Chapter Four: Warrant Call

Ed grimaced as he pulled his bulletproof vest on, ignoring the brief pang for happier days when he could've dressed in sweats and headed for the workout room – with the whole of the city winding tighter by the day, none of the SRU had been in the workout room in weeks. They were too busy patrolling and doing their best to keep a lid on the rising crime wave. High-risk warrants were rolling out so fast that they barely had time to brief them, forcing the SRU into a dangerous, untenable situation. Sooner or later, the lack of time to brief and plan was going to get someone killed, but what choice did they have?

Even worse, since Ed was the most junior Sergeant in the SRU, Team One had gone from the top of the heap to the bottom, constantly on tap for the worst of the high-risk warrants. Never had Ed thought he'd have to play politics with fellow police officers – Roenick's stunt seemed to have convinced all of the senior Sergeants that Ed was, to put it bluntly, ripe for the picking. He might've gone to Holleran, except the commander was always busy and spending much less time at the barn. Even when the commander was in his office, he spent most of his time on the phone and doing paperwork, becoming increasingly drawn, worried, and stressed.

"Morning, Ed."

The Sergeant turned. "Hey, Word."

"Warrants again?"

Ed grimaced. "That's about the size of it."

The brunet huffed, scrubbing a hand through his short strands. "Can't we catch a break?" he whined before flinching. "Sorry, Ed."

"I'm sick of this, too, Wordy. It's okay."

Wordy shook his head, refusing the out. "No, I shouldn't take it out on you. It's not your fault those two are trying to demolish the entire city and turn us against each other."

Ed swallowed a rough laugh. "Hey, at least IA is making themselves useful for once."

The big constable flinched. "I can't believe it," Wordy remarked sadly though his hands tightened on the uniform shirt in his hands. "Frost's been at the Academy forever."

Forever and a day – Commander Grant Frost had been at the helm of Toronto's Police Academy longer than Ed had been a cop. Frankly, Ed suspected Frost had been around during Castor Troy's first romp through Toronto, which likely meant he'd been crooked for a very long time. After all, the Academy's commander was the perfect inside man; trusted, able to discover who the top cadets were without raising a flicker of suspicion.

"Not that IA can pat themselves on the back too much."

"What?" Ed cast his friend a narrow look.

Wordy snorted. "Didn't you hear? IA had a rat in their ranks, too."

Ed gawped.

Wordy nodded confirmation. "Heard a guy in the 8th Precinct found evidence that one of IA's best investigators was on Troy's payroll. Took it right to the top, got 'im arrested."

The Sergeant whistled. "No wonder IA's been up in arms. How many have they gotten so far, do you know?"

"I keep hearing different numbers," Wordy admitted. "One guy says two dozen, someone else says seven; yesterday, Donna was insisting IA had a baker's dozen, whatever that means."

"Thirteen," Ed replied absently, thinking hard. So many dirty cops, turned out of their holes when many of them had gone undetected for years. How was it possible? "It's almost like…"

"Ed?" Wordy prompted when the Sergeant trailed off.

Frowning, the bald sniper paced, automatically avoiding the locker room benches. "It's almost like IA has inside information," he said, not looking up as he moved, pretending, if only for a moment, that he was brainstorming with Greg, not Word. "Like they know, even before they look, that something's gonna be there."

"A snitch?" Wordy wondered, then he scowled himself. "No, it's too widespread for that."

Ed nodded agreement. "You get an IA informant, they're gonna nail a group in one precinct, maybe even in only one department. They're not gonna nail someone who knows about them or someone who's been at the Academy forever."

"Or someone who's retired."

Ed froze, snapping around; frigid blue demanded an answer.

His friend grimaced. "Lou told me; one of the instructors he and Spike had at the Academy. Guy's been retired five, six years. They arrested him last week for planting a bomb in a patrol car almost twenty years ago."

Bomb in a… Ed's eyes widened, the pieces fitting together. The bomb that had killed the rookie constable who'd arrested Castor Troy. A constable too young to have a family, possibly estranged from his parents… A constable who'd been honorable enough, dedicated enough, to ignore the risks inherent in arresting the city's top crime lord. One of the best…

"Ed?"

After an instant, the Sergeant shook his head. No, it was too crazy, too insane. "Nothing, Wordy." Huffing, he returned to his locker long enough to retrieve his phone. "I'll see you out there."

