Linda Kay Silva - Delta Stevens 3 - Weathering the Storm (37 page)

“Go!”

Without hesitation, Tony pressed the gas pedal to the floor and the squad car screamed after them.

“Left on Tennyson, right on Poe, and that will cut them off before they get to the freeway!” Delta yelled, reaching to turn both their portable radios to channel one-eight.

“Then what?”

Good question, Delta thought. She hadn’t time to formulate a plan. “Ram them if you have to.”

“But—”

“I know—`never use a vehicle as a barricade.’ Forget the academyshit! This is real life! Ever play chicken as a kid?”

Burning rubber as he maneuvered his first turn, Tony nodded. “All the time.”

“Ever lose?”

“Nope.”

“Ever chickened out?”

“Nope.”

“Can you win one more time?”

Tony grinned stiffly. “You bet your ass.”

“Then go down one more street, take the turn, pick up speed, and head right at them. Just don’t get us killed!”

Nodding, Tony tightened his grip on the wheel. As he took the turns, leaving more tire on the pavement, Delta wondered if she was doing the right thing. After all, he was just a rookie. Suppose he did chicken out? Or worse yet, panic, and kill them all? What if...

Glancing over at Tony one last time before the headlights of the van would be glaring into their eyes, Delta thought about Miles. He had taken more than his fair share of chances with her when they were first partnered. Maybe all rookies needed someone to believe in them before they could believe in themselves. Maybe that’s what being an FTO was all about—showing Carducci that she believed in him. And right now, she knew she had no choice but to have faith in Tony Carducci, because barreling toward them at a pace much faster than Delta would have imagined, were two very bright headlights.

Reaching her right hand through the open window, Delta turned her spotlight on and aimed it at the windshield of the oncoming van. It did not slow down, nor did it veer from its deadly path. It was perfectly clear; if they were going to go, they were going to take anyone who got in the way with them.

Closer and closer the speeding vehicle came, like a bullet from a gun with only one course in mind: straight through them.

“Stay with it, Carducci!” she yelled as the van closed the distance rapidly. Grabbing the dash, Delta held her breath and waited for the impact that would probably kill them all.

As the headlights bore down upon them like the fire of a dragon, Delta tensed, waiting for the collision. Had she gambled everything this time only to lose it all? Had she misplaced her faith and cost them their lives? Looking into the headlights coming straight at them, Delta did-n’t even have time to pray.

But then, as Tony clenched the wheel even tighter, the van abruptly cut away, missing the front of the squad car by less than two feet.

Delta turned her head in time to see it collide with a parked car before careening into the only light post on the block.

Two feet. Two feet more and they would have been pasted to the back of the screen of the car like flies on a flyswatter. Two measly feet.

In the most expert fashion, like a teenager accustomed to spinning doughnuts, Tony spun the patrol car 180 degrees and burned off the last of the tires’tread as he screeched to a halt behind the van. The front of the van was hugging the light pole and steam was hissing nastily from the broken radiator. Like a wounded animal, it chugged once more before stalling out. Dead.

Picking up the mike, Delta started to call in when the passenger side of the van opened and a man took off running through the dark field.

“Get him!” Delta ordered, pushing open her door. Tony jumped from the squad car and scooted around the back of it before taking off into the ebony field.

Staring at the van in front of her, Delta felt the cold, clammy hands of fear reach once again into the crevices of her soul. She had faced a van like this a lifetime ago. A different make, a different circumstance, a different lifetime, but the memory was still there, haunting and tormenting her with the remembrance of a time when the occupants of that van snuffed out the life of the best man she had ever known.

And now, as she faced similar double doors with reflector sheets in the window and a peace sign on the right side, Delta again felt the icy tentacle of fear’s hand as it reached into her heart and ripped open the scars formed long ago.

