Chapter 57 Hey, Kool-Aid! #2
Alpha One is the last voice I hear through the main channel. “Living room clear.”
With thirty agents, plus command and snipers, a single comm line isn’t feasible. Especially because the mics are always on for this type of op. While we’ll mostly rely on hand signals, hearing everything at once will be distracting. Only the team leads will monitor the main channel.
Charlie One raises three fingers, dropping them one at a time to signal our entry.
I get another surge of adrenaline as we pass the threshold. Looking down the barrel of my rifle, I arc my vision swiftly. Nobody jumps out at us. No bullets whizzing by.
The floor is littered with broken glass, kicked over tables, and shell casings. I lose count after I step over the first ten STK bodies, bloody and riddled with bullet holes.
Lives lost needlessly. All because Carnage refused to surrender.
The distant gunfire steadily decreases, eventually only silence remains.
Charlie Team proceeds into the dining room. Looks like we interrupted dinner. The table is covered with plates of partially eaten food. Pasta night, by the looks of it.
While we were sweating our asses off outside, they were living life as usual. Despite knowing the FBI was surrounding the compound and attempting hostage negotiations, they thought it was a good time to break bread.
A female with a bullet hole in her forehead is slumped in a chair. A handgun on the floor right below her open hand.
Jesus. This is disgusting.
“Dining room clear,” Charlie One announces quietly for those monitoring the main channel.
He pauses at the edge of the dining room and turns back to us. “Bravo heard footsteps above. They’re taking the second floor now.”
Damn. I want to get up there. I’d bet my next paycheck Carnage is cowering in a safe room with my sister and the doctor.
Off the dining area is a large empty kitchen, which we blow through.
We advance in synchronization into an expansive room. It appears to be the hub of the house, with hallways shooting like spokes in four directions. A large staircase on the far side leads to the upper level. I can only see as far as the landing at the midpoint, where it doubles back.
The stairs are clear, but the rest of the room is more of what we’ve seen thus far. Bloody STK bodies who went down shooting. No agents down. Thank fuck.
We spot Alpha Team stealthily padding out of a hallway, guns extended.
All heads whip toward the staircase simultaneously. Thumps and thuds come from above, signaling a struggle. They aren’t shooting, but they’re putting up a fight.
Alpha One points out the first-floor halls they’ve cleared, directing us to take the last so they can head up to assist Bravo Team. And they’re off.
“Five doors,” our team leader whispers over his shoulder to us upon entry into the final hallway.
Using hand signals, he splits us up to check the rooms faster. Hemsley leads a few of us through a door on the right, which resembles a science lab, à la Walter White.
I pivot my vision from wall to wall, scanning every inch of my surroundings. No signs of life in here.
“This must be where they’re working tirelessly to cure childhood cancer,” Romero utters sardonically.
ERT is gonna love getting in here. It will be their Super Bowl. Even the evidence has evidence.
We return to the hall, then proceed into another room. This one is an office. Nobody to be found—saved, shot, or otherwise.
In half a minute, we clear all rooms down this hallway, then retreat to the main room.
Charlie One provides an update to command and the other team leads. “Last hall on first floor clear. We’re proceeding upstairs.”
“It’s all uphill from here,” Andrews whispers, making a partial attempt at humor.
We fall in line and ascend the stairs, keeping flush against the wall.
“It’s too quiet up there,” Romero offers about five steps up.
The hair on the back of my neck stands on end. All four SWAT agents at the front of the pack freeze at the landing.
We’re all feeling it.
Something is very wrong here.
Charlie One attempts to hail base on the comms. “Command, what’s the status of Alpha and Bravo?”
I switch over to the main channel, noticing all the others doing the same.
No response.
Absolutely zero chatter from the other team leads, not even background noise.
Fuck.
I mentally rewind. A lot occurred in the four or five minutes since we entered the compound. But not much in the last two minutes.
Andrews tugs on my forearm, urging me down the stairs. “Fall back. Regroup.”
As we’re returning to the first floor, Hemsley calls out, “Command? Anybody? What’s happening up there?”
Nothing.
“I didn’t hear you in my earpiece,” I tell him.
“Me either,” Fowler says. “They took out our comms.”
I eye the others questioningly. “It’s been dead silence other than those thumps when Bravo took the second floor.”
Charlie One decides on a full retreat. “To the van. Now.”
In the relative safety of the SWAT van, I scan the faces around me. Each one is teaming with a mix of bewilderment and alarm.
Twenty agents went upstairs.
Twenty innocent men and women.
Twenty.
No gunshots. No comms. No yelling.
Just thuds. Then silence.
I voice my racing thoughts. “Something took them out almost instantly. Had to be a chemical gas. Dissipated before it got down to us.”
“Sounds extreme,” Andrews responds. “This is his compound, though. Strong chance he had it built with a defense system. Paid cash for it or silenced those involved in the construction, which is why our analysts didn’t find it when they scrounged together intel today.”
Romero offers his two cents. “Carnage was prepared. Either for rival gang attacks or law enforcement raids.”
Fowler chimes in next. “Let’s not forget he was also planning an STK mutiny. He had plenty of fucking enemies. For all we know, the gas was only his first layer of defense. Even hazmat gear might not be enough to get us to him alive.”
I squeeze the bridge of my nose and grit out, “Jesus fucking hell. They walked into a trap. No doubt Carnage is ready to wait us out until the end. We caught him off guard when we showed up at his fortress today, and he’s making his last stand.”
McBride smacks his lips, then cusses under his breath before saying, “Boys, we laid siege on the Alamo. And handed that sumbitch twenty more hostages in the process.”
If they’re alive, I think. But don’t say.
I’m not putting it out in the universe or challenging fate. That was Andrews’ mistake this morning. One I won’t be repeating.
Charlie Three is already lowering into the driver’s seat. “Let’s go back to the rig and see if they caught anything on chest cams from those agents before losing signal. We can’t do anything without more intel or reinforcements.”
He fires up the ignition, and we fly out of there almost as fast as we came in.
Anticipating our approach, SSA Chase is waiting for us when we pour out of the van. Her fists are on her hips, and her jaw is set in stone.
She’s fucking pissed. Join the motherfucking club.
I wonder how long they were blind to what was happening inside.
Behind her, a string of ASACs, SSAs, tech analysts, and the SWAT commander descend the stairs.
Somewhat ignoring us, the SWAT boss addresses his people. “We lost comms. What’s the status?”
Charlie One speaks for the rest. “That’s why we came back. After clearing the first floor with Alpha, we lost comms.”
He keeps talking, but I stop listening when SSA Chase waves me over. McBride and Andrews trail a few steps behind me. She notices their approach and holds out her palm to stop them.
Fucking hell. Bad sign.
Sucking it up, I erase the distance to Chase in three large strides.
She gives me no warning before sucker punching me with her words.
“Right after we lost comms, Carnage called to tell the negotiator his demands. He wants to see you and Lila. Alone. Or he’ll execute all twenty agents along with your sister, the surgeon, and a nurse he brought in to help with his surgery. Which we interrupted today, it seems.”
He wants Lila up there? I’ll go, but not her.
No, no, no.
A haze of fury cyclones around me, making my vision blur. My pulse pounds violently in my temples. As I picture Lila standing somewhere in that bloody compound, my innards retract and cramp like I’m being pierced with a thousand icy daggers.
“No,” I grit out through tightly clenched teeth.
That’s the only word I can get out through the vitriol clogging my windpipe.
Her features soften incrementally, which is the warmest she’s ever been with me. “The ASAC already made his decision. I had no choice. Lila will be here in ten minutes.”
And I see red.