Holy shit. That has to be him.“Where did he go?”
It flips to another camera’s perspective where I lose sight of the man climbing a ladder to the uppermost solar panels.Fuck, we need help.
“Jarkon, where is the closest helipad?”
Hope soars when he shows me an image of an empty piece of grassland labeledMeadowlands NJ Sports Complex Heliport #2. All I need to do is call the police, tell them to send a bird, and the guys below will be saved.
I push the buttons and the male operator answers on the first ring. “Nine-one-one. What is your emergency?”
As succinctly and calmly as I can, I explain the crisis. “There’s a sniper on the roof of the MetLife Stadium. We need swat and air cover, now.”
“Are you in any danger right now?” His scripted response makes me think he’s not listening.
“No. There’s a guy with a long-range rifle on the roof.”
“Stay calm and stay on the line. I’m sending a patrol car.”
I can’t believe he doesn’t understand the gravity of the situation. “No, no. I need a helicopter, not a-”
“Don’t panic, someone will be-”
Oh, for fuck’s sake.I hang up and swipe Jarkon. “Direct me to the shooter, but don’t let him see me coming.”
Amazed it wasn’t confiscated at the accident scene, I pull Dash’s pistol from my waistband, check it for ammo, then follow a map with yellow arrows on my cell phone.
The first stop is an employees-only door and when I push, it opens. Following the dots, I jog to an elevator. Without pressing a button, it flies me to the top. When the doors open, an electronic bell rings, and I cringe.
This is the O.K. Corral. The faster gun will win. The other will die. Barrel raised, I point and shoot where boots hang down between two solar panels.
The lights on either side of him go dark as I duck behind a column.
“Motherfucker!” He shoots where I was standing a few seconds ago.
I fire two more rounds, he screams, and his lifeless body drops to the floor beside me.
Hands shaking, I text the man I would gladly die for:
Me: Sniper down
Dash: Copy that.
By the time I reach the negotiation crew, a patrol car has arrived containing one overweight officer, too afraid to exit his vehicle.
“Don’t shoot.” I raise my hands and point to the dark arc in the bright oval ring. “I’m the one who called nine-one-one. The sniper was up there. These are the good guys.”
“No one move. Keep your hands where I can see them.” The poor guy looks like he’s about to have a coronary, so we all do as he says, hoping he’ll pull through.
It takes twenty minutes for more units to show and another thirty for someone to take our statement. By then, news helicopters circle overhead.
Turning to Dash, I sigh. “I sure am tired of bad press.”
“You’ll get used to it.” As he winks, a copter marked FBI lands in the middle of the lot, a swat team rushes out, and they push us to the ground.
When they stop reading me my rights, I again mention the shooter on the roof and finally, they send a team to check out the dead guy.
~Chapter 23~
Dash.
