Night and Day (42 page)

Down the street, I saw half a dozen armed men in body armor cross the road to the
sidewalk and move toward us slowly. There were another half dozen coming up behind us at
the same slow pace.

We waited in silence until they reached us, keeping an eye on the door. When they were
lined up against the wall, on either side of us, she said, “Alpha and Bravo teams will make
initial entry and secure the lobby area. All other units will hold their positions.”

Takeda made eye contact with the leaders of the two strike teams, then nodded once and
said, “Go.”

One of the team leaders pulled open the door and a dozen men piled in, I waited for the
sound of gunfire. Nothing. Silence.

“Alpha and Bravo teams have secured the lobby without resistance,” she said. “Strike
teams Charlie and Delta, move into position. All other units standby.”

“So far, so good,” I said.

“Don’t expect it to last, Mr. Welles,” she said, her head turning from one end of the street
to the other, watching as a strike team approached from either side.

“I’ll be joining teams Alpha and Bravo inside the target structure,” she said when the two
additional teams were on both sides of the door. “Strike teams Charlie and Delta will hold
their positions. All other units will standby.”

She walked to the door and opened it. I followed.

The dozen men of the first two strike teams were spread out in an arc in the small lobby,
facing the door that led into the main part of the club, weapons ready. Takeda stepped behind
them.

“You’ve all been briefed on the layout,” she said, her voice low. “The hostiles may try to
stop us in the club, or they may force us to take them out, room by room, in the upper two
floors. Be ready.”

She looked at the two team leaders. “Alpha will do a sweep of the booths on the outer
wall. Take down anybody you find in a booth, fast and all the way. Bravo will take a holding
position in the center of the room, facing the bar and the staircase. When Alpha completes the
sweep, it will move to the center of the room and Bravo will move forward and secure the bar
area and the foot of the staircase. Questions?”

Both team leaders shook their heads.

“Go,” Takeda said.

One of the team leaders pulled open
the door. He and his five troopers slipped through
the opening and disappeared to the left. Silence.

Takeda was next through the door, followed closely by the second strike team. I was
right behind them.

More silence. The room was empty. No customers. No staff. No band on the empty
stage at the end of the room.

Then I realized it was almost empty. I saw the bartender standing behind the bar,
watching us. It was the same guy who’d been there Friday night when Nedelmann and I had
dropped in for our chat with Carpenter. Jack.

Takeda stood motionless, looking at him, as the strike team filed past her into the room.
Suddenly she raised her pistol. “Get your hands in the air!” she shouted. “Do it!”

Jack hesitated for a moment, then slowly brought his hands up from behind the
bar. They weren’t empty. He was fumbling the shotgun to his shoulder when the first bullets
from Takeda’s gun hit him.

The first couple were slightly off target, hitting him in the shoulder and gut. He
staggered. Takeda’s third bullet caught him in the center of the chest and he went down.

More silence. I glanced over my shoulder at the strike team checking the booths. They
hadn’t paused when the shooting started. The other strike team was nearly to the middle of
the room.

“Pretty anemic defense they’re putting up so far,” I muttered. “You think maybe they . .
.”

All hell broke loose.

Three more guys popped up from behind the bar, all with shotguns, all firing. Takeda
kicked over a table, grabbed my shoulder, and pulled me down with her. Shot thudded against
the table top.

“This is Takeda,” she said, raising herself to one elbow. “We’re taking hostile fire at this
time. Strike teams Charlie and Delta, hold your positions. All other units standby.”

I could barely hear her over the echoing din of the firing, the booming of the shotguns and
the steady clatter of the automatic rifles. The strike team in the middle of the room had taken
cover behind fallen tables when the shooting started, and were pouring fire into the bar.

I saw of couple of the troopers get hit, one going down for a moment. He rubbed his
bicep, then got back up, raised his rifle to his other shoulder, and continued firing.

The shooting stopped as suddenly as it had began, the silence broken only by the tinkle of
brass cartridge cases on the floor hitting each other as the troopers adjusted their positions.

Takeda glanced at the troopers in the middle of the room. The team leader held up two
fingers, then jerked his thumb at the floor. Beyond him, the other strike team was almost at
the end of the row of booths. “Team Bravo reports two hostiles down, repeat, two hostiles
down. Status of the third hostile is unknown. Team Alpha, complete your sweep and take up
a covering position in the center of the room.”

As the Alpha team moved toward the center of the room, I said, “This is going pretty
well.”

“It’s only been a skirmish,” she said, her eyes on her men. “The battle is yet to come.”

The Alpha team was in position, the troopers behind overturned tables, the muzzles of
their rifles trained on the bar and staircase. Takeda raised her sword and brought it down
slowly in the direction of the bar. The Bravo team leader in the center of the room nodded
and waved his men forward.

Takeda was peeking over the top of the table that shielded us. I stuck my head around the
side of the tabletop and watched.

The Bravo team was moving slowly, the troopers hunched low to the ground, almost
duck-walking, taking advantage of the cover provided by fallen tables. As they neared the ten
feet of open space in front of the bar, they paused. The team leader pointed to two of the men,
then at the bar.

The two troopers darted across the open space and waited there, pressed against the bar,
looking up. The team leader waited for nearly a minute, then motioned the rest of his men to
the bar.

Once everyone was in position against the bar, the team leader pointed to the first two
men and made a hooking motion with his hand. They nodded and stood, leaning over the bar,
rifles ready. One of them fired a short burst into the area behind the bar, then turned to the
team leader and stuck his thumb down.

