“Which they’re doing now, so let’s go, and everybody head out in ten,” Peterson decreed. “I didn’t have any real news for the morning briefing anyway.”
By lunchtime, the three perp teams were on surveillance, Peterson and Demetrius were back in their offices at headquarters, Gorski was at the Palace West entrance, and Ashton’s apartment had been secured.
Several days, total, of surveillance indicated to the full investigative team that their perps were more or less regular in their habits, at least for the time being – except for Bronze, and even he had a certain pattern to his days.
“Which makes sense,” Ashton said as they analyzed the activities, after they all reconvened at headquarters, back in their standard office appearance. “They’re not gonna be doing a lot of unusual stuff, or anything to draw attention to ‘em. Not so soon after a major political hit like Medved.”
“It makes sense to me,” Detective Gorski decided; he had kibitzed on their discussion and analysis. “It sounds like we’re ready to go pick them up and take them into Imperial custody.” He cocked a querying eye at Ashton, who nodded.
“Tomorrow,” the younger man decreed, “we take ‘em all down.”
“Good,” Gorski said, and headed off to see what the latest information was from the Imperial Guard.
“Hm,” Ashton hummed, after Gorski left. “Now to determine exactly how we’re gonna do that. Looks like we might just have a nice area overlap here, and can pick ‘em off one at a time, in quick sequence?”
“That’s what I’m seeing,” Rassmussen said.
“Me, too,” Armbrand agreed. “But it might be good if we had a couple people on the others, while we’re taking down the first, and so on. That way if something happens with the others, we know right away. Especially given that Bronsky is a little unpredictable in terms of timing.”
“Yeah. But if one of ‘em turns into a fighter or something, we’re gonna need more than three or four guys,” Rassmussen observed. “And we don’t have enough on the Team to do all of that. Maybe we need to call in some more folks. Some beat cops would help out nicely, here.”
“Good point. All right,” Ashton ordered. “Here’s how we’ll do this: The general team will keep the same perp assignments, but Rog, you and Pete grab stunners and tranqs and come with me. I’ll see if Colonel Peterson can assign us some beat cops for extra manpower and to stake out the perimeter. Oh, and somebody be ready to take care of the VR jammer.”
“I can do that,” Ames said.
“Good.”
“You’re the boss on this one,” Rassmussen said. “You’re doin’ a great job, Nick. Me an’ Rog are damn impressed. We may outrank you for the time being, but you’re gonna make detective in no time, at this rate.”
“If you say so. I feel…odd…about it,” Ashton admitted with a sigh. “Especially after that encounter with Gorecki’s henchmen the other day. I’m a lot more comfortable here than I ever was over at IPD, but…I still feel like an add-on, somehow. At least sometimes. You know what I mean?”
“Yeah, I know what you’re saying,” Rassmussen averred. “You know it’s not true, though, right? We all claim you. You’re one of us, man.”
“I know. It’s only…I dunno.” Ashton shook his head. “Maybe ducking and dodging Gorecki and his goons is getting to me.”
“It’s okay. We’ll worry about all that mess later, man,” Armbrand decreed. “And we got your back on it in the meanwhile. Don’t worry, Nick; we’ll help you figure all of it out another time. Right now, we got three jobs to do. So we need to get with it.”
“Yup,” Ashton agreed. “Let’s go.”
Busting Asses
Ashton and Smith, in departmental uniform per a request from Imperial Guard Major Dunham, waited casually outside the Waffle Stomper diner about mid-morning, confident the rest of the team was ready. Kaplan, who made the bulk of her living in the “galaxy’s oldest profession,” tended to keep late nights, then go to bed in the wee small hours and break the fast late in the morning as a result.
The pair could see Susan Kaplan inside, through the diner windows, tucking away a fairly substantial but healthy breakfast, just like usual. When they saw her expression go blank while she paid her tab in VR, Ashton tensed.
“Get ready,” he told the others over their private VR channel. “Here she comes. We want to get her out of the way fast and without causing a ruckus if we can. We don’t want word getting back to the other two. Jam VR now.”
“Roger, affirm,” came back the responses.
Kaplan emerged from the front door of the Waffle Stomper. Ashton allowed her to clear the door by some twenty or twenty-five meters, preventing congestion in the doorway – or unwanted backup arriving from within the diner. Then he moved forward, Smith at his side.
But as soon as Kaplan saw the two uniforms making a beeline for her, she spun and sprinted for the nearest alley, intent on getting out the other side and losing them. Ashton broke into a sprint as well, Smith close behind.
“Stun her!” he ordered. “And make sure you’ve jammed her VR so she can’t call for help! Then block the alley on both ends! We don’t need any complications from bystanders, let alone eyewitnesses that can carry the story back to her associates!”
“Did it five minutes ago!” Ames yelled.
“Already on it!” came the responses from Rassmussen and Weyand.
A stun dart zipped from Rassmussen’s concealed position, driving unerringly into Kaplan’s right glute. She stumbled with a cry of pain, then fell, her right leg collapsing under her as the dart discharged, negating her nervous system response below the dart’s location. Smith and Ashton, who had dropped back slightly to allow for the dart, moved instantly to her side.
“You’re under arrest,
