Predictable behavior was easily manipulated, and he leaned back in his seat to wait.
Chapter 44
The last time Daniels had ridden inside an armored vehicle was during a hostage rescue at Hogan’s Alley, a fake town inside of Quantico. The FBI used the town, built by Hollywood set designers, to train agents in a variety of law enforcement techniques, including simulated rescues.
That was years ago, and she’d forgotten how hot the interiors were. There were five other agents crammed inside. Each wore a bulletproof vest and helmet, and carried an assault rifle. Like her, sweat poured off their bodies.
They braked, and she stuck her face to the bulletproof glass. The second armored vehicle had stopped to allow the agents inside to jump out, and bang on the front doors of the homes on RichJo Lane. They were clearing the neighborhood in case the Outlaws decided to shoot it out.
Homeowners emerged and fled down the street, clutching pets to their chests. When the last person had been evacuated, her vehicle resumed moving ahead.
Reaching Earl’s, the driver blocked the entrance. She and her team got out, as did Baldini’s team, and everyone took up positions behind the vehicles. Two sharpshooters scurried into the parking lot, and also took up positions.
It had been agreed that Baldini would use a bullhorn to tell the Outlaws they were under arrest, and to come outside with their hands in the air. When the announcement did not happen, she wondered if the bullhorn was malfunctioning.
To her surprise, the bullhorn was passed to her.
“What’s going on?” she asked.
“Special Agent Baldini lost his voice,” the agent beside her said.
“You’re kidding me.”
“Afraid not,” the agent said.
Loss of motor skills was a result of panicking, and she wondered if Baldini had ever participated in a hostage rescue before. He was big on the talk, but he couldn’t walk the walk. She turned the bullhorn on, and raised it to her lips.
“This is Special Agent Daniels with the FBI. You are under arrest. I am ordering you to come out single file, with your arms in the air.” She paused, and saw a face in a window. She’d gotten their attention and continued. “You can make this hard, or you can make this easy. It’s up to you.”
She lowered the bullhorn to her side. The restaurant’s front door swung open, and a large man all in black came out, and did a quick appraisal of the situation. He slipped back inside, and the door closed behind him.
“Who was that guy?” the agent beside her asked.
“Dexter Hudson, the ringleader.”
“What do you think he’s doing?”
“He’s talking it over with his mates. He knows that running is futile, and so is shooting it out. He’s going to convince them to surrender.”
“You think so?”
“Yes. I’ve seen it before. Just give him a minute.”
Time went fast when you were having fun, and it crawled when you weren’t. Daniels counted the seconds on her watch, and when a minute had slipped away, she raised the bullhorn. “Time’s up. Either come out, or we’re coming in.”
The door opened, and Dexter emerged holding his hands in the air. He appeared bemused by his predicament.
“What seems to be the problem here?” he said in a loud voice.
“You and your friends are under arrest,” Daniels said through the bullhorn.
“Arrest? We’re having breakfast, for Christ’s sake. And this is private property. You and your friends are trespassing. Please leave.”
“Keep your hands where I can see them, and start walking toward me.”
He stubbornly shook his head. “I think you’ve got the wrong address, ma’am.”
“I don’t think so. Is your name Dexter Hudson?”
The bemused look vanished. “What if it is?”
“Then I have the right address. Start walking.”
“Not until I know what the charges are.”
“Kidnapping and human trafficking, fourteen counts, and two counts of murder. And violating the terms of your parole. Is that enough for you?”
The party was over, and his shoulders sagged.
“Promise you won’t shoot me, or my friends,” he said, sounding scared.
“You have my word. Just don’t do anything stupid.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it.”
Before Dexter could take his first step, there was a loud pop that sounded like a firecracker going off, followed by three more pops in rapid succession. Dexter doubled at the waist, then lifted his head, his eyes filled with rage.
“You fucking bitch!” he shouted.
Daniels froze. None of the agents had let off a round.
“Wait!” she said.
It was too late. Dexter dropped his hands and pulled up the front of his shirt. He drew a pistol with lightning speed, and got off a round. The bullet hit the roof of the armored vehicle Daniels was standing behind, the sound echoing around them.
The snipers cut Dexter down. The front of his shirt became filled with holes, and he fell backward through the open door and disappeared. The restaurant’s front windows were broken out by the men inside, who’d decided to shoot it out.
Then all hell broke loose.
Chapter 45
Still in his car, Lancaster watched the shootout on his cell phone. It wasn’t as good as being there, but it was close enough.
By jacking up the audio, he was able to hear the bullets tear into the restaurant, and rip apart the men inside. Because his driver’s window was down, he could also hear the gunfight on a slight delay. It was like listening to stereo.
He had never done victory dances as a soldier or a cop, but he felt like doing one now. The world was a safer place with these men gone, and he was happy to have been a part of it. Because the surveillance cameras were pointed at the street, he could see Beth and the other FBI agents, and it did not appear they had suffered any casualties.
He alternated watching the four feeds on his phone. One by one, the FBI’s bullets blew the cameras out, until he was down to a single feed. The camera was on a gutter on the south side of the restaurant, facing slightly down.
He saw smoke. At first, he didn’t know where it was coming from. Then it dawned on him that the restaurant had caught on fire.
The sound of bullets diminished, until there were none. The gutter fell off the side of the building, and the feed went dark.
The fire engines came from the south and blew past him. He shut his eyes and imagined the burning restaurant filled with corpses. The only piece of evidence he was worried about was the hotspot in the tree. Even if an investigator discovered the device, it would be difficult to piece together what he’d done.
Trent called him ten minutes later.
“Mission accomplished.”
“Any casualties?”
“No, sir. We caught them eating breakfast. They never heard us board.”
“How many were there?”
“Four.”
“Where did you leave them?”
“We tied them up to four fishing chairs on the stern. One of my guys stuffed bread in their shirt pockets. When we left, the gulls were harassing them.”
It was a wonderful image, and he savored it.
“What about the victims? What condition are they in?” he asked.
“They were locked in their rooms down below. We spoke to them through the doors, and they sounded okay. I considered letting them out, but I was afraid they’d beat their captors to death with frying pans, and I didn’t want that on my hands.”