Spectrum (The Karen Vail Series) (4 page)

Russo stopped beside an object on the ground. Vail pulled a penlight from her belt and pointed it toward the lump—not a lump, a
body
. A uniformed cop, blood pooling around his head.

“Shit,” Russo whispered. He felt for a pulse.

“Is he d—”

“Still alive. Call it in, 10-13. Officer needs assistance. And get a bus over here forthwith.” He rose from his crouch, a scowl on his face and a tightness to the grip on his Glock that he didn’t have before.

As Vail pulled her radio, she noticed the officer’s name tag: L. Shaunessy.
Holy crap, he’s from my class.
He was a good guy—and now look at him.
Son of a bitch.

She reported it, provided their location, and then wondered what she should do: stay with the downed officer or accompany Russo. She decided that there was nothing she could do for Shaunessy. He was unconscious and his fate was now in the hands of the responding paramedics. Assuming they got here in time. She had to admit, it didn’t look so good. Russo, on the other hand, was in danger and could use her help if the perps were still in the building.

“Hang in there,” she whispered near Shaunessy’s left ear, then set off in search of Russo. She moved more quickly than she had been taught, but she wanted to meet up with him as soon as possible. Whoever had shot Shaunessy had no qualms about killing a cop.

A moment later, she heard shouting, scuffling, the sound of a heavy metal item striking cement—and a gunshot.
Shit. Whose gun? Russo’s or the perp’s?

Vail stopped, trying to localize the noises.

She moved forward, and just as she was about to turn the bend in the dark hallway, a figure jumped out at her. Another cop.
Asshole. I almost shot you!

As she collected herself and let the adrenaline dump clear her system, she whispered, “Did you just discharge your weapon?

“Nah, wasn’t me.”

Vail leaned in closer. “Your partner’s down, back there,” she said, indicating the hallway with a tilt of her head. “I called a bus. My sergeant may be in trouble. We’ve gotta find him.”

Before he could respond, two more shots echoed loudly and the officer stiffened. Vail caught him as he fell forward onto her, and she pulled him back the way she came, using the bend in the corridor as a shield. She set the man down—Costello by the name on his uniform—and felt for a pulse. Slow and thready. In shock, no doubt. She ripped open his shirt, looking for an exit wound, and saw two.

Vail keyed her radio again and reported another officer down. “Sergeant Russo missing and possibly being held hostage.” She received an acknowledgment. When she requested an ETA for backup, she was told there was no ETA. And then she remembered: when an officer called a 13, the response was supposed to be immediate.

Unfortunately, since it was broadcast over her radio’s speaker, the perps were privy to Central’s response.

Then: scraping noises, frantic—yet muffled—pleas, followed by what sounded like a punch, a groan, and then footsteps. Several sets. She set Costello against the wall and peered around the hallway corner.

All she could make out was two men dressed in army camouflage wearing flat-billed Yankees ballcaps and toting what looked like automatic weapons. As she pulled back, a barrage of rounds erupted, blowing holes in the cinderblock all around her. The echo was deafening. She dropped and retreated down the corridor—

But the shooting stopped as abruptly as it had begun. Vail headed toward Costello and settled her backside against the damaged wall. She listened a second, then inched forward and peeked around the edge—where she saw the backs of the men dragging an unconscious Russo between them. And what looked like a trail of blood.

If Russo’s injured, waiting could kill him—assuming they don’t kill him first. But if I follow, I’ve got no cover. One of them turns and lets loose with his cannon, it’s all over.

Vail followed anyway. Because if she remained where she was and waited for backup, who knows where they’d take Russo. Or they would save themselves the hassle and just kill him. They downed two cops without hesitation, so Russo’s life meant little to them. At the moment, if she kept up pursuit with the pending arrival of reinforcements, Russo was their insurance policy for getting out of there alive. But once they succeeded, Russo’s value would bottom out like a bankrupt company’s stock.

