“No sir,” one of the two uniformed officers said, “we need to be getting back…”
All three of them grew still and silent. Knives weren’t supposed to make a sound when thrown, but this one sure did. To Charles it was as thunderous as a jet plane whizzing by his head. His hearing might have been surprisingly sharp for a man of his advanced years, but even
Charles Keslar was surprised at how the silent flight of the blade managed, somehow, to cut through the noise of his barking dogs.
Charles saw the glint of sharpened steel, but had not the time, strength or youthful reflexes to get out of its way so he was thankful when the knife passed between himself and one of the police officers,
lodging in the door facing behind them. Charles Keslar couldn’t speak to what was on the mind of the two young men in police uniforms but his own mind filled with fear he hadn’t known in decades.
“Who are you?” Charles Keslar asked the dirty man with the tattered black mane. His dark eyes were filled with evil. He was wearing a huge dirty trench coat, sweating profusely, as much from obvious nerves as from his unseasonable attire.
A huge scar adorned the man’s neck. It reminded Charles Keslar of a horror movie he’d gotten sucked into watching one late night when he simply couldn’t sleep. All he remembered was a character being half decapitated and making these horribly-sickening gurgling sounds as he bled to cinematic death from the realistic-looking wound. As the gurgling sounds filled his thoughts, the grungy man slowly opened his coat.
As if the flaps of his coat held imaginary connections to the sides of his mouth, the man’s smile widened as his coat opened to reveal an unbelievable amount of explosive strapped to his chest.
“Freeze!” one of the police officers said, as each man drew his gun.
Dollie’s barking grew louder. She lunged for the bomb-wielding maniac, just as he was reaching inside his coat. With the man’s attention momentarily diverted, the two police officers took the opportunity to drop the guy where he stood.
Four shots, maybe five. For all he knew, it might have been ten or twelve between the two men. The echo of the shots was indistinguishable from the shots themselves. Brains exploded all over the walls of Charles Kesler’s home just as Dollie was rocked back by a foot that had been in motion long before control had been severed by any number of bullets.
The man had been hit in the head and the neck. It was clear these two cops did not mean to give him a chance to carry out whatever sick mission he planned on. And they didn’t mean to give him a chance to spread his brand of havoc beyond these walls. In the days when liberal pansies debated an officer’s right to excessive use of force, Charles Keslar had to reign in his gratitude at the bravery, intestinal fortitude and outright self-sacrificing behavior to which he’d just bore witness.
As the lifeless would-be terrorist fell to the floor of Charles Keslar’s living room, a loud click fought against the reverberating echoes left by the firing of the police officers’ weapons.
A large red display screen filled with numbers—numbers that began to count backwards. Numbers that started with thirty and had already counted down to twenty-seven by the time Charles Keslar realized the bomb strapped to the corpse had now armed itself.
“Boys,” Charles Keslar said, looking at the two cops, who still held their weapons trained on the lifeless corpse. “I ain’t as young as I used to be, so either you are gonna have to carry me out of here or we got about 20 seconds to bend over and kiss our butts goodbye.”
***
The beads of sweat forming on Alex’s forehead had less to do with the summer heat than the magnitude of the situation rattling his soul. His arm trembled as much from uncertain anxiety as from the unfamiliar weight of the handgun he nervously brandished. Even the shotgun strapped to his back didn’t seem to possess the heaviness of the fully-loaded pistol to which his hands held fast. It hadn’t been that long since he’d carried a firearm in the name of justice, but he felt like the most nervous rookie cadet, single-handedly expected to balance the scales of justice against the weight of a world ripe with violence, terrorism and pain.
Alex found little comfort even when considering the man by his side had seen him through as many scrapes as had the woman with whom he shared a heart.
As they made their way toward the entrance of Gilmer Elementary, the orders were clear. Two paths converged on the walkway that led to the cafeteria—one through the middle of the school, a straight shot once you entered through the front door. The other wrapped a short distance around a hallway to the right before meeting up on the walkway that eventually led you to the entrance of the cafeteria.