“This is Takeda. The ground floor is secure, repeat, the ground floor is secure. All units
hold their positions.”

Takeda stood and threaded her way through the fallen tables. I followed.

“Move to the left and take a covering position facing the stairs,” she was saying to the
Alpha team leader. He nodded.

Takeda continued to the edge of the open space in front of the bar and squatted behind an
overturned table. She pointed down the bar with the tip of her sword. “Move your people to
the stairs and standby,” she told the Bravo Team leader.

She watched the moving troopers for a few seconds, then said, “All units. Strike teams
Alpha and Bravo are moving into position to assault . . .”

“Grenades!” somebody yelled.

Chapter Thirty-seven

I looked at the stairs in time to see the first grenade explode, followed quickly by two
more. Shrapnel, from the grenades and from splintered tables, tore through the air, and the
flash from the explosions in the dimly-lit room dazzled me for a moment. I blinked a couple
of times and saw two men at the foot of the stairs, one tall, one short.

Martinez had a pistol in each hand, and was firing at the troopers with a steady rhythm,
each shot about one second after the next. Fields had two pistols as well, but he wasn’t firing.

Takeda stood and raised her pistol, but dropped beside me a split-second later. She
jerked her left leg a couple of times and I saw the tear in her pants where the bullet had
entered.

“Son-of-a-bitch,” she said, pressing her hand to the wound. “Bullet hit the fucking bone.”

Martinez and Fields were on the move, slowly, heading for the door. Both men were
taking bullet hits, but nothing that would bring them down. I could see that Martinez wasn’t
wasting bullets on the heads and chests of the troopers. His target was their exposed limbs,
legs and arms. He wasn’t trying to kill them. He was just trying to put them on the floor
and clear a path out of the club.

Martinez began to reload and Fields started shooting. They were halfway from the stairs
to the door, moving a little faster now.

I stood, raising my pistol, hoping for a couple of clear shots that would bring them down.
Takeda grabbed my jacket and jerked, hard. I went down on my ass.

“Patience,” she said through gritted teeth.

She looked past me. “Two hostiles are moving to the door. All units, take them down
when they exit the building.”

Martinez and Fields reached the door to the lobby. As Martinez stepped forward to open the
door, Fields turned and continued firing into the club.

The door opened and there was a bright flash. Martinez stumbled back, almost knocking
Fields to the floor. Fields turned. Another flash.

Daryl Northport stood in the doorway, a shotgun in his hands, looking down at the two
men on the floor. He stepped forward, stared at Martinez’s body for a moment, then fired
another blast into Fields.

Takeda pushed herself up. She was a little unsteady. I guess the bone hadn’t quite
knitted together yet. With a slight limp, she walked toward Daryl. I glanced around the room,
then stood and followed.

Daryl flashed a crooked grin as we approached. “Found this shotgun in the back of the
van,” he said. “Thought I might come in and make myself useful.”

Takeda stopped in front of him and looked down at the two bodies. “Very nice work,
chief,” she said.

He smiled.

Her hand lashed out, the hilt of her sword catching him on the chin. Daryl hit the floor
like a 250-pound sack of potatoes.

Takeda turned and waved one of the troopers forward. “Take Chief Northport back to the
van and make sure he stays there,” she said. “Restrain him if necessary.”

The trooper picked up Daryl like he was made of straw and slung him over his shoulder.
Takeda turned to me. “Police Commissioner Napier seems to hold Chief Northport in
high regard,” she said. “His instructions were specific that the chief not be exposed to any
danger.”

“I hope your man has some solid restraints,” I said. “Daryl isn’t going to wake up
happy.”

She turned and scanned the room. “Strike teams Charlie and Delta, move in and relieve
Alpha and Bravo,” she said “Strike teams Echo and Foxtrot take up staging positions. Strike
teams Alpha and Bravo, prepare to withdraw. All other units hold your positions and
standby.”

A couple of the troopers from team Alpha were crouched together, looking down at a man
on the floor. Takeda and I walked to them.

It looked like a long, sharp splinter from one of the tables had gone right through the eye
hole of one of the trooper’s masks. He was on his back on the floor, convulsing. The others
had pulled open his kevlar vest.

Takeda stared at him for a few seconds, then brought her sword down, thrusting into the
center of his chest. He stopped moving almost immediately. She lowered her head for a
moment, then looked up.

“When you’re relieved, move your team to defensive positions on the other side of the
street,” she said to the team leader.

He nodded.

Behind us, the troopers from the next two strike teams filtered into the room, taking up
positions around us and at the head of the bar, next to the stairway. The Alpha and Bravo
teams began to file out. One of the men from Alpha lifted the corpse of the fallen man and
threw it over his shoulder.

They’d taken damage, mostly from the grenade explosions. I saw troopers with missing
fingers, even missing hands. All had tears in their uniforms, and many were limping.

“Strike teams Charlie and Delta are in position,” she said, looking around the room. “All
other units standby, repeat, all other units standby. We’re beginning the assault on the second
floor.”

“Ready,” one of the team leaders said.

“Ready,” the other said.

“Take your men up the stairs and establish a position on the landing,” she said. “The
corridor to the right is a dead end. To the left is a hallway to the stairs that go up to the third
floor.”

Both team leaders nodded.

“Go,” she said.

The two strike teams moved out, one hugging the left side of the wide staircase, the other
hugging the right side. They moved slowly, rifles raised.

I stood beside Takeda, looking up the stairs as the troopers crept out of view, waiting for
the sound of firing to begin, for explosions and yells. None came.