"How did he get out?" Parker asked, turning to Spike.

Spike shook his head. "Maybe he got over this back wall next to the parking lot," Spike guessed. He pointed at the satellite photo of the target building. The empty parking lot on the west side of the store extended until it met a brick wall which bordered a two story house. If the subject got over that wall then he was running free through more yards in the neighborhood.

Sergeant Parker immediately ordered uniformed officers to sweep through the area and check, but it was only a guess at the moment. Officers began searching back yards, side alleys and sweeping different nearby streets and adjacent homes. They knocked on doors and questioned or warned citizens an armed subject was at large. The entire situation was a mess.

Sergeant Parker stepped out of the command truck just as team four was rolling up to the scene. Parker saw the familiar face of an old friend and former team member approaching. Sergeant Rolland "Rollie" Cray stepped forward and offered a hand for the team one sergeant to shake. "Rollie, good to see you," Parker greeted.

"What's going on, Greg?" Cray questioned as he surveyed the site. There were bits of shattered glass all over the pavement, bullet-ridden police cars and before he'd arrived he had just been told the subject had evaded capture. Team One was out of their element it seemed.

"Subject pulled the wool over our eyes," Parker admitted peevishly. "He rigged a flashlight up to a fishing pole on the second floor to draw our attention up there. We made entry and honed in on that position but obviously he wasn't there."

"You didn't clear beforehand?" Cray asked doubtfully.

"No, they cleared. But the subject was hiding in a tent that was on display on the ground floor. He slipped out after the team passed him."

"And the cordon missed him?" Sergeant Cray asked with eyes wide. A lot had gone wrong.

"Afraid so. We're having a heck of a time with crowd control so I don't think they were very focused on the target building once we moved up," Greg clarified with his hands on his hips. He shook his head, disappointed by the failure to capture the subject. "Uniforms are canvassing the neighborhood, but he's disappeared."

"Look, we'll go ahead and relieve you guys," Cray offered. He looked over to see his team leader already deploying his team in their vehicles to begin a search for the subject.

"No, no, no," Parker complained. "We screwed the pooch on this one. We need to help get the subject."

"Look, I've got my team and plenty of uniforms. Plus team two just wrapped up their call and is on the way. We've got more than enough of bodies on this. It's not your shift, Greg. Take a break," Cray implored with concern. Everyone on the SRU ran into issues like this—when your team got called in because the shift teams were busy it was hard to walk away leaving business unfinished. But the way Rollie saw it there wasn't much more Team One could do and they still had a shift to work in the morning. "Get some rest."

Parker was quiet as he turned over the idea in his head, however much he didn't like it. Beyond Rollie he could see the EMS personnel wheeling a body out on a gurney. The figure was covered by a sheet which immediately told Parker that Constable Keisling had not survived. He felt his heart sink. It was another failure they could add to the night.

Then he laid eyes on Sam who stepped out from behind the shop looking particularly livid. He errantly kicked some of the glass on the pavement and then surveyed the area as he shook his head with discontent. It was clear he was not happy with how things had gone, but Parker imagined none of the team would be too thrilled either. His eyes fixated on the ambulance and he watched with quiet disappointment while the paramedics loaded up Constable Keisling's body. There was something more there, not just the death of a fellow police officer. Perhaps Sam knew Keisling, but so far the JTF2 veteran had not hinted at such.

"Greg?" Rollie's voice dragged Parker back to the moment and his eyes met with his old team member's gaze once again. "What do you say? I think we've got things well in hand."

He paused for a moment, unwilling to relinquish control, but Rollie was right. His people needed to rest. In a little over six hours they'd have to start their own shift. His people needed sleep and things had wound down here. A manhunt was happening now and while Team One could easily involve themselves in that it was hard to admit they wouldn't be able to do much more than those already involved. "Okay Rollie, it's all yours. Spike's in the truck. He'll catch you up." Parker watched quietly as Sergeant Cray stepped inside. He gave one last look around the area and regretted leaving the scene in such a state.

