21
"You've lost containment. Shut the operation down now."
Darnell Freeman spun to face Garfield Kromly. "Shut the fuck up. This is an FBI operation, and I will be making all the operational decisions."
But Kromly persisted. "Look, Freeman, just have your team back off temporarily to regroup. We want Jack, but only on our terms."
"We have him cornered now, and I am damn sure not backing off just because he started running before he got all the way to the preplanned kill zone. In a few more minutes, the taskforce will have moved to surround Fuller Lodge. In the meantime, he is pinned down on the second floor, shooting wildly."
Kromly stepped in close, his eyes ablaze. "Listen to me, for God's sake. Gregory doesn't shoot wildly. Something is drastically wrong in there."
Freeman turned his back on Kromly, facing toward the situational displays and communications equipment that filled one corner of the taskforce command center. He keyed the mike on the command radio.
"Gibson. What's your ETA?"
The speakers crackled. "We should have everyone in position in about two more minutes."
"Good. As soon as you do, have Alpha team sweep around the left flank and cover the back side of the lodge. Let Bravo and Charlie teams cover the front and right."
There was a pause on the other end of the radio.
Freeman keyed the mike again. "Gibson, did you copy that last transmission?"
"Shit. Something new is happening. I have a couple hundred civilians running out the front door."
"God damn it. He'll be mixed in with them. Get them directed to a holding area."
"No way. We're still taking fire from the second floor window. All the civies are scattering like wild rabbits. I think a couple of them are down."
Freeman cursed then keyed the mike again. "If he's firing, then he's on the second floor. Put some suppressive fire into that room."
"What if he has hostages up there?"
"God damn it, Gibson! He's shooting into a crowd of people. Put some suppressive fire up there and then take him down as soon as you have all the teams in position."
"Roger."
Freeman slammed down the microphone to stare at the situational displays. The green dots indicated the GPS position of every member of the taskforce. The last of Charlie team had just made their way into position for the assault, having had the farthest to travel from where they had been prepositioned at the planned takedown location.
The other radios in the room were filled with chatter, monitoring the inter-team tactical communications from Fuller Lodge. Now they had new problems. A host of squad cars from the Los Alamos Police Department had arrived on the scene and his teams were having to expend resources to keep them out of the way. Although advance coordination had been made with the local authorities, it had not included this unexpected detour into a wedding ceremony at Fuller Lodge.
A quick glance at his watch told Freeman more than he wanted to know about how things were going. They were almost eight minutes into the operation and still hadn't really gotten things started. Jesus, what a cluster fuck. The thought of what Kromly had said crossed his mind, but he angrily dismissed it a second time. Too late for that now.
The CIA man now stood off to one side, slowly shaking his head. Well, fuck him, thought Freeman. They still had plenty of firepower to get the job done, and the last thing he needed now was more advice.
Finally, the little dots on the screen were moving out toward their designated assault positions. But something about Alpha team looked wrong. Two of the lead dots had stopped moving before reaching their assigned locations. Suddenly, the radios were alive with chatter.
"Two officers down. Christ. Someone just killed Jonesy and Christopher." The sound of automatic weapon fire drowned out the remainder of his words.
Gibson's voice broke in. "Bravo Team. Where the hell is the suppressive fire onto that second floor?"
Another radio squawked. "Damn it, we're pounding the hell out of it. We've launched five gas grenades in there too."
Gibson's excited voice shifted to the other channel. "Alpha team? Where is the fire coming from?"
This time a different voice answered. "Shit. Get us some backup. We've got two more down over here. I can't tell where the hell the fire is coming from."
"Bill, can you get to your wounded?"
The other man's breathing was coming in ragged gasps. "We don't have any wounded. The bastard is shooting everyone in the head. Get us some fucking help over here or there won't be anybody left."
"Bravo, move over to support Alpha," Gibson's voice cracked with stress.
Suddenly, Freeman felt Kromly's hand grip his arm. He swung his eyes to meet those of the old CIA trainer.
"You don't have much time," said Kromly in a voice devoid of emotion. “Jack is on their flank, rolling them up like ducks in a shooting gallery."
"That was before we got the gas into the building."
"God damn it, Freeman, you stupid asshole. Don't you get it? Jack isn't in the building. He's out there somewhere among your men and he's hunting. Don't send more of them to him."
"Kromly, you're not telling me something. Why all the head shots?"
Suddenly, the Bravo team radios began to chatter. One of their men was down, but it was unclear where the shot had come from.
As much as it galled him and despite the fact that he knew this meant the end of his career, Darnell Freeman knew where his duty lay. It lay with those men out there, who put their lives on the line for their country every day of the week, those men who were getting butchered by the abomination called Jack Gregory. He picked up the microphone.
"Gibson, this is Freeman. Pull Bravo team back now."
"Sir?"
"You heard me. We've lost containment on Gregory. Get your men back to where they can establish a defensible perimeter and await further instructions. And keep those Los Alamos cops out of there too."
Having finished with Gibson, Freeman switched to another frequency. They may have lost Gregory for the moment, but taking down the other four members of his team would help take some of the sting out of it. He would, no doubt, be fired tomorrow, but that man had killed some good agents, some of them men he had known personally. It was now time to close the other two traps and bring home some of the vengeance that the FBI was owed.
He picked up the SATCOM radio handset and spoke the words that would set the other two parts of the taskforce into motion. Fifty miles away in Santa Fe and just a few miles down the road in Los Alamos, two other special assault units moved into action.