Falling by T.J. Newman
CHAPTER EIGHT
TAPPING HIS PHONE AGAINSThis leg, Theo watched the traffic on the 405 part to let their procession through. Three unmarked SUVs and one windowless mobile command center was about as subtle as the FBI could get.
“Lights and sirens off once we exit the freeway,” Liu said to the driver. “Ladies and gentlemen, our suspect has no idea we’re coming. That is our one and only advantage. This is the Hoffman family.”
Liu turned and held up a tablet displaying a photo from social media, and the SWAT team’s combat helmets bobbed up and down. “Mother’s name is Carrie, children are Scott and Elise, ten and ten months respectively. Mom is strapped with a suicide vest. The wireless detonator is held by our suspect, who is also wearing a vest. So what do we know about him? Male, estimated early thirties. He works for a cable company and his full name is something that starts with ‘S’ but he goes by Sam.”
Theo felt Liu glaring at him. He checked his phone to see if there was anything new, or more helpful, from his aunt. Nothing.
“This is an exploratory mission only, understood?” she continued. “We are establishing a perimeter and conducting reconnaissance. All our intelligence is being passed on to HRT, who we are consulting with and who is preparing to deploy as we speak. If tactical force is deemed necessary, we wait for them unless we have no other option.”
Theo adjusted his bulletproof vest. He already felt out of place, but once the HRT arrived, that feeling would intensify. Theo was just a field agent. He wasn’t SWAT and he definitely wasn’t a member of the Hostage Rescue Team, the elite tactical unit of the FBI trained to deal with extreme high-risk situations. The only reason he was along on the mission was because he was an intelligence liaison between the plane and the ground. Liu had made certain he understood that.
Exiting the freeway, the vehicle’s sirens and flashing lights ceased. The sudden silence only heightened the feeling of anticipation felt by Theo and his fellow agents.
“Location, please,” Liu said into her comm set that connected all the units. Someone in the van sent the digital map to her tablet, which she studied with increasing disapproval.
“It’s a shit location for us,” said a voice in all of their earpieces. “Suburban neighborhood in Playa del Rey just off Manchester. The house is at the apex of a three-way street, flanked by houses on all three sides. There’s very little back or side yard for us to work with.”
“The front is too exposed. We can’t all go,” Liu said. “Alpha will approach head-on, straight up Eighty-third Street. Bravo and Charlie units, I want your vehicles behind on Eighty-second and east on Hastings. Comms, post up where Eighty-third meets Saran. Once you’re in position, report and stand by for my order to advance on foot. Everybody got it?”
The unit leads affirmed, voices heard in all four vehicles through every headset. The vehicles split up to assume their positions and Liu, Theo, and the agents in Alpha unit continued down Lincoln, stopping behind traffic at the red light, waiting to turn onto Manchester.
Theo looked out the window at a family leaving a restaurant. HACIENDA DEL MAR according to the faded sign. A teenage boy held the door open behind him, his mom following, a to-go container in hand. The father worked at his teeth with a toothpick while the younger sister trailed after them all, dancing more than walking out of the restaurant. The light turned green and the vehicle rolled forward, the scene receding behind them. Theo wondered if the Hoffmans ever ate there. It was just up the street from their house. Maybe just yesterday they looked like that family, leaving the restaurant blissfully unaware of what was to come.
“Bravo unit in place,” said a voice a few minutes later. Soon, Charlie and the command center reported the same.
“Alpha unit is turning onto Berger now. Stand by,” Liu said. The SUV slowed, pulling to a stop on the right side of the street.
Liu muttered an expletive. Theo rubbernecked for a view and understood immediately.
“We can’t see shit,” Liu said. “We’re going to have to move in a lot closer than we thought. Front yard has a couple trees and some shrubbery. Only enough to conceal two, maybe three agents.”
“Standby, Bravo might have a break,” they heard a voice say.
Bravo unit was behind the house on Eighty-second and could access the Hoffman backyard if they went through the neighbors’. On the Hoffman property, there appeared to be several large trees and a small structure, a sort of shed or workshop, for hard cover.
“Good,” Liu said. “How many agents covered and concealed?”
“Four, maybe five.”
Liu nodded to herself. “Bravo unit, go.”
“Affirmative. Moving out,” said a voice.
“Charlie,” said Liu. “What you got?”
A breathless voice came over the line. “We’re in the back, headed west on foot, ma’am. Civilian sweep clear. Will assess side yard entry once in position.”
Liu affirmed and then no one said anything for the next few minutes as Bravo and Charlie units moved into position. Over the shrubs, Theo could see the top of the home’s front window, but because of the glare from the sun, he couldn’t tell if the shades were drawn. If open, there was no way to approach from the front without being in direct line of sight, which meant in direct line of fire. The kill zone.
“Bravo unit is in position,” a hushed voice said in their ears. “But we have zero visibility. Every window in the back is covered.”
“Roger,” Liu said. “Stay in position. Charlie unit. I want—”
“Comms to Alpha,” a voice interrupted. “We’ve got an issue. A civilian pedestrian is headed east on foot, seems to be alone, seems to be going door to door.”
Theo leaned forward, looking left. A man with a clipboard appeared, walking up to the front door of the house two down from the Hoffmans’. After knocking, the door was opened by a little old lady seemingly confused by his presence. She shook her head and went to close the door, the man barely getting a flyer in her hand before it shut in his face. Walking back down the drive, he stopped to punch around on his phone before beginning an animated conversation, tapping the volume up on his Bluetooth ear piece. The bottom of his clipboard said the same thing the side of his bag did, both in obnoxious blue-and-red letters: “CAMPBELL FOR CONGRESS!” The man made for the next house, the house next door to the Hoffmans’.
“Motherfucker,” Liu said. “We gotta stop him.”
Ordering Charlie unit to hold their position, she turned to face the Alpha team. Theo realized every agent except him was in full tactical gear, the words FBI SWAT written in bright yellow across their backs.
“Rousseau,” Liu said.
“Ma’am?”
“Out of your gear, now. You’re intercepting.”
Agent Rousseau blinked at the director. Removing his gear would take minutes. He frantically began to strip his protective suit, checking the politician’s progress. The man had already knocked on the next-door neighbor’s door and no one was answering. Bending, he slid a flyer into the mail slot.
“We have to stop him,” Theo said, pressing his hands against the glass. “He can’t go up there, it’s way too dangerous.”
“I’ve got five agents already inside the inner perimeter. We have no idea what we’re dealing with. And you want to blow our cover?” Liu said. “Rousseau! Let’s go!”
Theo watched the agent wrestle with straps and ties. There was no way he would make it in time. Not a chance. Theo looked around the van, at the agents who were idly observing their colleague taking off his gear. Theo couldn’t believe it. The politician would be ringing the Hoffmans’ doorbell before Rousseau was halfway done and none of the agents seemed to get that.
Either they didn’t get it—or their order to sit and wait blinded them to the urgency.
Theo looked down at his own gear, his one bulletproof vest.
Ripping the Velcro, he slid out of it, discarding it on the seat as he jumped out of the car. Liu pounded against the glass with a string of muffled expletives, but Theo ignored her, sprinting toward the Hoffmans’ house.