The Brigade

by H. A. Covington

  It was about this time that Linda Hirsch came lumbering into the operations room like some sweaty behemoth. She was wearing a flak jacket that increased her already impressive bulk, and toting an M-16 that looked tiny and toy-like in her ham-sized fists. A ridiculously tiny Portland Police Bureau baseball cap was perched on top of her round, frizzy head. She looked like a deranged cartoon character. “Chief, we’ve got a problem. They’re going for the VP,” reported Lainie grimly.

  “You mean the VIP the feds are expecting?” demanded Hirsch.

  “No, not the VIP, the VP, V-POTUS, the Vice President of the United States!” said Lainie. “It looks like he’s the one dropping in from the sky for his photo op this week to give good cheer and encouragement to all the folks in Portland who are facing up to the terrorist scourge, blah, blah, blah. The Vice President, ma’am! We have to notify Special Agent Weinstein and the Secret Service! If we don’t, no matter how this goes down, our asses are all going to be grass!”

  “Fuck Elliott Weinstein!” screamed Hirsch in a rage. “Portland PB will save the Vice President ourselves, and we’ll show up that little putz so bad no one in D.C. will say boo to us. What’s happening with the shiksa and Lockhart?”

  “They’re headed for the Pearl District,” said Lainie. “They’re going to connect up with more NVA hitters along the way, and to try to infiltrate the crowd at Earth Day in Waterfront Park, it looks like, then wait for the Vice President to show and take a shot at him. Lockhart has changed his usual weapon, and he’s now armed with a .50-caliber Barrett BMG rifle with a scope and armor-piercing ammunition. With a cannon like that, a marksman as skilled as Lockhart can do untold damage in a racially and culturally diverse crowd that doesn’t bear thinking about. Never mind what he can do to us if we do get him cornered. If you’re determined that we’re going to do this alone, we need every officer we can get.”

  “Elliott will have all our RRTs down there anyway, circling and guarding the area,” said Hirsch. “They’re already in the area where they need to be. When we know more about where to catch the bastard I’ll pull some of them out. I’ll override whatever orders Elliott has given them. What vehicle were you going to take out?”

  “The Oak Harbor van is the only one with enough space for the troops and the gear,” said Lainie. “It’s down in the garage, and it’s gassed up.”

  “Okay, let’s roll!” ordered Hirsch.

  Out on Powell Boulevard, just over the bridge, a large blue late-model Chevrolet pickup truck slid by Kicky’s left. A hand waved out the window. “Okay, that’s Thing One and Thing Two,” said Wingo. “That’s our first escort vehicle.” Kicky was on the verge of saying something aloud along the lines of blue Chevy, got it, but she didn’t. She knew that if she successfully completed this last mission for her handlers this might be it, that if she survived they might let her and Ellie and May go and let them all flee the Northwest into obscurity and some kind of new life. But something was stirring inside her, the beginnings of a deep and powerful self-loathing at what she was doing, at what she had done, and at what she was about to do. A dark green sedan of some kind, she couldn’t see the make, also passed them. “That’s Oscar and the CO,” said Wingo. He pulled open his phone and spoke into it.

  “Oscar!” said McCafferty excitedly, listening on headphones as the van rumbled through downtown, circling the Pearl district until the police knew where their quarry was headed. “Sounds like Oscar and Billy Jackson are also involved, in one of the other vehicles!”

  “What vehicle?” demanded Hirsch.

  “She hasn’t said,” replied McCafferty.

  “What the fuck is the matter with her?” hollered Hirsch. “She must know she’s on live?”

  “Maybe she can’t say,” said Lainie. “You know, ma’am, it’s not really a good idea for her to be constantly calling out all kinds of information vocally, especially in a critical situation like this. These goons are smart enough to understand what a wire is and how it works, and they’ll get suspicious if she starts reeling off a guided tour monologue describing where she is and what she’s doing. Don’t worry, she’ll let us know. She wants to see her little girl again. She’ll come through for us.”

