Chapter Ten
Check the White Knight
110 South Pointe
As Fitzclover threaded Rumford Rhino through the throng of law enforcement personnel staging in the street below 110 South Pointe Drive Salem scowled. He was angry beyond belief, and struggling to maintain some semblance of professionalism. After initially shutting up when the team scolded him, just out of SSC's parking garage, he'd started up again, and four miles into the trip Rios had heard enough. He warned Elliot three times to can the bitching, then clambered over the seat, and knocked him out with a deft palm strike to the left side of his head. Two miles back, Giddy stuffed an Amyl Nitrate ampule under the smaller man's nose to rouse him, and Salem had been silent ever since. His scowl spoke volumes though, and Giddy, seeing the man's distress, voiced his opinion for him.
"Would you look at these silly fuckers, Fifty. Full tac gear, and for fucking what. The god damned boat is on the other side of the building. Bastard'd need a Tomahawk missile to hit them over here. No wonder they need us."
"Don't get him started Giddy. Come on one concussion a day's enough for any man even a tough little ass bitch like Fifty." Heckler snapped punching Salem lightly in the back of his head.
"Fuck off Heck. I'm not concussed. Takes a bigger man than that fat fucker to concuss me."
"Do the AVPU on him Gid he loves the AVPU."
"Alright children settle down; we ain't out in the middle of god damned bush, and we have eyes on us everywhere so tighten up."
"Aye, aye captain Rios." Heckler snapped back.
"Heckler I mean it."
"Hey, it's a boat thing; I'm just trying to build the mood."
"Salem you with us? How's your head?"
"Fuck my head."
"Good Kermit; I'm glad to see that you're your regular pain in my ass self. Fitz pull up there, there by Murray, and let's kick this shit in the ass so we can go home. Masks on gents it's show time."
Fitz braked the big vehicle to a halt, and the team piled out. Dalton, Murray and Art approached them immediately. Upon seeing Art, Salem turned, walked away, and stood for with his back to the group sulking. He couldn't believe he was actually going to have to work for the hateful man. Giddy finally went to him, and after they spoke quietly for a bit Salem huffed, and returned to the briefing.
"Ok, guys," Murray continued eyeing Salem warily. His body poster left little doubt that he was irate. "We have a comm center set up in the lobby. Let's all regroup in there. M.I.T. head on in, and see a guy named Ruiz, he's Dade's comms man, and he's working with the feds as well. Sync our shit with them."
Secour nodded, then looked to Rios who shook his head in approval. Murray might be the team's handler, but Rios had the final say. Murray ignored the slight, and began to herd the remaining men toward the large, ornately etched double doors of the luxury condominium. Salem held back studying the buildings to the north and south of the 110 address.
"Kermit?" Rios said as he sidled up alongside the smaller man. He trusted Elliot's instincts, and if the man needed a bit longer to study the land, then he'd allow it. "Murray we need a minute."
"Roger that, we'll see you inside."
"Salem, problem."
"Don't like being on the low ground's all." He stated pointing to the two buildings that flanked 110 South Pointe. "We're like ten stories, and those two are fourteen maybe fifteen. I just don't like being down in the valley."
Rios studied the situation. Salem was correct, they would be in the valley as he'd described it. An urban valley, but still it was low ground, and low ground spelled trouble.
"Ok, can we get a shot from either of them?"
"Doubt it; stupid civie fuck's right about that much at least. I haven't seen it yet, but that fucking boat's just that way about one o-clock." He continued pointing just south of 110. "About one o-clock right through there. This is the best building, but still it creeps me out a bit."
"Yea, well Dade says that so far this guy is flying solo, so I doubt we'll have eyes on us from the high ground, Elliot. So let's just have a look see, and if you still don't like it we'll come up with plan B ok."
"Roger that, Boss, let's go."
