectile would strike in the vertical plane. From 35 yards up to 110 yards, the amount of bullet drop was of no consequence. After 110 yards bullet drop became an important factor as the projectile slowed and you had to compensate. This was right at the tipping point. Maybe one click up? Maybe the New Guard of snipers had it right. Just push some buttons, then pull the trigger. No expertise. No dope book. No variables. Maybe Sesak had fresh batteries in her wazoo gadget. Then he would know for—
“Three!”
And there was the sun. It was going down—Jill, that was Jill down there—and he had to factor in the reflective surface of the glass of the bank windows around them. The glare could alter his vision—was Jill really pregnant? Why didn’t she tell him?
Collateral. None in the foreground, the deputies had it cleared. But what was behind the glass windows? Collateral? No. Jake knew that with the suspect outside, SWAT team members would have already breached the rear of the bank, secured the inside, and escorted all the bank people out the back doors. Clearing the shot for the sniper. He’d heard no gunfire, no skirmish, so he assumed Susan was acting alone and the evacuation had been swift and efficient. No collateral concern.
Temperature. Metal expands as
temperature—
“Two!”
Radiant heat waves coming from the tar roof could impact his depth perception. Too many variables. A shot was impossible. But, goddamnit, that was Jill down there, and that crazy cunt had the gun pressed right up to her head. Punishing her with it. And that was Jill. And the margin, the path, the combination was measured in millimeters. There was no room for error. There was no peace in this reticle.
He could not trust himself. He couldn’t take Jill out of the equation. He could not dehumanize her.
“One!”
But time was up. A shot had to be taken. Jill would die if he didn’t take the shot he knew he could not take. He could not trust himself to make it.
You have to do it, son. Killing’s hard sometimes.
“Zero!”
Jake stood up, revealing himself. “Susan!” he yelled. “Susan, I’m here!”
And he waved his arms in perfect silhouette to the lowering sun. A sniper giving away his location. The ultimate sin. Then he ducked down. Observers on the street could see his dark figure running away from the roof’s edge.
As Jacob made it to the rooftop exit door, he paused just long enough to look back and make eye contact with his spotter. His trainee. He spoke two words to her. And then he was gone.
CHAPTER 27
The crowd grew quiet. Radio chatter stopped.
Jacob emerged from the crowd and onto the stage Susan had set. The arena.
He stood in front of Susan, hands open at his sides. No guns. No vest. He’d removed all of his tactical gear.
“No,” Susan said. “Go hide like a coward. You shoot people from your hiding place.”
“I’m here. In front of you.”
“Then you better pull your sidearm and try to take a shot.”
“I’m unarmed.”
“I have nothing to lose. I will put a bullet in her head. You saw the pregnancy test, right?”
Jacob looked to Jill for confirmation. She was sweaty, in shock, her hair hanging in dirty clumps. Her face was bloody, one eye swollen shut and seeping dark fluid. He couldn’t tell if it was true or not. It didn’t matter. Not in this moment.
“You know what you’re gambling here. I’m giving you a chance. If you make me pull the trigger myself, then I guarantee you she will die. But if you take the shot, then she has a chance.”
There was no way out of this. She was going to make him take the shot. He had no choice. Stand here and watch his wife and unborn child slaughtered, or retreat and fire the bullet himself. She was right. It was a chance. His mind was in turmoil, trying to come up with something. A solution. He should retreat. His natural position was belly-down on a rooftop. He wasn’t a negotiator. His only concern was how to deliver the bullet. What could he say to this woman who held his world in her hands? Little mousy Susan Weaver. He had never suspected. She had seemed scared of him. Intimidated. Jill had called her a possum. And Oz had called her by her real name. Rose. A rose is a rose is a rose. The little girl found outside the bank. Rose Kaufman. He remembered Jill talking about Susan’s novel. About a little girl whose father robs banks. Rose.
Jacob said, “You don’t have to do this, Rose.”
“No. No. Don’t try to fuck with my head. I’m ready to pull the trigger.”
“I’m sorry for your loss. I truly am. If I could go back in time—” But he stopped there. He wouldn’t lie to her. If he could go back in time, he’d take the shot again. “I don’t know. He had a gun. People’s lives were at risk.”
“He was desperate. He was just trying to take care of his family.”
“I understand that now. But then, all I knew was that he was a man with a gun, holding people hostage. I had no choice.”
“You had a choice today. And now you’re trying to trick me. I’m pulling the trigger. You could have saved her. I gave you the chance.”
And he remembered seeing Jill reading Susan’s book, engrossed in it, and he had asked her, Is it good? And she nodded and said, Yes, except for one thing.
“Your father was just a thug.”
Jacob saw Susan’s knuckles grow even whiter as she squeezed the revolver harder. The muzzle so cruelly forced to Jill’s temple. Susan’s finger applying even more pressure, the cocked hammer now mere ounces away from tripping and sending the firing pin to strike the primer.
“You’re the thug,” she said. “The murderer. He could have been talked down. You know that in your heart.”