A path to the left curved around towards a separate walkway. Alex knew it as the bus-well, a name adopted by all the parents whose children attended Gilmer Elementary. It was the exit through which students would go to meet their awaiting buses at the end of the day.
Officer Brantley and Agent Parker were to exit through the doors leading to the bus-well and “sit tight.” If anyone got past Alex and the rest of them, Agent Parker and Officer Brantley were the last line of support the two officers guarding the fence would have. There wasn’t much cover, but the element of surprise and a 3 foot high brick partition would have to serve them well.
“One thing that worries me,” Danny whispered, eliciting nervous looks from Alex, Tisha and Agent Parker. “You really think these guys are gonna run?”
“No,” Alex said, turning toward the door.
“Then what?” Danny asked.
“Danny,” Alex said, as firmly as possible, “We’re cops. We have a job to do. They’re terrorists. They have a job to do. Our job is to keep them from doing their job. What their job is doesn’t matter. Our job is to stop it from happening. Focus, Danny.”
“My job is to not get killed, Alex.”
Alex barely had the front door open wide enough for a person to squeeze a hand through when he heard the screaming. He let the door close and peeked around the corner toward Charles Keslar’s home. The gray brick structure, crowned by two large pine trees, stood mysteriously quiet. Quite the contrast with two uniformed officers running, one carrying the elderly Mr. Keslar over his shoulder as several barking dogs nervously circled.
Just as they made it to the curb, a huge fireball engulfed the house, sending the three men tumbling end over end. One had apparently landed rather hard on one of the dogs, as the sound of yelping whispered through the booming fireball engulfing Charles Keslar’s home.
Shock, horror, or something akin to it kept Alex paralyzed. Vertical. Exposed to the world. Cop instinct had sent the rest of the party ground level, each searching for cover from whatever had caused the explosion. The valuable instincts that, too, had served him well for so many years now surrendered to some new Alex.
In a flash of millisecond logic, he now recalled thinking Lisa had just died in the explosion that had been the end of Charles Keslar’s home. His mind digested feelings of relief knowing that Lisa was still somewhere within the relative safety of Gilmer Elementary. Simultaneously, his mind conjured up the reality that the “relative safety” was getting less and less safe with every noise, every movement, every action.
Alex felt himself being tugged off the steps of Gilmer Elementary, down next to the small bushes that crowned the handrail. He realized
Danny had a hold of him, but Alex could not speak. Momentarily distracted, Alex returned his attention to the chaos unfolding in Charles
Keslar’s yard. Yelping dogs, an obviously wounded elderly man and two uniformed officers that—if Alex were a betting man—had likely just lost control of most if not all bodily functions. Without conscious thought, Alex realized his own hand was now timidly testing the willingness of his own bladder to hold true. Lucky for him the Mendez Dam had held back the raging river Alex had churning within.
From the corner of his eye, Alex watched as Captain Simmons and his partner ran towards Charles Keslar’s front yard. He could see the worried looks on everyone’s faces
even from the distance.
“You okay?” It was Tisha. Alex looked around him, timidly. He realized she was talking to him. He couldn’t immediately find his voice. He had to settle for a nod.
“Alex, are you okay?” Danny asked. “Are you hurt?”
“No,” Alex finally said. “I’m fine. We need to get in there.”
“Alex, are you crazy? We sure can’t go rushing in there now!
These people are going to think World War III’s started!”
“Ithasstarted,” Alex said. “Now let’s finish it.”
CHAPTER 39
Finish It
A simple football strategy—cover the left, fake to the right. Strike
up the middle. Danny and Alex took the path through the middle of Gilmer Elementary. Tisha and Moe followed the path down the right of the hallway. One door led into the cafeteria from both of their vantage points. What they were going to do once they reached that door was anyone’s guess. Alex had no way of knowing what he was up against.
Two terrorists or fifty? One bomb-laden terrorist or five-hundred angry, knife-wielding holy warriors.
