“You’re feeding them to the dogs.” His lips twitched as he skimmed a finger down the dent in her chin. “Why, Lieutenant. You excite me.”
“I figure they’ll be cleaning up the blood and bones for some time. And a lot of the blood and bones are going to be scattered throughout HSO. There’s all kinds of payback, Roarke.”
“Yes.” He slipped the weapon into his pocket so he could take her face in his hands, lay his lips on her brow. “There is. If this satisfies you, it’ll do me as well.”
“Then let’s go kick some righteous ass.”
It made it stickier, and just a little nerve-racking, to have Commander Whitney and Chief Tibble step into the operation as observers. She did her best to ignore them as she coordinated her personnel.
“Both protocol and courtesy demand that the HSO be informed if and when we verify the location of Blair Bissel,” Tibble commented.
“I’m not immediately concerned with protocol or courtesy, sir, but with the locating, restraining, and capture of a multiple-murder suspect. It’s entirely possible that other members of the HSO were involved in or privy to the plans and actions that involved three operatives. Informing the organization at this time of this operation may, in fact, compromise same if Bissel has some contact in-house.”
“You don’t believe he does, not for a minute. But it’s good,” Tibble said with a nod. “Logical, and you can be sure I’ll use that angle when the shit falls. You miss Bissel here, or fail to wrap him up tight, some of that shit will fall on you.”
“He’ll be wrapped.” She turned back to the monitors, marking the time. Waiting.
They were in a suite of offices one floor below LeBiss Consultants. The occupants had been swept out, and she only needed Roarke’s confirmation that the security in LeBiss and the penthouse level had been shut down to start the next stage.
“They’ll want to take him, Lieutenant,” Tibble added. “Move both him and Sparrow into federal territory.”
“Bet they will,” she started. “As long as they both face the murder and conspiracy to murder charges, I don’t care who locks the cage.”
“They’ll want it quiet. This sort of screw-up within their own ranks won’t play well with the public.”
Yeah, she thought, definitely stickier. “Are you ordering me to sweep this under the rug, Chief Tibble?”
“I’m giving no such order, Lieutenant. But I will point out that public statements regarding certain details of this case would be politically unwise.”
“I’ll bear that in mind.” She looked over as Roarke walked in.
“Done,” he said. “Your man’s blind and deaf. The elevator to the studio is disabled.”
“Acknowledged.” She picked up her communicator. “Dallas. I want those stairways blocked and manned. Do not, I repeat, do not move in on either target location. Begin evac.”
She gestured to the monitor. “Find him.”
“I’d like to scan and locate,” Reva said. “I’d like to man the controls on that.”
“That’s Feeney’s call.”
Feeney gave Reva a little pat on the shoulder and had to fight off the itch to run the program himself. “Go.”
She input the designated coordinates for LeBiss, configured for body heat imaging, then did a slow scan. “Nothing there.” Her voice shook a bit, but she cleared her throat and changed the coordinates for the penthouse.
When she saw the mass of red-and-orange light, she simply stared. “Target confirmed,” she said as Eve stepped forward. “He’s alone. Coordinates put him in the studio sector.”
“What’s this?” Eve demanded, circling a line of blue.
“Fire. Flame. Intense heat. He’s working.”
“He’s armed,” Roarke put in. “See here, this space, the angle and position on the body. “Side-arms, would be my guess.”
“Okay. Suit up.” She grabbed her own body armor.
“Bringing up audio. He’s got music on. Trash rock,” Reva said after a moment. “He’s excited, buzzed up,” she added. “He listens to that when he’s revving. He’s got a lot of metal in there. Equipment, works-in-progress. It’s going to be tricky to tell if any of what I’m getting is weaponry.”
“We assume he has it. Keep him locked.” Eve fit on her headset. “I want to know where he is and what he’s doing at all times. I want to know the instant the building’s clear. Let’s move into position.”
“Go.” Feeney spoke into his communicator. “Unit Six, this is base. Friendlies moving into your sector. I repeat, friendlies moving through.”
“They’ll give us the picture,” Eve began as they started toward the stairwell. “Weapons on stun. Dallas on the door,” she said into her headset, then opened the door to the stairwell.
The two-man crisis unit stood ready. “All quiet,” she was told.
“We stun him. I don’t want him drawing a weapon. Nobody gets hurt on this op. We put him down, restrain, and move him out clean.”
“I can get behind that,” McNab muttered.
A full frontal, she thought, all four through the same door, was too risky if he was armed.
“You and Peabody on the gallery door. Roarke will open the door between the sections by remote on my command. We’ll go in the studio door. Take him in a pincer. Move on my signal.”
She moved through the stairwell door, signaled McNab and Peabody to position on the other side of the corridor.
She could hear the progress of the evacuation through her headset. It was slow, but it was moving. She rolled her shoulders.
“Jesus, I hate these vests. Can they make them any more uncomfortable?”
“In another age, Lieutenant, you’d have been my knight in shining armor. And that protection you’d have hated a great deal more.”
“Could’ve taken him, probably could’ve taken him without the evac. Could wait, stake him out. He’s got to sleep sometimes. But…”
“Your instincts told you to move people out of harm’s way and take him now.”
She removed her headset, gestured at his. “If it’ll help you to be the one to take him down, I’ll hold back.”
He skimmed a fingertip along her jaw-line. “Soft on me, aren’t you?”
“Pretty much.”
“Same goes. And no, don’t hold back. It doesn’t matter who.”
“Okay, then.” She put her headset back in place. Then rolled on her toes a few minutes later when the all-clear came through.
“Peabody, on the door. Roarke, get them into the gallery.”
He keyed in on his remote. “Done.”
“Move in. Stay ready.” She took her position by the studio door, nodded to Roarke. “Go!”
She broke through the door, went in low with Roarke high beside her. An instant later, the door between sections opened and Peabody and McNab charged through.
Bissel stood by one of his sculptures, wearing a safety helmet and goggles, light body armor. And two hand blasters in a cross-body harness. He held a torch that spurted a thin line of flame.
“Police! Put your hands in the air. Do it now!”
“It’s not going to matter. Not going to matter.” He swept the torch toward Peabody and McNab, and jerked back as he was stunned.
“Not going to matter.” He tossed down the torch and flame bounced along the reflective surface of the floor. “I rigged this. Are you hearing me!” he shouted. “I’ve got a bomb. If you come at me, I’ll blow it. I’ll blow up half this building and everyone in it. You put down those weapons and listen to me.”
“I’m all ears, Blair.” She heard the order go out for Bombs and Explosives through her earpiece. “Where’s the bomb?”
“Put down your weapons.”
“I’m not going to do that.” She watched out of the corner of her eye as Roarke shifted, then crouched to retrieve the torch and turn it off. “You want me to listen, I’ll listen. Where’s the bomb? You could be bullshitting me. You want me to listen, you’ve got to tell me where it is.”