“He shot a woman in the back. Your father was trash. Human trash.”
And he saw that he’d pushed it too far. He’d pushed her over the edge. And he was going to get what he had wanted all along. He was going to get the bullet. He was going to look down the bore of her weapon, maybe for just a millisecond, but he knew that in that wisp of time he would see down into it, and he would see snow and blood. He would see the dark path from which he’d emerged.
“You win,” Rose said, and in one fluid movement, she shifted and brought the gun forward.
Jake got what he wanted.
He heard the sharp crack, the controlled explosion. Hell unleashed.
Jake’s world went dark for a moment. He was in the middleground. Perfect peace. Jill’s cry brought him back to the light. He could see again. And what he saw was that the top right quadrant of Rose’s head was gone. And as her body pitched forward, Jacob saw what was left of her brain, glistening wetly in her cranial cavity.
There was the soft sound of her body thudding against the concrete, then absolute quiet. No sound. Like a Montana field covered in snow. Just waiting to be broken.
Then there was a warm crackle of radio static as Kathryn keyed her mic from the rooftop above. Her voice, professional and assured, transmitted across the tuned-in radios of media observers, scanner junkies, and law enforcement personnel. It echoed through the streets.
“Target down.”
The eerie quiet remained. It was shock. Jacob had seen it before. When the lightning came down from the sky like retribution from a vengeful god, it cowed the people into silence.
Then, clear as day, he heard Cowell speak. A tone of resigned awe in his voice, the lieutenant said, “Fuckin’Sesak.”
Jacob’s legs went weak on him. He thought he heard the crowd cheer. It was loud. The spell had been broken. The god had been named. They were happy. Relieved. Safe. The god was a just god.
Jacob and Jill crawled to each other. It was just a few feet, but it felt like miles. But they made it. And they held each other.
The only thing Jill could manage to say through her swollen face was, “Are we clear?”
Jake nodded and held her tight.
“Crystal.”
CHAPTER 28
Tombstones stretched as far as the horizon, with a ribbon of pavement threading its way throughout. Amongst the granite markers, a long shadow touched and passed over the buried dead.
Jacob thought of what had gotten him here today. His life choices. The path that he had forged. The path that wound like the pavement through the graveyard. Here amongst the dead, he was thankful that the one closest to him was still alive. Jill’s injuries were healing. The bruising around her eyes from the broken nose had been spectacular. Like a sunset after an atomic bomb. But now it was little more than orange-brown smudges.
She’d been hospitalized for a few days. To set her cracked ribs, observe her after the blows to the head, tape up her nose. Mainly for observation after the shock. The posttraumatic stress. For the pregnancy.
Jake had sat with Jill in the hospital each day. Kathryn came by a couple of times. She brought flowers. After some awkward small talk, the three of them just sat in an easy silence.
Once he was back out on patrol, and there was time to talk, Kathryn wanted to know why Jacob hadn’t taken the shot himself. He was clearly a better shot. He had more experience. A dope book as thick as a Sunday newspaper. He knew the variables in play. Knew them cold. Was it because he couldn’t completely block his emotions?
&nb
sp; And he looked at her for a long time, as though mulling over just how much of the truth he should share with her, and he’d said, “Well, Sesak, it’s like this. I had them both in my sights plain as day. And you’re right, I had those variables down cold, and the environmental conditions were ideal. But I couldn’t find the perfect peace of the reticle. I couldn’t let myself disappear into the scope. And do you know why?”
She shook her head.
“Because it occurred to me, I hadn’t paid the last installment on Jill’s life insurance.”
She smiled. Fuckin’Denton.
“Did you want to die? Was that your plan? Because, you know, you should be dead. The idea that Rose Kaufman missed the killshot while that close is preposterous.”
“She didn’t miss. She never got the chance. Thanks to you.”
Kathryn nodded.
“And it’s not preposterous. She’d been holding the gun against Jill’s head for a good while. Pushing it hard, holding it tight. White knuckled. I saw that through the scope. It’s hard for anybody to hold their hand in one position for too long, and when you add in the extreme tension and force she was exerting, I knew muscle fatigue had set in. As snipers, we train for it. We have exercises to relieve and prevent it. I knew the muscle fatigue would cause her round to go low. That’s if she got off a shot at all. And I didn’t figure you’d let her get one off. And I positioned myself so that there were no bystanders around me.”
“In case she did get off a shot.”
“Yeah. So I knew what was in play. I took a chance. I just had to get the bore of that gun off Jill’s head. I knew you could make the shot.”
“But how?”
“I trained you. You passed.”
Kathryn nodded, thinking about Phase One, Phase Two, the alcohol test. All of it.
“And now I’ll have a true partner. I can be with my family more. Just like I said to you. It’s time.”
* * *
Jacob’s shadow continued on through the cemetery. There was a second shadow as well. Jill. The cracked ribs and deep tissue bruising still pained her if she moved too fast. But she was okay. She was alive. Her husband was alive. And a new life continued to grow inside her.
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