His Hart's Command (Nothing Special 6)

The negotiator approached them with his armed four-man team. Hart recognized him from the sixth precinct. He quickly shook his hand. “What you got?”

The officer read from a small spiral notepad. “According to one of the regular residents, your suspect’s a white, homeless male in his late thirties. He came this afternoon looking for a place to sleep for the night, but had been turned away. Several witnesses said the man was extremely drunk and on drugs…that’s why he wasn’t allowed in. Two hours later, he came back with a gun and forced his way inside. Now he has the resident director and his wife hostage in one of the upper rooms.”

“No other hostages?” Hart confirmed.

The negotiator frowned. “From what we’ve learned, most of the men abandoned their rooms and ran outside after the first shots were fired. One man was hit in the leg, he’s been transported to Emory. We believe there are others still hiding inside, presumably looting or stealing.”

“Why don’t you have a definite count yet?” Dinah asked.

The stern man looked at Dinah as if she’d stepped out of her place. His mouth set in a firm line.

“Answer my sergeant’s question!” Fox snapped at the negotiator.

The officer unclenched his jaw. “We don’t have the director or co-director. They’re the only ones who’d know that information. The guys we interviewed—that would even talk—say it’s first come first serve. And it’s hard to tell if they were full tonight.”

“How many rooms?” Hart asked.

“Twelve, all on the upper floor. The downstairs is living area,” he answered.

Hart dismissed him and got his team into position.

“Alpha team with me, move,” Hart ordered.

His three entry teams broke into different directions, two of them racing around the back with him, and his officers at the front. The door had already been blown off the hinges and his shield-bearer had no problem bursting through the remaining wood. Hart scanned the left, knowing Fox was scanning the right. He tapped the shield-bearer’s shoulder, moving him in the direction of the stairs, while his Bravo and Delta team made entrance and fanned out to sweep the lower level.

Their hostages were presumed to be on the top floor. They hurried up the stairs, his shield holding at the top step. He could hear men’s muffled voices down the hall and his team was unsure if they were hostiles or hiding. At this point, anyone who wasn’t being held at gunpoint was being treated as unfriendly.

A couple of flash grenades went off downstairs and the Delta team noted they’d removed two men hiding in a pantry in the kitchen. His team crouched at the sound of more gunshots fired upstairs.

“Alpha Twenty, we got a fire,” his Delta officer said over their comms.

Fox responded, “Alpha Twenty to command, requesting fire engines.”

“Copy, Alpha Twenty.”

Sometimes the flash grenades caught carpets or furniture on fire when they exploded. The team working downstairs called out several more ‘clears’ then joined them on the stairs.

Hart quickly peeked around the corner but all he saw in the darkness were several open and closed doors. He pressed his mic. “Sienna one, you got heat signatures?”

“Negative. Concrete’s too thick,” she answered.

“Alpha Ten to command, we got multiples on the upper floor,” Hart said into his mic. He wanted to do this by the book with a news crew on site. They’d had very little planning time with hostages involved, but that was never taken into consideration if they made a mistake. Hart heard their own negotiator still trying to contact the gunman through the APC speaker. No response. Only hostility.

“Command to Alpha Ten. Give them a warning.”

“Copy,” Hart answered.

Standing at the end of the dark hall with his shield-bearer in front and three of his officers at his back, he bellowed down the narrow entryway, “Atlanta PD SWAT. Come out now with your hands in the air! This is your final warning!”

Three men came running out of the rooms, hands slightly raised, shielding their eyes from the bright flashlights at the ends of their M16s.

“Hands up! Let me see those hands!” Dinah yelled, storming past with her Bravo team, quickly securing the men, and leading them out of the house.

Hart felt Fox’s nudge against his back, and he pushed into his shield-bearer to get them moving again. They cleared each room down the hall, none of which held their hostages. Hart caught movement to his right, a dark figure darting out of his hiding space. Hart quickly pulled a flash grenade off his chest, yanked the pin out with his teeth and tossed it in the runner’s direction at the same time Fox swung his rifle around to cover him. The grenade exploded with an ear-piercing bang and an intense blinding light that shocked the senses. The man went down hard to the floor, crouching in the fetal position, covering his ears. Hart kept advancing, confident his Delta team would clean up behind him.