HotTango (11 page)

Jake grabbed the radio from the passenger side front seat.
“SWAT is in pursuit.”

“Copy that, SWAT,” a nameless voice replied.

“What the fuck happened back there?” Jake asked. He’d
arrived minutes before the explosion, and hadn’t had time to be briefed on the
situation, much less anything else.

Cole turned onto Fuego Street and gunned the engine. Ahead,
he could see other lights, more officers engaged in the chase.

Cole rattled off the information Aaron had relayed to him.

“How did they get out? I didn’t see them exit,” Aaron asked
from the backseat.

“Don’t know,” Cole replied.

Jake cleared his throat. “Was there anyone else in the
house?”

Everyone was silent for a moment, save for the squealing
tires as Cole turned the SUV down another street.

“We don’t know,” Cole replied when no one else did.

“Suspects are headed northeast on Industrial Boulevard,”
dispatch radioed out.

“That’s toward the Olympic Bowl,” Jake said.

Cole’s blood flashed cold then hot. The Olympic Bowl and the
Village were the two busiest areas. They had the most security and would be
kept informed of the situation in the city. “If anything is prepared for them,
it’s the Bowl and the Village.”

Still, Cole turned on a street parallel to Industrial and
floored it. Traffic skidded out of his way, but at least it was less crowded.

The radio crackled to life, and the nightmare worsened.
“Shots have been fired at Industrial and Oakmont.”

Aaron leaned forward between the seats. “What do you want to
bet the guys down at the Bowl set up a barricade?”

It sounded like a practical move. If he were on duty at the
Bowl, it’s what he would do.

“Suspects are on the move, headed due south on Buffalo.”

Cole’s pulse kicked up and he glanced at the street sign.

Jake was already grabbing the radio. “Dispatch, this is
Officer Jake Vant, we are on Buffalo.”

“Copy that, SWAT.”

The Buick flew over the top of a hill, swerving through
traffic. Cole could tell the moment the driver saw his SUV. The Buick jerked
and clipped a Jeep’s fender. The Buick turned in front of oncoming traffic,
trying to get out of Cole’s way.

“Dispatch, this is SWAT. Suspects are headed south on Zara
Avenue. We are in pursuit.”

The radio came alive with other officers calling in a series
of small explosions from debris dropped by the Buick. It was confusing and
difficult to identify each voice, officer and site.

“Sounds like a pileup,” Aaron muttered.

“This is fucked nine ways to hell and back.” Cole swerved
around a slow-moving vehicle.

“Coke can,” Jake yelled.

Cole didn’t think, he jerked the SUV to the side. Oncoming
drivers slammed on their brakes and parted. A
pop
much like a flash
grenade exploded near their right fender. The SUV shook and the rear of the
vehicle dropped. They could feel the rim hitting pavement, or worse.

“Fuck,” Cole yelled. He let the SUV roll to a stop and
punched the steering wheel.

“Dispatch, this is SWAT. The suspects are dropping
explosives into the street. We have a flat. Suspect is still headed south on
Buffalo.”

Cole kicked his door open and dashed around the back of the
SUV. The others poured out with him, unloading his gear to uncover the spare
tire.

A line of SWAT vehicles and patrol cars flew by them, two
cars and an ambulance peeling off to check in with Cole and begin searching the
area for evidence of the bomb. They were lucky that no one and nothing seemed
to have been injured besides Cole’s tire and possibly the rim. It was still in
good enough condition to drive at the moment.

“Officers, here.” An elderly man jogged toward them with a
jack in hand.

“Thanks, man.” Jake and the man shoved the jack under the
SUV and began cranking it up.

Two other civilians approached with wrenches. They didn’t
even ask if they could help, simply jumped in and set about getting the wheel
off. Between the elderly man, who had more nimble fingers than the men half his
age, and Aaron, the tire was back on in less than five minutes. The racecar pit
scenario might have been comical, were lives not in danger.

“Load up,” Cole called to his men. The delay really chapped
his ass. He waved at the civilian help. “Thanks.”

“No problem, Officer.”

They jumped back in the SUV and Cole put a call into their
captain.

“Westling, where are you?” O’Neil asked without preamble.

“On Buffalo on the suspect’s trail. We had a tire blown
out.”

“This is a circus. Stay on the road. We’ll get these
bastards.”

“Where are they? All I’m hearing is chatter on the radio.”

“Butler and Parkwood was the last I heard. I’m with the
command center. If they run these guys to ground, you’ll be the senior SWAT
officer on-site and I want you to organize the guys.”