"Ed, get the team gathered up down here. Spike, join us when you're done with Rollie," Sergeant Parker said into his radio.

"Roger that, boss."

"Copy."

Ten or twenty minutes passed before the team began to trickle in one by one. Sergeant Greg Parker was standing at the front end of one the team's Suburbans looking visibly distressed. His hat was off and lay motionless on the hood. Spike was the last to arrive after he had finished briefing Sergeant Rollie Cray on the situation.

"No easy way to say it, team," Parker began in earnest. His team was huddled around him and there was a grave air that surrounded them all. Today had not been an easy day. "Things went wrong—we weren't out our best. But that's how we learn. It's how we do better. We can save the how and why for later when we debrief, but I want everyone to keep their heads up. Team four is going to take over for us and team two is on the way to support them. Right now I want everyone to go home and get some sleep. Keep the gear, trucks and weapons checked out and I'll call you guys if there's any development."

"You're not going home?" Spike queried.

"I'm going to crash at the office," Greg exclaimed.

"We're just going to call it quits?" Sam questioned petulantly.

"We've got a full twelve hour shift ahead of us tomorrow, Sam," Parker reasoned.

"So?" Sam was accustomed to sleep deprivation. He'd been conditioned for it in the Army and it was an operational reality for him in Afghanistan.

"Tired cops make bad calls," Parker added. A certain amount of fatigue, enough hours without sleep, had the same effect as alcohol on the mind. Sergeant Parker needed his team as sharp as possible, as much as it pained him to stand down. There was no telling what tomorrow would bring and exhausted SRU members could be a liability.

"Oh, well, we know about that—don't we?" Sam scoffed.

"Excuse me, Constable?" Parker questioned, hands on hips. He leaned forward so he could hear Officer Braddock more clearly. The rest of the team sat in silent surprise by the sudden change in the atmosphere.

"Enough," Ed stepped in. "Take it easy. Boss, I got this. I'll see the rest of you in the morning."

Everyone hovered there for a moment waiting for a haughty exchange to begin. The gloomy feel from before had been replaced by tension. But eventually the other SRU members retreated—even Sergeant Parker walked away, albeit with some reluctance.

"What is going on with you, Braddock?" Ed demanded fiercely. He squared up to Sam and peered through the young man. A frown sat squarely upon his aged face and he seemed as if he were getting ready to hit Sam.

"We let a cop die today, Ed," Sam blared. His arms went up over his head in a theatric show to emphasize his point. "For what? For some scum bag criminal? He shot Mark and then he shot at us and we tried to talk. And now a cop is dead."

Ed clued in the diminutive form of Constable Keisling's first name. They had to at least be acquainted. "You knew him?"

"Yeah. Yeah I knew him," Sam replied in a loud tone—still angry. "We went to recruit training together. He was in the Army. He's an Afghan vet… was an Afghan vet." His voice got more sullen.

Ed knew what Sam didn't want to hear. He didn't want to be told this was the job and it was the risk they had all accepted when they'd come aboard. It was true of Ed and Sam and even of Constable Keisling. They had pledged themselves to the defense of the citizens of Toronto and that defense even extended to criminals. It was a constant battle to decide when deadly force was warranted or not. But Sam knew that and didn't need to hear it. He was troubled by the loss of a friend and no words would likely console him. "There are a million different ways that could have gone, Sam. You know that," he argued, hoping to subscribe to Sam's tactical mindset.

Sam knew the variables; he understood the job well enough to get that. But it didn't make the man's death any less terrible and Sam was still irate. They could have acted quicker—they should have acted quicker.

"Get some rest," Ed added in a more familial tone. "We've got a long day tomorrow."

"Fine," Sam allowed. "But I hope they don't find him tonight."

"Why?"

"Because he's mine."

Sam walked away without uttering another word.