Maura's head cleared slowly. Everything hurt. Her chest hurt, her back hurt, her ass hurt. She was sitting on the floor, back against the wall but slumped forward, looking at a concrete wall. Breathing hurt. What had happened?
She remembered a flash, and everything had gone black. Someone had been behind that flash. Muscular man with a gun. One of us. Her mind flowed back together a bit more. Not one of us, but a police officer. He had fired his gun as they were coming in from the garage towards the morgue. Fired his gun. Aha, he had shot her. Why? She was thinking so slowly.
As her head cleared she started assessing the damage. The right arm was useless. The neck had locked up in pain, but she felt her chest with the left hand and found a hole and lots of blood. Lots, but not enough. This is bad. Chest wound, punctured lung, bleeding into the chest cavity.
She looked around and saw her phone on the floor. It had been stepped on and crushed. No help there. Without a clock she had no idea how much time had passed, but judging by the pool of blood and the bullet wound, she had probably been unconscious for about ten minutes. With this amount of internal bleeding she would last another twenty. If she could drain the chest cavity she would extend that by another twenty minutes before running out of blood, but that would take instruments that were in the morgue, and someone to use them. She was one floor down and immobilized, and there was no way she could operate on herself this time.
After the 2008 shootings the whole station was covered by gunshot sensors, so the alarm would have sounded immediately after the first shot. The whole building must be in lockdown now. That meant all her assistants who could handle a knife had been either evacuated or safely locked in the lab. No-one was coming. That meant about ten minutes to blackout, and then another ten before her lungs stopped working as her chest filled with blood. Her mind was now absolutely clear, while her body was failing.
Time to make peace with the world.
- ## -
Susie was restocking the ME van in the garage when the shooting started. She heard the shots, followed by the gunfire alarm going off and the lockdown siren hooting twice. She shut the van door and waited in the back of the van, listening for sounds outside. She wondered if Dr Isles had made it to the lab before the doors auto-locked or if she, like Susie, was trapped in a corridor or other non-lockable area.
- ## -
Jane and Frost were locked in on the fourth floor, looking out and trying to figure out what was happening. The phone system was out, the cell phones were out. People were shooting inside the building, and other people were outside shooting in. Frost had spotted Korsak and Frankie across the street, taking cover behind a car. Thank god someone was safe. Jane knew that Maura was heading back in from a call-out and would arrive at the police line in minutes, safe and sound outside. All they needed to do now was figure out what was going on, and stop it. No biggie.
Jane saw Frost look over her shoulder toward the door. He looked surprised. Surprised was not good in the middle of a shoot-out. Instead of looking, Jane spun while extending her gun arm in a move that was part ballet and part firing range. The man in the door fired a split second before her. The bullet went past her ear, out through the window, with the sound of a thunderclap. All that talk about bullets buzzing like hornets was bullshit. Jane fired second, but with the aid of professional training. The bullet hit the gunman in the face, killing him instantly.
She turned again and checked on Frost, who was shaken but unharmed. About half the glass was gone from the screwed-shut window. Finally something useful. A moment of checking cupboards and Frost found a bullhorn and could communicate half-assedly and very publicly with Korsak and the uni:s outside.
"Several gunmen inside. Shooting above us and below. Any ideas?"
"Evidence Lockup top floor. At least three shooters on first and basement. More up top."
- ## -
Maura blacked out for a moment and came around again. Every breath a little shallower. Moving was out, she felt like she was pinned to the wall. She could not even straighten up. The complete silence made it easier to gather her thoughts, even though the pain made her think much slower than usual. She started to play one of her favorite musical pieces inside her head. "Menuette" by lord Omar Khayyam Ravenhurst, as conducted by Karajan. She had listened to it hundreds of times and knew the sad little tune by heart. It was eight minutes long. One last slow dance before blackout. She smiled faintly at the thought.
In complete silence a pair of feet appeared in front of her and she was momentarily chilled. The owner crouched and she realized it was Susie, not the shooter. She was black and white. Susie's lips were moving but she was not making any sounds. Usually Maura would read lips without effort, but she was too unfocused and in too much pain now. She realized what was happening and spoke into the silence without knowing if Susie understood her. She could not hear her own voice.
"Listen, Susie. Stop and listen. I'm deaf because of shock, and I'm dying. I've been shot through a lung and I have about (she checked the music) six minutes before I lose consciousness and another ten before I die. I don't have time for anything else but this, do you have a recorder?"
Susie reached into a pocket and held out a silver block. Good old Susie, always prepared like a good scout. If Maura survived this she would only wear clothing with pockets from now on.
"You must stay and listen, this is important! Stay and witness!" Maura fumbled with half-numb fingers and found the record button on the autopsy recorder. She checked the recording light. Good.
"My name is Maura Constance Isles, and this is my last will and testament, superseding all earlier versions. I have been shot and I am dying but clear of mind and sane. Witness to this is Chief Criminologist Susie Chang, who I also name joint executor with my lawyer Jerry Espenson at CP&S and she is also one of the beneficiaries. Any conflict due to this will be handled by my lawyer. I now present my will."