  In the Cadillac Escalade, Wingo closed his phone. “Okay, get onto I-5 North and when the Burnside Street exit comes up, take it,” he told Kicky. “Once we’re on the interstate, Oscar and Billy will fall in ahead of you and Thing One and Thing Two behind. They’re the retrieval vehicle. If any shit starts, or I should say when we start it, they hang back and pick up any of us who have to bail when we’re on the wing, provide covering fire, whatever has to be done. Oscar and the CO will scout ahead for us. Once we get into downtown we’re going to cruise the side streets just to the west and southwest overlooking Waterfront Park.”

  “You said there would be ten Volunteers?” asked Kicky. “Us three and Oscar and the Lieutenant and the two Things is only seven.”

  “Ace is already in town cruising around on a motorbike checking out the scene, and we’ve got a second boy-girl team coming into the area by MAX, mixing in with the Earth Day crowd, letting us know what’s going on in there on the ground,” said Wingo. “Couple of new kids, Tom and Becky. Normally we wouldn’t use newbs on something like this, but we were caught on the hop, and these two have a lot of spirit. They’ll hold up their end, no worries.”

  “I’m always on the lookout for good firing positions around town, and there’s a couple of places I want to check out and see if they’re still usable for today,” explained Cat-Eyes from where he reclined in the back. “There’s several places that will give me a pretty commanding view of the whole park, if we can get parked and stay there. Then when the time comes I can pop out the door and up onto the roof of this vehicle, or wherever it looks best, take as many shots as I can, and then we beat feet. We know the Vice President is coming in by helicopter to avoid all those narrow little streets in the Pearl and the open expanse of road along the river. The Secret Service boys are no fools, and they don’t want to risk an ambush in a contained field of fire where they could get hit from several directions at once. I want to be in position when the copter comes down, and ready to pull the trigger the minute he steps clear of the doorway out onto the ground. With this weapon, after I tag the Veep I might even be able to take out the whole copter, smash a rotor gear housing or shoot the pilot through the port.”

  “There’s one place in particular, Cat, you said?” prompted Wingo.

  “Yes, I’ll point it out to you. It’s an alleyway, and once we see if it’s clear, I’ll have to ask Jodie to back in, but at the end of the alley there’s a brick wall and a dumpster. If I can get up on top of that dumpster and rest the bipod on the wall, and get sighted in, I’ll be able to nail anything that moves in Waterfront Park!” said Cat enthusiastically.

  Kicky followed the dark sedan, which she could now see was a Pontiac Grand Prix, and she got off at the Burnside Street exit as per instruction. “We’re getting into downtown,” said Wingo. “This is going to get a little tricky now, Jodie. Just like the Secret Service, we don’t want to get boxed in here. Rather than have us all bunched up, one behind the other, as we move through this congested area, we’re going to take a leaf out of the enemy’s urban patrolling manual and we’re going to run parallel to one another, with a block between us. That way they can’t catch all of us in one kill zone by blocking off both ends of one of these short little Portland streets. I know you’ve never done this maneuver before, but Billy and the Things have, so just follow my directions.”

  “Got it,” said Kicky calmly. Billy said you were into me, she thought to herself. Now I am going to betray you to your death, so I guess I’ll never know. I’m a piece of shit. On the day I was born God wiped snot off His nose, and it was me. She didn’t show it in her face or in her voice, but tension and shame and guilt were building up like rising waters inside her, uncontrollable and soon to overflow.

  “Where are they now?” asked Linda Hirsch in
the Oak Harbor van.

  “Coming up 29th Avenue toward Yeon,” said McCafferty. “If they’re going to head back toward Waterfront Park, they’re swinging wide around.”

  Hirsch got on her own command phone. “Captain Robinson, this is Chief Hirsch. This is a priority direct order to you, and you are to disregard any contradictory orders you get from federal law enforcement. You will detach two Rapid Response Teams, your own Delta One Team and Delta Two as well, from whatever that schmendrick Elliott Weinstein has you doing, and you will tell them to prepare for a major terrorist contact. Be advised that there are three vehicles containing terrorist gunmen coming into the downtown area, including the Jack of Diamonds in a Cadillac Escalade of unknown color, and two other vehicles description unknown. There are other terrorists in the area on foot, including at least two in the crowd at Waterfront Park and one on a motorbike who could be anywhere. Delta Two Team will go out Front Street, cross over Highway 30 and wait at the corner of Vaughn and Vista Street for my command to move in. Delta One will meet me at the intersection of Twelfth Avenue and Flanders Street, and both teams will move to intercept from those positions once we can extrapolate the terrorists’ route. Do you copy all that?”