"Copy."

"Sergeant Lane?"

Ed glanced up from his pile of paperwork – growing by the day even when he took some of it home – and frowned at the woman standing in the briefing room doorway. The brunette was lean, with a sharp nose, full lips, and pale gray eyes. Her hair was cut short in a female buzzcut, close shorn on the sides, but longer on top.

Rising to his feet, the Sergeant asked, "Can I help you?"

The woman stepped forward, movements brisk. "Brenda Kastor, Intelligence Services, Sergeant Lane."

Ed's gaze warmed as he shook the woman's hand. "You're working on the Castor Troy case, aren't you."

Her responding smile was thin, razor-edged. "I'm working on both of them, Sergeant Lane."

"Makes sense," Ed mused with a slight nod. "What can I do for you, ma'am?"

Triumph glimmered. "It's taken me some time, Sergeant, but I have a lead on Carl Elias's whereabouts. If we can get him…"

"We can focus on Troy," Ed finished, though inwardly he frowned. Castor Troy was the one targeting cops, not Elias. Aside from a thrashing young Rousseau would never forget, Elias had ignored them, focusing most of his efforts on propaganda and his escalating war with Troy. Why take down a guy who was keeping Troy busy? Setting aside his unease, the Sergeant stuck to business. "My guys are still trickling in; how 'bout you hold off and brief us all at the same time?"

"Certainly," Kastor agreed.

"All right, guys," Ed announced, surveying his team. "We're going after one of the big fish tonight." Instantly, his teammates perked up – like him, they were sick of watching their city go crazy. Turning, Ed gestured Kastor forward. "This is Brenda Kastor, Intelligence Services; she's got our warrant and the details. Brenda?"

"Thank you, Sergeant Lane." Brenda spread out a blueprint on the table. "This is a building we've conclusively tied to Carl Elias; we suspect it may be his headquarters."

"Any digital blueprints?" Spike asked.

"I'm sorry, no," Brenda apologized. "The building is quite old and hasn't been renovated since the early 80s. Not according to any official records at any rate."

The team grimaced, understanding what she wasn't saying – the one record they had was about as out of date as it got.

"I've read the report from last week's shootings, so I suspect, at the very least, that they've added escape routes down to the city's underground," Kastor explained. "There may also be the usual booby traps and we've found multiple areas in the known buildings that provided the inhabitants with safe locations to ambush attackers from."

"We're gonna need surprise," Wordy mused.

"Yes, that would be best." Brenda moved her hand, indicating the top floors. "I suspect Elias lives on site, likely in this penthouse; we don't know for sure, but I imagine it's heavily fortified. If he gets in there, it will be a standoff at best."

"That's if he doesn't have his own private escape route," Lou pointed out sardonically.

"Very true, Constable."

"So what's the plan?" Jules inquired. "From what you're saying, if we go in the front door, Elias will be gone before we can get to him."

Kastor bobbed her head and pointed to two back entrances. "These are your best bet." One slim finger traced a route from their proposed entry point to a blank area. "Assuming we are correct, this is where you'll find the escape route. We don't think these are guarded, so you can go straight to the top, nab Elias, and extract him with minimal contact. A direct confrontation would be suicide, so we'd prefer a quick in and out."

"Go in, grab him, and be out before anyone notices," Wordy concluded, staring hard at the blueprints.

"Word?"

"Won't be easy, Ed; if they see us, we're cooked." The constable glanced up at Kastor. "Can your people scout this out? Maybe find the staircase for us?"

She frowned unhappily. "Ordinarily, I'd say yes, constable, but Elias's people are about to pull up stakes."

"They're moving?" Jules blurted.

Brenda nodded. "Soon," she confirmed. "Perhaps even by tomorrow."

Well that put the cat in the pigeons. "We've got to go in tonight?" Ed clarified.

"I'm afraid so, Sergeant."

Ed didn't bother to hide his grimace – he didn't like this, not at all. Every instinct was screaming that they needed more information, better information, but if this was their best shot at taking down one of Toronto's resident crime lords… "Wordy?"

Wordy and Sam traded looks, both of them assessing the situation. Then Sam offered a half-shrug and Wordy turned back to his Sergeant. "We can do it, Boss."