- ## -
Jane and Frost worked their way toward the north staircase, using their detective keycards to unlock and re-lock doors. Whoever the attackers were, they were probably intent on using the stairs to get whatever they were after from the top floor to the exit at the bottom. The plan had to include getting out, and the stairs were a handy shooting gallery. In the south end someone else had come to the same conclusion, they could hear distant gunfire. Jane wished she was wearing her vest but no such luck. Keeping up the cowboy cop image suddenly seemed a lot less clever. Frost was wearing his, of course. He would outlive them all, because he was smart about the right things.
Jane went into one of the bathrooms and broke a mirror to have something to peek around corners with. Another seven years of bad luck, and no vest. She handed a big shard to Frost, and motioned him to go up while she went down, using her mirror shard to peer around and look for ambushes. She had at least three armed perps below her and she was heading towards them with zero protection and no idea of how heavily they were armed. They could have Uzis for all she knew. She gave a brief thank-you prayer to whatever god was listening that all her close family, Ma, Frankie and Maura, were safely away from the building.
- ## -
"Five million dollars from my estate will go to set up the Dirty Robber Fund, as outlined in earlier testament drafts, to benefit families of detectives of the BPD. Mr Espenson at CP&S has all details. I leave two million dollars each to Senior Criminologist Susie Chang of the BPD, Special Agent Theresa Lisbon of the CBI and Detective Kate Beckett of NYPD Homicide for being my best friends in life. I wish you three all the best. I wish I had known you longer. No-one else ever treated me like you did." She saw Susie's feet shuffle soundlessly in her peripheral vision.
She checked the music. Minutes left. Darkness was closing in. "The entire remainder of my estate goes to Detective Jane Angela Rizzoli of the BPD. My one and done, love of my life. I wish I had told her, and now it is too late. I hope you have a good life, Jane, and that you spread the wealth as you see fit. You know what I would have wanted. This concludes my last will and testament, signed Maura Constance Isles." She tried to press the stop button, but missed without noticing. "Thank you, Susie. I am very tired and it hurts so bad and I think I need to sleep now. Keep this safe, and fight for it if needed. Please." And she felt friendly darkness reach out and embrace her.
Susie took the recorder out of the limp hand and stopped the recording. She put a fresh memory card in it in case Dr Isles woke up again, and put the recorder back in her hand. Then she pocketed the recorded memory card and headed for the stairs, crying.
- ## -
Jane heard loud bangs from above and figured Frost had found a perp, or the other way around. She saw movement in the mirror two floors further down and slowly reached out with her gun, trying to aim downward via mirror and figure out how to shoot at this idiot angle without breaking her wrist or risking her head. A face suddenly appeared much closer than expected and she fired out of reflex without meaning to. The head disappeared, but so did the mirror and her gun as she lost her awkward grip. Disarmed, and with at least two - probably more than three - perps remaining. Not good. She was deafened from the echoing rapport in the bare concrete stairwell. Find a gun. Any gun. She headed back up the stairs to re-arm. She could no longer hear shooting.
- ## -
Frost was pressed against the stairwell wall, crouching. He had seen a pair of legs descend from above and made a quick assessment. Chinos, not uniform trousers. Sneakers instead of oxfords. That meant not a detective and THAT meant enemy. He aimed directly for the pelvis going for a crippling hit instead of trying to take the perp more or less unharmed. The time for niceties was in the past, this was a battlefield. The bullet shattered the pelvis and turned the femoral ball joint into shrapnel, shredding the intestines. As he walked up past the unconscious and bleeding perp he grabbed him by the hair and slammed the back of his head into the granite step of the staircase once, aiming for a good concussion. Not strictly according to regulations, but better than getting a bullet in the back in case the fucker ever woke up. Frost was taking no chances. He intended to go home tonight.
- ## -
Susie waited in the stairwell, listening to echoing sounds of shooting from above and crying over the fact that the person she admired most in the world was quietly dying in a corridor, and she could do nothing to help her. A loud noise from above and something went bang on the floor next to her. Someone a few floors up had dropped a gun. A big black Hi-power. She picked it up, and remembered the moves Detective Rizzoli had taught her when she, Dr Isles and Detective Rizzoli had improvised a girls-night-out at the shooting range, learning self-defense. Slide back, mag out, check the rounds, six left. Mag back in, slide release, ready to shoot. She looked at the serial number. She recognized it. She had fired this gun before.
Somewhere up there Detective Rizzoli, her one and done, was fighting unarmed. Cold fury filled her. Fuck that. Susie Chang climbed the stairs up out of sub-basement 2, looking for someone to hurt.
- ## -
Jane started to regain some of her hearing as she grabbed the gun from the perp she had shot in the face earlier. Twelve rounds in the mag. Her ears were still ringing but she faintly heard shooting from the stairwell again, this time from the floors below. She wondered if Frost was OK upstairs. She checked the pockets of the dead body and found a second mag. This was a Glock, and a full mag plus a three-quarter meant enough rounds to take on an army. Get a new mirror, back to the stairs, kill these fuckers before they can get away. Showtime! She was nervous and aggressive at the same time. The job required that someone take risks, and she had no family. She was prime cannon fodder, and proud to take the responsibility. She headed back to the stairwell.