Cole almost didn’t hear the last half of what O’Neil said.
His world narrowed to the space between the cars in front of him and putting
the SUV through it.

“Sir?”

“Yes, Westling?”

“Sir, there’s a sold-out roller derby game going on at
Butler and Rogers. There’s at least a thousand people there. More if I’m not
mistaken.”

“Fucking hell.”

This was a bad dream. Something that happened in the movies,
not in reality. Not in his world.

“Sir, my wife is playing in that bout tonight.”

* * * * *

Tanya had one eye glued to the Mistress of Penalties and one
eye on the track. Her two-minute time-out was almost up and she’d missed two
whole jams. The score was six to four in favor of the Dames. Sin City had brought
their best girls and Tanya itched to get out there. With her in the box, they
were skating at a disadvantage.

“Get ready, Hot Tango.” The PVC-clad Mistress slapped the
back of her chair with her flogger, gaze glued to her stopwatch.

Tanya kept her ass on the very edge of the chair, slid her
mouth guard back in and rolled up on her toe stops.

The pack rounded the fourth turn and blazed down the length
of track directly in front of Tanya. The crowd was yelling so loud it
practically rattled her helmet.

“Five—four—three—two—one. Go!” The Mistress of Penalties
flogged the back of Tanya’s chair, but she was already gone.

Tanya sprang to her feet, but made the last-second decision
to stop out of bounds. If she entered now, she’d have to skate twice as hard to
catch up. It made more sense to allow the pack another lap and enter as close
behind the other players as possible. The pack headed into the start of the
turn skating hard and fast. She hunkered down and watched Lotta Byte trying to
force her way through the back of the pack. She’d replaced Pele as the jammer,
but the smaller woman was having a hell of a time against the larger blockers.

The pack passed her, but two Sin City blockers had Lotta
Byte hemmed in way behind the main pack. And Tanya couldn’t enter until
everyone had passed her position.

“Illegal blocking,” Tanya yelled at the outer track passing
ref, who happened to be a Sin City referee. He turned a blind eye on the
penalty. “Fucking cunt blower.”

Lotta Byte and the two blockers passed Tanya’s position and
she was finally able to enter the track. She ran a few strides on her front two
wheels and toe stops, building up speed.

“Lotta, behind you,” Tanya yelled.

The two blockers eyed her. The girl on Tanya’s right swung
out, creating a false opening.

A whistle blasted nearby. “Illegal blocking,” an inner track
referee called, pointing at the two Sin City blockers.

“Come on, Lotta.” Tanya skated up next to her jammer. They
were now far enough behind the pack that she could not legally assist.

“Can’t,” Lotta gasped.

“Yes you can. Move your ass,” Tanya demanded.

They hunched down and Tanya took the front, letting Lotta
Byte draft off her.

“I’m going to get you through the back of the pack and whip
you around the outside,” Tanya called over her shoulder. Talking around her
mouth guard made it difficult, but she had practice.

“I can’t,” Lotta said. “Here, take the jam.”

Lotta Byte took off the stretchy helmet cover with the star
sewn on the side and held it out to Tanya.

There was only a split second to make the decision. She
grabbed it, shoved it over her helmet and pitched forward, throwing all her
effort into hitting the pack with as much speed and force as she could.

The three Dame blockers had their hands tied keeping the Sin
City jammer inside the pack. She had yet to break through, and chances were
there would be no lead jammer this round and they’d go for the full two
minutes. At their current speed, that was murder on endurance, and they weren’t
even ten minutes into the bout.

All of the Sin City blockers seemed to turn as one and catch
sight of Tanya at the same damn time. She took a deep breath and picked a woman
of average size to take on first. Except a thin, petite woman dropped back, her
whole focus on Tanya.

Tanya didn’t shrink from her. Most people thought the little
blockers would be easy to blow over, but the truth was that their lower center
of gravity made them much more difficult opponents. Still, Tanya had the
determination.

She swerved to the inner track and the blocker shadowed her.
Tanya feinted to the outside and the blocker quickstepped, committing to the
move and opening up the inner track. Tanya blazed past the woman without
landing a hit.

Now that the pack’s attention was on Tanya and Tanya could
protect her from the Sin City blocker, Lotta Byte powered past.

“I’ll whip you,” Lotta called. “Dames! Dames, help your
jammer.”

The Sin City blockers were divided now, one helping their
jammer get past two Dames blockers, and the remaining jostling for position to
either help or hinder Tanya.

“Whip me,” Tanya yelled.

Lotta sped in front of her, threw her arm back and Tanya
grabbed it. Lotta planted her feet and used her momentum to propel Tanya
forward in a textbook whip maneuver.

