Off the Grid (A Gerrit O'Rourke Novel) (5 page)

“Not good enough. I have to know that the woman and child are safe. I’m going in with you, Finch.”

The FBI agent bristled. “No way. You haven’t—”

“Served with the U.S. Marines in three wars—Gulf War, Afghanistan, and Second Gulf War. Member of Seattle PD’s SWAT team. I think I can handle a simple entry. Besides, it’s my decision—not yours.”

Finch surrendered. “Stay behind the entry team until we cross the threshold. Right on my butt. We’ll snatch the wife and child together.”

It was Gerrit’s turn to relent. Nodding, he glanced at the mobile monitor patched in from the other van. A red dot emanated from the car inside the garage. “Family may already be inside. Give me updated readings from our heat sensors showing where everyone’s located. I don’t have Nico locked down. Taylor just advised the paper is in hand.”

Finch whispered into his mike, waited a few seconds, then nodded. “You’re right. A woman and child just went upstairs where Nico might be. There are five other bad guys; one at the top of the stairs and four downstairs. It’s time to move out…now!”

Gerrit nodded.

Finch broadcasted his orders. As Gerrit followed him out the van, his cell phone vibrated. He pulled it out.
Marilynn
. “Hold up. AUSA calling in.”

Finch let out a groan at the assistant U.S. attorney’s timing.

Gerrit raised the phone to his ear. “What’s up, Marilynn? We’re on the move.”

“I need you here in D.C. immediately. Something’s come up.”

“Unless it’s about this operation, I don’t have time to chat.”

Marilynn’s voice cut in before he could kill the connection. “Have Taylor connect with the FBI. They can run the show without you. I need you on a plane tonight.”

“Forget it. I’m going in with the entry team. Everything’s in play.”

“This is much more important, Gerrit. Hand it off. That’s an order.”

“Marilynn, you don’t call the shots on these operations.” He killed the connection and jammed the phone into his pocket. Something about her voice sounded odd. Not Marilynn’s normal confidence coming through. She seemed worried.

Gerrit grasped his MP5 and signaled Finch it was a go. Time to take care of business.

T
he SWAT team huddled together, waiting for the command to strike. As he watched them line up, Gerrit tried to focus on the operation at hand, but Marilynn’s call kept troubling him. Something was off. This case represented her pride and joy, an operation she’d been orchestrating since day one. For her to jump on a plane and head to the nation’s capital and then to call him like that was beyond bizarre. He tried to shake it off as SWAT neared the front door.

A moment later, the SWAT leader whispered, “Now.” All sources of light on the property vanished. Gerrit flicked on his night-vision scope as they scurried across the driveway, approaching the front door.

“Go,” Finch hissed into his radio.

Breaking glass carried across the night air, followed by simultaneous explosions. The entry team slammed the door with a metal ram like Nordic raiders breaking into a fortified castle. “Go, go, go!”

The team rushed across the threshold and into the darkness, one man peeling to the right, the next one to the left, each trying to cross the kill zone as quickly as possible before armed inhabitants began firing.

Gerrit followed Finch inside. He saw movement to the right and a high-caliber assault rifle flashed. Several SWAT members returned fire, short bursts from their own H&Ks leveled at the gunman. Nico’s man screamed, followed by silence. One down.

More quick bursts came from the rear of the house. In the lobby, Gerrit moved toward the stairs that spiraled upward. Using the wall as cover, he started to climb the first stair until he saw movement. A shooter emerged and sprayed the lobby with a Mac 10.

Gerrit found himself caught in the open. He rolled away and dived through a doorway at the foot of the stairs. Scrambling to his feet, he risked a quick peek around the corner.

Another burst of gunfire sprayed the lobby. A child screamed. The sound seemed to come from the back of the house behind the gunman.

The shooter fired blindly. The bad guy could only see what his muzzle flash showed after each explosion.

Gerrit prayed the child and mother made it to the back bedroom. He waited until the gunman went silent, and then fired two short bursts across the top of the stairway where the shooter crouched. He leaped backward out of the gunman’s field of fire.

Silence.

He slowly peered around the corner, allowing his night-vision scope to refocus. The gunman lay draped across the stairway, his weapon lying on one of the stairs several feet away.

Gerrit hurried up the stairway just as he heard someone behind him. He whirled and raised his H&K before realizing it was Finch. Lowering his weapon, he held up three fingers, then pointed toward the back of the house on the second floor.

Finch nodded, gesturing for Gerrit to lead.

He began climbing the stairs, staying to the far right of the stairway and brushing the wall with his body. Every few steps, Gerrit paused and listened.

Nothing.

At the top, Gerrit cautiously peered around the corner, looking over his gun sight as each part of the second floor hallway became visible. No one in the hallway. Nico and his family must be holed up in the master bedroom.

They lost the element of surprise. Nico knew they would be coming.

Gerrit ran through the sketch of the house in his mind. Before the operation, he’d studied the house’s blueprints at the city’s planning department. He committed these plans to memory as an office clerk watched.

“You want me to make copies?” the young man asked.

Gerrit shook his head. “No thanks, I’ll remember.”

And he did remember. It was a gift he possessed since childhood that his parents never questioned. They just knew his eidetic memory was a gift, and it was why Taylor kept dubbing him Einstein. Whatever Gerrit read or saw, with minimal effort he memorized.