As if it happened yesterday, she remembered the doors bursting open, she remembered the shiny gleam of the murderous shotgun barrel as it swung toward them, and she remembered, all too painfully, the body of her partner being thrown into the air before slamming violently to the ground.

Yes, she remembered. She also remembered feeling like a failure for not being able to prevent his death. It was the same burden she had carried after Helen died. The feeling that if she had only reacted quickly enough, she could have saved them both.

Reaching for the shotgun, Delta wondered if the albatross hanging heavily around her neck would kill her or set her free tonight.

“All right, you son of a bitch,” Delta muttered, as she pulled the shotgun loose and leaned it against her seat. It was an act born out of a desperate fear of repeating the past. It was also an act she had to resist. Remembering there might be a little girl in the van, Delta pushed the shotgun back into place. To protect the girl from stray shots, Delta would have to use her revolver. Pulling her sidearm from her holster as one leg reached the pavement, Delta felt a twinge of fear. She’d been here before, and failed. This time, she swore as both feet hit the ground, she would not fail.

Stepping from the car, she squatted behind the open door and aimed her weapon through the side window at the van’s back doors. As before, Delta heard her training sergeant’s voice as he warned them why vans were the most dangerous vehicles to pull over.

“You can’t see them, but they can see you,” he’d said, demonstrating how vulnerable cops could be when approaching a van. Miles had been vulnerable when he was killed. Even with all of his training and experience, he had still been a victim.

Wrapping her hands tightly around her Magnum, Delta promised herself that she wasn’t going to be anybody’s victim. Not tonight. Not ever.

With her weapon positioned out the window and her body behind the door, she waited. Reaching for the car mike, Delta keyed it to stay open and did the same with the radio attached to the shoulder of her uniform.

Suddenly, without warning, the van’s doors burst open.

Standing in the spotlight was the thin man. In front of him he held a little girl by her neck. In his right hand, he wielded a .44 Magnum which he pressed against her temple. The little girl’s eyes were wide with terror. She did not struggle or move. Like a badge, she stayed pinned to his chest.

To their left stood Rubin. In his hands was a Colt .45 with a silencer. Both weapons looked huge and out of place, like the caterpillar and mushroom in
Alice in Wonderland
. Maybe it was because the child seemed too small. Maybe it was because the guns really were large. Either way, they had powerful weapons and one of them was pointed directly at her.

Delta shifted her gaze from Rubin to the thin man. Rubin had a thin line of blood running off his cracked forehead which dripped like a broken faucet onto his shoulder. When his eyes met hers, he actually grinned.

“Officer Stevens,” Rubin said, through his maniacal grin. “So you did survive? We had wondered what had become of our compadres.”

“Dead.” Delta said curtly.

“I see. Odd that you should come back to haunt us like this.”

Delta aimed her gun at Rubin.

“No, no, Officer. Move one hair and the kid’s DOA, got it?”

“Got it.” Delta replied, checking her aim. Lowering her voice to just above a whisper, she murmured into her shoulder radio. “Carducci, quietly come back to the car. Approach from the east side with your gun ready. No matter what you see, don’t do anything until I tell you.”

“Didn’t those federal agents tell you to back off?” The thin man asked, waving his Magnum like a toy.

Delta didn’t respond.

“I’m afraid you should have left well enough alone, Officer Stevens. You see, you might have been lucky in the desert, but I believe your luck just ran out. And since you’ve disabled our car, we’re going to have to take yours. So, slowly step out from behind the door and toss your pea-shooter to the ground in front of you.”

Swallowing hard, Delta whispered into the mike. “You take the one holding the girl. He’s on my left. When you see me shrug my shoulders, take him out. Don’t hesitate or I’m dead.”

Slowly rising from her crouched position behind the door, Delta kept her eyes trained on Rubin. She knew the odds of surviving without her weapon were slim. If they were going to take her patrol car, they would most surely leave her bloody body behind.

“Come out from behind the door and toss your gun out in front of you. Make any sudden movements and the girl dies.”

