between us.”
“Right.”
“Patterson, once he’s past your position I want you on the ground,” Kinoshita continued. “But don’t get too close. Bottrell, stay in the car and be ready to move. Don’t anybody screw this up. I want to take him on the street nice and clean.”
“Right,” said Bottrell, his voice filled with tension. “The guy’s really moving. He’s up to something.” A pause. “Patterson’s behind him now, staying back in the bushes. Damn, the guy will be there in no time. Get ready.”
Matthews had his service weapon out. “I’m going down,” he said, heading for the stairs.
Kinoshita spoke softly into the radio. “Whiteman, you and Madison move on my command.”
“Yes, sir.”
“The guy’s slowing up, looking at the house,” said Bottrell. “Now he’s crossing the street. He’s coming fast. Let’s do him now.”
“Ten seconds. Wait till he gets to us. Everybody ready?” Suddenly Kinoshita noticed a shaft of light spilling from beneath the Bakers’ garage door. As he watched, the rectangular yellow tongue of light grew larger, licking its way down the pavement. “What the-?”
“Somebody’s coming out the garage,” Kinoshita shouted into the radio. “Everybody move in. Take him now!”
Carns walked briskly, his perceptions honed with the anticipation that always came before entry. He could feel a trickle of sweat gathering in his armpits, the comforting weight of the throwaway. 25-caliber automatic digging into his waist. His right hand swung easily at his side; his left was tucked in his jacket pocket, thumb on the opener button.
Almost time.
He had increased the small transmitter’s power, extending its range to over a hundred yards. Waiting for the right moment, he resisted the impulse to activate it. Timing was everything.
A little closer…
He glanced neither right nor left, concentrating on his objective, yet at the same time he remained finely attuned to the sounds of the sleeping neighborhood. A quarter mile east, a late night traveler downshifted into a turn on Beverly Glen. Another plane passed overhead. A car engine coughed to life several blocks down.
Tonight will be my finest, he thought, a delicious awakening spreading through his body. The first two had been interesting, the third satisfying, but all had been somehow lacking. He had rushed, losing control when things got wet. Tonight he would take his time and make it last… at least till morning. This one would put him in the record books.
Close enough? Two more steps.
Now.
Depressing the button on the door-opener remote, Carns transmitted a modulated 370 megahertz signal that lasted exactly nine-tenths of a second, repeating its superimposed digital code once during that interval. As if by magic the garage door began rolling up on its tracks. A crack of light spilled onto the driveway, brightening as the opening grew larger. Carns smiled. Although disabling the opener light was a detail that circumstance had forced him to forego, a little welcoming illumination was nice. Hi, honey-I’m home!
Another car engine started somewhere behind him.
Time slowed to a crawl. With heart-stopping clarity, everything became keenly outlined in Carns’s mind, every detail delineated with an adrenaline plunge of terror. Headlights flicking on down the street. A car moving toward him, engine roaring, coming in fast. Another one’s tires churning in the gravel behind. Movement in the bushes. A door opening in a house nearby.
At that moment, Victor Carns knew. With a knowledge as certain as death, he knew.
He’d been tricked.
Keith Patterson had been on the Force six years. During that time he had drawn his service revolver only once in the line of duty, and even then he hadn’t fired. But he had his weapon out now. Tonight could be a first. He was ready.
The guy was fast. Keeping up with him and staying out of sight was proving tougher than expected. Patterson was still four houses back when Whiteman’s lights came on down at the intersection. Seconds later, Patterson heard Bottrell hitting the street.
Show time. Wait for the cars?
No. Do it.
“Freeze, asshole,” Patterson yelled, stepping around the hedge, his weapon in both hands. The man stopped in the middle of the street. Patterson started moving in, sights centered on the middle of the suspect’s back.
Gotta get closer. What the hell… the garage opening?
Quick as a weasel, the man bolted. Patterson tried to hold him in his sight plane, arms swinging in a smooth arc, leading him a hair, finger tightening on the trigger…
House.
Cursing, Patterson lowered his pistol and started running.
The man crossed the sidewalk at a full sprint, streaking for the garage. A motion detector tripped somewhere and a pair of house spotlights came on, flooding the driveway. Patterson saw Matthews racing across the lawn next door, not close enough to stop him. They were forty feet away when the man rolled under the garage door, which inexplicably had ceased its rise and was now descending. An instant later it thudded shut, leaving a thread of light seeping under the base.
Madison and Whiteman’s Ford squealed to a stop. Bottrell arrived a split second later, angling up the driveway just as Kinoshita joined the stunned group.
“Where is he?” shouted Bottrell.
“Inside,” yelled Patterson, starting around the side of the house. “Shit, I had him.”
“Where’d he go?” Bottrell demanded again.
“The bastard’s in the house,” answered Kinoshita. “Damn, he’s fast. He got in through the garage.”
“What do we do now, Sarge?”
Kinoshita considered long and hard. Everything had gone wrong. They were supposed to have taken the guy on the street. The guy getting past them and into the locked house was something they hadn’t considered. It was never even on the table. Now what?
Kinoshita knew he couldn’t afford to make another mistake. “Too risky to go in after him,” he said finally. “Bottrell, help Patterson cover the back. Whiteman and Matthews, take positions along either side of the house. Madison, get on the radio and call for backup. And tell them to send a hostage negotiator,” he added, withdrawing a cellular phone from his jacket pocket.
Seconds earlier, Carns had sprinted for the garage, seemingly the one place not crawling with cops. Still gripping the remote opener as he charged up the drive, he had then pushed the button to stop the door. He almost snagged his knapsack as he rolled under. Heart pounding, he hit the button again to cycle the garage door closed.
Once inside he took a deep, shuddering breath, fighting a wave of panic.
Can’t stay here.
Think.
Crabbing past the nearest car, Carns hurried to a door at the far end. It was unlocked. He paused at the adjacent electrical panel to flip off the breakers, tripping the dual banks with a double sweep of his hand. After pulling the pistol from his belt, he opened the door and slipped inside.
Upstairs?
No. He would be trapped there.
Hostages?
No good. They would eventually get him, hostages or not.
Out the back.
Carns rushed through the family room to the kitchen, where he recalled that a sliding glass door led to a patio behind the house.
Hurry.