There was something thrilling about moving at a speed no human
could go on her own, rocketing toward certain danger. Tanya’s teeth rattled in
memory of other hits she’d taken at similar speeds.

A Sin City blocker swooped in on her right, hitting Tanya
with her hips. Tanya was ready for the blow, so it only shoved her toward the
center track. She put her shoulder into the woman, got her right foot in front
of her opponent and powered forward.

Tanya was so close she could feel it.

Two Dames blockers, two Sin City blockers and their jammer
were all that stood between her and the front of the pack.

“Hot Tango, here,” one of the Dames blockers yelled, waving
her hand.

She took the hand and let her teammate pull her through the
almost comical double attack as the two Sin City blockers tried to sandwich
her. Except they were too slow, or Tanya was too fast.

“Go, go, go!” her other teammate cried.

The Sin City jammer broke free a beat behind Tanya and they
sped away, jostling each other. Tanya threw her hips against her opponent and
got caught by an elbow to the chest.

Three blasts on the whistle and Tanya stopped moving her
feet, letting her momentum carry her back to the bench. She pulled the helmet
panties off and gave them to the assistant coach before sinking down on the
bench. Someone passed her a bottle of water. She spat her mouth guard out and
drank deeply.

This was going to be a fight. A full-on battle.

Lotta plopped down next to her. “Thanks. They just kept
hitting me. I couldn’t get through.”

“It’s okay.”

A crash and screams rent the atmosphere of rock ’n’ roll, adrenaline
and beer. As one, the crowd and players turned toward the main entrance.
Curious, Tanya stood along with half the other girls on the bench.

Go-Go-Randy held up his hand at center rink. “Ladies and
gentlemen—”

People at the far end scattered and a man holding a large
automatic rifle strode toward the middle of the track.

Tanya’s world narrowed to the man, the gun and the thing he
held in his hand.

Cole shoved the SUV into park and jumped out of the vehicle.
Officers were establishing a perimeter around The Warehouse. The Buick blocked
the single door entry point. He knew from attending at least part of a few
bouts that there was a dock rolling door a few feet from the single entry door
in the front, and one side door.

Erick, Aaron and Jake flanked him as they made their way
across the street to a cluster of officers who seemed to be in charge.

Cole shoved the personal out of his mind and switched on his
cop persona. “We need to get a perimeter established—”

“Cole—”

“And start coordinating with the officers—”

“Cole!”

Aaron grabbed Cole’s arm and jerked him around. “Man, get a
fucking grip.”

“I’m doing my damn job,” he snapped back and ripped his arm
out of Aaron’s grasp.

“Your fucking wife is in there, you’re not calm.”

“The hell I’m not.” He jabbed his finger against Aaron’s
chest. “We’ll get everyone together, coordinate a perimeter, get some eyes on
the side door and wait for the negotiators and the command center to get here.
How’s that for fucking calm?” He spread his arms wide for a moment.

Aaron stared at him, a grim expression on his face.

They quickly assembled over a dozen SWAT officers on scene
and began swapping out police officers with SWAT members on the perimeter and
filling holes.

Another group of cops was across the street in a vacant
storefront interviewing people who had run from the building or been outside
when the hostage situation began. It was amazing that not more had escaped,
except The Warehouse was built like a kill chute—only one real entrance or exit,
metal walls, concrete floor. It was a death trap waiting to happen.

And his wife was in there.

Tanya, with her fearless heart and innocence. Part of him
knew that if anyone would work against the suspects from the inside, it would
be her. The other half of him prayed she knew better than to do anything rash.

Fuck.

Why had they been fighting?

He listened to his radio with one ear. There was chatter
about multiple 9-1-1 calls from inside The Warehouse. Three gunmen with
explosives.

There was no negotiating with terrorists. They didn’t want
money or things.

Cole stepped behind a car and stared up at the sky. His
throat constricted and his eyes stung. What if he never saw her again? What if
they never drank lemonade and talked about the future? What if they never had
the three kids they’d been talking about?

The very tangible reality that this could be the end was a
weight in his gut.

But freaking out wasn’t going to help Tanya or the other
hostages.

Cole pushed the grim reality to the back of his mind. He had
a job to do and, while he wouldn’t trust himself on the frontline, he was a
good officer and knew his role.

A white Mack truck rolled up to the cross street, the
command center trailer behind. Cole jogged over and helped the driver park
behind the shopping area. A dozen vehicles followed it and the staging area was
set. At least four B.E.A.R. trucks with the remainder of the SWAT team moved
into tactical positions around The Warehouse.