He anticipated seeing the man he’d known as Agent Tucker. He hoped alive. Not because Alex wanted to spare him. Rather he didn’t want to be denied the pleasure of ending the man’s life personally. One bullet for Lisa, one for Christina, one for Baby Joseph, one for Brandy, one for his mother, one for Alyson, and one for each of the girls whose life had been stolen by the fake Agent Tucker. There weren’t enough bullets in the world to exact the measure of revenge his heart craved. But one well-placed bullet would end it all.
“Make my aim true.” The whispered prayer exited his throat before he realized he’d spoken.
“And make theirs suck,” he heard Danny whisper. Confused, almost alarmed by the sound of Danny’s voice intruding into his otherwise silent cogitation, Alex regarded Danny curiously. Met with Danny’s sarcastic wink and smile, Alex concluded their impromptu prayer meeting, “Amen.”
***
Moe Sutton was a man of few words, but he needed to feel the rookie out. He needed to get to know her and he had a few precious seconds to accomplish the impossible. He had to develop some sense of who she was. Some rapport that, when it hit the fan, would clue him in as to what type of soldier was entrenched beside him.
“Scared?” he asked her.
“Nervous,” she admitted, “excited, but not in a giddy way.” She looked at him as if she were analyzing him just as much as he was her.
“Don’t worry,” she added. “I’m ready for this.”
“You’re never ready for this,” he assured her. But he believed her determination just the same. Whatever happened, he knew it would surprise her. But he believed her voice. Something in the rookie’s tone spoke volumes to Moe Sutton. It told him that, though she might not be ready, when the going got tough, she’d do what needed to be done. He was rarely wrong about people. He hoped this wouldn’t be one of those rare moments.
“Yeah well,” she let her gaze wander slightly. “You’ll just have to trust me.”
“Whatever you do,” Moe said, “stay low. Bullets have a tendency to fly rather high.”
As they caught sight of Danny and Alex, and the door on which they were to converge, Tisha winked, offered a nervous smile but said nothing.
“It’s show time, little lady.”
He could see her expression change slightly.
A whiff of anger washed over her. “I’m not a kid. Don’t call me little lady!” she whispered through gritted teeth.
“Good,” Moe said, chuckling softly. “You’re angry. Now let’s get these suckers!”
***
“You’re limping. Did you twist your leg or something?” Danny asked. Alex sighed. Hewaslimping. Even he knew it. He was tired.
The limp was the reason he’d never gotten his badge back. Oh he could have managed one. Other cops with less physical abilities than him managed the demands of public service every day. But they weren’t Alex Mendez. They weren’t super cop. They weren’t the best.
Of course, now, neither was he. Still…
“I’m okay,” he assured Danny.
“You sure?” Danny asked. “You don’t look okay. You look… I don’t know… tired.”
“I’m fine, Danny! I’m just fine!”
“Alex if you’re not up to this…” Danny stopped dead in his tracks.
“Danny, if I’m not up for it, it’s a bit late to back out now. Let’s just get in there and get my family back.”
Danny sighed. He knew what he wanted to say but looked as though he had to search for the right way to say it.
“You know, Alex, we’re getting too old for this cowboy routine!”
“Speak for yourself, Old Man,” Alex said, his own body, mind and soul secretly echoing Danny’s very words. “I’m fine. Just anxious to get in there and kick Muhammad back to the desert he crawled out of.”
Taking Alex by the arm, Danny’s face turned more serious than Alex had known him to be in a long time.
“Alex, I need you to be sure. Right now, right here. I need you to be sure. I need to know before we go in there. Are you an asset or a liability? Don’t just answer for me. Answer for your family. Their lives are at stake here, Alex. I need to know are you going to jeopardize them further?”
Knee jerk reaction, Alex was a bit offended, but he was also a cop at heart. He knew Danny and knew why Danny had to be sure. Yes they were family but they were the mission too. The mission was getting them out and Danny wasn’t one for failure. He wanted sharpness in his team, just as Alex always had. He wanted the best. He wanted every I dotted and every T crossed. In his place, Alex would have been just as cautious.
“Danny,” Alex said. “My family is waiting. Let’s move!”
Dear Lord, he prayed silently, let me be ready for this.