Ideally, they should've left the trucks behind – big, black trucks with lights and push bumpers on the front fairly screamed cop – but the team didn't have any other readily available options. Instead, the group ghosted through traffic, deliberately splitting up to make it a touch less obvious that they were all together and heading for the same location. No lights, no sirens, and Kira handled dispatcher duties for the evening.

"Kira, Charlie on scene," Sam reported, keeping his voice low as he and Spike parked in the alley closest to their entry point.

"Copy that, Charlie. Alpha, Bravo?"

"Bravo, two minutes," Jules replied.

"Alpha, five," Wordy murmured. "Charlie, see what you can see."

"Copy," Sam hissed, waving to Spike.

Together, the two men crept through the narrow street, movements slow and cautious. At the corner, Spike pulled out a pair of night binoculars and scanned the building they'd been briefed on. "I see our entrances," the bomb tech said. "No guards in sight."

"No lights on, either," Sam added. "Some of the windows look blacked out."

"Bravo on scene," Ed remarked. "Kira, any luck with blueprints?"

"Negative," the dispatcher sighed. "Only what Detective Kastor could give us."

"What about background on Elias?" Wordy inquired.

"Not much beyond a list of his crimes and known associates," Kira admitted. "There's some speculation that he's the illegitimate son of a mafia don and his mistress, but nothing concrete. No description, no picture."

Spike and Sam traded startled blinks. "We don't even know what he looks like?" the blond questioned.

"No, we don't," their Sergeant confirmed unhappily. "I don't like it either, guys."

Silence draped the comm as Alpha arrived and the team shifted into entry formation, Lou and Wordy pulling shields out of their truck. Although Team One was hoping for an easy in and out, they knew better than to expect things to go smoothly. Not with so little prep time and such meager intel.

In the deepening night, the six members of Team One locked gazes, each knowing that this particular high-risk warrant could well be their last. Then Ed nodded sharply and gestured his team forward. "Kira, Team One making entry."

"Team One making entry, copy."

Ed slowed his breathing as his constables advanced into enemy held territory, each step another one into the unknown. No guards, no cameras; it made his instincts scream. Elias was better than this, so what the heck was going on?

"Ed, staircase," Wordy murmured.

"I see it."

Slowly, slowly, the team edged upwards, scanning for trouble. All Ed heard was nervous breathing, his teammates remaining calm, but getting warier by the second. Something…something was wrong, something was off; they could feel it. Too simple, too easy. Trap, trap, trap, Ed's mind was screeching.

At the top of the staircase, they were confronted with a door. Spike pulled out his detection gear, checking the door for explosive residue, but the scan came back clean. Even so, Lou and Wordy wedged their shields as close to the door as possible, the team sheltering behind them while Jules worked the heavy door open, wincing when it made a low creaking noise.

Nothing. No sound besides their own breathing, no signs that anyone else was even in the building.

Beyond the door, Ed saw an arena of sorts, scattered with heavy objects to hide behind and surrounded by rough, but serviceable stands. The hair on the back of his neck prickled, but the massive room was silent and dark.

"Slow and steady, guys."

"Copy," Wordy whispered.

Partway into the arena, right as they reached a somewhat adequate spot of cover, the world exploded. Sound and light slammed through the air, accompanied by a concussive wave that sent Team One diving for the arena's scant cover. Yells of pain and panic rose from above them, echoing through the building's ancient floors.

"Team One, move!" Ed yelled; his shout accented by a hail of gunfire – but it wasn't aimed at them.

"Ed! Stairs!" Lou called, pointing forward to where two doors yawned open.

They should've fallen back, should've called it in and waited for backup, but Ed's instincts were howling. Demanding he move forward – a glance at his team told him they felt it too. "Wordy, Lou! Arrow formation!"

"Copy," Wordy acknowledged, slamming forward with Lou on his left; the rest of the team hurried to stay close, sheltering behind the shields.

In seconds they reached the far stairs, hurrying upwards and into Toronto's latest gun battle. "Kira! Kira, backup," Ed ordered. "Troy's crew just tried to blow up the building."

"Copy that," Kira replied, cool even as worry lurked under her professionalism. "Are you falling back?"

"Negative; we're going in," Ed replied. "Just get those units rolling."

An instant later, they hit the top of the staircase and dove forward into utter bedlam. Bullets flew everywhere, striking friend and foe alike. One man screamed and the Sergeant looked up, staring in horror as the man fell from an upper area to plummet down towards harsh unforgiving tile. The only reaction from Elias's people was a renewed – and fiercer – hail of gunfire. It felt like they'd run right into an action flick – only, they didn't have infinite ammo.

