Fearless Leader (Juxtapose City) (2 page)

He reached down and removed the questing hand from his pants, placing it firmly outside his jacket. "Stop it."

He knew Jake was glowering behind him but he didn't care. The man's emotional swings were beyond him. Jake was five years older than he was, yet Black invariably felt like the mature one of their relationship. He often questioned why he bothered.

He drove down a winding alley that grew progressively narrower. They turned a corner, the roar of the motorcycle echoing off the crumbling brick walls of the City-sponsored housing. Black switched his headset to the police's broadcast. Following the directions he heard, he stopped the motorcycle outside of a fire-darkened walkup. A large black van with one-way glass windows and no visible plates was parked in front.

Jake quickly dismounted, pulling off his helmet to study the van. "R&R?" he asked, surprised. "Didn't know Sola was with Recovery." His voice held a hint of grudging respect.

Black locked their helmets and checked his gun. "Captain Dickerson wouldn't recommend a sidewalk jockey."

The other man shrugged, quickly pulling out his own weapon. "Still... Recon and Recovery gets some pretty heavy shit. Some guys might not wanna leave it."

Black said nothing. He clipped on his headset and listened for a moment. "Third floor," he said.

Falling into a practiced motion that was second nature, the two men entered the stairwell and methodically made their way up, guns extended. Long attuned to each other's movements and signals, not a word was spoken as they carefully approached the target floor. They paused at the base of the third floor stairs while Black spoke quietly into his mouthpiece. They waited in the dark, the occasional sound of a radio or television set drifting down the hallways as residents opened and closed doors.

Black, already in a crouch in the shadows, shifted his sights when he caught movement above him.

"Black."

He straightened at the whisper. Jake stood as well. They climbed the rest of the stairs and found a man dressed in combat gear and holding an assault rifle standing on the landing. Black glimpsed the other man's face in the darkness. "McCahill."

The other man's eyes gleamed with anger. "You're the last person I want to see around here, let me tell you that," he growled. The leader of the R&R team motioned towards one of the hallways snaking away from the stairs. "We're moving in now. You came just in time for the show."

Black nodded and he and Jake followed a discreet distance behind McCahill as R&R's leader jogged quietly down the thinly carpeted hallway. Black knew the basics of the mission: a kidnapping victim was being held by three males in one of the apartments. The kidnappers had rapid-fire weapons but no positive count on how many. No ransom demands had been made but JCPD had tracked the kidnappers via their communication devices.

Dickerson had called in R&R to end it as quietly as possible.

McCahill motioned for them to slow up. Black and Jake approached cautiously until Black made out the black figures of the R&R team huddled together in preparation to ram the apartment door at the end of the hallway. Black halted, content to watch from where he and Jake stood. From their angle he would be able to see into the room when the agents rushed inside.

McCahill joined his team and hand signals were exchanged. There was an audible gathering of breaths before the team exploded into motion. Loud shouting intended to confuse and surprise superseded the men as they rammed into the apartment. Like a black snake, the train of men slid inside, flashes illuminating the room as guns, equipped with laser sighting, quickly took out the kidnappers.

It was smooth and graceful, not a single step or bullet wasted. Black was impressed. Through the doorway he watched the agents secure the apartment and subdue any subjects who hadn't been taken down by gunfire. If it had been JC2 in there there wouldn't have been anyone left alive to concern themselves with.

After the apartment had been cleared, Black and Jake carefully stepped inside. A small lamp had been turned on, illuminating the gray ring of gunpowder and smoke that circled the living room. Two of the perpetrators lay dead on the floor beside a sagging green sofa. A third man was pinned beneath the knee of an agent in the doorway leading to the kitchen. Sobs could be heard from one of the two bedrooms to the left. Blood painted a red arc across a poster of the Turandot Bridge pinned above the television set.

Six sets of eyes bright with the exhilaration of the recent gunfight jumped to Black and Jake as they entered. Gloved hands regretfully eased off of triggers.

"What's JC2 doing here?" one of the men demanded, lifting his helmet to wipe at his brow.

Black didn't answer, scanning the scene with a critical eye.

"Prick," muttered another agent.

Jake stepped slightly in front of Black, an imposing figure even in jeans and a leather jacket. "Got something to say, say it aloud."

The one who'd spoken last raised his voice. "I said what's JC2 come to do, fuck this up too?"

"Shut your fucking mouth or I'll teach you how it's done," Jake snarled

"Sure," sneered one of the other agents. "Just like in the Blue Square, huh? Great example."

"You little--"

"Sergeant." Black caught his teammate's arm, halting his forward surge. "This isn't the place." Ignoring his fuming teammate, Black looked to McCahill. "You going back to the station?"

McCahill shook his head, bitterness darkening his face. He knew why Black was here. "Not until later in the afternoon. Dickerson wants us to wait. He's coming down. Wants to do an on-scene interrogation." He spit on the stained carpet, making no qualms about showing his displeasure. "He wants you to wait for him. Says you can do your 'business' here."

Black hid his surprise, conscious of the other men's eyes upon him. He didn't know if the members of McCahill's team knew that he was here to lure away one of their own but he was aware of their animosity all the same. He had a reputation in the JCPD. It didn't make him many friends.

He mulled over Dickerson's order. On-scene interrogations were rare. They usually only occurred when there was a deadline of some sort. Ransoms and bomb-threats were the usual cases. As far as Black was aware there had been only one hostage victim involved and no demand for ransom. If the loud wailing coming from the bedroom was any indication she had definitely been found alive.

Not realizing that he did it, he rubbed at his temples, willing away the ache in his head that had faded to a dull throb since the day of the explosion. He sensed that something was up but his fogged mind, hazy from lack of sleep the last few days, refused to follow the trail.

"Black?"