The top of the stairs opened up to a hallway that ran the full length of the house. At the far end stood the door leading to the master bedroom with only two other doors in between. He recalled that one door, on his right, led to a large storage room. That room was his goal. All Nico needed to do was fling open the bedroom doors and fire. Anyone standing in the hallway would be killed. He would have to move fast.

Turning, he motioned Finch closer and whispered, “Cover me. I know another way into Nico’s bedroom.”

“What? You gonna fly?”

Gerrit ignored the barb. “When I give you a signal, call out for Nico to give up. Distract him.”

Finch looked puzzled but nodded.

Gerrit handed over his assault rifle. “I can only take my S&W. I’ll signal when I’m in position.”

“What the—?”

Gerrit moved away before Finch finished, eyeing the master bedroom as he crept along the wall. Reaching the storage room, he eased open the door and slipped inside. Just as he started to close it, the master bedroom door flung open. He left the storage door partly open as he watched through the slit.

A girl slowly emerged from the bedroom. Nico followed on her heels, gripping her by the throat and jammed a .9mm Glock to her scalp with his other hand. “Back your men away or she dies.”

Angrily, Gerrit watched Nico using the girl as a shield, a look of terror on her face. The gangster didn’t seem to notice the half-opened door where Gerrit stood hiding. Instead, Nico focused down the hall as the child fought back tears.

“Don’t involve the girl, Nico.” Finch’s voice carried down the hallway. “Calm down. We can figure this out.”

“Don’t tell me to calm down, you idiot. I’m calling the shots. You guys back off or someone gets hurt.”

Finch relented. “Okay, okay. We’re pulling back. Just take it easy.”

Nico peered around the girl, his gaze darting down the hallway. A second later, Nico turned toward him. The gunman seemed to have just noticed the door cracked open.

Gerrit pulled back into the darkness, hoping—for the girl’s sake and his—that Nico didn’t see him.

Suddenly, Nico yanked his gun toward Gerrit and fired several shots into the storage room.

Gerrit had no place to run. He sank deeper into the shadows, expecting to be hit at any moment. The door slammed closed as the bullets passed through, leaving the room in darkness except where bullets riddled the wood.

“Hey, what’s going on down there? I said we’d pull back.” Finch’s yell carried down the hallway.

Nico must have slammed the bedroom door closed without answering.

Gerrit fought the urge to feel his chest for bullet holes. The door looked like a slice of Swiss cheese, holes riddling the wood, allowing fingers of light to cut through darkness. He was alive and standing. He hoped the rest of his plan went smoother than this. Nico would be on the alert for anything. Next time, his luck might not hold out.

“A
lpha-One. You Code 4?” Finch’s voice cracked in Gerrit’s ear. “We can’t see anything from our position.” The FBI agent sounded stressed.

Gerrit whispered into his mike, “Alpha-One is Code 4. Stand down. Will advise.”

The last thing he wanted was SWAT to rush in and kill Nico—or the girl. The Russian crook may be able to give Gerrit evidence about his parents’ deaths. He must keep the man alive. A detonation trigger found at the scene of his parents’ murders raised suspicions that a Russian crime group might have been involved. Nico was the number one crook.

He relaxed when he heard two clicks on the radio. Finch got his message.

Gerrit fumbled for a small LED flashlight. He flicked it and scanned the ceiling.
There it is!
A square panel, white plaster finish blending with the ceiling, recessed about four inches.

He pushed the panel to one side, then clenched the flashlight in his teeth. Grasping the panel’s frame, he pulled himself upward, holding his breath and trying to move quickly and silently. His holster caught on the edge, making a loud clunking noise.

He froze, caught halfway through the opening. Seconds ticked away as he listened. His arms started to shake. Unable to wait any longer, he pulled himself up into the darkness.

Gerrit stood on a support beam, flashlight still clenched in his mouth. He inched forward as he balanced, wincing when wood creaked under his weight. He finally reached a second access panel above a walk-in closet adjacent to the master bath.

He pulled out a knife and flicked the blade open, working it down between the panel and the wood-framed opening. He began to force the panel up so he could grasp its edge with the tip of his fingers. Gerrit almost dropped his knife when his radio squelched to life.

“Alpha One. Status check.” Finch was getting jumpy.

Gerrit carefully kept the knife blade in place so the panel wouldn’t slip. He reached up with a free hand and keyed the mike twice, hoping Finch might back off for a moment. He was thankful Finch’s voice became muffled in Gerrit’s earpiece. He didn’t think Nico and the others below could hear.

“Roger that,” Finch said. Gerrit just bought a few more minutes.

He turned off his flashlight. Holding his breath, Gerrit worked the panel up until he saw a hint of light emerge. Gently lifting the panel to one side, he saw the walk-in closet below, large enough to sleep a small family.

Biting his lip, he started the hardest part of this operation, lowering himself through the opening without making a sound. He braced himself and began his descent.

Just as he reached shoulder height, he heard feet running below. Someone dashing across a hard surface. Must be in the bathroom area. The building plans showed this walk-in closet as an extension of the bathroom. Someone was moving toward his location, shoes clinking on what sounded like tiles.

Gerrit froze, sweat starting to drip down his forehead, arms beginning to shake from holding up his weight in an awkward position. He tried to stay in place for fear of making a sound if he dropped to the floor below. He was too far committed to pull himself back up into the attic, but he would not be able to hold this position much longer.