James Grippando - When Darkness Falls

“I thought this was settled hours ago,” said the director. “If a breach was necessary, Miami-Dade SWAT would lead it.”

Chavez said, “It’s a different ballgame now. We’re not staging a straight breach. The breach occurs only if the city’s sniper misses the target.”

The director asked, “How does that change things?”

Chavez said, “The timing of the breach is tied directly to the sniper’s shot. My sniper is taking the shot. I’m in direct communication with him. We’re talking about split-second coordination here. It makes no sense to link the breachers from one law enforcement agency to the sniper of another and expect everything to come off with precision. Pile on top of that the fact that if we need a negotiator to intervene for any reason, Paulo’s also from the city.”

Chief Renfro chimed in. “I think the sergeant has a point, Director.”

Chavez was ready to press his argument further, but to his surprise, it wasn’t necessary.

“All right,” said the director. “We’ll serve as backup. The city takes the lead.”

Chavez wrapped up the phone call quickly, before the director had a chance to change his mind. As they headed for the door, he extended his hand to the MDPD’s SWAT coordinator, but the return handshake was lukewarm. Chavez didn’t care. Already, it was as good as “mission accomplished,” and not a single shot had been fired. He stepped down from the SWAT van and started toward the restaurant. Before sharing the news with his team, however, he picked up the telephone and dialed. Right at “Hello,” he went straight to the bottom line.

“It’s done,” he said. “I’ll lead my team in first. MDPD’s SWAT will serve as backup.”

“Very good,” was the reply. “I can’t tell you how much I appreciate this.”

“It’s nothing.”

“No, it’s everything. This Falcon is a stalker and a murderer. If your sniper misses and SWAT breaches, I don’t want a bunch of guys going in who are so afraid of losing a hostage that they can’t pull the trigger.”

“The safety of the hostages is always paramount.”

“Absolutely. That said, I want to be damn sure that if that door gets busted down, there’s at least one man on the team who is sharp enough, brave enough, and talented enough to take this guy out even if the place goes wild with screaming hostages. You understand?”

Chavez could have launched into a lecture on the critical importance of knowing when not to shoot, but he decided just to shut up and take the compliment. “Yes, sir,” he said. “I read you loud and clear.”

THE INJURED GIRL was deadweight in Theo’s arms. She was only semiconscious.

It was getting darker by the minute inside the motel room. Theo had lost track of time, but it was obviously near nightfall. Daylight was no longer seeping into the room around the edge of the draperies, and they would have been in total darkness but for the very white, artificial glow that had replaced the natural light of day. Theo surmised that the police were aiming high-powered search lamps at the door and window.

The two other hostages, Natalia and the weatherman, were seated on the floor, back to back. Their ankles and wrists were bound tightly, and with hands behind their hips, they were tied together at the elbows. Theo was standing before the door, which remained closed, though the pile of furniture had been pushed aside for a clean exit. His ankles were tethered together by a two-foot length of lamp cord, a makeshift version of the shackles he’d worn in another life on death row. He stood a full head taller than his captor. Falcon came up from behind and pushed the barrel of his pistol against the base of Theo’s skull.

“I have no problem shooting you,” Falcon said in a calm voice.

The feeling was entirely mutual, but Theo didn’t say it.

“So don’t even think about running,” Falcon added.

“Don’t worry,” said Theo.

“No ducking, no sudden jerks from side to side. I’m standing right behind you. You’re my human shield, big guy.”

The girl shifted in Theo’s arms, and Theo rocked forward onto the balls of his feet to keep his balance.

“Don’t move till I tell you to!” Falcon said, pushing Theo’s head forward with his gun to emphasize the point.

Theo froze, which forced him to hold the girl in a somewhat awkward position. “I’m not going anywhere. Just staying loose.”

The gun remained in place, aimed at the back of Theo’s brain, as Theo listened. There was very little sound, like the eerie calm before the storm. He heard the discomfort in the injured girl’s breathing. He heard the distant hum of helicopters hovering somewhere above the motel. He could hear Falcon rummaging through his pocket for the cell phone and then punching out the number.

“We’re coming out now,” Falcon said into the telephone. “If I open that door and see anything I don’t like, if I even sense something I don’t like, your friend Theo is dead.”

Theo heard the close of the flip phone, Falcon’s call to Jack having ended. Two things were now certain.

Falcon was ready to make his move.

And so was Theo.

T heo let the plan run through his mind one last time.

The moment of opportunity would arise when he bent down to lay the injured girl on the stoop. Crouched like a football lineman, he could let his right leg fly back with the force of a mule kick. Falcon would never know what hit him. Theo would sweep up the girl and roll away from the open doorway, out of the line of fire. The cops would see Falcon go down and immediately send in the SWAT to save the other two hostages. That was the plan, but Theo was nothing if not a realist.

Things never went according to plan.

“Open the door,” said Falcon.

“How? I’m holding the girl.”

“Hold her tight with your right arm, drape her knees over your left forearm. That will give you a free hand.”

Theo complied, and Falcon was right. The girl weighed maybe a hundred pounds, and he could easily free up a hand and still manage to carry her. He turned the deadbolt, and the door unlocked with the portentous sound of a shotgun shucking.

“Nice and slow now,” said Falcon.

Theo reached for the doorknob, grasped it tightly, and turned it to the right.

“Even slower,” said Falcon. “Now open it.”

Theo pushed the knob away from him, and the hinges creaked as the door swung outward. Building codes required external doors to swing out in south Florida, to prevent hurricanes from coming inside. This time it seemed that the hurricane might be going the other way. Theo, however, suddenly felt very small standing in the open doorway. Night had indeed fallen, and searchlights cut through the darkness like giant lasers. One was aimed directly at Theo, and it was momentarily blinding. Had he not been holding the girl, he would have shielded his eyes. He couldn’t see very far-that was probably one of the intended effects of the searchlights-but he sensed or at least hoped that somewhere out there was a huge police presence.

“TAKE THE SHOT,” Chavez said into his bone microphone. He spoke in a hushed voice, albeit with urgency.

The sniper came back in his earpiece, “It’s a black male, one of the hostages. I don’t have a shot.”

Chavez was with his tactical team in room 105, just two doors down from Falcon and the hostages. It was as close as they felt they could get to Falcon without tipping their hand that SWAT was on the way. The entire team was dressed in black SWAT regalia with Kevlar helmets, flak jackets, thigh guards, and night-vision goggles. Each was armed with an M-16 rifle and.45-caliber pistol. The front door was open for a quick exit. The men stood in the ready position in anticipation of the crack of a sniper shot that would be their starter pistol.