J. Robb - Divided in Death

“Acknowledged.” She picked up her communicator. “Dallas. I want those stairways blocked and manned. Do not, I repeat, do not move in on either target location. Begin evac.”

She gestured to the monitor. “Find him.”

“I’d like to scan and locate,” Reva said. “I’d like to man the controls on that.”

“That’s Feeney’s call.”

Feeney gave Reva a little pat on the shoulder and had to fight off the itch to run the program himself. “Go.”

She input the designated coordinates for LeBiss, configured for body heat imaging, then did a slow scan. “Nothing there.” Her voice shook a bit, but she cleared her throat and changed the coordinates for the penthouse.

When she saw the mass of red-and-orange light, she simply stared. “Target confirmed,” she said as Eve stepped forward. “He’s alone. Coordinates put him in the studio sector.”

“What’s this?” Eve demanded, circling a line of blue.

“Fire. Flame. Intense heat. He’s working.”

“He’s armed,” Roarke put in. “See here, this space, the angle and position on the body. “Side-arms, would be my guess.”

“Okay. Suit up.” She grabbed her own body armor.

“Bringing up audio. He’s got music on. Trash rock,” Reva said after a moment. “He’s excited, buzzed up,” she added. “He listens to that when he’s revving. He’s got a lot of metal in there. Equipment, works-in-progress. It’s going to be tricky to tell if any of what I’m getting is weaponry.”

“We assume he has it. Keep him locked.” Eve fit on her headset. “I want to know where he is and what he’s doing at all times. I want to know the instant the building’s clear. Let’s move into position.”

“Go.” Feeney spoke into his communicator. “Unit Six, this is base. Friendlies moving into your sector. I repeat, friendlies moving through.”

“They’ll give us the picture,” Eve began as they started toward the stairwell. “Weapons on stun. Dallas on the door,” she said into her headset, then opened the door to the stairwell.

The two-man crisis unit stood ready. “All quiet,” she was told.

“We stun him. I don’t want him drawing a weapon. Nobody gets hurt on this op. We put him down, restrain, and move him out clean.”

“I can get behind that,” McNab muttered.

A full frontal, she thought, all four through the same door, was too risky if he was armed.

“You and Peabody on the gallery door. Roarke will open the door between the sections by remote on my command. We’ll go in the studio door. Take him in a pincer. Move on my signal.”

She moved through the stairwell door, signaled McNab and Peabody to position on the other side of the corridor.

She could hear the progress of the evacuation through her headset. It was slow, but it was moving. She rolled her shoulders.

“Jesus, I hate these vests. Can they make them any more uncomfortable?”

“In another age, Lieutenant, you’d have been my knight in shining armor. And that protection you’d have hated a great deal more.”

“Could’ve taken him, probably could’ve taken him without the evac. Could wait, stake him out. He’s got to sleep sometimes. But…”

“Your instincts told you to move people out of harm’s way and take him now.”

She removed her headset, gestured at his. “If it’ll help you to be the one to take him down, I’ll hold back.”

He skimmed a fingertip along her jaw-line. “Soft on me, aren’t you?”

“Pretty much.”

“Same goes. And no, don’t hold back. It doesn’t matter who.”

“Okay, then.” She put her headset back in place. Then rolled on her toes a few minutes later when the all-clear came through.

“Peabody, on the door. Roarke, get them into the gallery.”

He keyed in on his remote. “Done.”

“Move in. Stay ready.” She took her position by the studio door, nodded to Roarke. “Go!”

She broke through the door, went in low with Roarke high beside her. An instant later, the door between sections opened and Peabody and McNab charged through.

Bissel stood by one of his sculptures, wearing a safety helmet and goggles, light body armor. And two hand blasters in a cross-body harness. He held a torch that spurted a thin line of flame.

“Police! Put your hands in the air. Do it now!”

“It’s not going to matter. Not going to matter.” He swept the torch toward Peabody and McNab, and jerked back as he was stunned.

“Not going to matter.” He tossed down the torch and flame bounced along the reflective surface of the floor. “I rigged this. Are you hearing me!” he shouted. “I’ve got a bomb. If you come at me, I’ll blow it. I’ll blow up half this building and everyone in it. You put down those weapons and listen to me.”

“I’m all ears, Blair.” She heard the order go out for Bombs and Explosives through her earpiece. “Where’s the bomb?”

“Put down your weapons.”

“I’m not going to do that.” She watched out of the corner of her eye as Roarke shifted, then crouched to retrieve the torch and turn it off. “You want me to listen, I’ll listen. Where’s the bomb? You could be bullshitting me. You want me to listen, you’ve got to tell me where it is.”

“This. The whole damn thing.” He slapped his hand on the twisting column of metal. His face was sheened with sweat. From the work, she imagined, and from excitement. And panic.

“There’s enough in here to blow this place, hundreds of people, to hell and back again.”

“You’d go with them.”

“You listen.” He shoved back his helmet and she saw his eyes. Zeus, she thought. He was riding on it. Between that and the body armor, he’d take a few stuns before he went down.

“I said I was listening. What do you have to say?”

“I’m not going to jail. I’m not going in a cage. Sparrow, Quinn Sparrow’s the one who set this up, who set me up. I’m not going in a cage. I’m an HSO operative, on assignment. I don’t answer to the NYPSD.”

“We can talk about that.” She kept her voice even, the tone interested. “You can tell me about your assignment, unless you blow yourself up first.”

“We’re not going to talk. You’re going to listen. I want transportation. I want a jet copter, and pilot, on the roof. I want ten million in non-traceable currency. When I’m clear I’ll send you the deactivation code. Otherwise…”

He held up his left hand and displayed the remote trigger strapped to his palm. “I use this. I’m HSO!” he shouted. “Do you think I won’t use this?”

“I don’t doubt you’ll use it, Agent Bissel. But I have to verify the explosive exists. Unless I can confirm the threat and tell my superiors, they’re not going to listen. I need to verify, so you can stay in control.”

“It’s there. And one twitch-”

“You know procedure and protocol. We’re professionals. I’ve got to answer to my superiors. Let’s confirm, then we can move on to your demands and negotiate.”

“It’s inside, you stupid bitch. I put it inside. You’d stayed out of this, I’d’ve had it drop-kicked to fucking HSO Base for screwing with me.”

“We’ll scan it. No point in anybody getting hurt. We’ve got Sparrow. He’s enough for me. He’s the one who got you into this mess. I’ve just got to confirm, so we can start the process.”

“Scan it, then. You’ll see. I want that jet copter. I want you to pull back, pull the hell back. I want transportation to a location of my choice.”

Roarke held up both hands. “Let me just get out my scanner, configure it for reading an explosive device. You know I own part of this building. I don’t want it damaged.”

Bissel shifted his gaze from Eve’s face to Roarke’s. Wet his lips. “Make one move, just one I don’t like, it goes.”