Title: The Elite
Chapter One – "Dragon"
Original Posting Date: August 30, 2009
A/N: Yeah, I know, another new one. Firstly, just a little background information before we get started; this is a completely AU for Power Rangers and, in certain ways, Flashpoint. Many of the characters and locations from the PRU are the same, but there will be no spandex suits, rubber monsters, floating heads, or giant robots, just real people who have found their calling in defending the defenseless.
A/N 2: In regards to my other stories in progress, here is where things stand. "Never Say Never" is on the shelf for now, mostly due to Chris and me not agreeing on some things in regards to the story. Also, I have three more chapters of "European Adventure" already finished, so I will continue to post those in the coming weeks, and hopefully be able to knock out a few more chapters as well. Due to some unfortunate life events, I just needed to express some things in a way that wasn't super lighthearted like "European Adventure." Hopefully you'll enjoy this temporary change to something a bit more serious.
--
"JASON!" yelled the bald, black man, beating the horn of his car he sat in parked outside number seventeen, Josephine Street. Josephine was located in a quiet neighborhood near Angel Grove's city limits: it was middle class; the houses were neither small nor overly large; and the lawns were all well kept. Overall, it was a fairly nice place to live.
Inside the house, a Caucasian man of average height with a muscular build and closely cropped brown hair snatched a piece of bacon from the boy across from him, who had been locked in conversation with his mother behind him, and thus not monitoring his breakfast. The mop-headed boy of eight years old with dirty blonde hair turned around just in time to watch his dad bite the bacon.
"Hey, I saw that!" the boy exclaimed defensively.
"You snooze, you lose," replied his father, a twenty-nine year old called Jason Scott. The horn blared again and Jason quickly rose to his feet. "Alright, I gotta go. That's my ride."
Standing in a very small kitchen behind their young son was Katherine Scott, a blonde haired, blue eyed beauty wearing a magenta dress. She had her hands on the countertop and was staring at her husband, looking none too pleased. "I don't understand. You knew about this," she said, with the faintest hint of an Australian accent, all that was left after nearly fifteen years living in the United States.
"Tell your folks I wish I could make it, I really do," said Jason, snagging one last piece of bacon as he approached his nine years. "It's just…I don't have a choice. It's this thing for Bryan. It's his retirement."
Katherine rolled her eyes. "It's my parent's thirtieth wedding anniversary and you've known about it for months. Mike, Carol, and the kids are flying in from out of state —"
"I know, I know," said Jason defensively. "But I can't miss this retirement thing, sweetheart. Bryan's been on the force for damn near forty years. He's one of the best cops I know and if it wasn't for him —"
"I know, I know," interjected Katherine semi-mockingly. "If it wasn't for him you would have been dead a long time ago. I get it. I just…Dad wanted to show you off a little, Chris's band is playing…"
"Look, Kat, anniversaries happen every year; retirements happen once," said Jason, holding up his pointer finger. "I just can't miss this. I'm sorry."
"What are they going to do, pin him to the wall and nail him with rubber bullets?" asked Katherine sarcastically.
Jason chuckled. "I gotta go. I love you," he replied, placing a quick kiss to his wife's cheek as he turned for the door where his son, Alex, was waiting with a black duffel bag in hand. "Later kiddo," said Jason, taking the duffle bag and throwing it over his shoulder, ruffling Alex's hair for a moment before pulling him into a quick hug.
"I wish I didn't have to go to Grandma and Grandpa's stupid party," muttered Alex, kicking the hardwood floor with the toe of his Converse tennis shoe. "Why are you always the one to get out of stuff like this?"
"Because I have a cool job," answered Jason, smiling. "I know you don't want to do it, but between you and me, deal with tonight and we'll go grab a Dodgers game soon, ok?"
"You mean it?" said Alex. Yes, his father's job certainly was cool, especially to an eight year old boy, but it also had meant lots of broken promises and missed events growing up.
"I promise," said Jason, and though promises had lost some of their effect over the years, Alex still grinned wildly. "Alright, now get out of here and go finish getting ready for school, okay?" he continued, as the horn outside wailed once more. "Jesus, can't he just use his cell phone?" he muttered, shaking his head. Pulling the door open, he turned back to his son, who was already halfway up the stairs, and yelled, "Love ya, kiddo!"
"Love you too, Dad!" shouted Alex without looking back.
Smiling, Jason turned back around and stepped into the cool morning air of Southern California during winter time. Taking a deep breath of fresh air, he leapt over his wife's perfectly manicured garden and onto the lawn, avoiding the path around altogether. He continued on to the silver Chevrolet Trailblazer parked at the curb, pulled the door open, and hopped inside.
"You do know I would have left your ass a long time ago if you weren't Zeke's second, right?" said the man seated behind the wheel.
Jason laughed and nodded. "Thanks for picking me up, Zack; the car's out of the shop tomorrow."
"No worries, Chief," said Zack, as they pulled away from the house. Though Jason was not the Chief of anything, it had been Zack's nickname for him ever since he had joined the team four years prior.
Zachary Taylor, Zack to his family and friends, was a twenty-eight year old success story if there ever was one. He had grown up in a gang heavy neighborhood in Oakland, and for nearly eight years had been a gang member himself. Then, at twenty-two years of age, he saw the proverbial light. He moved his mother and younger sister out of town and, having never been arrested for or convicted of any of his prior crimes, was able to enroll in Los Angeles's Police Academy.
He had not looked back since.
--
Several miles away, on a subway train hurtling beneath the streets of Los Angeles, an older, balding man and a teenager stood holding onto the rail bars for support. It was clear from first look that they were father and son. The father seemed distracted, lost in thought, but the son, who could only see the side of his father's face, clearly did not notice this, smiling and laughing as he continued to chat away in what was obviously an Eastern European language.
