Talley bent close to the boy.
“Are the disks still up in your room?”
“Yeah. With my computer.”
Talley pointed at Mikkelson waiting in the cul-de-sac, and pushed the kids through the door.
“Go to her. Go!”
Talley waited to see that both kids ran toward the cars, then he slipped up the stairs. The air on the second floor was dense with smoke so thick that it choked the beam from his flashlight to a dull glow. He couldn’t see more than a few feet. He worked his way along the wall and found Rooney lying outside the first door. Red bubbles clustered on Rooney’s chest and mouth like glass mushrooms. Talley couldn’t tell if he was dead or alive, and didn’t take the time to check. He kicked Rooney’s pistol away, then looked in the first room long enough to realize that it belonged to Jennifer. He moved down the hall. The second room belonged to the boy. Talley found his computer on the floor at the far side of the bed. One disk sat on the floor, the other in a disk drive beside the keyboard. Talley held the light close to read their labels, his heart pounding, and saw that he had them-Disk One and Disk Two; the only leverage he had that could save his family!
“Talley!”
Talley jerked at the voice, then saw that Martin was standing in the door. Her helmet was cinched tight and her pistol was at her side.
“Did you find them?”
He joined her. The smoke was heavier now. Talley saw flames at the end of the hall.
“Where’s Jones?”
“They’re tearing up the office. They haven’t found the disks.”
“The boy had them in his room.”
Talley showed her the disks. He wanted to find a way out without seeing Jones and started for the stairs. Martin grabbed his arm. She brought up her gun.
“Give them to me.”
He was startled by her tone. He glanced at the gun, then saw that Martin was watching him with anxious eyes.
“What are you talking about?”
“Give me the disks.”
He glanced at the gun again, and knew with certainty that Benza owned her.
Talley shook his head.
“When did they get to you?”
She thumbed off the safety lever.
“Give me the disks, Talley. You’ll get your family.”
He knew that he wouldn’t. He knew that once Benza was safe, anyone who knew anything about Smith’s relationship to Sonny Benza would die.
Talley stepped back, holding the disks at his side. Once she had the disks she would kill him. It would be easier that way.
“Where’s Jones?”
“Still downstairs. He doesn’t even know.”
“What are you going to do, Martin? Tell them I was shot in the confusion? You going to blame Krupchek and Rooney?”
“If I have to.”
“How much are they paying you?”
“More than you’ll ever know.” She raised the gun higher.
“Now give me the disks.”
The flames crept up the stairwell at the end of the hall. Talley saw their twisting red glow through the smoke, and something moving in the glow.
“Give me the disks, Talley. It’s the only way to get out of this alive.”
A shadow lifted itself from the floor.
“Rooney’s alive.”
Her eyes flicked once to the side, then came back to him. She didn’t believe him.
“Give me the disks!”
Dennis Rooney lurched into the light, eyes glassy and dripping with blood. He had found his gun.
“Martin!”
She turned, but not in time. Rooney fired before she could swing her gun to him. Something hard slapped Talley in the chest. The next bullet caught Martin in the thigh, and the third in the cheek beneath her right eye.
Martin spun slowly into the smoke as Talley drew his weapon and fired.
25
Saturday, 2:41 A.M.
TALLEY
The heavy bullet from Talley’s combat pistol bounced Dennis Rooney off the wall, leaving a gory smear of blood. Talley planted a knee in Rooney’s chest and knocked away his gun, but this time Rooney was dead. Talley listened for the sound of Jones’s team coming up the stairs, but he couldn’t hear anything over the crackling, snapping sound of the fire.
He radioed Mikkelson.
“You got the kids?”
“We heard shots!”
“Do you have the kids?”
“Yes, sir. They’re safe.”
“The FBI agents took out a wounded man. Three of them went to their van.”
“Ah, roger. We saw that.”
Talley’s mind raced. He had taken the offensive, and now he had to finish the assault. Time was his enemy. He had to take the fight to the Watchman and press his advantage.
“Get Jorgenson and Cooper. If Larry’s back, get him, too. Arrest them. Strip their radios and cell phones, cuff them, and don’t let them communicate with anyone.”
“Ah, arrest the FBI?”
“They’re not FBI. Arrest them, Mikki. They are armed and dangerous, so you watch your ass. Have someone bring them to the jail, but do not-I repeat, do not-let them talk to anyone: no phone calls, no press, no lawyers, nothing. Don’t tell anyone about this. Do you understand?”
“Ah, sure, Chief.”
“Stand by.”
Everything now depended on speed. The Watchman might learn that his people were being arrested, but his information would be spotty and incomplete; he wouldn’t know what had happened or why, so he wouldn’t act against Jane and Amanda until he knew the details. Talley was counting on that. He was betting his family on it. If Talley had any hope of saving his family, he had to do it before the Watchman knew what he was doing.
Talley pushed the disks under his vest and ran to the stairwell. The fire in the entry had jumped to the stairs and was climbing the walls. The smoke was a twisting orange haze. Talley crept down the stairs with his eyes on the office, then crossed to the door just as one of Jones’s men stepped out. Talley aimed at his face, touching his own lips to motion the man quiet, then stripped his pistol and MP5. Talley handcuffed him and pushed him into the office.
Jones was frantically searching the floor around the desk, his flashlight beam dim in the haze; the drawers had been pulled, their contents scattered. The second man was stripping books from the shelves. They both looked up when Talley pushed the first man to the floor.
Talley trained his gun on them. He no longer felt the fire’s heat; he was so amped on adrenaline and fear that he was totally focused on the two men in front of him.
“Hands on your heads, lace your fingers, turn around with your backs to me.”
Jones said, “What the fuck are you doing?”
The second man swung his MP5, but Talley squared him with a round, the heavy .45 punching through his vest. Talley had fired ten thousand practice rounds a year every year on the LAPD’s combat training range when he was with SWAT. He didn’t have to think about it.
Talley brought his gun back to Jones.
“Lace your fingers. Now!”
Jones raised his hands, then slowly turned. He laced his fingers over the top of his head.
“You’re fucking up, Talley. They’ve got your family.”
Talley stripped the second man of his weapons, never taking his gun from Jones. He tossed the weapons to the side, checked the pulse in the man’s neck, then went to Jones. He took his pistol and MP5, tossed them with the others, then ripped the power cord from Smith’s computer. He forced Jones onto his belly, then pulled his hands behind his back. He pressed the gun to Jones’s neck.
“Move, I’ll fucking kill you.”
Talley planted his knee in the small of Jones’s back, then tied his wrists. He wanted to get Jones out of the house, but he didn’t want to do it on television. He keyed his radio.
“Mikki?”
“Jesus, Chief, are you all right? We heard more shots.”
“Have the firemen move in, then roll your car to the back of the house on Flanders Road. Meet me there.”