- ## -
Frost backed into a niche on the homicide floor and waited for someone to walk into his firing line. If the perps wanted to get something out of holding, they had to come down either here or down the south stairwell. He would stay here and gun down anyone who looked suspicious. He had no reason to chase around, taking risks and exposing himself. If they decided to come down here he would stop them. If they decided on the other stairwell they were somebody else's problem. In gunfights you can either be smart or dead. Frost chose wisely.
- ## -
Susie advanced up the steps, gun cocked, looking for targets. She checked her wristwatch and found she had been away from Dr Isles just four minutes, but it felt like an eternity. Her thought process had devolved into a short mantra: Find Detective Rizzoli. Get help. Get out. Save Dr Isles. She saw a pair of camouflage pants. Someone was standing in the stairs across from her, looking up at the sounds of fighting and holding a gun. She aimed carefully and fired across the shaft directly into the kneecap. The person in the camouflage pants collapsed in pain and tumbled down a flight of steps, while she rushed up to meet him. She immediately fired a second shot into his forehead just inches away, not considering ricochets until it was too late. She was lucky, the ricochet pinged off and vanished without hitting anything but concrete and granite. She stepped directly on the corpse and continued climbing. Four rounds left. Find Detective Rizzoli. Get help. Get out. Save Dr Isles. Four rounds left.
- ## -
Jane descended the stairs again and found the perp she had shot through mirror aiming. Her flinch-shot had put a bullet through his neck and he had bled out. He had another Glock, and she took the mag, pocketed the slide and tossed the rest of the gun down the shaft. No reason to leave armament lying around for bad guys to pick up. She kept advancing down. She heard more gunfire below her. There should be at least two shooters left. She still couldn't hear well, but she sensed someone coming up the stairs. She aimed, but held up as she recognized the jacket. Susie.
Susie climbed into view, with a gun in her hand. She saw Jane and took a deep breath.
"Are you OK?"
"You need to get out of here Susie, this is fucking dangerous. Get into the corridor-"
"You need to listen to me, Detective! In the basement-"
"We can't argue now, get in the corridor. There are more perps in the stairs."
"JANE! Maura is shot and is DYING in the basement. We need to get her to a fucking hospital RIGHT NOW!"
And lo and behold, Jane Rizzoli listened.
- ## -
The next perp staggered into Frost's line of sight carrying a huge duffle bag full of something. The weight slowed him down, and Frost calmly shot him in center mass, instantly stopping the heart. The perp collapsed on the steps and the duffle bag rolled down onto Frost's platform. He pulled the bag towards him and sat down behind it, using it as a shield. He settled in and waited for fresh targets. He had all the time, and patience, in the world.
- ## -
Susie and Jane sprinted down the stairs to the bottom floor, scrambling over two corpses along the way, and Susie showed Jane where Maura was sitting. Her breathing was slow, shallow and labored. They grabbed her arms and dragged her out through the door into the underground garage, painting a wide red line showing where they had gone. Jane ran off to get her car, Susie stayed with the body, gun ready with her three remaining rounds. Two minutes later Jane's flat black Crown Vic arrived, and she opened the back door. The car still had the police issue rear seat, hard fiberglass. Susie hauled Maura inside, wincing at the new damage she was probably doing to her inner organs, while Jane kicked out the windshield to make herself more visible. There would be snipers outside. Through the ringing in her ears she could hear shots fired above them in the garage, and maybe movement. No time to deal with this, she had to get Maura and Susie out. Susie closed the rear door and jumped in the front seat, and Jane gunned the engine. Cop engine, cop shocks. She had won a bet with it once, and knew the Vic could manage thirty in the parking garage if you just had the balls to rev it and keep turning in tighter. They headed for the exit doing thirty-five.
- ## -
The final attacker from Evidence Lockup swung himself around one of the metal handrail supports, drawing a bead on Frost before he could react. It was a real circus act, the perp only had time to fire one shot, but it was perfect. It hit Frost squarely in the chest, but first it passed through a foot of hard-packed cocaine in the duffle bag and by the time it reached the vest it had no energy left. Frost flinched and fired back, hitting the perp's elbow instead of his chest. The attacker lost his grip and disappeared down the stairwell, pulping at the bottom. Frost kicked the canvas bag away from himself and retreated into the corridor to wash the cocaine spray from his face before it could seep into the skin and disorient him. Frost didn't know it yet, but his battle was over.
- ## -
Jane hit the exit ramp from the garage going almost fifty, and saw the final gunman turn toward her as she skidded round the last bend. He had two seconds to react, and it was not nearly enough. She exited into the street through the mesh lockdown screens with all four wheels a foot off the deck and a crumpled body on her hood, cementing the legend of Crazy Jane Rizzoli for generations of cops to come. She prayed that no-one would try to kill her as she aimed for a gap in the police barricade and headed for Mass General with her valuable cargo in the hard back seat, fishtailing all the way.