Suddenly, the train slowed as an automated female voice announced over the loudspeaker, "Now approaching Wilshire and Vermont. Now approaching Wilshire and Vermont." Without a word, the father spun around and pulled his son into a fierce hug.
"Papa?" murmured the boy, audibly confused as he hugged his father in return.
The father then kissed his son on the cheek and hastily ushered him off of the train, staring through the window and into a face that was so very much his own, until at last the train began to pull away.
--
Back across town, Zack and Jason had just pulled into an empty parking space in front of an unmarked, fifteen-story building that appeared to be in a field in the middle of nowhere. They were mid-conversation as they clambered out of Zack's SUV, both carrying black duffel bags emblazoned with the letters S.R.T. in big, white, block letters on either side.
"So what'd you think?" said Zack.
"Told him not to waste my time," answered Jason, now wearing a pair of dark Aviator sunglasses as they started through the parking lot. "The Bremler didn't live up to specs."
"Really?" said Zack, both thoughtfully and surprised.
"Hey, Danny!" yelled Jason, to a dark haired man in his mid-thirties who had just climbed out of a gold Toyota Camry.
"Hey, hey, hey!" said Danny Parker, grabbing his own duffel bag from the trunk of his car before closing the door and joining the other two men.
"Boss let him try out the new Bremler yesterday," said Zack, to Danny.
"Oh yeah?" replied Danny. "What'd you think of that double trigger?"
"Shit, she's jam all the way," muttered Jason, as they approached the building. "She's a sweet looking piece, but there's no way I'd trust her with my ass on the line."
At that point, Jason noticed two black wires hanging in front of the front door to the building, and looked up to see two people in gray pants, matching long sleeved shirts, and full black body armor rappel lightning fast to the ground. Laughing, he shook his head at them as he approached and said, "All sass; no class!"
"Well that's a good match for you; all brawn and no brain," said the one on the right, a young brunette woman wearing a black baseball cap, smiling as she began to disengage herself from her rappelling gear. She had come down first. Beneath the strap of her vest was a nametag, but only the first three letters — K. HA — could be read.
"Oh, that's funny," said Jason, leading the three man approach to the door just as it opened from inside.
Another man stood in the entryway — wearing a similar gray uniform and black cap, but with no body armor — stepping aside to let the three men in as he addressed the two that had just rappelled fourteen stories. "You guys understand the world of pain I get thrown into every time the windows need cleaning, right?"
The woman smiled apologetically. "Sorry, Sarge," she replied.
"Yeah, sorry, Sarge," said the other one, a young man with brown, almond shaped eyes and short black hair that was barely visible beneath his hat. The three viewable letters on his nametag were A. PA.
Nodding, the man they had called Sarge, whose full name — Z. Ordon — could be read on his own nametag, returned inside. Once he was gone, the woman turned to her rappelling companion with a victorious smile and said, "What's the matter, Adam, you get stuck up there? Want to go double or nothing?"
"No, Kim, I don't," said Adam, chuckling.
Back inside, Sergeant Ordon had just caught up to Jason as they walked through a rather plain hallway. "So who won out there?"
"Who do you think?" said Jason, laughing as he threw his bag over his shoulder. "She kicks his ass every time. So what's the daily special?"
Smiling, Sergeant Ezekiel "Zeke" Ordon, a bald, stocky, shorter-than-average man nodded and said, "Bread and butter; narcotics has a bust in Valencia."
"Oh yeah, who's score?" said Jason, as they descended a three-step staircase.
"Jameson's," answered Zeke, wincing slightly.
Jason rolled his eyes. "You gotta be kidding me."
Zeke wore a knowing expression. "He said it was big."
"Yeah, Jameson's last idea of big was two kids and a few mushroom caps," said Jason, shaking his head.
"I know," replied Zeke. "But if every day was your birthday it wouldn't be your birthday, now would it? Alpha-5! How are ya, sweetheart?" he continued, as they approached a silver-and-black anti-explosives robot.
"Freaking shag carpet," muttered a man squatting beside the robot, with a large remote control box in hand. He had soft blue eyes and sandy blonde hair. "I've been picking it out of her treads all morning."
"That's the price of love, Billy," said Jason, chuckling as he and Zeke continued on past a row of windows.
"Yeah, and she didn't even make me breakfast in the morning," replied Billy, causing Jason and Zeke to laugh.
Zeke then looked back and held up his hand as he said, "Take a break from your girlfriend, Billy; briefing room in five minutes."
"Billy, Bryan's retirement party tonight!" added Jason, sparing a quick look over his shoulder.
"Yeah, yeah, I'll be there!" said Billy, continuing to fiddle with the robot.
Furrowing his brow, Zeke looked to Jason and said, "I thought you had that family thing tonight"
Jason simply smiled.
--
The subway train had stopped once more; this time, the older man who had earlier said goodbye to his son, exited the train. He had a blue jacket on, and walked through the underground station with a look that had gone from distracted, to glazed over, as though he were in some kind of deep trance.
Once he reached the escalator, he took it into the upstairs section of the station and turned right, pausing when he saw a woman in a blue smock disappear around a corner. Smiling to himself, he approached. She was a brunette, curly haired and in her late forties, standing next to a yellow cart full of cleaning supplies and signs that read CAUTION: WET FLOOR in three different languages.
"Martha," he murmured, causing the woman to whirl around in surprise.
She looked at him, clearly nervous, and said something in the same language his son had been speaking on the train. They were obviously familiar with one another, but at the same time, she looked none too happy in this man's presence. He seemed to be apologizing for something, but she was not listening. Then he took her arm and, speaking very soothingly, began to pull her along. From her tone, she was being taken against her will.
--
"What are you saying I should do, Sarge?" said Jason, as he and Zeke made their way towards the briefing room via the gym. Both were now carrying cups of coffee.
"I'm saying maybe you should get the big picture," replied Zeke, with a shrug.
