Gary Ponzo - A Touch of Deceit

“Leave him. We need him alive,” Hasan said.

The man gave a perfunctory shrug.

Hasan reached down and unfastened one of Phil Bracco’s legs from the chair. He leaned close to the prisoner’s ear and whispered, “Count to thirty, then make all the noise you wish.”

Nick Bracco trembled while he waited at the front door. There wasn’t a plan. There wasn’t time for one. He had to interrupt his brother’s execution. He banked on the fact that the terrorists inside might be concerned about gunshots causing attention. Matt was sent to get help while Nick shifted his weight from foot to foot, acting as innocent as possible. He caught himself wiping his sweaty palms on his pants and quickly placed his hands behind his back. Unarmed and harmless. Just checking with the neighbors, that’s all.

Suddenly, a light came to life from behind closed curtains. Then another blinked on from an upstairs window. To his left another slit of light escaped from a closed drape. The entire house was being lit up. Did he have the wrong house? He considered that for a moment, yet the door remained closed. He rang the bell again. Still no answer.

He heard the hushed tones of FBI agents and Hostage Rescue experts closing in from a distance. He didn’t dare turn and acknowledge their presence. He rang again, this time hearing a noise. A faint thumping, not rhythmic or in any cadence. Carefully, he held his ear to the door. Again the thumping from inside the house.

He slowly walked away from the house and headed for a clump of bushes where he knew Matt would be waiting. Once behind the cover of the foliage he asked Matt for the cone.

“I hear something inside,” Nick said. He slipped on the headphones and listened to the amplified sound through the cone. “Someone’s banging. . I can’t make it out. It’s not hard like steel, more like someone banging their fist on a wall.”

“We’ve got the place surrounded,” Evan’s said. “Let’s crash this party.” He looked at Matt, “How many do you think?”

“Five, maybe six,” Matt estimated.

Evans lowered his head and spoke into the miniature radio attached to his collar, “When I give the signal, you take the rear. We have the front.”

The team began their inspection from a window on the side of the house where the noise seemed to originate. Others were doing the same thing to each wall of the house. Jake positioned a slender black tube to the side of the window, where only a crease of light showed. The tube was attached to a video device that relayed the image to a handheld screen. With one hand holding the screen, Jake used his free hand to twist the fiber optic tube into position. It allowed Jake to scan the brightly lit kitchen. He maneuvered the tiny screen so Nick could see the image. The camera showed a man tied to a chair, swinging his leg wildly against the floor and the stove and anything else he could kick.

“Recognize him?” Jake asked.

Nick examined the image. It was definitely Phil. He was tied to a chair and swinging a free leg against the wall, thumping for attention. Nick realized that Phil was left alive for tactical reasons and it almost worried him more than seeing him dead. His brother’s survival was no oversight. He nodded to Jake. “It’s him.”

Quietly Evans spoke into his radio, “What do you see on the east side, Cliff?”

“Nothing,” a voice came back. “I don’t see a thing in either room.”

“What about the south side?” Evans said.

“It’s empty over here,” a different voice responded.

“North?” Evans asked.

“Zippo,” a third voice said.

Evans looked at Nick. “The bottom floor is clear. We’re going in.”

Nick couldn’t put it together, but he knew they were in danger.

Evans waved for his men to fall in behind him. They moved toward the back door. Nick followed. Everyone had guns drawn except for two of Evans men who stood facing each other, gripping a large door ram between them. They rocked the steel pole, preparing to smash in the door. Evans pressed the button on his radio and was about give the order when Nick held up his hand.

“Wait,” Nick said.

Evans seemed confused. “Wait for what?”

Nick thought for a moment. “The lights,” he said. “There’s a reason all the lights are on.”

“You think they’re upstairs with night vision goggles?” Matt said. “We go charging in there and they shut off the electricity and ambush us with night gear.”

Evans radioed everyone to have their infrared gear ready.

Again Evans wanted to move and again Nick interrupted him.

“This is what they want,” Nick said. “There’s a reason my brother is allowed to move around in there. They’re using him as bait.”

This time Evans’ voice had an edge to it. “Listen, Bracco, we’ve got them surrounded and outnumbered. The longer we wait, the less chance we have of saving your brother.”

“Believe me, I want him out of there more than you know,” Nick said. “There’s something very wrong here. Just give me a minute.”

Evans eyes narrowed. For the first time since Nick had arrived in Las Vegas he considered who had rank. He could see that Evans was pondering the same question. Evans pushed the button on his radio while looking into Nick’s eyes. “Stand down,” he radioed. “We move in three minutes.”

Nick returned to the side of the house with Matt alongside. Jake was still playing with his fiber optic toy when Nick asked him to step aside. Without ceremony, Nick took the butt of his gun and busted a hole in the kitchen window. The soprano pitch from the glass shattering sprung a couple garage lights to life. Evans looked thoroughly disgusted as he radioed his team a play-by-play description so they understood the noises being made.

Nick slid the shade aside with the muzzle of his gun and caught a glimpse of his brother kicking his heel into the oven door.

“Phil,” Nick called.

Phil sat still, swinging his head from side to side, searching for the owner of the voice.

Nick said, “Phil, don’t move.”

Phil’s eyes frantically delivered the screams that he couldn’t get from of his taped mouth.

“Do you want me to come get you?” Nick asked.

Phil closed his eyes and shook his head violently.

“No?”

Again Phil shook his head. This time he arched his head toward the back door entrance to the kitchen.

“What?” Nick asked. “You want me to go through that door?”

Clearly frustrated, Phil glared at the door, desperately trying to draw Nick’s attention.

From Nick’s angle he couldn’t see the entire door. He asked Jake for the video device and Jake allowed him to slip the black tube into the opening of the window. Nick scrutinized the back door, but couldn’t see anything unusual. He looked back at Phil. “I don’t see a thing,” he said.

This time Phil motioned with his free leg. He seemed to sweep a straight line with his foot. An idea grew in Nick’s head.

“Matt,” he said, pointing to the fluorescent light hanging in the center of the kitchen. “Shoot out the light.”

This caused some curious looks, but no one ever had to ask Matt McColm twice to fire his weapon. Before a word was spoken, Matt lined up his pistol and fired two shots, knocking out both bulbs without wasting a bullet. The blasts caused shards of glass to rain over Phil’s head. Up and down the quiet neighborhood houses began to light up like an excited pinball machine. Evans feverishly broadcasted every move with the same tone used to announce the Hindenburg disaster. Once again Nick slipped the fiber optic tube into the darkened room and steered its gaze toward the kitchen door.

“There you are, you bastard,” Nick said.

Matt glanced down at the tiny screen and saw a thin stream of red light across the base of the door. “It’s booby-trapped,” he declared. “Call the Bomb Squad, this baby’s wired to blow.”