Disclaimer: I don't own Flashpoint or any of it's characters. If I did, Ed wouldn't be able to go to work, because he'd be chained up in my bedroom (come on, you know he'd look good in chains…. Maybe that's just me)
Warnings: Rated T for some coarse language in chapter 2, and because there may be some violence later on
Other: This is my first Flashpoint fan fic. Reviews, good or bad, are loved, and especially feedback about the characters (my Spike doesn't sound right, I know, lol)
The day was drawing to a close. It had been a quiet shift – a good shift. No-one had been hurt, and the peace had been kept for another day. Ed Lane shot a side-ways glance at Sam; it was no accident that the two of them were riding alone together, but rather the culmination of some careful manoeuvring on the senior officer's behalf. The rest of the team had remained at the station in a strategic planning meeting, and Sam was the subject of that meeting. The junior SRU officer's birthday would fall the next day, and the team had yet to plan an appropriate celebration. Ed had been elected to distract him. Sam was oblivious to the distraction technique as the pair laughed and joked their way to the pub, via a brief stop at the bank ostensibly for funds. Leaving Sam in the car, Ed stepped out into the cool early evening air, and pulled his phone out.
As he walked through the automatic doors into the well lit bank, he hit speed dial number two, and was connected to the SRU.
"Winne, it's Ed, how we doing?" he asked quickly, thankful that the bank was one of the old fashioned sort without a glass front - it wouldn't do for Sam to discover the ruse this late in the game. Wouldn't do at all.
"Almost done. Here's what we have planned…"
"Everyone on the floor! Get down, now, now!" The voice erupted from behind him, shattering the calm of the bank. The world slowed for a moment as Ed turned to the source of the disruption; saw the four masked figures dispersing amongst the crowd; saw the four handguns flickering intermittently between the entranced customers; saw gloved hands finding shoulders and pushing people to the carpeted floor.
Real time resumed as a hand found his shoulder and applied pressure: he complied and dropped to his knees, allowing his phone to be plucked from his hand, the call no doubt terminated. His mind whirred frantically as it played catch up with his eyes. Four assailants. All armed. All carrying their weapons with confidence. All masked. All gloved. Working together without the need to constantly check each other's positions. Professionals then – this clearly wasn't their first job. He thought back; there had been no reports of similar robberies in the area. Too smart to keep working the same patch? His eyes were averted, but caught the flicker of movement by the door, and then widened. He shook his head urgently but it was too late.
Outside, Sam had watched Ed enter the bank, then his eyes drifted to stare idly across the road. His interest barely perked as a white van pulled up in front of him, parking on yellow lines. Its driver would be sorry if a traffic warden came down this road. It took him a second to realise what he was seeing as four masked men bundled out of the van and into the bank.
He rummaged frantically through Ed's glove compartment, hoping his senior officer kept his vehicle well equipped. He was not disappointed. He pulled out the small, standard issue handgun, checked it was loaded and pushed a round into the chamber. He would have preferred something with a little more firepower, but this would have to do. He carried on searching, and was rewarded when his hand closed around a small device; a listening device known to members of the SRU as an earwig.
Taking a deep breath, he climbed from the car, pressing the earwig into his ear. He knew what he had to do. One last check that there was a round in the chamber, and he slipped through the doors and into enemy territory.
His eyes swept the room swiftly, falling first on the shell-shocked hostages, and then on Ed, who met his gaze with a sharp shake of his head. For once though, Sam had no intention of obeying the order from his commanding officer.
"Sam Braddock, Strategic Response Unit. Drop your weapons!" The four gunmen turned as one, staring at the lone cop with his raised weapon. Ed glanced at the nearest assailant, but he knew he couldn't cover that distance to tackle the man before he reacted, even with his attention on the younger SRU officer. Meanwhile, Sam's cold eyes roamed the gunmen, counting one, two, three… but he had seen 4 enter the building.
"Braddock, behind you!" Ed Lane shouted urgently, his warning reaching Sam a heartbeat too late. He felt a sharp pain on the side of his head before the world plunged into darkness.
The bank robbers reacted quickly – one grabbed a female assistant with a key card and forced her towards the door, ordering her lock it, while another – the one who had struck Braddock – stalked toward Ed, having heard his shouted warning. The cop kept his gaze on the floor – if he did not appear submissive, things would go a lot worse for him. On the edge of his vision he could see the gun pointed at him, waiting for him to attempt something heroic. He needed to reassure the gunmen that he was not a threat to them. He raised his hands slowly, showing his empty palms.
"How do you know him?" the mask demanded. "You a cop too?"
Ed allowed his gaze to drift up slightly, as far as the gunman's lips, but didn't push for eye contact. When he spoke, his voice was calm and quiet.
"My name's Ed Lane, I work for the Strategic Response Unit," he broke off momentarily as a hand from behind gripped his wrist, his eyes flicking to watch the movement as it was twisted up behind him and placed on the back of his head. His eyes moved back to the man in front of him and he continued.