"What big picture?" Jason asked, both looking and sounding as though he had never heard such a ludicrous notion before.
"It's your in-laws," said Zeke, a hint of exasperation in his voice. "Their thirtieth wedding anniversary…"
"C'mon…"
"I'm just saying —"
"What, did she pay you to say that or something?" said Jason as they stopped outside the briefing room and turned to face each other.
"Hey, you know what?" said Zeke, smirking in an almost condescending way. "A cop retires every two weeks, and one day it's gonna be you." He poked Jason's chest. "So who you gonna come home to when that day comes? It sure as hell ain't gonna be us."
Jason sighed. The last thing he wanted to do was have this conversation with his boss, especially when he knew he would have to have it with Katherine come morning. Shaking his head, he turned and walked into the briefing room.
Three minutes later, the entire team was in the briefing room, seated at desks with cups of coffee and open binders in front of them, and writing utensils in hand. The robot Alpha-5 was now powered down in the corner of the room nearest the closed door, and Zeke was standing at a podium overlooking his team, an overhead image of downtown Angel Grove on the projector screen behind him.
"Short of anything incoming, we've got a narc warrant for Detective Jameson," said Zeke, to a chorus of knowing groans and murmurs. Adding intentional dryness to his voice, he continued, "The exhilarating, electrifying details of which we'll learn on the way. Ninja teams, Jason."
"Alpha team," started Jason, reading from a sheet in his binder. "Adam, one; Billy, two; Zack, three; Adam, you man the ram. Danny, you're leading Bravo."
"You got it, boss," said Danny.
"Five, six, Billy, you have DD's and flash-bangs," continued Jason, as Billy thrust out his hands like an explosion, with the sounds to match. DD's were Destructive Devices, essentially anything that went boom. "Zack, you're less-lethal."
Zack, who was seated behind Jason with his elbows on the desk and his hands folded, threw up his arms, and in exasperation, said, "What, again?"
"And I shall negotiate should the needle rise," interjected Zeke, to prevent any further argument on Zack's part. "Snipers — Jason, you're Sierra Two; Kim, you're Sierra One."
Jason and Kim, who were seated next to one another, shared a quick look. Kim was wearing her second victorious smile of the day and she had not even finished her morning coffee yet. It was definitely going to be a good day.
"Mr. Scott?" continued Zeke, jokingly asking Jason permission to put him in the second position.
"Absolutely, absolutely," said Jason, nodding. "Spread the wealth." He then turned to Kim and muttered, "What is this, Kim Day?"
Kim smirked. "Every day is Kim Day."
--
Back at the subway station, things were growing far more heated between the man and woman. Her voice was pleading, and she kept looking back over her shoulder in the hopes that someone would see her and come to her aid. The man, however, just kept repeating the same thing over and over in a tone growing in both anger and desperation.
This was a bona fide lover's quarrel.
As he dragged her along, she began resisting, but he was too strong to break away from. Then she saw a suited man on the nearby escalator and screamed, "Help me, please!" The male lover, distracted by this new presence, momentarily lost hold of the woman.
"Is everything alright?" asked the suited man, approaching the couple.
Without hesitation, the male lover reached into his jacket and pulled out a black handgun, which he pointed at the suited man while yelling in his own language.
"Sorry, sorry," said the suited man, bowing out in a way that was almost comical.
Then the gunman turned around to see that Martha was walking away, back towards her yellow supply trolley. He called her name, but she kept on walking, looking back only to shake her head at him. He aimed the gun at her and continued yelling, pleading for her to come back, but she would not listen.
"MARTHA!" he bellowed, spit flying from his mouth as he suddenly snapped. There was a loud bang and Martha hit the floor face first. Walking over to her with a look of pure disgust, he looked down on her as she lie dying in a pool of her own blood and — in his language — spat, "I warned you!"
With that, he walked away. Outside, he slipped into the bustling crowd, intentionally avoiding any and all eye contact with the patrolling police officer walking opposite his direction.
"Alpha, suspect is flagged," announced a male voice over the officer's radio, "Fleeing the vicinity, exiting Angel Grove Plaza. Suspect is male, white, mid-forties, heavyset, and wearing a blue jacket. 10-10, I repeat, 10-10."
Looking sideways at the man as they passed, the police officer slowly turned around and began to follow him. He only made it a few paces before the gunman realized the officer was there. In a flash, both had their guns trained on one another.
"Put the gun down!" yelled the officer, unable to understand what the foreign man was yelling back at him. "Do you understand me? I said, put the gun down now or I will shoot!"
Unfortunately, a blonde woman in her mid-thirties trying to escape got too close to the action. One moment she was just a passerby, the next a hostage at gunpoint. From there, the police officer could do nothing more than allow the gunman to slip away for the time being while he, the officer, radioed in for backup.
--
"Range-finders?" asked Kim, as she and Jason did one last check through the equipment room, which was simply a room full of cages loaded with any tool or weapon they could ever need.
"Check," said Jason, nodding.
"Bipods?" said Kimberly, closing the gate of the last case as Jason gave his confirmation.
"So, how'd it go last night?" questioned Jason, as they started to make their way out of the room.
Kim stepped in front of Jason and said, "Great," with no other acknowledgement.
"Really?" replied Jason, clearly surprised, "Huh."
Moments later they were entering a garage where three black SUV's were being loaded. As Jason caught up to Kim, he pressed on, "And?"
"And, it was great," said Kim, very simply, as they moved towards the back of one of the vehicles.
"AND?" said Jason, stopping at the left taillight, using the hood of the car as a resting place for his arm.
"And what?" asked Kim, throwing her things into the back of the SUV.
"What happened?" said Jason, tossing in his own gear. "Let me guess, you wanted to snuggle up in front of the TV, right?"
