He turned his head back to the front and caught a glimpse of another figure positioned behind a tree ahead of the Suburbans. He could see the outline of a tactical helmet, so he knew it was one of their own, but it still unnerved him to see someone emerge from the darkness so quickly. The figure braced a scoped assault rifle against the tree, pointing toward the front of Petrovich's house. He felt a little better knowing that they had someone covering the assault run on the house. A few more feet and they should be in position. His headset crackled to life.
"Standby. Standby…Go. All teams. Go!"
The team attached to Suburban in front of him jumped to the pavement and sprinted toward the front door of Petrovich's house and Edwards scrambled out of the door, finally drawing his service pistol for the first time in two years. It had been a while since Special Agent Edwards had participated in a raid, and he found himself a little disoriented on the street. He ran around the front of the Impala, noticing that the passenger compartment light grossly illuminated his entire team. That stupid ass Ravenell had forgotten to turn off the interior lights, and now he'd probably have to endure some kind of a lecture from the SWAT guys.
He raced between two parked cars and sprinted through the shattered white picket fence gate, slowing as he approached the team. None of them acknowledged his approach. They were focused on their objective, which was a highly trained, extremely dangerous terrorist operative. The SWAT team finished stacking up on the front door, and Edwards just hoped they didn't kill Petrovich on sight.
Another team, just out of his sight behind a large evergreen bush to his right, swarmed around the mudroom door. He wasn't one hundred percent sure, since he had been excluded from the assault planning phase, but he thought there was another team around back doing the same thing. As soon as everyone at the front door stopped moving, he heard more reports on the radio, as each team reported that they were ready. The final round of reports unnerved him, and he felt his bladder loosen just slightly.
"All teams be advised, there is movement in the kitchen. Rear team will take this suspect. Stand by. Stand by. Breach. All teams. Breach."
The second SWAT member in line rushed the door carrying a portable battering ram, which resembled a thick metal cylinder with two handles on top. He swung the solid metal ram at a spot on the door just above the handle, and the door swung inward, releasing the acoustic guitar sounds of the Gypsy Kings into the neighborhood. The ram had barely receded from the open doorway before seven heavily armed men disappeared into the house.
Special Agent Edwards moved forward with the team onto the porch, but stopped when he heard crashing glass and screaming. He decided to stay out of the house until things calmed down, and he wasn't altogether convinced that the SWAT guys wouldn't try to knock him flat. He didn't like the way they looked at him.
Less than one minute passed before Edwards heard "all clear in the house" passed by the assault team commander. He holstered his weapon and entered the house, which had a warm, but purposefully constructed Pottery Barn feel. The Petrovich couple clearly hadn’t held back spending money on decorating their house. He noted a few expensively framed local prints set against the deep rust colored paint in the hallway that passed the stairs.
Edwards approached the warmly lit kitchen, where he heard an angry female voice spitting obscenities. As he entered the kitchen area, he noticed that one of the pendant lights over the kitchen island was swinging, and the deep blue glass casing of the light lay scattered on the dark brown granite. To his left, more shattered glass covered the small pine table and hardwood flooring in the small nook area right off the kitchen. A SWAT team member stood in the middle of an opening that used to be a sliding glass door, his assault rifle pointed downward at the deck, but still in a ready grip.
Shards of broken glass crackled under Special Agent Edwards
"Careful. She moves quick," said one of the black clad officers near the mudroom door.
An athletic woman, dressed in black running shorts and a jog bra, lie pressed to the hardwood floor by two men in full body armor and tactical gear. The woman's face, covered by her luxurious brown hair, was jammed against the dark pine planks by one of the men's thick, gloved hands. He really wanted to the see the face attached to this woman's body. He saw a few shards of blue glass from the pendant light near one of the officer's boots, and hoped they hadn't jammed her face down on any glass. If they did, she was taking the pain pretty well. He suddenly liked the possibility of her taking pain. Another agent kneeled on her lower back, struggling to tighten the black zip tie surrounding her wrists. She struggled against the men, and almost turned over onto her side.
"Will someone fucking sit on her legs!" the officer attempting to cuff her shouted, and another SWAT officer edged past the refrigerator and nearly jumped down on her legs.
The woman cried out in pain and gave it one more try, nearly toppling the guy working on her hands. She was strong, and Edwards felt strangely aroused. He wanted to be on top of her, and had to use every ounce of self-restraint he possessed to keep himself from making the suggestion. They'd laugh him out of the house, and frankly, he was better off where he stood. Right now, she looked like she could snap him in half.
"Hit her with the stun gun!" yelled the officer on her back, then mumbled, "Calm this bitch down."
"Sergeant! We need to hit her with the zapper!" another officer yelled into the house.
Sergeant Jimmy Haldron ran into the kitchen from the family room, pushed Edwards aside, and quickly assessed the situation. He leaned down toward the woman's head to speak to her.
"Hey, calm down ma'am. This is over. There's nothing you can do about your situation right now, except calm down. We don't want to hurt you, but we need you to take it easy. We're not here for you, and if you calm down, you'll be released once we finish our job here. Can you help me with this?" he said, in a calm, authoritative voice.
The woman stopped twisting, and seemed to melt into the flooring. The officer on her back pressed down harder, yanking the twist ties deeply into her wrists, causing her to gasp.
"Donnelly! Take it easy," Sergeant Haldron said, and gave him a pissed off look.
"We'll get those off you soon. Everyone is a little amped up here," he said.
Edwards decided he would step in at this point and take charge of the situation, now that SWAT was no longer needed. He couldn't wait to dismiss these idiots from the scene.
"Sergeant, have your men move her over into the family room, on the couch. I assume Petrovich isn't here?" said Edwards.
"No. His car is gone, and the house is clear. My teams are checking for hidden compartments," he said, and directed orders to his men, "Get her up, and bring her over here."
"Have your men start working the neighborhood for leads. I'll deal with her," said Edwards, excited about starting his interrogation of Jessica Petrovich.
"My men aren't going door to door. We've got detectives and patrol officers for that. You want a couple of my guys to stand by while you talk to her?" said Haldron, looking him square in the eye.
"Probably not a bad idea. She seems a little feisty," admitted Edwards.
"Feisty? She came at me with some kind of judo chop," said the officer pinning her head to the floor.
"This Nazi stormtrooper tried to butt stroke me with his rifle. I was just standing there," hissed the woman.
"She came at me with a weapon," said the officer.
"I was about to have some yogurt when you crashed through the glass. Sorry if I couldn't react fast enough to drop the spoon in my hand," she said, in a voice muffled by her squished face.