Jake's questioning tone, shaded with concern, made him drop his hand. "Fine," he said to McCahill, "we'll wait for the captain here. I'll want to speak to Sola then."

"Assuming he wants to speak to you," McCahill grumbled, turning away. It was an empty threat. Black was the commanding officer of JC2, a group more important in the hierarchy of special teams than R&R. Sola didn't have a choice.

Paying little attention to the way McCahill's team glared at him, he walked to the first bedroom and stood in the doorway. A young woman in her mid-twenties was wrapped in a police issue blanket, sitting on the edge of a bed. At her feet kneeled an R&R agent who spoke to her in hushed tones. He was using speech-to-text on his PRU or Personal Retrieval Unit to record her responses.

Behind the kneeling man stood another, still helmeted, who watched the scene with a blank expression. He had the cold, hard look of a professional soldier. Short, clipped brown hair topped a tanned face sharpened with horizontal wrinkles. He was not an old man since special teams enforced age limitations, but his blue-grey eyes were grim like those of a seasoned veteran. From the file he had been given on the man Black knew that the agent was an avid hunter. He liked to release his pent-up aggressions by stalking prey in the country outside Juxtapose City.

Jake read the white lettering stenciled on the man's helmet. "Sola. Hell, he even looks like an asshole, Black."

"He's good at his job," Black replied.

"Good at bein' an asshole, probably."

Black's eyes roamed over the woman currently shivering beneath the blanket. He didn't recognize her and he knew from his briefing that she wasn't a high profile victim. Just an ordinary, if somewhat attractive woman caught in the wrong place at the wrong time. So why did this case require Dickerson to be here personally?

Black left Jake frowning at their potential new recruit and returned to the living room. McCahill's agents were busy rummaging through the apartment. The cleanup crew -- site investigators and representatives from the medical examiner's office -- wouldn't be called. Black didn't bat an eye as he watched the scene and its evidence being disturbed. This would be just another mission that would quietly disappear beneath the rug.

He leaned back against a wall, crossing his arms and watching the men work. Some occasionally sent him suspicious, uneasy glances, which he returned dispassionately. He was used to it. Since being given command of JC2 Black had fallen prey to the hungry bite of the police department’s rumor-mill. Not that he ever listened or cared what anyone said of him behind his back but he was aware of it. He paid too much attention to the things that went on around him to be ignorant of his notoriety.

His ears picked up the sound of heavy tread outside in the hallway. He recognized it immediately. McCahill's men were alert as well, all eyes turning to the doorway and to the bulky man who filled it.

Captain Dickerson. The closest thing to a father that Black had ever known.

"Captain," he murmured, inclining his head slightly.

The older man smirked slightly at the show of respect. "How are you, Black? Don't see you much at the station these days."

Black was supposed to check-in weekly with Dickerson but had favored connecting to the captain's computer, instead. He would never admit it to the older man but the less he interacted with Dickerson, the better. He saw him enough as it was. Besides, everything Black needed to know about JC2's missions, past and present, could be found via computer. He didn't see the need for frequent face-to-face meetings.

"Been occupied," he replied, unapologetic. "McCahill says you're conducting an on-scene interrogation tonight?"

The captain chuckled, wiping a hand across his head. Beads of moisture had gathered on the thinning threads of gray-brown hair which Black suspected was due to a return of the rain that had abated last night. Dickerson's dark blue eyes, set within a strong face that had nevertheless succumbed to time and gravity, were amused as they regarded Black.

"Always so damned eager to get to the chase, eh, lieutenant?"

If they weren't in the company of R&R Black might have smiled. "Just curious, sir. Not a normal occurrence. I had expected to meet you back at the station to discuss the transfer of Sergeant Sola."

"Which, excuse me for saying, sir, is total bullshit!" McCahill said in a hissed undertone. "Sergeant Sola is
my
man. He's been with R&R for over a year. He's an integral part of my team. Losing him would be a huge blow to us."

Dickerson raised a hand impatiently, apparently familiar with the other man's arguments. "Can it, McCahill. We've been over this already and I'm done with it. You can cull another member from one of the other teams. JC2 needs him and that's final."

"Fuckin' bullshit," McCahill mumbled again as he stalked away.

Black waited for him to leave before turning once more to the Captain. "Why are you here? I'd planned on doing this at the station. Not in front of McCahill's team."

Dickerson's eyes panned over the men of R&R, knowledgeable eyes cataloging their movements. "Sundhill is there," he said, nodding a greeting to one of the men. "Thought you'd prefer to avoid his interference."

Black frowned at the mention of JC1's team leader. Few people unnerved Black as much as the charismatic leader of their rival team. Still, Sundhill's presence at the station wasn't enough to make Black go out of his way to avoid the place. That would be conceding defeat of a sorts.

Dickerson seemed to understand this. "It's
my
business I don't want him poking his nose in," the captain explained as he returned his attention to Black. "It's better handled here."

The captain was being deliberately vague which didn't surprise Black. Having been trained by the older man for the last seven years he had learned patience when faced with the man's circuitous methods. He fell into a frustrated silence as Jake emerged from the bedroom.

"Captain Dickerson, surprised to see you, sir."

"Sergeant Cole." Dark eyes swiftly took inventory of the younger man. "How're the ribs?" No condolences over lost teammates. Those had already been spoken and would not be repeated again.

"Healing fine, sir. Doctor says I'll be ready for full duty by the end of the week." Jake's eyes slid to Black, noting his silence. "Unexpected seeing you here, Captain. May I ask who's doing the interrogation? Is it McCahill?"

Dickerson nodded. "Partly. Someone's being brought in." His thin lips twitched as he glanced at Black. "You'll find this interesting, I think." He reached inside his pocket and pulled out a waxed paper envelope. He tossed it to Black. "Put these on. This should be fun."