Kimberly rolled her eyes, but smiled nonetheless. After five years on the same team, she had gotten used to Jason's brand of teasing, and they had developed what was very much a brother-sister relationship, just like she had with all of the other guys on the team.
"It's just —" started Kim, shaking her head. "I'm sitting there at dinner with him and all I can think about is how badly I want to finish my drywall."
Jason chuckled, but just as he began to reply, he was cut off by an alarm that was accompanied by Zeke's voice over the loud speaker. "Alright, let's saddle up, guys. We got a call."
"Change of plans," said Kim, reaching up to close the trunk.
"It's game time," added Jason, helping her push the trunk closed. He then ran around to the driver's seat, while Kim sprinted to the front passenger door. Soon, they were pulling out of the garage, the last in the line of three.
"Angel Grove Plaza, copy," said Kim, into a handheld radio as they hit the freeway ten minutes later. She had a laptop resting on her knees displaying a three-dimensional map of downtown Angel Grove. "What's this guy carrying?"
"A luger," replied Zeke.
"A Lu —?" started Jason, looking at Kim in disbelief. The Luger was a semi-automatic pistol produced and made popular by the Germans in the two World Wars. Popular though it was — now for collectors more than anyone else — it had long ago become an obsolete weapon. "A fucking Luger?" he continued. "You gotta be kidding me." Kim merely smirked.
"The first victim is critical and the suspect now has a female hostage."
"I have it on my screen," said Kim, eyeing her laptop. "Where's he at?"
"South Tower," answered Zeke. "It's pretty heavy on civilians over there, so let's go careful; over."
Smiling, Jason looked to Kim and nodded. "Morning," he muttered.
"Good mornin'!" replied Kim excitedly.
"Alright, let's break it down," said Jason, cracking his neck.
"Eight in the morning, rush hour, business district," Kim rattled off.
"It's gonna be packed," interjected Jason.
"Which means," started Kim, entering a few keystrokes as the image onscreen rotated, "We gotta go high. You take…"
"North building," said Jason. "You counter."
"West?" supplied Kim.
Jason looked at the screen briefly and shook his head. "West is too high," he replied.
"East, then," said Kim. "East gives us —"
"— maximum coverage," they finished in unison.
"Wouldn't want this guy running out on us, would we?" continued Kim.
"Right, right," said Jason, nodding. "What else?"
Kim looked at him in confusion. "What do you mean; what else? This is gonna be crazy!" she added, grinning.
"Fuck yeah, it's gonna be crazy," said Jason matter-of-factly. "Every unit in the city's gonna be wanting a piece of this."
"And I'm Sierra One," murmured Kim, eyeing Jason in her peripheral vision as she focused on the computer momentarily. "Oh yeah," she went on, "I'm Sierra One."
"Chill," said Jason, smiling nonetheless.
Smirking, Kim shrugged. "I'm just saying —"
--
Near the marina district of Angel Grove sat the city's airport, now the second largest in the nation. On tarmac Thirteen-B, a United Airlines jet had just landed, and a man in his mid-twenties was walking down the staircase with a tan duffle bag slung over his shoulder. His dark brown hair was done in tiny spikes, and his chocolate brown eyes showed the wear and tear of having viewed horrors most could never imagine.
As he reached the base of the staircase, he looked both ways and then saw a man in a military uniform seated in a nearby golf cart. Immediately, he started walking that way. They greeted each other politely, and the non-military man climbed into the passenger seat as the cart took off.
For a few minutes they chatted casually, but soon they were in front of the airport where a black town car sat waiting. With a quick handshake, the spiky-haired man hopped out of the cart and into the back of the car. The military man gave the driver instructions and, with that, the car was moving.
They had only been traveling ten or so minutes when the song on the radio suddenly cut out and a female voice came on with breaking news about the shooting outside the subway station and the standoff with police that was now occurring.
"Hey, can you turn that up?" he said from the backseat. The driver nodded and did just that. "Do you know where that is?"
"Don't worry," said the driver. "We're not going anywhere near that."
"Yeah?" said the man, smiling slightly. "Well let's take a detour."
--
Having just arrived on the scene, Jason and Kim hopped out of their SUV, grabbed their gear from the back, and ran to catch up with the rest of their team at the front of the first vehicle in line. Zeke was currently engaged in conversation with the police officer who had been involved in the earlier altercation.
"What's going on?" asked Kim, to Billy.
"Just clarifying some details, I think," answered Billy, who then pointed beyond Zeke. "The guy's over there."
Nodding, Kim took a few big steps to her right, just enough to see the gunman standing in front of the subway station entrance, his weapon trained at the back of the woman's head. She had since been forced to her knees; her face was tear-stained from bawling hysterically, which she was still currently doing.
"What are we waiting for?" questioned Kim, to no one in particular. "We should be getting into position."
"Alright," said Zeke, turning around to address his team. "This guy's name is Goran. He's a Croatian immigrant — we've got an interpreter on the way — and the woman he shot earlier is his wife, who recently filed for divorce. She's critical right now. The one he's got now is Karen Parker, a thirty-nine year old single mother of two. I'm gonna try and talk this guy down; Kim, Jason, be ready for my Dragon. Alright team, let's keep the peace!"
That having been said, the team split up to take their positions. Billy and Zack moved into the back of an armored truck to provide tactical support and any less-lethal options beyond pure negotiation. Kim and Jason ran side-by-side for a while, carrying their sniper rifles against their chests. Then they reached their fork in the road and parted ways — Jason heading north, while Kim went East — with nothing more than a quick wave. At the same time, Adam and Danny grabbed their MP5's — nine-millimeter submachine guns — and moved into twenty yard flanks on either side of Zeke.
"Sir, my name is Zeke Ordon, I'm with the police Strategic Response Team," said Zeke, as he approached Goran unarmed, his hands held at shoulder height to prove this. "Look, we really want to help you, but first we need you to put the gun down, okay? Can you do that for me?"
