Vic climbed into the BearCat and came out with a tactical helmet, which he strapped on. “You want one?” he asked Erin.
“No, thanks. I’m not used to it; it’d mess up my field of vision.”
“Suit yourself. A bullet in the face would mess it up more.”
“I’m not planning on getting shot.”
He smiled grimly. “No one ever is.”
Erin did take a headset radio, however, and hooked up to the frequency the team would be using.
“All right, listen up, everyone,” the ESU commander called. “As you know, some jackasses have been shooting up our city tonight. We’re going to take them down. We’ve got a tip there’s a couple of gunmen in the Barley Corner. That’s the bar up the street.”
“Floor plan?” Parker asked.
The commander shook his head. “According to Major Crimes,” he said jerking a thumb Webb’s direction, “we’re not making entry. They’re looking for a woman.”
“Siobhan Finneran,” Erin said.
“What’s this woman look like?” another cop asked.
“A little taller than me, long red hair, drop-dead gorgeous,” Erin said.
“I don’t know about you, boys, but I just made plans for after work,” he said.
“She’s a contract killer for the Irish Mob,” Erin said, wiping the smirk off the man’s face. “She’s an exceptionally good shot, and you should assume she’s armed. She’s killed three people this week that we know of.”
“So who’s our target? The gunmen, or the lady?” Parker asked.
“Both,” Erin said. “Arrest everybody. And there may be more than two gunmen. It’s possible they have guys outside.”
“How will we know when the operation’s on?” the commander asked.
“I have a CI inside,” Erin said. “I’ll get a text when Finneran’s on the move. That’ll give you a few seconds’ warning. She’ll be coming out the back door, into the alley.”
“Okay,” the commander said. “That alley has two exits. I want three guys at the north end. Parker, Hopper, Carnes, that’s you. No one gets out that way. The rest of you are with me. We don’t want this spilling into the street. I want a spotter across the street, under cover. Twig, that’s you.”
“Copy,” said the smallest member of the team. “I’ll hook around, get to the roof on the far side. I’ll let you know when I’m in position.” He jogged across the street and vanished from view.
“Once Twig gives us the call, we’ll bring in the Cat and block the exit,” the commander said.
“There’ll be a vehicle there to pick Finneran up,” Erin said.
The commander grinned. “Unless they’re driving a tank, we’ll get ‘em out of the way. Then we’ll have them all cold. Slap on the cuffs and we’re done.”
“We think they’ve got a lookout on the street,” Erin said. “Won’t they spook if they see this thing hanging out?”
“We’ll be around the corner,” the commander said. “Best we can do. I’m not risking the lives of my men if I don’t have to.”
Erin chewed her lip and nodded. All around her, men were loading weapons and tightening straps on their gear. She didn’t feel like a cop in that moment. She felt like a soldier, getting ready to go to war. It wasn’t a good feeling.
Then came the waiting. Erin had never served with an ESU tactical team. She’d kicked in her share of doors, sure. She’d been in gunfights. But she hadn’t hung out in the back of a BearCat with a bunch of guys with assault rifles, dressed like dystopian Stormtroopers. She couldn’t understand how they did it. She knew most tactical operations didn’t end with people getting shot. But every bit of the operation felt military. It was enough to make her wonder if the world made any sense at all.
One of the guys, whose nametag said Madsen, passed around a pack of chewing gum. Erin gratefully took a stick. Her mouth was dry. Rolf, close by her side, was tuned in to her emotional state. His nose twitched ever so slightly, his ears were perked, and his muscles were as taut as high-voltage powerlines. A single word from her would make him explode into action.
And they waited. They waited a year, two years, ten maybe.
Erin checked the time. Ten minutes had passed.
“Yankees look good this year,” one of the team commented.
“The Yankees always look good,” Madsen replied sourly.
“Mads is a Mets fan,” the first guy explained. “Someone’s gotta be on the side of the losers.”
“That’s funny,” Madsen said. “I talked to your wife last night. She told me the same thing.”
Erin’s phone buzzed. It was a text from an unknown number, probably yet another new burner from Carlyle. All it said was “Now.”
“We’re on!” she snapped, her voice cutting through the banter.
The ESU team was instantly all business. Dead silence fell. In that silence, she heard Twig’s voice over her headset.
“Back door’s open. Got a woman coming out. Long hair, looks like our target. Moving south. Got a car, stopping in front of the alley. Mercedes sedan, dark color, maybe gray.”
“That’s our cue,” the commander said. “Execute.”
The BearCat’s 8-cylinder Power Stroke engine roared. The armored car leaped into motion, swinging around the corner. In the back, unable to see where they were going, Erin lurched sideways and grabbed for a handhold.
Then, without a single screech of the brakes or squeal of the tires, the ESU vehicle smashed into another car. The crash was earsplitting, the shockwave of impact running straight through the BearCat from front to back. Erin was pitched out of her seat into Vic, who sprawled against the guy next to him. Metal screamed. The BearCat kept rolling forward, slowly now.
“Go! Go! Go!” the ESU commander shouted.
Someone flung open the BearCat’s back door. As the first two ESU guys dismounted, guns at their shoulders, shouting, Twig called out something else.
“Two