Inside the lobby about twenty-five people from various agencies were bustling about. Rios walked straight to Murray who was surrounded by Giddy and Heckler, as well as Art, Dalton and Detective Roy Smith, and several other men. Despite the fray the strong woman was definitely holding the reigns. They were all studying a blueprint showing the roof plan of the condo. Rios and Elliot squeezed in, then Salem bullied in, and leaning down tried to better view the drawing. He studied it, and after a moment found the scale on the bottom of the sheet. Then he took out a pencil, and after marking off the scale length on a page of his note book, began ticking off the distance from the edge of the building beachside, to the door through which they'd enter the roof. He also measured the distances between the eight large, ten foot by ten foot air handlers spread out across the roof, and began to make notes in his little notebook.
"How far off shore is the target, Detective Smith?" he finally asked breaking the tense silence.
Smith started a bit at the sound of his name, and furrowed his brow. Maybe, he thought, it was Salem's mask causing the man's voice to sound at least an octave lower than it had back at SSC's headquarters, but besides the change in timbre it also seemed far more professional. If Smith wasn't standing right there with Salem in sight he'd swear he was dealing with an entirely different man. He coughed to hide his confusion, and spoke up.
"At last check my guy had him at 650 meters with his spotter's scope. That was an hour ago so I guess he could have shifted. He is anchored, but that's sandy bottom out there, and if he's not a boat guy he could easily drag anchor."
"Art, sorry, Detective Norris, get me another scope on that please." Art hesitated then moved away from the group. "This is what a ten story building; is there an elevation plan in these drawings?"
A Dade county man began flipping through the ream of blue prints finally stopping on the page Elliot requested.
"Here, elevation's right at 130 feet. So that means…Detective Smith you mentioned the ass wipe took a shot at your guys when they approached the edge of the building."
Smith hesitated, he had mentioned it, but he didn't think that Salem had been in ear shot. That meant that the young man was a lot smarter than he was letting on. He must have overheard him when he was first speaking with Murray and Dalton as they were walking across the staging area.
"Yea, guess I did. Why?"
"Caliber?"
"Why are you asking the questions, I thought he was the team leader?"
"Because, Detective, it's gonna be my job to get his fat ass into position without him getting his even fatter head blown off. Now caliber?"
"A seven-six-two. We dug the round out of my man's vest. Damned accurate too."
"Couldn't a been too damned accurate, man still has his head right? Where were they, how far across?"
"Right on the edge."
"Morons."
"Talk to me, Green Giant." Rios cut in trying to defuse the conflict, and switching to the call signs they would use once the op began.
Salem flipped back through the blue prints to the roof plan, did some work in his little note book, then started talking to Rios. Giddy and Heckler paid very close attention after effectively pushing the Dade agents back out of the way.
"My figures have us being able to get within forty-three maybe forty-four feet of the edge. He's got some elevation on us the sorry mother fucker. That flying bridge, plus the boat gives him damn near thirty feet. Forty-three though, that's the point where he can see us, and me him if I'm standing up. I'll need to creep in a bit closer, my bi-pod gives us a bit of elevation too, so for a clean sight line I need to be maybe at I'm guessing thirty feet off the edge. I'd like closer, but with you along, Sprout I don't want to risk it."
"I can hang back."
"Negative, I want your eyes on this too. The kid's a big issue. See," he pointed to a snapshot of the target holding the twelve year old boy as a human shield. "Detective Norris you have my answer?"
"Still sitting at 650."
"Good, what's he think he's negotiating for?"
"Six men down in Gitmo, it's not gonna happen so it's all a matter of playing him until you guys are in place."
"Great. We go in along the north side of these units. Slow and easy, and I want Team Kellogg up on a floor where they can glass that son of a bitch, and tell me when he's looking. No, scrap that. Sprout," he paused sighed, and shook his head clearly not happy with his forthcoming decision. "I'm shelving you bro. Too risky. I need to be twenty feet off that edge, and it might take me fucking two hours to make that final twenty-two feet. I…"
"We might not have two hours!" Detective Smith cut in. "Art, seriously, he's your solution, tell him."
