J. Robb - Survivor in Death

The other cops were quiet, a silent wall. The scene had been secured. Now it was up to her.

The safe house was a post-Urban Wars construction. Cheap, never meant to last. But it had stood, a narrow box of two stories, bumped up against a few more narrow boxes that were all dwarfed and outclassed by the sturdiness of the buildings that had survived the wars, and the sleekness of those built since the hurried, harried aftermath.

She knew the city had bought this, and others, on the cheap. Maintained them on a shoestring. But the security was better than decent, with full-panning cams, alarms backed up by alarms.

Still, they'd gotten in. Not only gotten in, but had taken out two seasoned cops.

Knight's weapon was still holstered, butPreston 's was drawn, lying useless at the base of the stairs while he was sprawled and bloody on them.

Knight's body was facedown, a full stride out of the kitchen. A broken plate, spilled coffee, a veggie ham on rye were scattered in front of him.

The miserly entertainment screen was showing an Arena Ball game. The security screen was black as death.

“Took Knight first.” Her voice was slightly hoarse, but she continued to record the scene and her impressions. “Took him coming out of the kitchen. Surprised him. If they'd takenPreston, Knight would've come out with his weapon drawn. Preston heads down, ready, but they take him.”

She crouched, picked up the weapon. “Got a blast off, at least one, before he went down. Officer, start a canvass. I want to know if anyone heard weapons' fire. If they heard shouts. If they saw a fucking cockroach pass this way.”

“Lieutenant-”

She merely turned her head, and the expression on her face had the uniform nodding. “Yes, sir.”

“Cut their throats-their favorite game. But they didn't cut two cops' throats without a fight. Had to disable first. Long-range stunners,” she said, studying the faint singe onPreston 's shirt. “That's what they had. No chances this time. Not just killing little kids. So they come in the front. God damn how did they get through? How did they compromise this system so fast two cops are caught with their pants down?”

“It's a standard police system,” Roarke said quietly because he heard more than rage in her voice. He heard pain. “A good system, but standard issue for cop houses. If they had the kind of knowledge we believe, they could have set for this, taken it out, got through the door in under two minutes. Very likely considerably under two minutes with the equipment they must have at their disposal.”

“These were good cops,” she reminded him. “Too good to sit still for a breach like this. Knight's in the damn kitchen making a sandwich. There's a security monitor in there. There are security monitors upstairs. Screen goes out, you go straight to Code Red. So it didn't go out. Not at first. Why is Knight upstairs?”

She stepped over the body, over the blood, and went up to the second floor.

There were two bedrooms, one bath. All windows were privacy screened, barred, and wired. She looked at the 'link in the first bedroom, crossed to it and replayed the last incoming.

It was audio only, and it was her voice.

“Dallas, Lieutenant Eve. The suspects are contained. Repeat, the suspects are contained and being transported. Stand down and report to Central.”

“Fucking A.” Eve muttered.

“Lieutenant?” There was puzzlement, but no alarm inPreston 's voice. “You're on the house 'link.”

“I'm aware of that. Did you copy your orders?”

“Yes, sir, but-”

“Dallasout.”

“Well, shit.”Preston 's voice was perturbed now, and he didn't immediately end the transmission on his end. “Yo, Knight! Dallas collared the bastards… How the hell do I know, she was her usual chatty self. Make me a damn sand-”

There was a blasting sound, a shout, then the sound of running feet.

“Voice simulator,” Roarke said from behind her. “There was a tinny quality to it, and the lack of inflection in your tone. I suspect, if he had another moment or two, he'd have considered that, and checked in with you.”

“One working the simulator, two coming in. Pull one of them up here with the 'link call, keep him occupied just long enough. Good surveillance equipment, maybe body heat sensors. Knew where they were. One up, one down. Took Knight before he could blink, butPreston got a stream off. They've homed in on him, though, so he's down before he can signal there's trouble.”

“If they had sensors, they'd have known there were only two people here. Both adults.”

She tagged the 'link for EDD. “Some of the safe houses have cold rooms, just to screw with that kind of surveillance. Subject under protection can be in the cold room. No point in not checking that out, once you've got the locations.”

She headed out, and down. Whitney came in the front as she reached the bottom of the stairs.

“Commander.”

“Lieutenant.” He nodded at Roarke, then crossed to the first body. He said nothing. Then, continuing to look at his fallen men, spoke in a voice dangerously soft. “They don't yet know the wrath. But they will. Report.”

She went through the steps, reporting, recording, collecting, and repressed the storm inside. She stood over Morris as he conducted his on-scene exam. “Stunned first. Midbody hit on both.”

“Preston would have been four or five steps down. He got off a stream,” Eve added. “Might've caught one of them. There's no sign of a hit on the walls, anywhere in the room. Crime Scene ran over it. No residue. No wasted shots here,” she noted. “Everyone who fired hit something they were aiming at.”

“My guess would be he crumbled more than fell. I'll know more when I get him in, but the bruising, the position of the body indicates he was thrust back by the stream, then folded, slid. His throat slit where he lay.”

“They had to lift Knight's head to cut him. Blasted back, plate and cup flying. Hits the floor and rolls facedown.”

She walked back to the front door. “Came in together, one high, one low. It's low guy who takes Knight, from the angle of the hit. High hitsPreston. Moving fast, moving smooth.”

She simulated, weapon drawn, heading forward. “One takes Knight.” Blood cold, she moved straight to the body, lifted the head by the hair, mimed drawing a knife over the throat. “Left-handed this time. Versatile bastards. Had the stunners in the right, knives in the left.”

Morris said nothing, only watched.

“Second moves straight toPreston, bends down, slices. Combat grip, one quick stroke. Then he heads up, his partner takes the first floor. Place this size, they can confirm it's empty in under ninety seconds.”

“Have you walked it off already?”

“Yeah, I went through. They're in, they're out. Three minutes. The blood on the floor down here, going into the kitchen and into the toilet's going to be from Knight. Upstairs it's going to bePreston 's. Coming off the knives, coming off the gear. The trail of it, the pattern, shows they were moving fast. See, look.”

She strode to the kitchen doorway, swung her weapon right, left. “See the blood there? Pause, sweep the room, move in.”

She looked back up the stairs. “Prestonshouldn't have come down like that, exposed. Two seconds where he acts before he thinks-he's thinking about his partner instead of with cop instinct-and he's dead.”

She lowered her weapon, holstered it. “Fuck.”

“Truer words. I'll take care of them now, Dallas.” He didn't touch her-his hands were smeared with blood-but the look in his eyes was as steady as the clasp of a hand.

“We're going to bury them for this, Morris.”

“Yes. Yes, we are.”

She went outside. Most of the reporters who'd gathered had scattered after Whitney had given them a brief statement. Stories to file, she thought.