They were going to be too late.
______________
Danielle stepped out of the shower, toweling her hair dry. She slipped into some yoga pants and a fleece pullover. Calvin and Gabrielle were in the kitchen, hopefully starting dinner. Danielle was still musing over what it meant that her youngest child was old enough to be having sex, but she thanked her lucky stars that Gabrielle seemed to have a good head on her shoulders. Danielle was very sure of one thing: if women – or girls – relied on men to responsibly use birth control, the population of Maine would double within five years.
She was just putting on some sneakers when she distantly heard the sound of a car door closing. Not in the driveway, but nearby. Was Frank stopping by for a quick dinner? He did that sometimes, but usually told her in advance. She went to the window and peeked out. The driveway was empty. She glanced down at her parent’s house, but their driveway was empty as well. Frowning a little, she leaned into the window and looked to the right, towards the main road. There was a dark car parked on the entrance road about fifty yards away. Two men were at the back of the car, taking something from the trunk. When they shut the trunk, each was holding something with the unmistakable long shape of a shotgun.
Danielle felt her heartbeat double in her chest. For a moment, she was absolutely paralyzed with fear. But Frank had warned her this day might come, and trained her for when it did. He had made her practice. Before the boys were born, he would walk into the living room, smile at her pleasantly, then bark, “Move your ass, Danni, there’s a man with a gun coming up the walk!” And as she ran around the house, grabbing a weapon from the closet and fumbling with the magazine, he would chant, “Fast is slow, my love. Slow is fast. Ready your weapon! They’ve come to kill a mousy housewife, but instead Danielle Dumas Finley is waiting!”
Shaking off the paralysis, she went to the top of the stairs and urgently called down to Calvin and Gabrielle. “Calvin! Calvin! It’s balloon time! No joke. Come upstairs now!” ‘Balloon time’ was the code word. If she or Frank ever used that phrase, the boys were to do exactly what she said. Immediately.
Praying that Calvin and Gabrielle hadn’t snuck out for another bout of teenage sex, she retraced her steps to the bedroom and went to the closet. She pulled out the Sportical, then reached in and grabbed three 15-round magazines, dropping one in the process.
“Slow is fast,” she muttered. “Slow is fast.” She inserted the magazine the way Frank had taught her, then racked the slide to chamber a round and flipped off the safety.
She turned around to find Calvin gaping at her with wide eyes. “Two men are coming up the driveway with guns,” she told him. “Get the pistol in the closet and load it. Take extra magazines. Hurry!” Calvin gulped, then did as he was told. The son of a policeman, he had been taught about guns at an early age.
Gabrielle, meanwhile, stared at her disbelievingly.
“Gabrielle,” Danielle said briskly. “You get in the closet and shut the door. Don’t come out unless I tell you it’s okay. Do you understand?”
Pale and trembling, the girl nodded and went to the closet. Calvin was just coming out and they shared a quick, intense hug.
“You’ll be okay,” he whispered. “I’ll come and get you when it’s over.”
Gabrielle almost asked him to promise, then decided that was pretty stupid. “I know you will,” she whispered back, then turned quickly and went into the closet.
Where she saw that Calvin had left the gun safe open.
In the hallway Danielle told Calvin what she wanted him to do, then pulled out her phone again and hit speed dial. The phone on the other end rang three times and a deep voice answered. Danielle felt a wave of relief wash over her.
“Dad?” she said.
______________
Ensign Kauders ran pell-mell for the Jayhawk helicopter, already spooling up on the takeoff pad. Close behind, Petty Officers First Class Josephs and Santana followed, dressed in ballistic vests and festooned with weapons and a predatory gleam in their eyes. The two of them and the flight crew were the only ones Ensign Kauders could round up on thirty seconds notice. He hadn’t even been able to call Commander Mello.
It was the height of taking the initiative, or foolhardy recklessness, to commandeer a helicopter and a strike team, even a small one, with the intent of taking a flight to a civilian house in the middle of a city. Kauders wondered briefly if this was the end of his career.