They were digging in.

O’Neil was one of the first to head toward the trailer.

“Westling, heard from your wife?”

Cole shook his head. He didn’t trust himself to speak.

O’Neil’s grim expression didn’t change. “Okay, the bomb
squad is going to unload Teda and go investigate the Buick. Pitch in with
them.”

Cole nodded and peeled off to connect with the second
trailer that was down the street. Bomb squads were different in every city,
some were patrol officers, others fire department, but in Metro City, they were
SWAT. Cole let himself into the trailer. Two officers eyed him but none questioned
his presence.

“O’Neil sent me to be support,” Cole announced.

There was a single beat of silence before Officer Becca
Jameson stepped toward him.

“I’m going to be rolling Teda out there. Can you give me
cover?” she asked.

Cole jerked his head. “That I can do.”

“Okay, get your gear. Meet me outside in five.” She grabbed
the controller and followed him back onto the street.

Cole retrieved his riot shield from his SUV and rendezvoused
with Becca on the street, already getting Teda lined up for approach. He fell
in beside her, walking just ahead and acting as a physical shield. The remote
control unit allowed the operator to stay inside the truck, but Jameson was
known for her hands-on approach.

“Here,” she said, and set the controller on the front of a
random patrol car. She grabbed her radio and spoke into it. “This is bomb squad
Officer Jameson, sending Teda in now.”

The Teda unit rolled past them, a little robot with a big
mission. Officers sidestepped and there was a noticeable charge in the air.
They were about to find out how bad these guys were.

Cole tightened his grip on the shield and watched the robot
navigate the curb, truck between cars and slowly approach the Buick shielding
the single entry door. The camera lifted and he glanced over his shoulder at
the screen.

“What do you see?” he asked.

“Some trash, but nothing.”

“They threw a soda can at us with explosives in it.”

“No cans. Papers, some plastic bags and that’s it. Going to
check the backseat… Nothing.”

Teda rolled around to the trunk and after a few minutes and
plenty of expletives from Jameson, the trunk popped open.

“More nothing. That’s good, but fuck.”

“What about the undercarriage?”

“You’re a demanding bastard,” she said without spice.

The camera lowered, tilted and lowered some more. Jameson
kept making tiny adjustments, forward, backward, up, down. She slowly inched
Teda around the Buick.

“It’s clean.” She grabbed the radio and reported at length
what she’d seen through Teda’s lens.

They were all on edge, but nothing was happening. There were
no windows to shoot from or look out of. No one was engaging them. It was all
quiet, which only made him worry more. Almost a thousand hostages should not be
so quiet.

The similarities to the trailer house scene did not escape
him. He just hoped that this time the suspects’ getaway didn’t involve blowing
up their hideout.

* * * * *

Tanya’s job with One World had taken her across the world
and into many dangerous situations. Regardless of what she’d seen or been
through, nothing could prepare her for staring down the barrel of a
semiautomatic rifle. She slowly lifted her hands and tried to force herself to
look at the face of the man behind the gun rather than the weapon itself, but
her gaze kept dropping to the barrel of the gun.

A second gunman had Go-Go-Randy’s microphone in hand at
center track. “Everyone, do not move. Stay quiet. No one gets hurt.”

People cried, yelling and running around the outskirts of
the space, looking for an exit that didn’t exist.

“Hey. Hey!” The gunman at the microphone pointed the rifle
at the ceiling and shot off a quick succession of rounds.

People screamed, and even Tanya yelped, covering her head.

“Listen to me. Everyone move to the back of the building,
slow and calm,” Trigger Happy barked.

The crowd didn’t move, paralyzed by fear.

Tanya eyed the nearest gunman, who at least appeared more
reasonable then his counterpart. She could probably get in past the gun, but
the bulky vest with wires and suspicious cylinders attached to the unorthodox
garment didn’t look like something he’d picked up at his local sporting goods
store.

“Come on, guys, everyone move back to the locker room,”
Tanya said quietly to her teammates. She grabbed the hands of the two closest
girls and pushed off for the back of The Warehouse.

Her phone was in the locker room, and if she could get to
that she could text Cole. Hell, she could take pictures, send them to him or
whoever, even take video or leave the line open. That’s what people in cop
shows did, and though she knew it wasn’t all correct, some of that had to be
helpful.

Trigger Happy continued to demand people move, and slowly
the crowd condensed, curling in on itself and compressing into the back half of
the space. Tanya skated into the locker room and found not derby girls, but a
cluster of ten people hiding in the shadows.

