James Acton 04 - The Templar's Relic (22 page)

Dawson watched through the window at the action below. He nodded in appreciation at a well-orchestrated plan coming together, its execution, from the small portion he could see from Reading’s hotel room, performed perfectly. As the rioters were pushed north along the outer wall of the Vatican, they were met with what looked to him to be almost one thousand officers, split into several groups, forcing the rioters to split into three distinct streams.

Brilliant.

Three streams, each now numbering around two thousand, were far easier to deal with than a single mass of six thousand. And if whoever planned this operation did what he would have done, these smaller groups would be split even further, into manageable groups, siphoned off into batches that could be bused away.

If the entire operation went as smooth as what he just witnessed, they could have the perimeter of the city secured within minutes.

Which wasn’t a good thing for them.

“Okay, we better get moving while they’re still occupied.”

“How do you plan to get in?”

“Oh, I think you know how.”

Reading and Chaney exchanged glances.

Dawson smiled. “Consider myself
extremely
well briefed.”

“You know about the secret entrance?”

Dawson nodded. “After the incident that we had to get involved in, CIA’s been keeping a close watch on things here. Emergency demolition and construction at the Vatican, involving the city of Rome, is unusual. It didn’t take long to figure out what was going on. The only question that remains is where it leads.”

“It’s something I can’t tell you about, nor can you ask about.”

“But you’re going to show us the way, nonetheless.”

Reading frowned, but nodded.

“Then that’s all I need to know. The rest of the team is already inside, waiting for us.”

“What?”

Dawson smiled at Reading’s outburst.

“How long have they been there?”

“Since we arrived. We took advantage of the chaos to preposition most of the team and the supplies. We”—Dawson flicked his hand indicating the rest of the team—“are tourists, out for a stroll, who, when clear, will cross the street and go through the construction entrance, and into the city. From there, you will show us the way.”

Chaney grinned. “You blokes have thought of everything.”

Reading looked at Dawson. “What if you weren’t going in? You’d have done all that work for nothing.”

Dawson smiled out of half his mouth.

“Agent Reading, we were
always
going in.”

Islamic Center of America

Altar Road, Dearborn, Michigan

Atkinson peeled around the corner and slammed his brakes on, barely avoiding the cruisers already on the scene. He and his partner, Zawadzki, jumped out, drawing their weapons, and rushed forward to join the approximately one dozen officers already there, taking cover behind two cruisers. A lone cruiser sat about twenty feet further on, its owner sitting on the ground, behind the rear tire, his arms at his side, his head lying on his shoulder.

“Is he alive?” asked Atkinson.

“I think he’s breathing,” said Aman. “I swear I see his chest moving.”

Atkinson ducked as another burst of gunfire hit Hasni’s cruiser.

“What are we up against?”

“About twenty gangbangers were shooting up the mosque, now they’re all hiding amongst their cars. Seems to be just one guy though firing at the unit. No shots at us yet.”

“Has anyone tried to approach yet?”

Aman nodded. “I did, but the guy opened up again, so I backed off.”

Atkinson peered over the hood of the unit he was behind. “Do we know where the shooter is?”

“Behind the black Escalade.”

Atkinson looked at the row of vehicles, mostly oversized SUVs.
Sometimes crime does pay.
One thing though was clear, the shooter didn’t have a good angle, not unless he wanted to expose himself to fire from the officers at the other end of the street. The shooter was covered from that end by another SUV, parked slightly ahead of his position. This allowed him about two feet of room to pop out, shoot, and pop back in.

But not a good angle.

Atkinson looked about, then pointed. “Okay, we’ve got to get Hasni before he bleeds out. Let’s take that cruiser, put it in neutral, and use it as cover, pushing it up the right side, until it taps the rear bumper of his unit. Put him on a stretcher, and drag him out, while pulling the cruiser back.”

Aman smiled. “Good plan.” He pointed at a nearby paramedic. “We need a stretcher, not a gurney.”

The man nodded. “I’ll get you a back-board.”

Atkinson turned to Zawadzki. “Get some rope out of the trunks, tie them together, then tie it to the cruiser. Enough rope to get us those twenty feet.”