"Get back!" snarled Goran, in Croatian, violently pointing the gun towards Zeke as he yanked the hostage onto her feet, wrapping his arm around her neck. "Get back or I'll kill her!"
"Alright, I don't know what you're saying, but can you please put the gun down?" asked Zeke, using his hands to make a downward motion. Touching the bud in his ear, he murmured, "Kim, Jason, where are you?"
"Elevator was down," replied Jason, who was now running through the stairwell of the North Tower. "I'm on foot; ten minutes probably."
"Get back!" yelled Goran, thrusting the pistol at Zeke once more.
Seemingly getting the message, Zeke nodded and began a slow backpedal towards the SUV's. There was quite a crowd now, and uniformed officers were doing their best to keep bystanders and reporters away, having already set up a one-hundred and fifty yard barricade.
"Kim, how close are you to being in position?" said Zeke.
"Five minutes, tops," replied Kim, standing outside an elevator door. "Zack, I need eyes."
"Got it, Kim," said Zack, over their hands-free communication pieces. "Elevator won't get you to the roof; you'll need to take the stairs at the top. Once your there, head to your left along the guardrail and then make your next right."
"Copy that," said Kim, as the elevator door chimed and opened. It was crowded inside, and the sight of an armed-and-armored police officer caused a good deal of nervousness as she stepped inside. Looking down to hide her amused smile, she nonchalantly said, "Fourteen, please."
On ground level, Zeke was still trying to talk Goran down, but from a distance now, though he was still not having any luck. Grabbing a black walkie-talkie, he said into it, "Dispatch, what's the status of my translator?"
"Translator is en route: ETA, ten minutes."
"That's not good enough," replied Zeke. "Patch him through now."
While Zeke gathered random phrases like "Put the gun down," and "We want to help," none of which worked even in the slightest, Goran's son had just arrived on the scene and was desperately trying to make his way past the police barricade. Zeke, who heard the disruption, quickly jogged the thirty or so yards to where two officers were attempting to restrain the boy.
"That's my dad! That's my dad!" he yelled, but the officers were not listening. "Please, that's my dad! Papa! Papa!"
"Hey, hey, hey, easy there, guys," said Zeke, pushing his way between the two officers. With one arm, he effortlessly kept the teenager at bay. "What's going on, son? Can you tell me your name?"
"M-my name is Darko," said the boy. "That man is my father."
Zeke nodded and seemed to think on that momentarily. Then he used his earpiece to patch back into his team's frequency and said, "Guys, suspect's son just showed up. I'm going to see if we can use him as a TPI to talk his father down."
"Copy that, boss," said Billy, from inside the truck. He was seated at a computer monitor that displayed in line format everything that had been said between Zeke and Goran, as well as timestamps for all major events that had occurred since the SRT's arrival. A small microphone was attached to the computer, and into it Billy said, "Nine-fifteen a.m., suspect's son arrives on scene; will attempt to assist with negotiations as a third-party intermediary."
Immediately, the words appeared on screen.
Outside the truck, Zeke was now walking with Darko behind the cover of the SUV's. "Zack, how far out is the shrink? As much as I hate to admit it, I could really use her input on this one."
"She should be here any second, boss."
"Alright, I'm going to hold off on getting the son involved until we've heard from her," said Zeke with a hint of distaste in his tone, not out of disrespect for the doctor, but simply because he despised having to ask for help outside his team. They had been assembled because they were supposed to be the best at what they did; it was situations like these that often left him feeling his most insecure and vulnerable.
At that moment, the back door to the truck opened and a gorgeous, raven-haired Vietnamese woman in a black business suit stepped inside, her cell phone pressed to her ear. "Right, well, I just got here so I'll have to call you back," she said, flipping her phone shut.
"Nine twenty-one, forensic psychologist arrives on scene," said Billy, into the microphone, turning to face Dr. Kwan as the words appeared onscreen behind him. "Morning, doctor," he said casually.
"Billy," replied Dr. Trini Kwan, nodding politely while clearly suppressing the urge to smile. After greeting Zack, she returned her attention to Billy and said, "Can I take a look at the transcripts?"
"By all means," said Billy, sliding his chair out of the way.
"The woman he shot isn't going to make it," said Dr. Kwan matter-of-factly as she approached the screen and began to read aloud, "Unclear, unclear, unclear," which was exactly what it said next to Goran's name each and every time he had spoken thus far. "Alright, patch me through to Zeke and let me get a look at this guy."
"You got it," said Zack, nodding as he reached for an earpiece that he then handed to Dr. Kwan. "Boss, we've got Dr. Kwan in the truck now."
"Dr. Kwan," said Zeke, with a laugh that sounded somewhat forced. "What are you thinking?"
Sighing, Dr. Kwan shook her head as she watched the goings-on outside on a closed-circuit television. Quick evaluations, especially in situations like these, were always tough. "First glance," she answered, "Definitely not substance abuse. He looks like he's in total tunnel-vision. I'm thinking multiple stressors. It would probably help if we knew what was bugging him."
"Right," said Zeke. Switching channels, he asked, "Kim, what's your position?"
"Negative boss," said Kim. "The roof's blocked off for renovations. I need a new location."
"Zack, did you get that?" asked Zeke.
"Got it," answered Zack. "I'm getting a new location now. It's going to be rough, though: higher angle, full crosswind, and a definite ricochet risk."
Running down the stairwell, Kimberly rolled her eyes, "Jason, what's your position?"
"I've got him," replied Jason. He was now on the roof of the North Tower, flat on his belly at the edge of the building while staring at Goran through a pair of military-grade binoculars. "It's a perfect look."
"Take it," grumbled Kimberly begrudgingly.
Jason nodded as he positioned his rifle, now looking at Goran through the gun's scope. "Billy, did you get that?"