They were about thirty yards ahead of her, but she was reluctant to close the distance. She walked gingerly, hoping to avoid the rattle of an errant piece of metal or other condemned-building debris—while attempting to maintain a visual on Russo.

She again spied two men, one on each side of Russo. If there were others, she didn’t know. But at the moment, considering their armaments, that was enough.

A bright light appeared at the end of the corridor—they had opened an outside door—and led Russo through. He struggled, but the guy on the right jammed the barrel of his compact submachine gun against Russo’s head and he succumbed to their wishes. He stumbled out into the glare and the door slammed shut behind them.

Damn it. They could go in any direction and there’d be no way for me to know. The minute I push that door open, if they’re still nearby, they’ll realize I’ve been following them, and they’ll turn its metal skin—and me—to Swiss cheese.

At least Russo was upright and moving under his own power.

Vail waited a beat, then ran down the hall, adrenaline pumping her heart faster than it ever had in her life.

mouth bone dry

short of breath

lightheaded

As she attempted to head down the center of the corridor—it was difficult to see the walls and she did not want to miss a curve—she pulled her radio to update her status. But the two-way flew from her sweaty palm and bounced along the hard cement, one, two, three, or four times. The last impact did not sound good as the device appeared to shatter into pieces. Vail stopped abruptly, fear constricting her throat.

Shit, shit, shit. How could I be so stupid?

Karen, stop it. Stop it. Think. Breathe.

Vail stood there in the darkness, chest heaving. She moved forward slowly, reached out and found the door, rested her left hand on the knob. The Glock was in her right fist and she was determined not to let the pistol suffer the same fate as the radio. She tightened her grip, slowed her breathing, and pressed her ear against the metal surface … listening for auditory clues to their location.

But she heard nothing.
Are they right there, on the other side, waiting for me?

She knew ESU—the Emergency Service Unit, New York City’s SWAT team—would be arriving soon. How much time had passed? A minute? Two?

But they would be surrounding, and infiltrating, the wrong building. She could pull back and join with the team when they arrived. They could then deploy in the correct area, hoping that the perps had not already put Russo in a car and fled before they could set up a perimeter.

What’s the right call here? If I don’t pursue, are the guys in my precinct gonna think I was afraid, that I let down my sergeant, just to avoid a fight? My career, my credibility would be gone before I’d earned any.

So what was the right call?
How the hell do I know?
The police academy had not taught her how to handle a complex situation in a dilapidated area of the South Bronx, with a sergeant taken hostage at gunpoint by well-armed criminals who had already gunned down two cops.

Vail was only a couple of hours into her second day on the job, so she had no experience to draw from. The best she could do was keep a cool head, take what she thought was the smartest course of action, and hope it didn’t get Russo, or herself, killed.

And that meant she needed to know which way they were headed. She carefully pushed the door open slightly, dreading a scrape or creak. Daylight crept in as the crack widened until she could see about forty-five degrees ahead and to the left. There were two buildings on either side of her and an alley, broken bottles, condoms, jagged chunks of cement, a used tire, and rusted pipes.

And a playground—that was a school directly ahead.
Summer, no kids around. Thank God.

As to what mattered—Russo or the perps—she saw …

Nothing.

Vail leaned into the door and it seemed to stick. She shouldered it and it swung out another ten, fifteen, twenty, thirty, and then sixty degrees. She poked her head through, hoping she would be able to withdraw quickly enough if shots came her way.

A second later, she had a decent view of most of the immediate area—charcoal gray storm clouds brooded overhead—but there was no sign of the men. Or Russo.

Vail moved clear of the building and stood there, realizing she had no cover and no way of defending herself if the perps revealed themselves.

How is this helping Russo?

Off to her right, down the alley, she heard a noise. A homeless person? A rat? Or her suspects?

Vail moved off, no longer concerned about making noise—she was now fully exposed—and ran for the nearest building. She made it and leaned against the rough bricks, burn marks extending up the side; to her left was the mouth of the alley.

