"We got an update yet, boss?" Ed asked with careful tact. He and his other two officers were still aimed in on the storefront from behind a police cruiser. No movement had been detected from their position and Sierra One, Jules, had reported no movement either. But they could hear the phone ringing incessantly inside.

"He's not answering, Eddie," Parker remarked contritely over his radio.

"He's not going to answer," Sam complained. He shook his head, feeling hopelessly helpless to assist the downed officer. His impatience was mounting. If he'd been running tactics he'd have pushed Sergeant Parker for the direct action option.

"Picking up anything on audio?" Lane questioned, hoping to get some sort of development out of the phone use.

"Negative. Wherever it landed, he's not nearby it," Parker answered.

"I've got movement!" Jules suddenly broke in on their conversation over the radio. "I've got what appears to be a flashlight near White Bravo One." The team utilized a brevity code system for reporting movement on a given building—it was an old technique originally developed by firefighters but saw use with police and military units worldwide after they adjusted it to fit their own procedures. The wall designated the front of a building was classified as white, and then continued in a clockwise direction—blue, black, and red respectively. Each floor was classified by a letter from the phonetic alphabet; alpha was the first floor, bravo the second and so on. Each window on a particular floor was numbered in ascending order. White Bravo One meant front of the building, second floor, and first window on the southeast corner.

The trio at street level immediately looked up at the window attempting see what Jules could, but it was no use. They didn't have a good angle. "What is it, Sierra One?" Ed questioned. It was the first development in over twenty minutes.

"Looks like someone is moving around inside with a flashlight," she explained. "It's hard to tell."

"Boss, I think we've got an opportunity here," Ed expressed over the radio. He brought up his PDA and quickly examined the floor plans Spike had sent earlier. There were only three entrances into the building—the front door on white wall, an employee entrance on the south side (blue wall) facing the parking lot, and a service/merchandise hatch in the back on the west side (black wall) of the building. "If he's up there fooling around we know where he is."

"What's your plan, Eddie?" Parker listened intently.

"We make entry now, fast and hard before our guy gets back downstairs. The rear door gives us direct access and puts us almost on top of where Keisling was hit," Lane explained. Sam looked at him with determined eyes. Ed could sense Sam's willingness to execute the plan, but Ed ignored the unspoken sentiment. It wasn't about what Sam wanted—it was about containing the subject and keeping him away from the wounded officer so they could make entry.

"We don't know if the subject moved Keisling—we haven't got any eyes inside," Parker argued. "For all we know he's upstairs now with the hostage fortifying his position. According to these plans there's only one access point to the second floor and that means the team has to go up a narrow staircase to get there. It gives him the upper hand, Ed." It was a fair assessment. A narrow staircase meant a fatal funnel, it was usually a term given for doorways because a narrow corridor or doorframe silhouetted an operator and made it easy for a gunman to shoot and kill the officer. Still, Ed couldn't help but feel as if Sergeant Parker was lacking confidence in the team.

"Greg we have got to do something," Ed urged his Sergeant. "It's been almost an hour since that officer was hit. We need to get inside and get him medical attention. If he's not on the first floor we'll reevaluate."

If Officer Keisling had been shot in any of his arteries it was likely he was already dead, unless the subject had allowed the officer to treat his own wounds. But for his part Constable Higgins could not identify definitively where or how many times Keisling had been shot. There were so many unknowns, but there was one thing they did know—Keisling was running out of time, if he hadn't already.

Parker took a seat next to Spike and looked over at his young computer expert. Spike gave him a quiet nod—the sort of reassuring nudge that it was okay to commit the team and for whatever reason it made it easier for Parker to give the go ahead. "Okay, Eddie. Do it."

"Sierra One, what's the subject's twenty?" Ed asked as he and the other two officers under his charge seamlessly began to move for the rear door on the black wall he'd briefed Sergeant Parker on.

"He's still on the second floor. I can't see him, but the light is still moving around up there. Maybe he's looking for something," Jules elucidated. She adjusted her eye relief behind the scope hoping to get a better visual, but it was no use. It was too dark. She cursed herself for not bringing the thermal scope up with her. The two they had were normally packed in Sam or Ed's kit bag since they assumed the Sierra role most often.

"Copy. Let's go boys. Fast and hard, fast and hard," he pressed. He marshaled the two officers down the road.

All three officers yanked off their helmets and put specially designed head harnesses built for night vision goggles on. The headgear was colloquially called a halo and would allow them to mount the NE/PVS-14 monocular night vision device. The optic was worn over one eye and used a third generation image intensifier tube that allowed the wearer to see in the dark—albeit through a green hue.

The trio skirted behind the assembled police vehicles on Dufferin Street, including their own Suburbans. Flashes from nearby photographers, amateur and professional alike, lit them up as they sped by. It was evident to the assembled crowd that something was happening—they just didn't know what.

Raf was in the lead, still trudging along with the heavy ballistic shield that would protect them on entry. At this point he was becoming comfortable with it, though he felt somewhat fatigued from lugging it around all over the place. At least he knew it could stop or deflect the rounds the subject was firing.

The team rounded the last police cruiser and began their speedy movement toward the north wall of the building. Getting close quickly meant they could avoid detection by the subject, who by Jules' account, was fishing around upstairs for something. They ran forward along the white brick wall of Brathwaite's sporting goods store. The cracked, two-lane pavement of Eversfield road was on their right. When they reached the back corner Raf stopped abruptly and performed a quick turkey peak to ensure they couldn't be spotted in the back parking lot where the service door was located. There was a patrol car located along Eversfield road as officers had cordoned off the area, but they appeared more concerned with keeping civilians back. "We're clear," Raf muttered as he hastened to the large double-door service entry.

Sam went to work on the lock with his kit. He moved with practiced deftness. Lock-picking was another skill taught to him in the Army. It wasn't widely taught, but it was an important tool for someone operating clandestinely on special operations.

Ed leaned out from behind the shelter provided by Raf's shield. With no windows on their side of the building he kept his muzzle trained on the door in case the subject decided to surprise them. "We go in quiet. We clear swift and silent and secure the subject. As soon as we do we'll bring EMS in to assist Constable Keisling," he briefed with hasty proficiency.

"EMS should be on our heels as soon as we clear the first floor. We can contain the subject to the second floor," Sam argued while continuing to defeat the lock.

"That's against protocol, Braddock," Ed reminded him. They couldn't possibly bring emergency services in to treat or evacuate the casualty—not with a well-armed subject at large and not in a building this small. Sometimes Sam had a problem comprehending those small tactical differences. In a war zone that sort of risk was acceptable because medics were armed and could defend themselves. Indeed, soldiers made heroic actions and sacrifices common place in order to save their comrades, but they had more people to work with than Ed had on hand. Then there was the safety of the rest of the populace. They couldn't afford to let this guy escape. They had to detain the subject first. Constable Keisling's circumstances were regrettable, but it was something every cop knew when signing on to do the job.

Braddock simply grunted derisively at the reply. He was clearly not happy with Ed's tactical command thus far, even if he'd been glad that Ed had finally pressured Sergeant Parker to allow them to make entry. But for Sam Braddock the call had taken too long. Even as he successfully picked the lock and carefully eased open the door he couldn't stifle a thought in the back of his mind that they were already too late.