Chris Mooney - The Missing

They were driving at a good clip down Pickney Street, three blocks away from the Cranmore house. The houses were a little better over here, but not by much. Darby spotted more than one car parked up on cinder blocks.

Karl Hartwig, one of the SWAT members, was kneeling in the center of the van, his face covered by the periscope. Everyone else was watching the laptop.

On the monitor and coming up close was a battered black van parked on the left-hand side of the road, near a grouping of trees making up a small patch of hillywoods.

Spikes danced on the laptop screen and leveled off.

'He's in the black van,' the FBI tech said.

Hartwig talked into his chest mike: 'Alpha-One, this is Alpha-Two, we have confirmation on a black Ford van with tinted windows and no license plates parked on Pickney Street, over.'

'Roger, Alpha-Two. We're moving into position.'

A moment later, the surveillance pulled over and came to a stop. The engine was still running, the floor vibrating beneath her feet. Hartwig moved the periscope.

On the monitor now, down the far end of the street from which they had just come, was a UPS truck. It traveled a few feet and pulled over. Darby caught a brief flash of black coming from the back of the truck and then it was gone.

The UPS truck didn't move. Darby knew it would stay there and block the street.

Static over Hartwig's mike, then 'Alpha-Two, this is Alpha-One.'

'Go ahead Alpha-One,' Hartwig said.

'Alpha teams Three and Four are moving in position. Stand by.'

'Roger, Alpha-One. Standing by.'

The UPS truck swept past the woods. The third surveillance vehicle, a flower delivery van, made its way down Coolidge Road.

Traveler was blocked in.

The black van still hadn't moved.

Banville hung up the wall phone. 'All the areas are blocked off,' he said. 'Everyone's in position.'

'Alpha-One, all teams report ready to go,' Hartwig said. 'We're in position and standing by, over.'

'Acknowledged, Alpha-Two. Prepare to engage.'

'Copy, Alpha-One.'

Darby felt the surveillance van pull away from the curb, stop and turn around. Hartwig locked up the periscope and crouched next to his partner near the van's back doors. Clipped to their belts were stun grenades – also known as flashbangs because of their blinding flash and deafening blast. An explosive entry had been authorized.

Darby watched the black van on the monitor. It still hadn't moved.

Hartwig turned to her and said, 'The two of you are to stay in here until the area is secured, understood?'

The van slowed down.

Hartwig gave the signal to his partner. The van's back doors swung open.

The two SWAT officers jumped out into the light rain, leaving the back doors open. Darby moved out of her seat to get a better view.

SWAT officers were already positioned at the back of the Ford van, their gloved hands on the door – here came another SWAT officer running out from the woods, bringing up his pistol, targeting the driver's side window.

Hartwig gave the hand signal. A SWAT officer yanked on the door handle and the van's back doors open.

Hartwig tossed the flashbang grenade inside, and before Darby shut her eyes, she saw a man in a dark jacket sitting in front of a table holding some type of equipment full of small, blinking lights.

The grenade exploded in blinding light, the blast deafening. Hartwig came around and brought up his weapon, his laser scope targeted on the person's back. He was still sitting in front of the table. He hadn't moved, and his hands were hidden inside his jacket pockets.

'HANDS ON TOP OF YOUR HEAD, DO IT NOW, PUT THEM UP AND DON'T MOVE.'

Traveler didn't move.

Darby felt the van come to a sharp and sudden stop. Banville was out of his seat, moving past her. Hartwig rushed into the back of Traveler's van.

'GET YOUR HANDS UP IN THE AIR RIGHT NOW. DO IT.'

Hartwig threw Traveler to the floor.

Darby stepped outside, legs shaking from the time spent sitting. She wanted to be in there with the SWAT officer, wanted to see Traveler's face and look into his eyes when he said Carol's name.

Hartwig stepped out of the van, shaking his head. He said something to Banville.

Coop was standing next to her now. Traveler was lying on the floor. He wasn't moving.

Banville was heading back.

'What's going on?' Darby said.

'It's a dead body bound to a chair,' Banville said. That's what's going on.'

'What? The grenade couldn't have killed him.'

'He's been dead for several hours,' Banville said. 'Someone strangled him.'

'Then what's with all that equipment?'

Banville didn't answer. He had stepped back inside the van, the wall phone already pressed against his ear.

'It's got to be him,' the FBI tech said behind her. 'The listening devices are being picked up in that van. Look, there's an L32 receiver in there.'

'Maybe he's using the equipment to transmit the signal somewhere else,' his partner said.

The commotion and noise, and the sight of eight SWAT team members hovering around the van had drawn the neighbors out of their homes. They stood on the front steps, many of them standing in the rain, wanting to know what was going on.

'Let's secure the scene,' Darby told Coop.

Standing across the street was a girl no older than eight. She was dressed in a yellow rain slicker and held her mother's hand. The girl looked scared, on the verge of tears. Darby was watching her when the van exploded and blew the girl and her mother off the ground.

An evacuation siren blared over the hospital speakers. Daniel Boyle pushed his way through the crowds of civilians, doctors and nurses running in all directions, people bumping into each other, some falling, everyone scrambling to find an exit, to get away from the dust and smoke filling the hallways.

The ICU waiting room was empty. The ICU doors were opened. Nobody was guarding Rachel's room. The two cops responsible for watching her had either been called away or had decided to leave.

Boyle ran down the hallway. The ICU nurses had left their post. He was alone. He looked through the window to Rachel Swanson's room. She was sleeping.

Boyle pushed open the door with his arm, careful about not leaving any fingerprints.

Hand already inside his breast pocket, he came back with the hypodermic. He clamped the plastic cap between his teeth, exposing the needle, his thumb drawing the plunger higher as he moved to the bed.

Boyle wished he could wake her up, wished he could watch Rachel scream one final time before she started convulsing.

The needle pierced the IV tube. Boyle pushed the air through the line.

A quick wipe of the line using his jacket cuff and he was moving back to the door. Hurry.

Cap back on the needle, the hypodermic tucked back inside his pocket. Hurry.

Out the door and walking swiftly down the hallway, nobody watching -

One of the hospital's security staff was standing next to the nurse's station. The man was dressed in a dark raincoat and wore an earpiece and a lapel mike. He was looking around the space, searching for the wounded when he spotted Boyle.

Boyle ran to him. 'Everyone's gone,' he said. 'It's all clear.'

An alarm sounded from behind the front desk.

The security man turned to look at the monitors. 'What's going on?'

Boyle pretended to study the numbers on the monitor. 'One of the patients has gone into cardiac arrest,' Boyle said. 'I'll take care of it. Make sure everyone gets to the stairwells.'

'You sure I can't help you?'

'No, get going. I can take it from here.'

The security man didn't move.

Very calmly, as if reaching for a pen, Boyle slipped his hand inside his white coat and undid the snap for the shoulder holster. He'd drop the rent-a-cop if he had to. Drop him first and then run for the stairwell.