"Wordy, cover!"

"Copy!"

Wordy and Lou drove for the best cover on the ground floor, a chest high counter that looked like it had been a check-in desk once upon a time. It was barely adequate, forcing Wordy and Lou to block off the left end with their shields to catch the hail of fire coming from Castor Troy's men. Ed took the far side, scanning the chaos for anything useful. His hands itched to fire, but at who? It wasn't like the gangsters were wearing uniforms to mark which side they were on…

"Ed!"

A leer and a gun, fingers already moving to pull the trigger.

Panic, fear, all so very futile.

Even as he started to dodge, he knew he was dead.

Gunshot – impossibly loud…was this how it ended? A flash and searing pain and…

The mobster fell, weapon clattering forward out of nerveless hands.

Ed's head shot up, jaw dropping. Greg! On the stairs, gun drawn and still aimed at the dead man. Hazel came up, met blue for an instant, then turned away. Sam dragged him down, swearing breathlessly.

"Fall back!" Elias roared. "Bennet, trigger the first surprise and get the chain reaction ready to go! Anthony, with me!"

His second was by his side, hurrying to keep up. "Boss?"

One hand lifted, pointed to the group of cops sheltering on the first floor of his headquarters. "Use the back way and get to them. Invoke the right of parley; I want a truce."

"A truce?"

A sharp nod. "Them with us against Troy. They keep Troy's men busy, we give them a way out. Tell their leader we'll get their trucks, too."

Anthony gawped. "You're gonna take cops to the safe house?"

"The enemy of my enemy may still be my enemy, Anthony, but we need every gun we can get right now. Go!"

"Yes, Boss!"

Shaking, panting – yea gods, what were they doing here? "Team One, status," he rasped.

"No harm," Wordy reported.

"Shields are holding," Lou concurred.

"We're trapped," Spike informed them. "We fall back, they'll have a clear shot; we move forward…"

"They'll have an even clearer shot," Sam growled.

"Ed, are you okay?" Jules asked.

No…no, he wasn't, but he'd gotten them into this, he was darn well gonna get them out…

A grenade lobbed over their heads towards Troy's men; the team ducked and Ed whipped around, angling his sidearm at the man who'd managed to get behind them. The man lifted an empty hand, a white flag with black skull and crossbones in the other. "Parley?"

Ed blinked, but Spike retorted, "That's only for pirates."

"Yeah, whatever, cop," the mobster growled. "You wanna get outta here alive or not?"

Blue eyes sharpened. "What's your offer?" Ed demanded, motioning the man forward and into Team One's scant cover.

The criminal scrambled forward, keeping his head down. When he reached cover, Ed saw that he was lean, dark-haired, and sported a crescent shaped scar on his cheek; the Sergeant's breath caught. Scarface – Carl Elias's second in command. Carl Elias…who'd never been seen in-person, who preferred ingratiation and propaganda to overt violence, who'd thrashed a rookie cop, then had him dumped on the front steps of a nearby precinct, virtually guaranteeing that he'd survive. And, funny thing, that rookie cop, one Rafik 'Raf' Rousseau, had been awfully closed-mouthed about what Elias looked like.

"Okay, cops, here's the deal. Right now, we gotta watch you, you gotta watch us, and Troy's people are burning the place down around our ears."

"You want a truce," Wordy concluded, voice hard. "You want us to shoot Troy's people for you."

Scarface snorted. "I don't give a rat's behind what you shoot at, so long as it ain't at my people," he sneered. "Don't even care if you sit here and don't shoot at nothin'; they gotta watch you, too." So saying, he waved in the general direction of the attackers.

"And what do we get out of this?" Ed questioned, ignoring the startled, bewildered looks from his teammates. "Even if we do this, what's stopping you from turning on us as soon as Troy's people go down?"

"My boss's word, that's what, cop." Scarface's expression twisted, as though he was unfamiliar with whatever emotion he felt. "My boss, he makes a promise, he keeps it. You do this truce and we bring you along for the ride. Safe passage outta this deathtrap and we'll throw in your trucks for free. Deal?"

Ed considered, then met Scarface's gaze squarely. "On one condition."

"Ed!"

"Boss?"

