The Steel Kiss (Lincoln Rhyme 12)

The weapons they'd be armed with were the same as the one that had been used to kill Osama bin Laden: H&K 416s. This model was the D14.5RS carbine, the numbers referring to the length, in inches, of the barrel.

They acknowledged the instructions blandly, as if their boss were giving them details of a new coffee break plan at the office. To them this was all in a day's work. For Sachs, though, she was alive. Completely attuned to the moment. Good at crime scene work, yes--she enjoyed the mind game of tricking evidence to life. But there was nothing like a dynamic entry. It was a high unlike anything else she'd experienced.

"Let's move," she said.

Haumann nodded in confirmation, and the teams formed up.

In five minutes they were sprinting along the sidewalk, motioning bystanders to leave the area. With a screw-end lock pop, one officer opened the front door of the building in a single deft pull and Sachs and the other three streamed inside. Through the lobby and corridor to Griffith's unit.

With hand signals, Sachs stopped the team fast. She pointed to the video camera above the suspect's door. All four officers moved back, out of view of the lens.

On the radio: "Team B, in position in alley. It's clear."

"Roger," said the Team A leader, a lean, dark-complected man whose name was Heller. He was beside Sachs. "He's got a camera above the door. We'll have to go in fast." The conversation occurred in whispers and was delivered through state-of-the-art headsets and microphones.

Normally they'd move silently up on their rubber-soled boots, then the breaching officer would wait while one cop slid a tiny camera on a cable under the door. But now--with the perp's surveillance of them a possibility--they'd have to race to the door and move in fast.

Heller pointed to Sachs and to the right. Then to another officer and aimed a thumb to left. Then to himself and moved his hand up and down, like a priest offering a blessing. Meaning he'd take the center.

Sachs, breathing hard, nodded.

The breacher lifted the battering ram--a four-foot piece of iron--from his canvas bag. And at a nod from Heller, all four ran to Griffith's apartment. The breaching officer slammed the metal hard into the knob and lock plate, and the door crashed inward. He stepped back and unslung his H&K.

The three other officers stepped inside, Sachs and the other flank officer spreading out, sweeping their weapons around the sparsely furnished room.

"Kitchen clear!"

"Living room clear!"

The left bedroom door was partially open. Heller and the other officer moved forward, Sachs covering. They entered the small room. Heller called, "Left bedroom, clear."

They returned and approached the closed door of the front bedroom, which had both a number-pad lock and a dead bolt.

Heller said, "S and S report. The front bedroom's sealed. We're about to enter. Any sign of life? K."

"Still can't tell, sir. Too well shielded."

"K."

Heller regarded the number lock knob. There would be no element of surprise now, after their noisy entry, so Heller pounded on the door and said, "NYPD. Is anyone in there?"

Nothing.

Again.

Then he motioned over to the officer with a stalk camera. He tried to jimmy it under the door but the gap was too small; the device wouldn't fit.

This doorway was narrower. Only one officer could go in at a time. Heller pointed to himself and held up a single finger. To Sachs, two. The other officer, three. Then he motioned the breacher forward. The burly cop arrived with his ram and they got ready for the final stage of the entry.

CHAPTER 48

Weird. I had just been writing in my diary:

The worst day.

That had been in the past, that day. But now, today, was just as bad.

Not worst, no. Because I haven't been arrested, haven't been shot to death by Red and the Shoppers.