“You’ll kill her anyway, Rubin, ” Delta said, slowly moving out from behind the door.

“Maybe, maybe not.”

“Kill her and you’re screwed.”

“That’s where you’re wrong, Ms. Stevens. You’re the one who’s screwed. You’ve gotten in our way twice now, and I’m tired of you. It’s time for this little game to end. Now throw your weapon on the ground.”

Delta looked down at her .357. She remembered the lessons they learned in the academy about never surrending their weapons. The Onion Field murders, where two cops gave up their weapons and one cop was shot and killed with his own weapon, was replayed in every academy. “Give up your gun and you give up the ghost,” was a popular academy saying. Her sergeant, her FTO, her captain, Megan, Connie, Miles, and everyone else she knew was screaming in her head and in her heart not to give it up.

Her gut told her something different. She knew she had no choice. She had to trust that Carducci was lurking somewhere in the shadows awaiting the right time to strike, and she had to trust that she was doing the right thing by breaking the first—and most important—rule every cop ever learned.

If she insisted on keeping her weapon, they would probably kill the little girl. If she gave up her gun, they would most assuredly kill Delta. The choice was not an easy one, but the decision was already made. If only she could buy enough time, she might be able to maneuver around the odds that were very quickly stacking up against her. If only....

Kneeling down, Delta carefully slid her gun about ten feet from her with the barrel facing the van and the handle towards her. “Don’t let me down, Carducci,” Delta whispered, rising from the road and staring at the silencer Rubin was still waving madly about. Her heart was beating so loudly, it echoed in her head. Her top lip was wet with perspiration and her stomach felt as if it found a new home lodged in her throat. She had wagered more than she could afford to lose and now it was time to pay up.

“My partner has the keys,” Delta explained, eyeing the gun held to the little girl’s head. The hammer was cocked and his long, thin finger was coiled around the trigger. Glancing down at her .357, Delta wondered just how big a mistake she had made. Would she die on the street behind a van, just as Miles had? Would they now use her as the classic example of what happened when you disobeyed orders and gave up your gun? What would Connie say when they told her that Delta had voluntarily given up her weapon? Would she understand? Would she know what odds Delta had tried to play? And what would Megan say?

“I don’t know how you managed to escape Dice and Martinez, but you won’t get away from me,” Rubin said, straightening his arm as if he wanted the barrel of his gun to actually touch Delta. Up in the van, they were actually about twenty-three feet away. To Delta, it seemed they were merely inches apart.

“Step out from behind the door, Officer Stevens. There’s no more time to chat.”

Delta moved out so that she was completely away from the door. Never in her life had she felt this vulnerable. No gun, no door, nothing between her and the grim specter of death.

“Let the girl go. Better yet, take me. You’ll get much further with a cop as a hostage.”

Rubin smiled widely. “Oh, you’ve proven to be much more trouble than you’re worth.” Rubin lowered the weapon slightly and glared hard at Delta. “I do so hate it when women let me down. Your ninth life over, Officer. It’s time to meet your maker.”

As though in slow motion, Delta shrugged as the barrel of the silencer swung deliberately toward her. As the silencer pointed right at her, she dove for her gun and heard a solitary shot resound through the air. Looking up as she wrapped her hands around the wooden grip of her gun, she saw a single bullet hole between the eyes of the thin man. As his lifeless body fell backwards, Delta lifted her gun inches from the ground, and took aim as Rubin shot at her. Stroking the trigger once, Delta fired one round through the top of his forehead, blowing most of the top of his skull off. As Rubin reeled backward, he dropped the .45. The only sound Delta heard after that was the clattering his gun made as it fell to the floor of the van.

Still gripping her weapon, Delta yelled for Tony. “Carducci!” Rolling from her stomach, she held the .357 toward the field, ready to shoot again. In an instant, Tony was at her side, gun drawn and smelling like it had just been fired.