He hoped not; he’d miss all these incredibly neat toys.
The pilot was Chief Warrant Officer Emily Waring, a no-nonsense woman who, truth be told, intimidated the hell out of Kauders.
Chief Warrant Officer Waring eyed the heavily-armed Santana and Josephs warily, then turned her gaze to Kauders. “Where are we going, Ensign, and what should I expect when we get there?”
Ensign Kauders took a deep breath. Waring was within her rights to refuse to take off without proper authorization from someone much more senior than a mere Ensign. “Chief, you know we’ve been working with the DEA and Maine to interdict heroin deliveries, right?”
Chief Warrant Officer Waring exchanged a glance with her co-pilot, and then nodded.
“One of the cops in the North Harbor police has been cooperating closely with us,” Kauders explained. “The Sinaloa Cartel tried to kill him tonight, just a few minutes ago. I just got an emergency call from the DEA Regional Director that the Cartel has sent killers to the cop’s house to kill his family.”
Waring’s eyes narrowed. “Why not call the local police?”
Ensign Kauders shook his head. “We think they’re bought and paid for.”
Chief Warrant Officer Emily Waring took a deep breath and blew it out. “Jesus H. Christ!” she muttered under her breath. Then, “Strap in everybody! Ensign Kauders, would you be so kind as to tell me where the fuck we’re going?”
Kauders gave her the GPS coordinates.
“Joey, put it on the screen,” Waring told her co-pilot, and then to her passengers: “Hold onto your balls, children! We’ll be there in five minutes!” Then she pulled back hard on the collective and goosed the throttle. The Jayhawk leapt upwards. She adjusted the cyclic and the copter shot forward like a sprinter coming out of the blocks.
Behind her helmet visor, Chief Warrant Officer Waring sported a huge grin. Yeah, this was going to be a good night!
______________
Calvin dragged the mattress to the top of the stairs, then pushed it down. It slid about halfway down, then wedged itself tight.
Good.
He ran back to his parent’s bedroom and got the overstuffed easy chair, dragging it to the top of the stairs, then tumbled it down. It half-turned and bumped down several steps until it reached the top of the mattress, then stopped. Calvin stepped back as his mother stepped past him and threw a nightstand and a large laundry basket down the stairs, followed by a stand lamp.
“Let’s get another mattress,” she whispered urgently.
Then the doorbell rang.
______________
Alejandro and Javier got the shotguns out of the car, checked the loads and walked quietly down the street. The house they were after was only fifty yards on the left. Two stories, with an attached garage on the side. Lights were burning in several windows. Further down on the right, there was a larger house, brightly lit. Neither of them knew who lived in that house, but it was understood that if they gave them any trouble, they would die as well.
They stepped over a small wooden fence and walked through the yard to the front door. Alejandro raised his foot to kick it in, but Javier touched him on the arm, then reached past him to ring the doorbell. Alejandro frowned, but Javier shrugged. “They come to the door and open it,” he said reasonably. “If it’s the boy, we kill him, then go get the mother. If it’s the mother, we force her inside.”
But there was no answer. Javier rang the bell a second time. Waited. Then stepped back.
Alejandro kicked the door in and they entered, moving
fast and guns at the ready.
And found themselves facing a stairway, barricaded with a mattress and pieces of furniture, effectively blocking the way to the second floor. The two men exchanged a bewildered glance, then Alejandro gestured to Javier to check the rest of the bottom floor. Javier was back in a minute, signaling all was clear.
Alejandro sighed and looked at the blocked stairway. “Mrs. Finley,” he called up. “I am Officer Nick Spears from the North Harbor police. We received a call from your husband that you were in danger and my partner and I have been sent here for your protection.”
Upstairs, Calvin and Danielle looked at each other. Calvin raised his eyebrows in question, but Danielle shook her head and put a finger to her lips. Calvin dug out his phone. “Police?” he mouthed to his mother.
Danielle shook her head violently.