"But I'm off duty right now. We're not here for you." He kept his eyes forward and offered no resistance as his other hand was lifted to join the first, interlocking his fingers behind his head. A gloved hand started patting him down, no doubt searching for a weapon.
"I was going home to see my wife and kid. That's all I want – to see my wife and kid." A married man with a family was less likely to risk his life doing something stupid, and Ed was counting on the gunmen to know it. It would also make him seem more human to them – the man behind the uniform. He felt the cold metal barrel of a gun touch his cheek from behind and his heart skipped a beat.
"You just keep thinking about them," his captor instructed. "You want to see them again, you do what I say."
Ed nodded, keeping his hands on the back of his head. "I understand," he said calmly. He felt the pressure of the gun move from his face, and heard its owner move away behind him. Ed shifted his gaze to the gun in front of him, noting the gunman's green gloves and wondering briefly about the choice of colours. To one side of him he saw a gunman letting himself behind the counter, and the SRU man sought out his gloves, trying not to openly look in that direction lest he incur the wrath of his captor. Red. Not gang colours then… A method of identifying each other perhaps? The four were of similar height and build, wearing similar non-descript clothes, obviously intended to give the impression of a soldier's uniform. People, he knew, were intimidated by uniforms, and were less likely to hesitate when given an order by someone wearing one. An outfit this professional wouldn't risk using each other's names, so were the colours a substitute?
Around him, a dozen mini-dramas had played out, and the remaining two gunmen – wearing blue and black respectively – stood guard over the 10 or so hostages, who were now laying on their stomachs, hands clasped on the back of their heads. Only he – on his knees, and Sam – where he had fallen – were out of place, and a young woman, who lay comforting a small child, perhaps 5 or 6 years old. His guard caught the direction of his gaze, and interrupted his thoughts.
"Worry about your own problems."
Ed nodded, moving his eyes back forward to the green gloved man, and this time he sought out eye contact with him.
"My buddy over there," he started, nodding at Sam's prone form before moving back to Green's penetrating stare. "How about you let me take a look at him, see if he's ok?"
He kept his face non-confrontational, allowing it to show only concern for his team-mate, and hoping the gunman would read nothing more into the request. Winnie would have heard what was happening before the call was terminated. The phone's GPS could easily be traced. All Ed had to do was stall the robbers until the cavalry arrived. While Green was watching him, Red had only one set of hands to fill the holdalls with cash – it would take twice as long to complete the job, and Ed could only hope that would be long enough.
The criminal looked for a moment as if he would deny to request, then relented with a curt nod of his head.
"Slowly," he warned. "And keep your hands where I can see them."
"Thank you." The cop lowered his hands, but kept his palms facing forward, away from his body. Carefully, he got to his feet, allowing his compliance to keep Green occupied for a few more precious moments. He crossed the room to his fallen friend, aware that his movements were being watched by several of the hostages. He could only pray none of them had any heroics in mind. He pushed the thought aside as he crouched next to Sam, and glanced back at Green.
"I'm just gonna check he's alright." He waited for the gunman's nod of assent before he reached slowly toward Sam's neck, feeling for his pulse that was slow and strong. He lifted an eyelid, watching the pupil react to the bank's lighting.
"You're gonna be fine buddy," he muttered to his unconscious friend with relief. He caught sight of something in Sam's ear, and glanced away quickly, not wanting to betray the location of the earwig. He wondered if there was a way to get it from the unconscious man's ear into his own, but knew that he was being watched too closely to attempt it right now. For all he knew, one of the hostages watching him could be a plant. His fingers explored the side of Sam's head, probing gently at the wound where the gun's barrel had struck him. The blood had already started to clot and the wound wasn't deep. Once he came round, he'd have nothing worse than a lump and a headache. And of course four men pointing weapons at him… But he'd had a lucky escape. Had one of the gunmen opened fire, it would be a corpse he was looking at. He shook his head, as though he could shake away the mental image, and glanced back at his masked captor.
"Move him," the now familiar voice demanded, breaking into his thoughts. "Over there, with the others." Green had obviously come to the conclusion that having an unconscious cop by the door might attract a little too much attention.
Ed gripped Sam beneath his arms, supporting his head as much as possible. From the corner of his eye he saw the black cars pulling up outside the glass doors, and knew he had only to buy a few more moments while his team positioned themselves and established a command post. Slowly, he dragged the unconscious cop across the floor, keeping the gunman's attention on him. As yet, the SRU's arrival had gone unnoticed. He laid Sam at the edge of the group, where he hoped he would attract less attention from the other hostages. Avoiding looking round in what would immediately be noticed as a suspicious gesture, he rolled Sam's head onto its side, ensuring his airway would remain clear. At the same time, he slid a hand under it, and gently plucked the earwig out.
"Next to him, on your stomach – hands on the back of your head," the anticipated order came, and Ed complied readily, using the movement to conceal the sleight of hand that left the listening device in his ear. Now all he could do was wait.
