Page 46

The SWAT truck had one narrow slit window on each side. Peeking out, Holmes could see the familiar streets of Brooklyn rushing by in bright slivers. It was cold in New York, but there was none of the black ice and drifting snow he’d gotten used to upstate. The road was dry and clear. Edwards had been stingy about the actual destination before they mounted up. “You’ll know when we get there.”

But Holmes already had a pretty good idea.

He turned back toward his partners, who were sitting on the opposite side of the truck. “We’re heading southeast,” he said. “Toward Brownsville.”

“Then I’m glad we’re in an armored vehicle,” said Marple.

Brownsville was a small nugget of a neighborhood in the middle of Brooklyn. It was packed with run-down housing projects and vacant lots. Unlike most of the borough, it had firmly resisted gentrification. Statistically, it boasted some of the most dangerous blocks in the city. If somebody with nefarious intent wanted to hide out or blend in, Brownsville was a good place to be.

Even running red lights and forcing civilian traffic to the side, the trip through the borough took fifteen minutes. It was a silent run. No sirens allowed.

Holmes looked out the window as the heavy truck ground to a stop. One of the SWAT officers leaned over to open the back door. Another slapped Holmes on the shoulder. “Move out!” Holmes stood up, stepped onto the rear platform, and jumped down onto the street. Marple and Poe followed right behind him.

Edwards was standing in the middle of a scrum of NYPD officers and FBI agents about ten yards away. When he saw Holmes, Marple, and Poe emerge, he broke off and walked over. “Listen. You guys stay behind me at all times,” he said. “Got it?”

“Where’s the target?” asked Poe.

Edwards pulled out his cell phone and clicked to a street view. “Right around the corner.” The image showed a row of modest two-story dwellings with brick facades. Ornamental metal gates separated small, scrubby yards from the sidewalk. Edwards pointed to the unit on the end.

There was a single leafless mulberry tree out front.

“That’s the one,” he said, pocketing his phone. “We’re looking for four Hispanic males with expired visas. One has a warrant out for auto theft. Intelligence says they were inspired by Guzmán’s operation in Lima. It’s possible Oliver Paul connected with them.”

“How do we know they’re here?” asked Holmes.

“Because we’ve been surveilling the house all night.”

A sergeant holding an automatic rifle walked over. “Breaching team in place, sir. Ready when you are.”

Edwards nodded. He pulled a commando-black .45 out of his holster. “No time like the present.”

Holmes was so charged up he could hardly breathe. “I couldn’t agree more,” he said.

CHAPTER 48

LESS THAN A minute later, all three partners were huddled behind an unmarked NYPD Explorer across from the target residence.

“Stay low, all of you!” Edwards called out. He was crouched, pistol raised, near the front of the SUV’s hood. Poe saw him look up and down the street as the rest of the force got into position. Traffic had been stopped at both ends of the block. Civilians had been hustled off the sidewalks. Edwards tucked his chin in toward his shoulder mic. “All units. This is Alpha. Execute!”

Poe grabbed the door handle of the SUV and pulled himself up until his chin was resting near the bottom of the passenger-side window. He could see four men in tac suits advance on the house across the street, two men on each side of the entryway. One pair held clear plexiglass shields in front of their bodies. The other two carried a thick thirty-inch battering ram between them.

All four officers stepped up onto the brick-edged porch. The battering ram swung back. Suddenly the door splintered and buckled as high-caliber rounds blasted through from top to bottom. The two cops with the battering ram crumpled and went down. The heavy ram clattered onto the porch edge, shattering bricks as it fell.

Return fire was instantaneous. A deafening chorus of pops and cracks rang out from the mass of cops and agents behind bushes and vehicles on the other side of the street. Poe had forgotten to wear ear protection. In seconds, his eardrums were stunned and numb, his hearing reduced to a low whine.

The next thing he felt was Marple’s hand on his collar, yanking him down. A rain of bullets hit the opposite side of the SUV with hard metallic bangs. The vehicle’s windows shattered. Holmes rolled on top of Marple as pellets of glass rained down.

Poe looked over to see Edwards in a shooting stance, his .45 blasting. The barrel kicked back hard with every round. From behind other vehicles, sharpshooters unleashed full automatic fire from their assault rifles. Through the low tone in his ears, Poe could hear house windows shattering and the hard punch of bullets against wood and stone. And then, a muffled shout.

“Fuck!” It was Edwards. His pistol had just been blasted out of his hand. His right palm was creased with raw flesh and dripping with blood. He dropped down behind the SUV, his back against the front tire, and retrieved his weapon from the sidewalk. Wincing in pain, he ejected the clip and jammed in another. He transferred the gun to his left hand and hoisted himself up to the hood again, blasting away.

Poe raised himself and peeked through the shattered SUV windows. Holmes and Marple had their faces pressed low to the pavement, peering from underneath their helmets.

Another volley of shots came from the house, this time from upstairs. Poe could see barrel flashes in a second-floor window. He heard the pock-pock of 9mm rounds and the echoing boom of a shotgun. More than anything right now, he wanted a gun in his own hands.

Another torrent of fire from the assault team. The mulberry tree was now shredded, branches broken and dangling.

Suddenly there was relative silence, broken only by a few residual shots from down the street. The shooting from inside the house had stopped entirely.