In four more minutes his wrist would vibrate again, and he would wait for visual contact with his team members. If, within a minute of this, either should go missing, Robbie would attempt radio contact through Command Center Dispatch. If this failed, he and his fellow ERT teammates would search for the missing officer until the reason for his absence was explained. Sometimes it proved to be nothing more than a neighborhood dog preventing egress. Sometimes it was a matter of the officer getting lost or forgetting his route; even the best trained made mistakes. Once-only once, Robbie reminded himself-a missing ERT operative had been found with his spinal cord broken in two places and his skull cracked open. He lived through it, but David Jefferson, who had changed his name to Abdul Something-or-other, now worked the phone bank for a telemarketing firm from the confines of a wheelchair. Robbie had had a pizza with him a couple months earlier. The man’s life was a wreck: He had lost his wife in a bloody divorce and was twenty grand in debt. Cole Robbie wanted nothing to do with that. He stepped quietly forward. The section of park on the far side of the zoo that the suits believed was this perp’s most likely escape route lay just ahead and was Robbie’s destination. It was pitch dark beneath those trees. Visual contact was out of the question once they were inside there. His heart rate climbed above one-ten. He loved this work.
Boldt opened his eyes and craned forward in the odd red light, attempting to see whatever it was that the field operations officer, Tito Lee, was attempting to show him.
Pointing to a map, Lee said, “We got ERT in a line right through here. They’re moving good and should be in position within five, maybe ten minutes. At that point, we got a human wall between Phinney Way and the zoo. Our perimeter patrol cars are all in place. The two buses are in position as we speak, but no one’s going anywhere until we give the high sign. You want to start to close this gnat’s ass, you let me know.”
“What-who? — was that woman I heard a couple of minutes ago?” Boldt asked.
“What we got there is an undercover officer working the streets in an Animal Control vehicle up to the west side. She’s driving around real slow, like she’s after something, which of course she is, technically speaking.” He seemed proud of this concept. He grinned. “It gives us an operative on the specific street; she’s headed for your place. She’ll get out of the vehicle there and go door to door, heading toward Woodland, asking about a Doberman reported wandering loose.”
“She’s alone?” Boldt asked apprehensively. “I thought everyone was going to be partnered in this-”
“Who’s alone?” Shoswitz interjected, suddenly interested.
Lee answered the lieutenant, turning from Boldt. “The dogcatcher. One of the Vice dicks, Branslonovich. She’s undercover as a dogcatcher,” he repeated, for the sake of the bewildered and concerned Shoswitz.
“No one goes unpartnered on an operation like this,” Shoswitz echoed, suddenly concerned. “Who authorized?”
Lee said defensively, “We put this together in forty-five minutes, Lieutenant. It’s not like-”
“I want her out of there.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Now.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Team her up with someone. I don’t care if her partner ends up in a dog cage in the back, I want everyone paired. I thought I made that clear!” Shoswitz delivered this invective and then glared over toward Boldt; the lieutenant hated the unexpected. He dreaded these operations-he was too close to retirement to risk his career on hunches. He disliked Boldt at that moment; the sergeant could feel it.
Cole Robbie moved evenly and fluidly, avoiding jerky motions. If one were to have caught a glimpse of his dark form, it might have been mistaken for a tree trunk or a waving shadow from the occasional car headlight that sneaked into the copse of trees through which he navigated. He was, at that moment, no longer a corporeal entity, no longer a body of heartbeats and sensations, for as he negotiated through the trees, so did he negotiate a transformation of spirit, divesting himself of the material and turning himself over to God. That was something he never discussed with anyone other than Jo, who fully understood such transformations and, even had she not understood, would have supported anything that might keep her husband alive through another tour of duty. Through this surrender of spirit, Cole Robbie believed himself an instrument of God, all knowing, all encompassing. If he were meant to engage with a psychotic arsonist, so be it; he would do his best and hope for divine guidance. He trusted that same divine guidance to carry him on the proper route through the forest, to deliver him to a point, the significance of which he might not understand but would willingly accept. Understanding, even knowledge itself, was beyond his capacity at that moment. His training occupied a spot within him far inferior to his trust and confidence in the correctness of the moment. He accepted his role, his route, his destination without question, and whereas others often mistook this for an admirable sense of loyalty to his team, the truth was far different. His misperceived loyalty was nothing more than an adherence to the doctrines of faith and the acceptance of Divine Principle.
“Come and get it,” was Cole Robbie’s last conscious thought before he surrendered completely and turned himself over to his Keeper. From the corner of his right eye, he registered the quick white wink of a flashlight signal, and he returned and then relayed this signal to his left without thought. Through the trees it sparked, linking the various members of ERT, connecting the chain. All was well. His confidence was second to none. He knew and he accepted, though he did not dwell on the fact, that at that moment he was the best cop out there. He was part of an entirely different team. Only time would tell, but something told him this was his night.
“Where then?” Shoswitz barked from the back of the step van. The pale red light cast from above created hollow black eye sockets and doubled the size and distorted the shape of his already prominent nose. He looked to Boldt like something satanic. His teeth shined wet and red in that light. His index finger pointed straight and shook authoritatively at Tito Lee. The lieutenant’s question was in response to Lee’s having said that the Vice officer Branslonovich, who was posing as a dogcatcher, was clearly not in her vehicle.
The operations officer answered by asking a question of the dispatcher. “Can we raise her in the field?”
Shoswitz, rarely content to speculate, shouted into the cramped confines, “I want her back in that truck and the doors locked, and her rolling, this instant. How we deal with this can be discussed later. Copy?”
Lee shot Shoswitz a hot glance.
The radio dispatcher looked distressed as well, and that troubled Boldt because the dispatcher’s role was critical to such a complex and quickly conceived operation.
“All we can do,” Boldt offered, weighing in on the side of Tito Lee, “is try to raise her. Is she carrying a hand-held?” he asked the dispatcher, in part to get him back on track.
“She’s carrying a unicom,” he replied, explaining that she should have been hearing all directives from the step van. “I put it out on the unicom,” he offered. “But even if she heard it, it would take her a minute to get back to the truck and respond. She’s not authorized,” he explained, and Boldt understood that she, along with others in the operation, was not in possession of a walkietalkie capable of transmitting on secured frequencies-only a few of the hand-helds could do that. This technical restriction isolated her.
Boldt said, “Am I mistaken, or will an animal control van have a radio capable of-”
“Oh, shit, you’re right,” interrupted Lee. “She’s restricted to line-of-sight reporting over the unicom. Emergency reporting of contact with the suspect.” To minimize radio traffic and to reduce the chance of the press catching on, most of the radios in use were under the same restrictions.
Shoswitz chimed in. “So we put it out over the unicom that we want Branslonovich to make a land line call to headquarters. That will force her back into the truck, to a pay phone, and we can deal with it from there. Settled?” he asked rhetorically, his mind already made up. “Do it,” he instructed the dispatcher. He glanced over and caught Boldt staring at him. “What?” he asked, still at a shouting volume.
“I didn’t say anything,” Boldt objected. But inside he was thinking that Branslonovich was Vice and was more than familiar with field operations, and such a summons would mean only one thing to her: She was being called in. So, he reasoned, the first time she received the message over the unicom she would ignore it and say later that bad reception had interfered with the signal. The second time she might be forced to respond, but at her own speed; she would take her sweet time about coming in. With each successive attempt by dispatch, she would increasingly suspect that the only explanation for these attempts was that she was in a hot zone and because she was a woman officer the male pigs that controlled such operations were recalling her. This, in turn, would keep her in the