  Linda Hirsch was unaware that Special Agent Elliott Weinstein was standing right beside police Captain Isaiah Robinson just outside the communications van in Waterfront Park, and had overheard her orders to the RRT commander. About to blow a gasket, Weinstein snatched the radio microphone from Robinson’s shiny black hand and bellowed into it, “Negative, negative, God dammit, Linda, how the hell dare you try your damned Lone Ranger act with V-POTUS coming into the area? You know who they’re after, and by God you are going to do this by the book and in conjunction with federal authority, you carpet-munching shlumpf!”

  “Captain Robinson, did you copy all that?” repeated Hirsch, ignoring the enraged and spluttering Weinstein.

  Robinson, a thick and muscle-bound black man in full SWAT gear with a pencil moustache, grabbed the mike back and said, “Copy, Chief. Delta One and Two are on their way.” He slapped the microphone back into the cradle. “We gonna go bust a cap on some racist ass, Jew boy,” he told Weinstein. “You want to bring yo’ federal niggaz along fo’ de ride, fine wid me, but you stay outta our way and let us show you how it’s done.” He turned away and started shouting orders to his crew. Weinstein stared after him and then bellowed for Farley.

  Behind him, a bored cameraman from CNN saw him go running off. “Where the hell are the FBI and those cops going?” he wondered out loud to his field reporter, a neat and chic blonde Barbie doll named Cassie Ransome.

  “No idea, but I’m tired of waiting here for something to happen,” said Cassie. “These FBI SOBs get us out here and they won’t even tell us what for. Top secret my ass! Nothing’s going on here. Come on, let’s follow them and see if we can get some footage of whatever it is!” The CNN crew jumped in their white van with a satellite dish on top, and took off into town in pursuit of the police vehicles.

  “Get us to the intersection of Twelfth and Flanders!” Hirsch called up front to the driver of the van, Detective Luis Hermosa.

  Back in the Escalade, Wingo said, “Okay, Jodie, hang a right on Fourteenth Avenue up here.” He popped open his phone and dialed. “Okay, boss, from now on we’re on conference. Ace, you there?”

  “I’m here,” he heard Ace say.

  “Where you at?” asked Wingo. “No, don’t tell me, I still don’t like the idea of doing this in the clear. Just tell me, anything unusual going on?”

  “They got what looks like all the Running Rats in the city down there in the zone, man, but up here looks clear so far,” said Ace’s voice. “No blocked-off streets or anything. I guess they plan on their little event being a surprise.”

  “Well, we’ll see if we can give ’em a surprise of our own. Tom, you and Becky where you should be?”

  “Yeah,” came Eric Sellars’ voice. Wingo could hear the sound of a crowd and music in the background. “Wall to wall goons down here, sniffer dogs and metal detectors all over, so I guess it’s a good thing my lady and me are law-abiding citizens and we’re not carrying anything we shouldn’t be, just down here enjoying all the lovely diversity and grooving on Mother Earth. Wait a minute, looks like some of the bad boys are on the move. Two of those armored car things and some cop cars, leaving the area, no idea where to.”

  “Mmm, don’t like the sound of that, but hang loose and stay on the horn,” said Wingo. “Keep your voice down. You don’t want Little Miss Organic and Moon Unit overhearing and diming you out. You copy that, boss?”

  “Got it,” came Billy Jackson’s voice. “Ace, see if you can pick up those wandering rodents and tail them, wherever they’re going.”

  “Roger that,” said Ace.

  “Damn!” muttered Jamal Jarvis as the van pulled over to the curb on Flanders Street and parked just past the Twelfth Avenue intersection. “I sure wish to hell we could hear more than one side of that conversation!”

  “Hey, Lieutenant, two APCs, about five blue and whites and an FBI unmarked car following ’em just went tearing past me on Third Avenue,” said Ace. “CNN news van following the cops. The feebs had their tinted windows down, and I saw the driver. I’m pretty sure it’s that kike Weinstein. They’re going somewhere fast. I’m on ’em.”