"Copy," replied Billy. "Nine twenty-seven, Sierra One's position has officially been compromised. Sierra Two is now Sierra One."
Zeke, who had heard all of this, patched in and said, "Jason, how's it looking up there?"
"Cold zero, boss," muttered Jason, his finger slipping around the trigger. "I have the solution."
"Good," said Zeke. "Hold off for a minute. I'm going to try and use the kid. Wait for my Dragon. If the suspect continues escalating, take it." Zeke then turned to Darko and said, "Alright, here's what's going to happen. My men are going to cover you while you try to talk your dad down, okay? Now, I don't want any of my boys getting shot out here, so don't go making any sudden movements that might set him off, got it?"
Darko merely nodded as Adam and Danny came up on either side of him. They kept Darko at a distance, though, bringing him forward just enough so that Goran could see his son. Moments later, father and son were conversing in Croatian. Rather quickly, the father began to calm down.
"He's de-escalating," said Zeke, to Jason. "Keep your position."
"I'm not going anywhere."
Then, without warning, Goran snapped once again, jamming the gun against the side of the hostage's head as he shouted at the police officers in Croatian. A lump formed in Zeke's throat, but he swallowed it rather quickly. "Jason," he murmured, "Dragon."
On the rooftop, Jason smirked at the codeword confirming that he had free range to shoot. "Copy," he replied, releasing the safety on the rifle aimed right at Goran's head. "Come on friend," he muttered to himself, his finger locked around the trigger. "One…last…dance…"
"Wait, we have a runner!" yelled Zeke, but it was too late.
Just as Jason squeezed the trigger, Darko — who had broken away from Adam and Zack — ran through his line of fire. Breathing heavily, his heart thudding rapidly against his chest, Jason struggled momentarily to regain his view through the rifle's scope. There was Goran, face down and bleeding from the head, Darko kneeling and crying over his father's lifeless body.
"Son of a bitch, that was close," said Zeke, removing his hat to wipe his brow, "Jason, good shot."
"Thanks, boss," breathed Jason, now laying on his back with his hands on his stomach as he stared into the morning sky. What felt like an unbelievably long span of time, had actually been the slowest six seconds of his life.
On the ground, Zeke had turned his back to Goran's body just as two patrol officers started pulling Darko away from his deceased father. In the background, he could hear Darko yelling, "What did you do? What did you do? Why did you do that to him?"
"Alright team, let's pack it up," he said as he walked towards the first SUV. At that moment, an older, balding man in a dark suit and red necktie appeared from behind the SUV, heading right for Zeke. They clearly knew each other, as Zeke extended his hand for a quick shake and said, "How'd you get here so soon?"
"I was already on the scene; I got the call right after you guys did."
Zeke nodded. "So what brings you to my neck of the woods, Inspector?"
"You know why I'm here, Sergeant," said Inspector James Anderson. "Any time lethal force is used —"
"I know, I know," interjected Zeke. "The officers involved must undergo a complete and thorough evaluation to insure all steps to avoid lethal force were taken and that no other options could have been exhausted," he muttered, as though reciting it straight from a textbook. "Look, Jimmy, let me just save you the time, effort, and energy here; I gave the order and there was nothing else that could have been done. There, happy?"
Both sneering and smirking, Inspector Anderson sarcastically replied, "If only it were that easy. Now, let's get your boy down here so we can get this over with."
"He's on his way," said Zeke, turning away. Knowing each other and liking each other obviously did not go hand-in-hand.
A short distance away, Kim was standing at the back of the third SUV, loading her gear inside when the spiky-haired man from the airport walked up to her. "Hey," he said casually. "I saw the whole thing. I'm Tommy; Tommy Oliver."
Kim spared him a brief look and said, "Good for you," before returning to her work.
Tommy grinned. "A lady sniper, huh?" he continued. "You don't see that too often; kinda hot if you ask me. What's that you're carrying there, a Remy 700? Definitely a classic; hard to top one M.O.A., too," he went on. M.O.A. was the Minute of Angle, which was measured in fractions of degrees and pertained to the deviation of a fired ballistics round from its starting point due to gravity and/or the effect of air resistance on velocity. "I carry a vintage Colt myself; pearl grips and all. Want to see?" he asked, reaching into his jacket.
Without hesitation, Kim had drawn her pistol from its hip holster and was aiming it at Tommy as she shouted, "Put your hands where I can see them! Hands where I can see them, now!"
In a second's time, half of Kim's team was backing her up, their guns all trained on Tommy, who had frozen on the spot.
"What the —?" said a new male presence. He was of average height, quite round, and wearing a suit that seemed to strain to fit around his large belly as he waddled and wheezed towards the group. "Put your weapons down, put them down."
The others did as they were told, but Kim kept her weapon on Tommy, looking sideways at the round man as she said, "You know this guy, Dave?"
Dave was actually David Klatt, the SRT's liaison with the local Army base. "Of course I know him, now put down your weapon," he replied. That seemed to be enough for Kim, who holstered her gun while directing an expression of the utmost contempt in Tommy's direction. "Oliver," continued Dave, "I thought your instructions were to report directly to the station."
"They were. Sorry, sir," said Tommy, a barely audible hint of apology in his tone. "But I heard what was happening on the radio and I didn't want to miss it."
"Well, that's understandable, my boy! First day on the job, of course you're excited!" chortled Dave, clasping his pudgy hand on Tommy's shoulder. "Now, come with me. I'll take you to the station myself."
Tommy nodded, but before departing he reached back into his jacket and pulled out a small Polaroid of his gun, which he flashed to Kimberly. "Just a picture," he stated. Wearing a tantalizing smirk, he winked in the general direction of the team and dryly added, "Nice post-incident reflexes, guys."
--
Twenty minutes later, Jason was seated alone in what looked like a standard interrogation room. It was barely bright enough to be considered dim and not very big at all, with a steel table in the center of the room that was surrounded by four of the most uncomfortable looking chairs Jason had ever seen.