Zawadzki scurried away, and Atkinson turned his attention back to the scene in front of them. Another couple of shots rang out, causing them all to duck again.

“Where’s SWAT?”

Aman huffed. “On their way, ten minutes out.”

“He could be dead by then.”

The paramedic arrived with the backboard, dropping it on the ground as he dove on top of it, another shot ripping at the pavement.

“Jesus Christ!” he yelped.

Atkinson grabbed him and pulled him against the car, relinquishing his spot by the tire. “Anything I need to know?”

The paramedic shook his head. “I’ll go with you. Without knowing his injuries, moving him the wrong way could kill him.”

Atkinson shook his head. “No way, I can’t be responsible for you getting shot.”

The man squared his jaw. “I’m going, it’s my job.”

Atkinson looked at the man’s name tag. “Goldstein? You’ve got balls.” He snapped at a nearby rookie who was cowering behind another cruiser. “Get this guy a vest.”

“From wh-where?”

“Give him yours, then see if there are any spares in the trunks.”

“Wh-what?”

“Give him your vest, then fall back.”

The kid nodded, unbuckling his vest and tossing it forward. The paramedic grabbed it but never had a chance to thank the kid, as he was already sprinting toward the rear of the mass of cruisers now assembled. Atkinson and Aman helped him into the body armor, when Zawadzki arrived with the rope and rolled under the cruiser they were going to push. He rolled back out a few moments later and nodded.

Atkinson moved to the cruiser, opening the door and reaching in, shifting it to neutral. “Okay, let’s go. Keep your heads low, keep behind the tires if you can, and let’s make this quick.”

He pushed the car with a grunt, and it started to roll. He grabbed the steering wheel with one hand, the paramedic with another. “Keep on my ass until we get there.”

The man nodded, and Atkinson steered the vehicle around the unit he had been hiding behind moments before, then aimed for the rear bumper of Hasni’s unit. Zawadzki was right behind him, pushing with the rear window frame, and a line of a dozen officers now had taken up position to provide cover fire if necessary.

A shot rang out, and a flurry of shots from behind hit the SUV just past the Escalade.

They were almost there. Mere feet away.

They hit, the bumper gently tapping the rear quarter panel of Hasni’s unit.

The paramedic immediately went to work, checking over the disturbingly still man.

“Is he alive?”

“Yes, barely.”

“Can you move him?”

“Yes, help me get him on the backboard.”

Atkinson closed the door and crawled over to Hasni.

“Grab his legs, and let’s get him on the board.”

Zawadzki scurried over, and together they lifted Hasni onto the board, the paramedic quickly buckling him in.

Several shots slammed into the cruiser, and again another volley of fire was returned over their heads. The paramedic grabbed one end of the backboard, Zawadzki the other, and Atkinson grabbed the steering wheel, waving for the car to be pulled back. Several officers grabbed the rope that had played out behind the cruiser, and pulled. The car began to roll, and Atkinson could feel the adrenaline starting to ebb as they neared the cover of the other cruisers.

Suddenly dozens of shots rang out, from multiple weapons, tearing up their cruiser from the other side.

That’s not coming from our bangers!

“Keep pulling!” he yelled, as bullets continued to hit the cruiser. He felt the car jolt as a passenger side tire was hit. He looked back. They were almost there. Only feet away. Three officers were lying on the ground, pulling at the rope as hard as they could, as the others looked for cover from this new angle of attack, then returned fire.

The paramedic yelped, and dropped. Atkinson looked over and saw Goldstein grabbing at his ankle.
Probably a ricochet.
Atkinson grabbed him by the collar and pulled with all his might as he steered the car, at a crouch, painfully aware that he too could be hit at any moment. Zawadzki pulled the stretcher alone, the backboard scraping on the pavement, as Atkinson’s muscles screamed for mercy as he pulled the injured paramedic from a squat position.

“You’re clear!”

He let go of the steering wheel and Zawadzki pulled the gurney through to the other side of the gathered cruisers. Atkinson shoved the paramedic toward two other officers, who helped the man toward one of the waiting ambulances. Atkinson crawled behind the nearest cruiser and collapsed on the ground, his shoulders and legs in agony.