Calvin nodded, then dialed another number, cupped his hand over the phone and spoke quickly into it. Danielle could hear their address being given. “And send an ambulance!” Calvin concluded. “Hurry!” Then he hung up, looked at her and smiled, pleased with himself.
Downstairs, Alejandro and Javier could hear a footfall or so, but nothing else. They were up there, all right. Alejandro shook his head. This was taking too long. The bitch should be dead by now and he and Javier should be in the car and gone. “Cover me,” he told Javier, then began pulling the mattress out of the way. He was a big bull of a man, and the mattress came easily. As it came, the easy chair on top of it shifted and then tumbled down, forcing Alejandro to skip to one side, exposing himself ever so slightly to anyone at the top of the stairs.
Danielle fired four quick shots, then ducked back as a shotgun boomed and an impressive amount of the ceiling plaster exploded above her.
“Mom!” Calvin cried.
Danielle waved a hand to show she was okay, and put a finger to her lips to keep him quiet. Calvin nodded.
More of the odds and ends blocking the stairs shifted and abruptly tumbled down to the bottom. Danielle ducked her head out, then pulled back. Now the bottom was clogged, but the rest of the stairway was clear. But the clogged bottom proved to be false security. Javier motioned to Alejandro, who fired three blasts from his shotgun up the staircase, splintering the wooden bannister near the top and suppressing any attempt at return fire.
Javier nimbly leapt over the nightstand and other crap at the bottom and quickly, quietly crept up the stairs, keeping the muzzle of his shotgun aimed at the bottom of the bannister, waiting for a shadow to signal that someone was moving in for a shot.
Something flew over the bannister and Javier reflexively shot it. The flower vase exploded in midair, but it was immediately followed by a lamp, a partially full humidifier and yet another nightstand. Javier shot once more before he got himself under control, but while the nightstand was crashing onto the stairs at his feet, Danielle leaned over the railing and shot him twice in the chest, then ducked back as Alejandro took a chunk out of the wall with two blasts of his shotgun.
“Por Dios!” Javier screamed, clutching his wounds. “Fuck!” Blood poured from between his fingers.
______________
Luc Dumas stared disbelievingly at the phone. He struggled to focus on what his daughter was saying to him. When she hung up, he grunted as if he had been gut shot. Breathing hard, feeling the adrenalin pouring into his body, he ran to the closet where he kept the shotgun. He fumbled with the shells, dropping several in his haste to load the gun. Céline hovered nearby, concern distorting her face.
“Luc, what is it?” she cried.
“Danni’s in trouble,” he panted, his face flushed and his breath coming hard. “Two men with guns are walking up to the house.”
Céline’s hand flew to her mouth. “What are you doing? Why don’t you call the police?”
“That’s the problem,” Dumas rasped. “It might be the police.” He stood, trying to catch his breath. “Call Frank! Tell him what’s happening.”
Before she could reply, he ran out the door.
______________
Enraged, Alejandro emptied his shotgun into the top of the stairs, climbing one step with each shot. He made it to the top just as he ran out of shells, dropped the shotgun and snatched his pistol out of his belt. Firing two more quick rounds through the bannister rails, he crouched at the top of the stairs.
The hallway was empty.
There were four doors, all closed.
Then the front door slammed open and a big man with a beard burst into the foyer. Without a moment’s hesitation, Alejandro spun and shot four times. The man staggered back into the wall, then lurched out the front door into the yard.
Alejandro shook his head. Had he hit him? He was sure he had, could picture the wounds blossoming on the man’s chest. Who the fuck was he? Where had he come from? He glanced back at Javier – his brother’s oldest son – who was unconscious or dead, crumbled on the stairs like a discarded toy. He glanced back at the shotgun, but he knew he couldn’t take the time to retrieve and load it. Hefting the pistol in his hand, he crouched low and inched along the corridor. The first two doors were directly across from each other. No matter what he did, he was going to have his back to one room or the other. He considered his next move, then took a second to drop his partially spent magazine and replace it with a fresh one.
