“And wait for SWAT,” Hurdle said. “Back in the truck—now.”
That seemed like a sound plan.
Until automatic gunfire erupted.
Rounds struck the ground by Vail’s feet and the tree trunks nearest her head. Lacking any cover, she and Ramos fled back toward his car.
Holy Jesus. What a choice. Do I want to get shot or do I want to step on an IED?
They made it back to the Toyota, its sides and windshield now pocked with large holes.
“Sonofabitch!” Ramos said as they got into the truck. “I’m still making payments!”
“Keep your head down,” Vail said over the cacophony of gunfire. “Stay behind the engine block.”
“And pray he doesn’t hit the fuel line.”
“I’d pray that none of the rounds hits us. Much more likely scenario.”
“Aren’t you the optimist,” Ramos said, struggling to stay low.
Vail was doing the same. She had twisted her body and was now facing the back of the Toyota, kneeling on the floor, elbows on the seat. “You have the cell for the SWAT commander? We’ve gotta warn them they could be driving into a minefield.”
“Text Hurdle, he might have a way of contacting them.”
She did just that and got an immediate reply:
already done
Two minutes later, the armored SWAT truck slowly crested the hill and pulled in well behind Hurdle’s SUV. They activated the PA system and directed Booker Gaines to throw down his weapon and come out with his hands on his head.
Gaines responded by treating the SWAT vehicle to the same bodywork that Ramos’s Toyota received—but with a far different result. Designed to stop .50-caliber ball ammo, the Bearcat’s half-inch steel shell and four-layer bulletproof glass absorbed the pounding well.
A moment later, the SWAT commander ordered them forward. They did not stop in front of the trailer, however. With a sniper in the Bearcat’s turret and officers at the ready in the gun ports on its sides, they deployed the ram at the front of the Bearcat and punctured the short end of the cargo container, ripping off the metal siding as if it were the lid of a tin can.
Now exposed, Booker Gaines was standing there, assault rifle tucked against his shoulder, looking very much like a man at a crossroads in his life: challenge the SWAT team, which had just proven it was not going to be bullied, or surrender and spend arguably the best remaining years of his life behind bars.
He moved left and another man was visible in the dust fog: Vail believed it to be Scott MacFarlane.
The officers launched penetrating rounds of CS gas, a riot control agent that causes a burning irritation of the eyes, nose, and throat. They tore into the open end of the barricade, a dense, smoky haze filling the interior.
Vail counted the seconds, expecting to see Gaines and MacFarlane driven from the trailer, hands interlinked behind their necks. Instead, they ran forward in tandem, through the gaseous cloud, weapons blazing.
That was the last action the men took, as two SWAT officers opened fire.
“WAIT HERE,” the SWAT commander said as they got back in the Bearcat and then drove up to the log cabin.
“Maybe you should run after the truck,” Vail said to Ramos. “Through the minefield. Seems like your kind of gig.”
He looked at her but did not reply.
“You could’ve gotten us killed.”
“You didn’t have to follow me,” Ramos said. “You made your choice.”
“You made it an impossible choice. I couldn’t let you go alone. Anything happened, I would’ve had a really tough time living with myself.”
“Whatever. Rationalize it any way you want.”
“You know what, Ramos? You really disappoint me. Partner with someone else.” Vail walked away and joined Hurdle behind his SUV.
“Everything okay?”
Vail kept her gaze focused on the Bearcat as it pulled up in front of its target. “Everything’s great.”
“Didn’t look like it. You and Ram—”
“I said everything’s great. We just had a disagreement.”
“Fire!” Tarkoff started toward the open end of the trailer—then stopped, no doubt remembering the potential mines. “Anyone got an extinguisher?”
Vail pulled out her phone. “Calling it in. Doubt FD will get here before the blaze takes out everything in that sardine can. But they can prevent it from spreading to the forest.”
“The trees and flora are draped in snow and ice,” Hurdle said. “I don’t think there’s much of a risk.”
She reported their location and then watched as SWAT encircled the cabin.
“You think Gaines or MacFarlane set that fire?” Morrison asked.
“Not necessarily. It can happen from SWAT’s gas canisters.” As she started to reholster her phone, it buzzed in her hand. A red alarm icon was blinking, informing her that Jasmine’s tracker was back online.