Peering around the edge of the wall, she saw the men nearly a block away, at the end of the narrow passageway—near an entrance to the school building. She looked down and saw a trail of blood droplets ex-tending in that direction.

One of the men lifted his M16 and aimed it at the lock and squeezed off a few rounds. He dropped it at his side then yanked open the door and pulled Russo inside. The other perp brought up the rear.

Vail craned her neck—the school was three stories, and looked to be in significantly better condition than the building she had just vacated.

Again, she was faced with the impossible decision of whether to maintain her pursuit or fall back. If she were the one in there, she would want her partner to keep coming. Right now, she was Russo’s only lifeline. Radio or not, outgunned and outmanned, she wanted him to know he was not alone. And if the wound was worse than it appeared, hanging back and waiting could endanger his life.

Damn it, stop thinking and start doing.

As she made her way toward the school, she realized that her view of the situation was based on emotion, not logic. If she was taken hostage as well, what good was she to Russo? Would he feel better knowing that he was not going to die alone? Not likely. And what first aid could she render?

But ESU’s going to the wrong location. Even if they figure it out, will Russo still be alive?

Seconds later, Vail arrived at the door where the perps had shot away the lock. She grabbed her badge and pulled it off her belt, then set it down on the ground, just outside the school’s side entrance—if ESU came this way, they would likely see it and surmise that she was inside.

Vail pushed her red hair behind her ear, which she pressed against the warm metal door.

Yelling. Yelling at Russo to shut up.

Good, that’s a good sign.

The area sounded clear, so she carefully pulled on the damaged knob while keeping her handgun tight against her body. She pivoted her feet and yanked the door open.

Vail found herself looking at an empty stairwell. She stepped inside and pulled the heavy fire door closed behind her, silently. Moving into the main corridor, she found administration and staff offices on the right, with the auditorium entrance on the left. It looked vaguely similar to the public school she had attended in Westbury.

Fifty feet or so away, a sliver of fluorescent light spilled into the hall-way.

Vail headed in that direction and heard voices. Russo was explaining that they were not going to get away, that a dozen cops would be surrounding the building in a matter of minutes. Standard psychological warfare. The stuff she had just learned in the academy. She had no clue if it really worked, but it must if they taught it in class, right?

How am I supposed to know?

The corridor was relatively clean, though the flooring had not been mopped or waxed recently. The tile was dull and streaked with dried dirt. Dark rooms lined both sides of the hall. She peered into one: a classroom. Desks sat piled up for summer vacation. The janitorial crew had not yet been in to do their annual cleaning.

She moved on, headed closer to the voices.

A moment later, Vail inched up to the door and put her ear against dry, cracked wood that needed sanding and a fresh coat of varnish. Given the pressure on school budgets, she doubted that would be happening any-time soon.

The talking had stopped, but there was movement.
Now what do I do? Knock?

While she mulled that question, she sensed the presence of someone behind her—and then felt a machine gun barrel sticking into her back.

“You wanna live, don’t move,” a man said into her left ear. “Don’t even fuckin’ breathe.”

Vail did as she was told and stood rock still while the perp reached around and pried the pistol from her hand. He again shoved the machine gun into her spine, harder this time, like he was trying to bore a hole right through her. Then he grabbed her hair and yanked back. She was reduced to a position of weakness, unable to resist in any meaningful way.

Whoever this guy is, he’s done this before. Ex-military?

The man knocked three times quickly, and the wood door swung open revealing a rectangular room, three times as long as it was wide. A staff room used by teachers. A couple of old metal desks sat along the perimeter; errant water-stained papers littered the floor, and peeling paint covered over by cork boards with yellowed notices occupied the walls.

A newer Coke machine stood in the corner to Vail’s right, beside a desk with a black telephone console containing multiple line buttons. All were dark—meaning, not surprisingly, no one else was in the building. That was probably a good thing, even though it would’ve been useful had someone heard the gunshots and dialed 911.

But that phone …
It could be my line out of here.
Vail chuckled nervously at her moment of silly humor under these circumstances.