Gunfire continued to tear through the night air.

“Who’s firing?”

“Don’t know. But a whole bunch of vehicles just pulled up over there and began firing on us and the gang bangers.”

“Rival gang?”

“No idea, but we can’t keep taking fire like this.”

“Where the hell is SWAT!” yelled Atkinson to no one in particular.

“Two minutes out!”

“Make sure they have an update on the new arrivals, they’re coming into a situation way hotter than they planned on.”

Zawadzki dropped down beside Atkinson. “You okay?”

Zawadzki said nothing. Atkinson looked down at his partner of six years, then shook him. “Charlie!” he rolled him over and cried out as he saw the hole in the side of his face, penetrating the cheek bone and entering the brain.

Atkinson grabbed his partner, holding him to his chest, as tears filled his eyes. “No,” he whispered. “No!” He lowered him gently to the ground, pulled his partner’s gun from his hand, then jumped up, firing both weapons at the new arrivals, no longer caring if he lived or died.

Tonight, everyone dies.

Viale Vaticano

Rome, Italy

Dawson, Niner, Jimmy and Atlas, along with Reading and Chaney, stood in an alley across from the construction site at the North wall of the Vatican, waiting for the right moment. Dozens of police were in the area, but most had moved on after the rioters, leaving the immediate vicinity mostly empty, the police relying on the massive wall to protect the city. Unfortunately, due to the construction, there was a gap, and four officers stood there, talking amongst themselves.

“How are we going to get by them?”

“Red and his team will take them out.”

“Non-lethally I hope?”

Dawson looked at Reading. “Of course.”

The distinct sound of gunfire in the distance caused them all to freeze, then smile. Two of the four officers, along with most of the others scattered in the area, ran toward the sound of the gunshots, and within moments the area was almost entirely empty.

“Now would be a good—”

Reading didn’t finish his sentence as both officers collapsed, then four men, all in black, race from the shadows and grab the two bodies, pulling them inside the city.

Dawson stepped out and casually walked across the street, with Atlas at his side. Jimmy and Niner followed, talking quietly amongst themselves. Reading and Chaney brought up the rear, about ten feet behind. To the casual onlooker, it might have appeared half a dozen tourists were out for a walk, if it weren’t for the chaos from earlier. Dawson and Atlas reached the other side of the street, Jimmy and Niner only feet away from the curb when someone yelled.

All their heads spun toward the sound. It was a police officer who had just come from around the eastern wall. “Fermati!” he yelled.

“Let’s go, gentlemen,” said Dawson as he sprinted to the opening in the wall. He could hear the footfalls behind him as the rest of his crew followed.

“Fermati!”

This time there were two voices.

Dawson stopped when he reached Red, and turned, pushing Atlas, then Jimmy and Niner inside. He waved for Reading and Chaney, who had hesitated, but were now running toward the entrance. Dawson peaked around the corner and could see two officers racing toward their position. Reading then Chaney cleared, and Red hissed, “Follow me!” The new arrivals followed Red, with Stucco and Casey taking up the rear.

Within moments they reached a ladder that led to the old sewage line. Dawson sent Reading and Chaney down first, then Atlas and Niner.

“Fermati!”

The two officers had come through the wall, and were now pushing their way forward. Stucco and Casey each squeezed off a round, both officers dropping to the ground from the tranquilizer darts now embedded in their legs.

Dawson slid down the ladder, as did Stucco and Casey, and lastly Red. Red pulled the ladder down, placing it on the floor, then pointed at several duffel bags nearby. “Your gear’s over there.”

Dawson nodded, and he and the others quickly donned their equipment. Finished, Dawson tossed a vest to Reading, and one to Chaney. “Put these on, then grab whatever weapons you want from the bag.”

Dawson stepped over to Red. “Situation?”

“I don’t know where we’re supposed to go from here. Our intel says this is the entrance to the hidden tunnel, but there’s so much construction, that I don’t know where to go.”

Reading stepped up to the two men.

“Luckily for you blokes I’m here.” He pointed at a newly bricked wall. “That, gentlemen, is the entrance. We need to knock that down, and we’re in the tunnel.”