Art Norris looked long and hard at the man he felt was destroying his daughter's marriage, and turning his granddaughter into a soulless monster. He hated to admit to it, but Salem was a consummate professional. He'd extrapolated the Trigonometry for the shot without a calculator, crunching the figures in his head, he'd read the blue prints of the roof layout with the skill of an architect, and now he was making a critical operational decision all without the aid of Rios, or the rest of the team; who all simply stood stoically listening to, and trusting the young man's assessment of the situation.
"Easy Roy. What do you need from us, Green Giant?" Art asked swallowing his pride.
Salem chuckled, it was a soulless, cold chuckle and it chilled Art's heart. "Make that talkie fuck you call a negotiator do his job, and buy me the time I need. I'm not sticking my head up like your guys did. 'Sides he sees another man glassing his shit, and he's likely to come unhinged, and pop his bomb."
"Green Giant," Murray spoke up. " You're confident you can do this with one set of eyes?"
"Feel better if I had a spotter, but such is the fucked up life of a sniper. Sprout will be in a good observational twenty to give me sound intell. Say here," he flipped back through the blue prints to the elevation page. "Here, eighth floor middle unit; Sprout I need you to set up there." He pointed toward the ocean midway across the lobby to demonstrate Rios' tentative position in the eighth floor unit. "I'm gonna slink in along those A.C. units to here," He flipped back to the roof plan, and planted his index finger on the spot he needed. "Then, at the fifth unit, thirty feet in, I'm gonna slip out, and start my final approach. I think I'll end up about 150' north of the south edge. We can fine tune it. This way just about everything you're kicking me is about half what I need dope wise. I'll sort of calibrate, and double check what you send. Kellogg, you guys need to be on ten just glassing that fucker like a hawks. Guys he looks my way, and I need to know. Or really when he's not, then I can speed up my crawl. Ok, I have 1500 hours Zulu, we all good with that. Mission clock starts... now… Good, then move out, and get this shit in gear. I'm hungry. Oh, and I need Pedie and Clover. I need to tweak my Ghillie suit."
Five minutes later Pedro, Fitz and Salem were inside of the tenth floor stairwell of 110 South Pointe looking out of the roof access door across the ground Salem would soon be traversing. It was a bright white expanse of white rubber.
"Jesus Christ, and fuck me twice. What the fuck kinda roof is this bitch." Salem spat out squinting against the blinding snow white glare shooting off the roof deck.
"Fiber Tite."
"And you know that why, Pedie?" he muttered dejectedly.
"Cousin, roofer, really a stupid fucker, but yea he talks about this stuff all the time. Rubber, they melt it together with a super-hot industrial blow dryer thing. It's like hot enough to light a cigarette. Then they roll this little roller roller down the seams to press it together. They have a robot one for the long runs, but all the detail stuff needs done by hand. Cleaner than tar, but tedious as fuck. He hates it. Says it will fucking make you snow blind. Made a slick cover for my generator set with it though."
"Nice, can we get me a white Ghillie suit? We have a Tyvek suit in the truck? Anything white, fuck an A. Maybe a white tarp. Where's the nearest hardware store?"
Pedro tapped his mic and started to talk. "Murray I need a six by eight white tarp, like one a those ones people use for canopies. I need ten feet of schedule forty one inch PVC pipe, and some white linen. Get on it and have it brought up here stat."
"Roger that."
"Gonna be hot as fuck compadre, but you'll be a ghost."
"Yea, a ghost. Can you try, Pedro, to find a better description? Ghosts are typically dead. Clover, I need some, I don't know what, but this shit's tacky, something to slick up my armor, my knee pads, or maybe I should just loose them, so when I'm scooting, I'm not sticking. See how it sticks. And hurry guys the civies want closer."