Джеймс Паттерсон - Lost

At the end of the block, the support officers were pulling into position. They would be the ones to enter the building after it was secured.

This was one of the most dangerous activities for any SWAT team. When noncombatants or victims are inside a house with the suspects, tactics change. Like most cops, I don’t know how I could live with myself if I accidentally hurt an innocent, like a child, while executing a search warrant.

I felt nervous for the team about to enter the apartment building. You never know; the next entry might be your last. Marie listened on a radio. I couldn’t understand any of the Dutch being spoken, but I recognized the tone. They were getting ready to breach the main door. I’d bet there was another team that would make entry from some other point.

An older apartment building like this would have several doors. Most would crumple under a strike from a battering ram.

Marie Meijer said something into the radio, then turned to me and said, “If someone runs from the building in this direction, we’re the ones designated to stop them. Is that okay with you?”

I smiled. This was a lot more action than I’d expected. I no longer felt tired.

Then the SWAT team swung into action. Even from our position, I could hear the pounding on the door and the officer yelling in Dutch. I suspected he was saying something along the lines of “Search warrant. Open the door.”

A team member came up from the back of the line with a one-person battering ram. He swung and hit the solid wood door twice, and the booming thumps echoed in the ancient street like explosions. On the second strike, the lock gave way. The door flew open wide, with only the lower hinge keeping it attached to the frame. The team was inside in an instant.

My heart raced as I watched the raid commence. I was worried about the cops, worried about the victims, and bothered that I had no role in it.

I could hear a woman’s wailing scream like a fire alarm, then two flash-bangs—distraction devices that we also used in Miami to shock and blind. The loud boom, boom echoed through the apartment complex like thunder. Even at this distance, standing just outside Marie’s car, I could feel the vibration.

Chapter 31

THE NEXT SOUNDS I heard were not flash-bangs but gunshots. Holy shit. I could see the muzzle flashes in the windows. Frozen to the spot, I couldn’t think about anything but the poor captives, running in fear.

I heard return fire from the automatic MP5s. It was controlled and disciplined, short bursts of two or three shots. I just hoped it was disciplined enough.

Suddenly, people started spilling out of the apartment building, a few tripping and piling up right in the doorway. Once they were cleared, more people poured out onto the street. A lot of people. I realized that the people waiting to be smuggled didn’t want to deal with the police either.

Most of them just stopped in the street. But two men tried a different tactic to escape: blending into the shadows. Unknowingly, they ran directly toward us.

Both were young men and ran with an easy gait. The man closest to me was small and muscular, like a gymnast. I squinted in the dark, trying to see if they had anything in their hands.

Next to the car, Marie never flinched. “Let them get closer. And stay on your side of the car unless I call for you.” She was calm and quiet. That’s how any good cop talked in the face of a disastrous raid. You didn’t want to get others excited or distracted.

The men continued to race up the street toward us, no one following them. They must have imagined they were in the clear.

Marie stepped in front of the car with something in her right hand. The men started to slow, looking over their shoulders at the apartment building. Marie called out, “Politie, stoppen.”

Both men skidded to a halt about six feet in front of her. I’m not sure they even noticed me standing on the other side of the car. I fought the urge to race out and help her, a cop’s natural instinct for backup.

One man said something to Marie in Dutch while the other tried to slip between her and the car.

Marie gave them another command; I assumed she was telling them to stand still and raise their hands. The man closest to her laughed and then lunged toward her.

That’s when I realized what she was holding in her right hand. It was an expandable baton. We usually called it an ASP, the name of one of the baton’s manufacturers.

Marie swung up so swiftly that the baton extended during the motion. She caught the man hard under his extended arm. She spun in a complete circle with the ASP still in her hand. This time, she caught the man on the opposite arm.

I winced at the motion and the sickening sound the ASP made when it struck the man’s flesh. I’d been in too many training sessions and seen too many people hit with an ASP not to know that the pain was always excruciating.

The man froze as he tried to decide which arm hurt more. Finally, cradling both arms, he crumpled to the ground.

The man who had been trying to slip past Marie turned to see if he could help his partner.

Marie didn’t hesitate. This time, needing a little more reach, she took a quick step and lifted her foot off the ground as she swung the baton. It caught the man across his chin and sent him into the side of the car.

He was smaller and in better shape than the other suspect. Apparently, he was also smarter. When he staggered to his feet, he knew he wanted nothing to do with Marie. He turned and broke into an all-out sprint.

I heard Marie mutter, “Damn.” She couldn’t leave the suspect she’d brought down.

Now it was my turn.

Chapter 32

I RAN AFTER the smaller man as fast as I could. Growing up, I was never the quickest kid on the playground; God had decided to make me too big for that. Way too big. So my whole life, I had compensated by thinking races—or chases—through to the end.

I paced myself. I watched as the man darted down an alley to the left. I took that turn, and I saw him slow considerably as he went around another corner. I tried to fix my position in my mind so I wouldn’t get lost. It wouldn’t be a good look for American law enforcement if I had to call out for help on an empty street with no idea where anyone else was.

When I turned the next corner, the suspect was down to a fast walk. He approached a section of the block under construction. The sidewalk was roped off, and lightweight scaffolding rose along the side of the building.

I kept my easy pace, trying not to make any noise. Even with all my chases in Miami, I’d never gotten used to running in long pants.

Maybe the man heard me coming, or maybe it was chance, but just as I was about to pounce on the suspect, he looked over his shoulder. He immediately sprang up into the air.

The move took me completely by surprise. Then I realized he had grasped a low bar on the scaffolding and pulled himself up like a monkey. The whole structure shook. It wasn’t secured to the building yet.

I called for him to come down.

Shockingly, he ignored me.

I watched as he climbed higher, hoping he’d come to his senses. The scaffolding wobbled more and more.

Then it happened—he lost his grip and slipped off the scaffolding. I wanted to say, I told you so, but I didn’t have the language skills. Oh, shit, I thought, that fall could kill him.

I watched him drop the twenty or so feet through the cool night air. Some instinct kicked in and I moved to stand underneath him with my hands outstretched.

He landed in them like a toddler.

His left elbow hit me in my right eye, but the sound he made as he landed told me the blow was unintentional. He was more shocked than I was.