Leaning against the left wall, he aimed at the door across the hall and rapidly fired four shots, the last one through the plaster wall to the right of the door. Then he wheeled around and kicked in the door on the left, ducking in fast and moving to the left, gun panning the room from right to left and back again.
Nothing.
Cautiously peeking out into the corridor, he thought he heard a muffled cough from one of the other rooms, but he couldn’t tell which one. Aiming carefully, he fired four more rounds through the door at the very end of the corridor, then stepped across the hallway and kicked in the door there.
Nothing.
Frowning, he started to step back into the corridor…and froze. In the distance, he could hear sirens. A bunch of them, getting closer. Then another sound caught his attention, getting louder by the moment. A helicopter? Who in God’s name had a helicopter?
Out of nowhere, three bullets shot through the door at the end of the corridor, whizzing just in front of him at head height with a “SNAAPPPP!!!” sound that told him he missed death by mere inches. Shifting his gun to his left hand, he sent two more rounds through the far door. But now the sounds of the sirens and the damn helicopter were roaring outside, obscuring any of the little sounds that might give away where the bitch and her son were hiding. Fighting off panic, Alejandro bolted to the stairs and ran down to the first floor, stepping over the body of Javier. He ran to the front door, paused to peer outside and saw an ambulance and a firetruck, where half a dozen firemen were milling about in confusion.
He ran past two medics treating the big man with the beard, pausing to shoot one of them. Chaos, he needed chaos if he was going to get out of this mess. Two firemen saw him and recoiled, shouting and pointing. He snapped off two shots at the men, sending one shrieking to the ground.
He needed a vehicle. No way he was going to steal the ambulance or the fire engine. His heart leapt. Yes! His car was still there. Turning to the right, he dropped a magazine and inserted a fresh one. His last one. He ran hard towards the car, glancing over his shoulder to see if anyone was pursuing. Then he looked forward.
And there were two men dressed as soldiers, not forty feet in front of him. Alejandro skidded to a stop, raising his pistol to fire.
And died.
There one moment, just a bag of meat and blood the next. Two 5.56 mm rounds took him just below the eye and in his forehead. No pain. No shock.
Just gone. Nothing.
______________
Upstairs, Danielle jerked opened the bedroom door and stepped quickly aside. Several feet behind her, half-hidden behind a dresser, Calvin kept his weapon trained on the doorway, listening intently for any
footsteps that would reveal the gunman’s position.
Shots rang outside, and the boy and his mother exchanged a glance. “He ran for it,” Danielle said. Calvin stepped past her and then stopped, looking in horror at the holes through the bedroom door where Gabrielle was hiding.
“Gabs! Gabrielle? Are you okay?” he screamed.
The door opened and Gabrielle stood there, still holding the 9 mm pistol she’d found in the gun safe.
Her heart lurching, Danielle went to the slender girl, this woman-child who had captured her son’s heart, and put her arms around her. Calvin joined them and the three of them hugged each in a tight embrace.
“We made it!” Danielle said. “We’re alive!” She looked at each of them. “Remember what you learned today,” she whispered forcefully. “Sometimes…sometimes you have to stand and fight. For yourselves and the ones you love. Never forget that.” She pulled them in tight again, fierce and protective and ready to take on the whole damn world.
“I know you wanted me to hide,” Gabrielle said apologetically. “But when I heard that guy in the hallway, I tried to get him by shooting through the door. Almost worked, too.”
Calvin looked at her in astonishment.
“What?” Gabrielle demanded. “My brother Peter showed me how to use a gun.” She glared at him.
“Jesus Christ!” Calvin said, half in awe and half something he couldn’t put into words.
“My gun is safed,” she retorted. “Is yours?”
______________
Outside, Petty Officer First Class Josephs lowered his carbine. No doubt the man was dead, he’d seen the bullets strike him in the head.
Santana stood next to him, his carbine still up to his shoulder. “Sonofabitch, you beat me by no more than a second!”
Josephs grunted a laugh. “I always do.”
Ensign Kauders stepped up next to them. “Nice shooting, Mr. Josephs. Please tell me you had your camera running.”
North Harbor Page 27