  “Damn!” said Jackson. “I’m not going to abort yet, until we know if we’ve been made. They may be just chasing their tails. But we split now, and we proceed with caution. We’re turning right on Glisan. Thumper, you turn right on Flanders and you two thingummies on Everett. Proceed with caution. You guys see anything that looks hinky, you holler.”

  “Copy,” said one of the Things.

  “You got it, boss,” said Jimmy Wingo. “Jodie, turn right up here on Flanders. Take it slow, watch the stop signs and lights, nice and easy like we’re just out looking for somewhere to grab lunch.”

  “What’s up, Jim?” asked Cat from the back.

  “We got some Running Rats loose,” said Wingo. “Billy wants us to keep our eyes open, but he won’t abort.”

  “Damned right!” growled Cat. “I want to get that asshole’s suit bloody.”

  I can’t do this! Kicky’s brain shouted at her. I will become an evil person if I do this. I won’t deserve Ellie if I get her back like this. The price is too high. If I do this, someday she will know that I saved her at the price of my own soul and with the blood of brave men, and she will despise me for it.

  “They’re coming right to us!” said Lainie Martinez in the police truck.

  “Delta One, where the hell are you?” Linda Hirsch screeched into the radio. “They’re coming right at us!”

  “ETA one minute, Chief,” radioed back Robinson.

  “We can’t let them get past us!” shrieked Hirsch hysterically, opening the back of the moving van and jumping out. “We’ve got to stop them here!”

  “Chief, it’s lunch hour, the streets are full of people!” called Lainie desperately. The neighborhood was full of trendy little boutiques, fern bars, espresso stands and health food stores. A number of passers-by saw Chief Hirsch jumping up and down on the sidewalk, shouting and waving her M-16 around like a switch, and they started moving away rapidly. “Dios mio, the goots will see her running around out there like a chicken with her head cut off, and they’ll bolt!” cried Lainie in despair.

  Andy McCafferty jumped out of the van. “I’m not wearing uniform,” he told Lainie. “Give me that handset! Chief, please get back behind the van and wait for Delta One, so they don’t see you. I’ll go down the block and I’ll wait until I see the Escalade coming, and when I get visual contact I’ll call you. They mustn’t see you!”

  “Go!” ordered Hirsch with a wave of her hand. McCafferty stuffed the radio in his back pocket, pulled out his shirttail to cover his gun, and then ran down toward 13th Avenue.

  “Dammit, Andy, you don’t have any body armor!” shouted Lainie. “Hermosa, you got your Second C
hance on? Cover McCafferty! Stay behind him but keep an eye on him.” The Mexican detective, wearing sunglasses and a track suit, jumped out of the driver’s seat of the van and followed McCafferty down the street. “Where the hell is Delta One?”

  Kicky slid through the 13th Avenue intersection, and through the open driver’s side window of the Escalade she saw Andy McCafferty standing on the left-hand side of the street, below the white-trimmed bay window of some gentrified red brick yuppie loft apartments. He stared at her, his face carefully blank, and he reached into his back pocket and pulled out a radio.

  No, she thought suddenly, with pure and overpowering clarity. No.

  There was an opening in the oncoming traffic in the left lane, and without any further thought, Kicky turned the wheel and hit the gas. The Escalade roared across the street, slammed into McCafferty, and crushed him like a bug against the apartment wall. He died instantly.

  “What the fuck?” exclaimed Cat-Eyes Lockhart from where he reclined in the back seat.

  “What the hell are you doing?” Wingo shouted at Kicky, stunned.

  “COPS!” screamed Kicky at the top of her voice. “Cops! It’s a trap! They’re all around us!” She reversed the Escalade, hit the gas and roared back into the street tailgate first. Wingo looked up to see the armored personnel carrier for Delta One team turning into Flanders Street from Twelfth Avenue.

  “Shit!” he shouted. He yelled into the phone, “They’re onto us! Ambush on Flanders! Beat feet! Kicky, go down 13th and head back toward the interstate, not toward the river, so we can try to lose them! Cat, heads up, see if you can spot any copters overhead!”