He had already been forced to turn over his firearms at the scene, but did not seem nervous about the impending investigation, merely annoyed that his time was being wasted by what he deemed to be such unnecessary trivialities.
Not long after he had been escorted inside by Inspector Anderson and left alone, the door opened once more. A different man entered this time; he had blonde hair that had been combed and parted to the side, and was wearing a navy blue suit. "Officer Scott," said the man, approaching the table. "My name is Brandon Hastings and I'm with the Special Investigation Unit. How are you doing?" Jason just shrugged noncommittally as Hastings went on, "Okay, let's start with your vest. I need your vest, shirt, boots, pants…"
Without a word Jason began stripping until he was left in nothing more than a pair of boxer shorts and a thin, black tank top. Beneath the uniform and heavy armor was a very muscular physique, one that almost any man on Earth would have been jealous of.
No sooner had he gotten his clothes off than the door opened once more. Again, it was a man in a suit, this one with wavy brown hair that had been slicked back with gel.
"You didn't wait," he said to Hastings.
"Just bagging the clothes," replied Hastings, who walked over to Jason with a large plastic bag. He opened the bag and Jason begrudgingly dropped the clothes inside.
The other man rolled his eyes. "They say debriefing and you take it literally. Big surprise there," he muttered. He, too, walked over to Jason, and extended his hand. "I'm Rocky DeSantos, your lawyer. You don't have to say anything to him, okay? That's your right. I saw it on TV, great work Jason." Jason nodded but remained silent as Rocky turned to Hastings and said, "Brandon, this is a no-brainer, no pun intended. Let's just get this over with."
"By all means," said Hastings, motioning for them to sit. After a few minutes worth of discussion about the incident at Angel Grove Plaza, Hastings taking notes the entire time, he said to Jason, "So, when you say he called 'Dragon' —"
"He means he got the order to shoot," interjected Rocky, looking more and more impatient by the moment.
"When you say he got the order —" started Hastings, but fell silent when Jason's cell phone — which was lying on the table — began to ring. "Are you going to get that?"
Checking the caller ID, Jason looked at Hastings and shook his head. Jason had only been investigated like this once before, but that one time had been enough to enforce that the silent approach was usually the best approach.
"Is that your wife?" asked Rocky, who had seen the caller ID as well. Jason nodded. "You can get that, you know. It's your right. Talk to your wife, let her know you're okay."
Sighing, Jason flipped open his phone, brought it to his ear, and said, "Hey, Kat…No, I can't talk right now…Yeah, that was us…Yep, I did it…No, no, no…don't wait up, just—just go to the thing and I'll see you after the retirement party, okay? Yeah, I love you too…" Hanging up, Jason looked to Hastings and dryly said, "Now where were we?"
"Right, picking up," began Hastings, "When you say you got the order —"
"He means he got the goddamn order," Rocky interrupted. "Come on, Inspector, you saw it. That was about as textbook as they come. When all reasonable efforts to de-escalate the situation fail and the suspect is threatening a member of the force, clearly progressing from assaultive to grievous bodily harm…Well, there we have it, yeah? Are we done here, Mr. Hastings?"
"Just about," muttered Hastings, looking none too impressed with the lawyer. "Officer Scott, are you aware that the suspect's son was at the scene."
Jason looked to Rocky, who nodded once. "My observers said there was a young male," answered Jason.
"And do you believe all efforts were made to involve the son as a third-party intermediary?"
"Yes, I do," said Jason, nodding.
"And are you confident that all options were exhausted before the use of lethal force?"
"What, you mean the option of watching him shoot one of my guys?" replied Jason sarcastically.
Hastings narrowed his eyes at Jason and said, "I'll put that down as a yes. Just so you know, Officer Scott, this is the process: We investigate alongside the coroner's inquest and our director will deliver his statement as to whether or not there are reasonable grounds to believe that you or the other subject officer used excessive force."
"He knows the goddamn process, Hastings," said Rocky.
"Until that time," continued Hastings, as though Rocky had not said anything at all, "You're under investigation. We recommend you take a break, spend some quality time with your family…"
"Thank you, Inspector," said Rocky impatiently. "Are we done here?"
Rising to his feet, Hastings nodded and began gathering his things. "See you at the inquest," he muttered, leaving.
Jason waited long enough for Hastings to get a good distance away and then stood up as well, heading for the door.
"Wait, wait, wait," said Rocky, Jason slowly turning around to face him. "There's still one more person you have to see…"
Rolling his eyes, Jason returned to his seat and sat back down. He knew exactly what was coming; the worst part of any lethal-force investigation. Once they had gone over everything in private, Rocky departed with a brief handshake. As he exited the room, a third presence entered: Dr. Kwan, carrying a briefcase that she laid on the table in front of Jason.
"Look —" he started.
"I know, I know, you're fine," said Dr. Kwan, over the top of him. "You did a great job out there today, Jason, but you need someone to talk to. Everything is strictly confidential…"
Jason grinned. "Doc, if you want a date that bad, all you have to do is ask."
Both laughed as Dr. Kwan rolled her eyes. "Oh, you know what?" she began. "Fuck it; I forgot who I was talking to here. You're not that guy. You're not going to wonder if you did the right thing. You're not going to have any sleepless nights; flashbacks; memory loss; time distortions. You're not going to...feel alone, feel guilty; feel guilty about not feeling guilty. That's what happens to other people, you'll be fine." Walking back to the door, she looked over her shoulder and added, "You know where to find me. Not that you'll need to…"
--
Much later that night, the rest of the team was sitting at a table in the local police watering hole for the retirement party. They were long out of uniform, drinking beer and chatting casually, their conversation intentionally drowning out the superior officer currently giving a speech about the retiree when Jason entered the bar.