Taking the shotgun from Alex’s shoulder, Danny whispered, “You don’t mind do you? Left mine in the car.”
CHAPTER 40
Connection Terminated
A soft breeze filled the air—a warm breeze, unwelcome and unrelieving of Alex’s sweaty disposition. The ground was still wet from the earlier rains. From the look of the clouds, Alex guessed the next shower was not far away.
Four souls, Alex, Danny, Moe and Tisha leaned against the outer wall of Gilmer Elementary’s cafeteria. They could hear voices within.
To the untrained ear it might as well have been business as usual— hundreds of children chowing down on the not-so-healthy choices offered by the school district’s finest chefs. Amid the sea of voices, one familiar accent swam to the surface, turning Alex’s stomach to a quivering mass.
“We need a diversion,” Danny said.
“Yeah, we do.” Alex agreed, but what?
“They’re going to be watching these doors,” Moe said. “We gotta move quickly and we gotta take them down.”
“Hope the old man is okay,” Tisha interrupted.
“Hey, Tisha!” Danny admonished, “Focus!”
“No,” Alex said, “it’s okay. We all need to take a second and realize what’s on the line here. Did everybody see that old man’s house blow up? These guys may be wired. For all we know the building itself may be wired. Call me crazy, but I’m just hoping the door isn’t wired itself. That’ll put a damper on this rescue attempt really fast.”
“Oh my God, Alex!” Danny said, almost too loud. Everyone’s eyes got big. Lowering his voice to a whisper, Danny continued. “Why on earth are you just now thinking of that?”
“Because I’m not a cop anymore Danny!” Alex admitted. “I’ve gotten us in the middle of the 21st century Crusades because I was thinking with my heart, not my head. And if we don’t all come out of this alive, it’s going to be my fault. You were right to have your doubts, Danny. I’ve got my own doubts. Ignoring them has gotten us all standing nose to nose with Death.”
“Alex, kick yourself later,” Danny offered. “Look at me.”
Alex refused.
“Alex,” Danny continued. “Look at me!”
Setting the shotgun on the ground, Danny grabbed Alex’s face. The determination in Danny’s eyes, nervous as it might have been, was all too obvious.
“Lisa Mendez—that name ring a bell? She’s counting on you, Dick Tracy. Christina Mendez, Luisa Mendez and Alyson Warner, too. Every person in that room is counting on Alex to step up and be a cop here. You’re a cop. You were born a cop and you’ll die a cop. Just not today. Bravery isn’t the lack of fear, Alex. It’s the management of fear. And you are the bravest man I’ve ever known. You brought us in here because you know we can do this. Now let’s do this. Let’s get your family out of there and go home!”
“One thing,” Alex said. “A few minutes ago, I was gonna say that nobody kills Agent Tucker but me. Now, I don’t care. Whoever gets this freak will be doing me the greatest favor in the world. I’ll owe you everything. Cut the head off the snake, people. Cut the head off and watch the snake wriggle itself to pieces.”
When the door to the cafeteria opened, Alex almost squeezed off a round. Two men exited the room oblivious to the four freedom fighters waiting to vanquish them. Quicker than Alex could think, Danny had knocked one to the ground while Moe had grabbed the other one and with a single, swift movement severed the neural pathway from his brain to the rest of his body. The snapping neck made an almost alarmingly-loud sound, but not as loud as the repeated bashing of concrete against the skull of Danny’s adversary. Five, six, make that seven blows and the would-be terrorist went the way of his broken companion.
Perhaps needing to relinquish a bit of pent-up frustration, Alex kicked the bloody carcass in the side.
“That’s for Brandy,” Alex whispered as his eyes became narrowed slits. Images of his beloved furry family member filled Alex’s mind.
He had to resist the temptation to let loose with a flurry of kicks to rival Danny’s head bashing tirade.
From the corner of his eye, Alex caught sight of Tisha, peering into the narrow cafeteria window. His lips tightened, Alex gave a head motion to direct Danny’s attention in Tisha’s direction. Swiftly, Danny reached for her arm, pulling her against the wall of the cafeteria.
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