At the sharp gesture, Team One fell silent. Still holding Scarface's gaze, Ed continued, "I want to meet your boss. Face-to-face, no intermediaries. You do that and we'll even give your people cover fire on the way out."

Scarface frowned, then looked up and past Ed; the Sergeant turned his head to see Elias watching them, though smoke from the grenades and nascent fires was obscuring his features. "Very well, cop," Scarface leered, drawing Ed back. "We have an accord."

Ed tilted his head in understanding, then snapped around. "Spike, Lou, grenades; throw them as far as you can! Jules, Sam, start lighting them up! Cover fire for the far side! Wordy, you and me, buddy, cover fire on this side."

His team obeyed, though they were plainly unhappy. To Ed's surprise, Scarface edged in next to him and Wordy, adding his own rounds to the forest of cover fire. Long minutes ticked by as Team One emptied their magazines, straining to see their targets well enough to deliberately miss. In the background, explosions roared, fire ripping through the building, but Scarface stayed steady next to Ed, firing one round after another. The sniper lowered his head, keeping up his own rate of fire, forcing himself to ignore the growing hiss of flame and rising smoke. Just when the group was almost out of ammo, a foghorn echoed.

"Time to go," Scarface announced. He lofted another grenade over the makeshift barricade, Ed and Wordy adding their last smoke bombs and flash bangs, then turned and indicated a hidden doorway none of them had noticed. "Down the rabbit hole, to Raladin we go."

"Shouldn't that be Alice in Wonderland?" Lou snarked.

"Shaddup."

In seconds, the whole group was through the door; a utilitarian, but sturdy staircase awaited them, taking them downwards into Toronto's underbelly. Scarface took the lead, but hovered close in an almost protective posture. Ed arched a brow at him, surprised that a mobster cared about a group of cops he'd only allied with out of necessity.

Scarface scowled at him. "Boss's word is my bond, cop; I'd have thought you'd understand sommat like that."

Well aware his team was displeased with him, Ed opted to stay quiet, merely focusing on the tunnel they were trekking through. One hand tested the radio and he winced at the static coming from it. Darn it, Kira was probably panicking by now, but it couldn't be helped.

"Scarface!"

Team One tensed as a man hurried out of the gloom towards them; he skidded to a halt, going for his gun at the sight of armed cops behind the gang's second in command. Ed snapped his hand out in a silent order for his team to stand down and Scarface moved, getting between Ed and the newcomer.

"Parley, Bennet," the lean man snapped. "They agreed to a truce; go on ahead and let everyone know."

Bennet blinked at them, but stopped his reach for a weapon. "You got it, Boss."

Scarface's expression twisted. "And let Elias know the lead cop wants to meet him."

"I'll tell him," Bennet promised. "He's sending the Merry Men for their trucks."

"Bunk. Tell them to stay low; the whole place is prolly on fire by now."

"They know; they won't let Troy catch 'em."

Bennet bobbed his head, then turned and ran back into the gloom, vanishing in moments. Ed let out his breath as Scarface beckoned them after him.

Greg, this had better be you.

It had to be – because if he was wrong, he'd just betrayed his team to an even worse fate than his former boss ever had.

Author note: On Tuesday mid-morning, I got an email from Ace Data Recovery that they had finished retrieving what files they could from my damaged hard drive. Elated and excited, I sent them a list of the most critical files I'm missing, including the three stories I lost.

Well, elation turned to utter devastation when I received their reply. None of those files could be found in the 40% of the data they were able to recover from my drive. My original stories are gone, absolutely and completely. The engineer I spoke to said that there might've been a better chance if I'd come to them first, but I didn't even know their company existed on September 3rd. I could only go to Micro Center and pray for a miracle.

Despite my devastation, by the time you read this note, I will have gone and paid for the data recovery, and picked up what files they were able to recover. It hurts, but they did repair the drive and they did get data from the drive, so I feel honor-bound to pay them for their work.

Thank you all for your prayers and encouragement over this saga. Jehovah Jirah - The Lord Will Provide. He has said no to my earnest prayer to have my data back, so I must have faith that He will help me reconstruct my stories.

One thing I know for sure. I will not let Tash win; he may have stolen three of my stories and many of my notes, but he will not win. It may take me a long time to reconstruct my stories and an even longer time to forgive myself for my stupidity, but I won't let this tragedy destroy this series.

Please read and review. I really, really need the encouragement right now.