Billy immediately noticed him from across the room and flagged him down. Noticing this, Jason nodded and started towards the table. From the actual bar area where he was, there was a small staircase leading down to something of a sitting area with many round tables and chairs, and a small stage where the speaker was standing. Just as Jason passed his side of the U-shaped bar, Kim hopped out from around the corner with two beer bottles in hand, one of which she handed to Jason with a smile.
"Code of silence been lifted yet?" asked Kim, taking a sip from her bottle of Stella Artois.
"Yeah," said Jason, nodding as they continued on towards the table.
"So, how'd it go?"
Jason shrugged. "The way they do," he answered.
Kim rolled her eyes. "Want a piece of gum?" she asked, extending a pack to him. "It's minty fresh…" Jason, who did not look amused, shook his head as Kim went on, "Listen, I saw you up there. It was a clean shot."
"Yeah," breathed Jason, "It was."
"That guy knew what he was in for," Kim pressed on. "You saved lives today, Jason."
"What do I always tell you?" said Jason, taking a long drink as they hit the staircase. "Making the world safe so that others may —"
"— eat pie," they grumblingly finished in unison, grinning at each other.
"Mr. Scott!" said the man on stage, chuckling as Jason and Kim entered the room. Behind him was a long banner that read Senile, Retired & Useless. "You better have an outstanding reason for being late!"
All of the sudden the whole room broke into applause at Jason's entrance, people hooting and hollering and beating their fists against their respective tables. Apparently the story had spread fast and, as was often the case, cops tended to side with their own in matters like this. Jason humbly ignored this greeting, managing nothing more than a small nod as the man continued, "Good job today son! And I'm done; as you were."
Jason and Kim took their seats with their team just in time to join the applause for the speaker. Once the applause died down, Kim had barely had time to take another drink when she noticed Dave Klatt and Tommy Oliver approaching the table.
"Okay, we're going to try this again," said Dave, placing a hand on Zeke's shoulder. "Team One, this is Tommy Oliver."
"Hey," said Tommy, with a wave, though very few people at the table really seemed to care.
"Tommy's going to be joining you," continued Dave. "He took his baby steps in the Newton Division, went Army, and is joining us straight from Special Forces in Afghanistan. Tommy, this is Zeke Ordon, the team sergeant," he announced, Tommy and Zeke shaking hands. "And here we've got Zack Taylor, Billy Cranston, Danny Parker, Adam Park, Kim Hart, and Jason Scott, the team leader."
"Nice shot out there," said Tommy, to Jason.
Jason nodded. "Thanks," he replied simply, taking another long drink.
Kim then turned to Zeke and said, "I thought the team was full."
"Yeah," added Danny.
Smiling, Zeke pushed his chair back and rose to his feet. He then moved to stand behind Danny and placed his hands on the younger man's shoulders. "I wanted to wait until the whole team was here to make the announcement, but Danny's just been put on the fast track for sergeant. Congratulations son."
Next moment the table had erupted in cheers, everyone outside of Zeke, Dave, and Tommy clambering to grab hold of a visibly overwhelmed Danny. "This one's on me guys," said Dave, once things had died down, placing a wad of cash on the table. "You guys earned it."
A surprised chorus of "Thank you, sir!" followed as Dave nodded and walked away. Tommy, noticing an empty seat between Kim and Zack, quickly slid into the chair, gazing at the back of Kim's head until she finally turned around and noticed him sitting there.
"Kim, huh?" murmured Tommy. "That short for Kimberly?" he asked, as though there was a legitimate chance that it could have been short for something else.
Kim smiled. "No," she replied, shaking her head while lying through her teeth. Then her expression grew serious. "Explain something to me, Tommy. Elite special-ops counter-terrorist guy leaves it all behind for the glamour of urban policing…what's up with that?"
Tommy looked both taken aback and concerned. Of all the things she could have asked him, why did that have to be the first one? Luckily, Zack had noticed Tommy as well, and seemed much more impressed with his Special Forces background than Kim did. "So, Tommy," said Zack, tapping him on the shoulder to get his attention, which Tommy thankfully gave him, "How many of those Al-Qaeda guys you take out?"
"What, like to dinner?" said Tommy, laughing.
"Man, I heard about you," interjected Adam, from across the table. "My brother Eric was in basic training with you. He swears you were sober, but you gotta be wasted to take seven tasers like that, right?"
"I could take seven," said Zack, before Tommy could reply.
"Seven what?" asked Kim, her brow furrowed.
"Seven tasers," answered Zack, his expression and tone both quite serious.
Kim laughed. "You could not take seven tasers, Zack."
As the conversation grew louder, the words being spoken became less and less clear in Jason's head, until all that he could was an ever-rising-in-volume round of indecipherable sounds. Suddenly looking like he might get sick right then and there, Jason slowly rose to his feet so as not to attract attention, and then headed for the bathroom near the bar, completely unaware that Zeke was following after him.
Jason had his head buried in the white porcelain sink, splashing cold water onto his face when Zeke entered the bathroom. Walking up from behind, Zeke laid a hand on Jason's shoulder, the latter of whom inclined his eyes just enough to see the older man's reflection in the mirror.
"I'm fine," said Jason, standing tall as he reached for some paper towels and began to pat his face dry.
Zeke shook his head. "You should do the math one day, you know, on all the 'I'm fine's.' They're going to catch up with you eventually."
Jason could only sigh as Zeke turned and exited the bathroom. Then Jason closed his eyes for a moment and immediately wished that he had not, for he saw not the darkness he had been expecting and hoping for. Instead, it was Goran's dead body lying on the cement, the young boy Darko kneeling over it with violent tears streaming down his face.
Shuddering, Jason fought hard to suppress the resurgent urge to vomit. Using lethal force, no matter how many times you had done it in the past, was never easy, especially when doing so had nearly claimed the life of an innocent teenager…