“It’s okay, it’s just me,” Tanya whispered to them. She went
straight to her gear and stripped out of her skates while putting in a call to
Cole, crossing her fingers he answered.

“Tanya?” Cole’s shocked voice was the best sound she’d ever
heard.

“Hi, not sure how long I can talk.”

“Are you okay?”

“Yes. There are three men with guns and, I don’t know for
sure but I think they have bombs strapped to these vests they’re wearing.”

“I know,” he said, his voice dropping to a dangerous note.

“You know? How do you—? The call.” Cold, hard dread froze
her veins. “You were called in for these guys.”

“Yeah.”

“Okay, what can I do?” She shoved her feet into shoes and
began looking around the locker room for something, anything.

“Do whatever they tell you to. Let me know what they’re
doing. Most of all, stay safe.”

“Would pictures or video help?”

“Yes, but take care of yourself first. Tanya?”

“Yeah?”

“I love you.”

Tears pricked her eyes. “I love you too. I’m sorry we were
fighting.”

“Me too, babe. I’m going to get you out of there.” He
sounded so certain, but if these men were out to make a statement, there wasn’t
anything they could do to stop them. Which meant they had to get people out of
The Warehouse before the gunmen decided how they would go down in their blaze
of glory. “Now promise me you will stay safe.”

How could she do that?

“Cole—”

The door banged open, spilling light on the huddled group.
Tanya shoved her phone into her shorts before anyone could see it.

“What you doing in here?” Trigger Happy filled the doorway,
his gun leveled at her. His eyes were wide, darting around the locker room, and
sweat beaded his brow. She was struck by his very normal appearance. She would
never have been able to pick him out of a crowd as a terrorist. “Get out,” he
yelled.

The group closest to the door scurried out. As much as she
knew she should follow them, Tanya refused to run from these men. She stood
calmly and exited the locker room under the watchful gaze of her captor. The
door slammed shut behind her.

“No one goes in here,” the man yelled.

It was shocking how quiet The Warehouse was. People were
sitting on the ground, packed tightly against the back of the building.

Tanya’s teammates stuck out as a cluster of black and red.
She patted her shorts, making sure her phone was still there. One downside to
the spandex shorts was no pockets.

“Excuse me,” she muttered and began picking her way toward
her teammates.

“Everyone stay calm and be quiet. We are all three wearing
explosive devices. You do anything heroic and these will explode.” The speaker
had changed to the man she’d dubbed Mr. Reasonable, probably a better fit for
convincing the hostages to play along with their wishes. Unlike Trigger Happy,
he spoke without an accent.

“Tango, what are you doing?” Mallory whisper-spoke at her as
she neared the group.

Tanya waded into the middle of the cluster, everyone
shifting to make room for her, and sank to the ground next to the general
manager, Aaliyah. Tanya dug her phone out and her heart fell. Her call had been
disconnected, but she had a text.

Call dropped. You okay?

She texted back as fast as she could.

Yes. Everyone at back of building sitting down. Told they
have bomb vests.

Tanya hit send and clicked the camera app. The three men were
clustered at the end of the track between their hostages and the main exit.
They kept glancing at the crowd.

“Don’t do that,” Aaliyah snapped, grabbing Tanya’s wrist.

Tanya jerked back. “My husband is a cop and he’s outside.”

She lifted her knees and used them to block her phone,
zooming in as close as she could and snapping one picture after another, half
turning out fuzzy and useless, but the other half might do some good. She
hurriedly uploaded them to a file sharing site both she and Cole used to back
up their phones.

Pictures uploading. U know there’s only 1 other entrance
on L side of bldg?

Cole’s reply was instantaneous.

Don’t do anything stupid. Going to get u out. Got
pictures. ILY. Stay. Safe.

She texted back.

ILY2.

The sound of a helicopter beat at the roof, and in the
distance sirens lit up the evening. The sun was setting, but those on the
inside could tell that only by the darkening opaque windows at the top of The
Warehouse.

Her phone vibrated and she almost yelped in surprise.

Babe, what’s the layout like inside?

Tanya glanced around, trying to find words to describe
it—but she’d just downloaded a new program to take panoramic pictures. She
hadn’t used it yet. She flipped through her applications until she found the
desired app. It required a user name and log-in. For a moment she blanked. She
needed to take a damn picture, not share it with five hundred people she didn’t
know. Still, she rushed through the sign-up process and fumbled into the user
interface. It mirrored her existing camera app, so she merely pointed it at one
side of the building, clicked the red circle and slowly panned a half circle.
The image was a little smudged in places and odd, but it showed everything.