Normally, we had vests on, dressed up as something else: homeless men on the street, tuxedos like we were coming from a black-tie affair, or suits if we were going as drug dealers. Whatever the op called for, we had an outfit. But no subterfuge here, because we had no good reason to be in that alley. It was really deserted, we were far from the rest of the nightlife downtown, and all the surrounding buildings were dark but for the laundromat and some stairwells.
When the first man finally saw us, he shouted at the others and they all pulled their guns fast.
It was actually pretty frightening to watch the speed with which Ian dispatched people. He shot three, and I took out one and Segundo the other.
“Holy fuck,” Segundo gasped from behind me.
Ian ran around the fallen men and stopped at one’s side. Bending quickly, he holstered his Glock, took a Heckler & Koch P30L fitted with a compensator off the body, checked his pockets for extra mags, found two, and then went to the entrance.
Ian was listening as he made sure the new gun was loaded, stuffed a mag into each of his pockets, and reached for the knob to open the door.
“Why would he take that?” Segundo whispered, tilting his head at the gun in Ian’s hand.
“Because it’s a good gun,” I replied quietly. “With the recoil compensator attached, when he shoots a lot, the barrel won’t lift like it usually does. It makes your shots more precise.”
“How many people does he plan to kill?” Segundo asked cautiously.
“Anyone who shoots at us,” I answered, following Ian in as he threw open the door and darted through the opening.
He had run right so I went left, fanning out, Segundo following me as we faced not a large space with apartments, as I’d imagined, but a hall with a stairway at the end. There were four doors, and at that moment I really hoped Hewitt had called for backup. If we were at home, any other pair from our team would have made me feel safe. It was whoever-went-through-the-door-last’s job to call Kage. Our boss always sent everyone when we called for reinforcements. I had no idea who would show up here.
I moved in beside Ian but was ready to turn and fire at anyone who came out with guns blazing.
Ian kicked in the closest door and ran through, announcing himself as he went, “Federal marshals! Everyone out!”
I stayed in the hall, covering his back, praying there was no one in the house with a shotgun or an Uzi, and he flushed a couple from that room—early twenties, Caucasian, I was guessing meth addicts from their ruined complexions of telltale blotches and sallow skin—who explained quickly that this was a flop house and nothing else.
“You see any kids here?”
The guy coughed, loud and wet. “No, man, we—”
“I think upstairs. I heard someone crying a while ago,” the woman said.
“Go back inside,” Ian ordered, and they scrambled fast to obey.
It wasn’t an apartment building at all, we discovered after we went through each of the remaining three doors, but instead an enormous house with individual rooms and connecting Jack and Jill bathrooms.
Except for that couple, the floor was vacant, so with Segundo covering us from the back, I headed for the stairs. Ian stopped me with his hand, like he would have if I was in the front seat of the car, splayed across my chest.
“What’re you—”
“Me first,” he demanded.
“Why? Did you become bulletproof and didn’t tell me?”
If looks could kill, I would have been in trouble, but as it was I got the Green Beret death stare before he turned to sprint down the hall and start up the stairs. I was right behind him, with Segundo following.
As soon as we hit the hall on the second floor, we drew gunfire.
“Fuck!” Segundo yelled as I ducked back behind the corner of the wall, then leaned out for a second so I could see where everyone was before stepping out and laying down cover fire as Ian dove through an open door, rolled to his feet, and shot whoever was in the room.
Retreating for a moment, unnerved because I couldn’t see Ian, I yelled for Segundo. “Cover me so I can cross the hall!”
“What? Where the fuck are you—”
“There,” I yelled again, pointing at the first room on the right.
He gave me a quick nod, and I rushed across the hall, hitting the door with my shoulder before exploding into the room and falling to a crouch.
Five men were inside—two armed, who immediately fired at me. They missed, having aimed too high, not anticipating the textbook maneuver we were all taught upon breach. I returned fire, dropping them both, and then faced off with the other three who were standing around a naked girl who couldn’t have been more than twelve tied to a bed.