Disclaimer: I don't own Flashpoint or any of its characters. Because Santa says I haven't been a good girl.
Warnings: Rated T in case I get carried away with the language and violence later on.
Other: If you enjoy the story, please review and let me know, thank you. As ever, a huge thank you to my wonderful beta reader, HazelTree019, for helping me iron out the (considerable!) wrinkles.
Chapter One
"Two against one, Wordy: what do you do?"
Wordy looked into the two determined pairs of eyes in front of him, watching his every move, waiting for him to try something.
The basketball was steady in his hands, and he bounced it twice, testing their reflexes. The SRU gym was deserted apart from the members of Team One. Greg and Ed were working out on the treadmills while Leah used the punch-bag and Jules was stretching off. Wordy, Spike and Sam were warming up by tossing a ball about.
Sam edged closer, ready to block his team mate's move. Spike was half a stride behind him, his taunt hanging in the air. Wordy saw a flash of movement behind them as Jules moved silently onto the court. He bounced the ball again to keep his opponents focused on him as she slipped into position on their right. Wordy let his eyes flicker deliberately to their left.
"Wait for back up," he answered Spike's quip, feigning to their left. The two younger officers fell for the ruse, lunging to intercept the non-existent pass. Wordy passed the ball out to the waiting Jules on their other side, who pivoted and sunk the ball easily into the hoop.
"Speed and surprise, boys," she said with a smile as the ball bounced on the gym floor.
"Team one, gear up, hot call," came Winnie's voice, halting play.
"What've we got, Winnie?" Greg called as he switched off his treadmill.
"Shots fired at Pantile Steps."
"Pantile Steps?" Ed asked, grabbing his tac vest. "That's the derelict flats on Jefferson, right?"
"Affirmative. The witness was walking past the block, he heard the shots but didn't see the shooter."
"Copy that," Greg said, attaching his mic to his ear.
.
Less than two minutes later team one were fully kitted out and loaded into the SUVs. Four minutes after that, they arrived on the scene. Ed stepped out of the car and looked up at the towering building.
"Let's clear this floor by floor. Teams of two. Jules you're with Spike, Sam with the boss, Wordy you're with me. Leah, speak to the witness, see if you can narrow it down a bit."
"Copy that."
The three pairs raised their weapons and entered the building cautiously, dispersing into their pairs immediately and heading in different directions. The building was poorly lit and smelled damp. Faded graffiti covered the walls and the concrete floor was stained from long years of abuse. Wordy hurried along the narrow corridor with his weapon raised, aware that he presented an easy target. He paused outside the first door and waited for Ed's nod. He kicked the door in and burst through it, looking along the barrel of his weapon.
"SRU, SRU, drop your weapons!"
His eyes had swept the room before the echo of his words stilled.
"Clear," he announced into his mic. Behind him Ed withdrew and they moved to the next room along. It too was empty. Their route brought them to the stairwell.
"Moving to second floor." Ed updated the team through his headset.
"Copy," Greg acknowledged him.
They climbed the stairs at a jog, listening as the two other teams continued to clear their rooms on the floor below. They exited the stairwell onto the second floor, an exact replica of the first, but with the addition of a smashed window at the far end. They aligned themselves with the first door, and Wordy's boot sent it flying inwards.
"SRU, SRU," he shouted, raising his weapon as he burst through the doorway with his team leader on his six.
His eyes immediately locked on the single occupant of the room, and the weapon in his hands. The gun was raised and aiming at the officer's chest.
"Drop your weapon!" he shouted, his own finger inside the trigger guard, ready to react if the subject showed intent to fire.
"Put it down!" Ed reinforced his order. "Drop your weapon or we will-" Ed's words were cut off mid-sentence, replaced by a dull thump. Wordy saw the team leader crumple to the floor from the corner of his eye. His head snapped round to see a second gunman behind him, bringing his weapon to bear. He looked down at Ed in shock, and saw the blood seeping from his temple where the pistol had struck him.
"Two against one, cop: what do you do?" The first subject's voice demanded his attention, and he turned slowly back to face him. The scenario may have changed but Wordy's response hadn't. The rest of his team were sweeping the building, they knew his location and they would have the room surrounded in minutes. Slowly, he released his grip on his Heckler, leaving it to hang from its sling, and raised his hands.
"Good choice."
Behind him, the second gunman removed Ed's guns, then pulled a thick plasticuff from the cop's unconscious body and used it to secure his hands. Never obstructing his accomplice's line of fire he moved round to Wordy's side and removed his sidearm from its holster. Wordy kept his eyes forward, controlling his breathing and forcing himself to stay calm. The subject's eyes were restless, darting from the cop's face to his accomplice and the doorway and back. His short blond hair was in disarray, like he had been running his hands through it repeatedly. Wordy recognised the signs of stress and saw the dark circles under his eyes. He knew how dangerous a tired and agitated subject could be.
"Take it easy," he said, watching the man's finger edging closer to the trigger. "No-one else has to get hurt." The words served a double purpose – they would warn the rest of the team that Ed was injured.
"You don't want anyone to get hurt, then don't move," the subject warned him.
"Wordy, we're on our way to you, hang in there," Greg told him through the mic.
"I hear you," Wordy answered them both. "I'm not going anywhere."