I'm a sad camper. Only one person reviewed. :(
CSI Crime Lab
"Start it," Delko said as Ryan entered the building.
Calleigh obediently pressed start on the stopwatch, asking, "Remember, if it over five minutes, they did not sleep together."
"They slept together," Delko assured, not worried about the twenty bucks he would lose if they didn't.
Because they did. They had to.
4:39... 4:40...
"Tick-tock, tick-tock," Calleigh mocked, enjoying Delko's growing anxiety.
"Keep talking," Delko gritted his teeth. Come on, Natalia...
4:55...4:56...4:57...4:58...4:59...
"Damn," Delko sighed and grudgingly handing over a twenty to a smug Calleigh.
Natalia walked in a minute and a half later.
"Mr, Wolfe, you said you found something?" Horatio said.
"Yeah, the rust I found came from common sheet metal," Ryan explained, "It's very common. Used in everything from storage to garage doors. But, I analyzed the way rust was formed. It could have only come from low concentration salt water. I analyzed the Oceanic Service's reports on water salinity in the Miami area, and the only place with that particular concentration of salt water is a ten square mile area south-west of Biscayne National Park"
"Good work, Mr Wolfe," Horatio said, walking away, cell phone already out to call in reinforcements.
The reason for the low salinity in the water of the area was that it was were the fresh(if incredibly muddy) water of the Florida swamps met ocean water. At high tide, it was as salty as the ocean. At low, if you drained the mud out and boiled all the little microbes, the water could be drunk. In between, though, it maintained a moderate salinity.
There was also nothing but a Connex in the entire area. So the search went by fast.
Mr Córtez was left hanging upside down, IV drip attached to his arm. Being naked except for his underwear did not make the scene any more normal.
"Not good."
"What do we do now, Trev?"
"Ever see the movIe Heartbreak Ridge?"
"Oh God, please don't do a Clint Eastwood impression."
"Improvise, Adapt, Overcome."
"Oh God..."
"We still do what were going to do. We just do it sooner."
"Without any prior planning?"
"Yep."
"Not escape prepared?"
"Yeah."
"No backup plan?"
"None what-so-ever."
"What are we waiting for?"
"I was about to ask you the same question."
Port of Miami
Trev
The Ergonomic Grenade Laughing Module(EGLM) is a 40mm grenade launcher designed for the Mk-16 or Mk-17, commonly known as the Special Operations Forces Combat Assault Rifle(SCAR). It boasts many advantages over the older M203, including a double action trigger and swing out chamber.
I had a both lying around.
I examined down my target area. Mr Córtez was a paranoid man. Not only had he posted guards in the highly guarded Port of Miami (the biggest bullshit south of DC) he had his boys armed with highly illegal automatic weapons, and they were ghetto kids. The mean kind. And they're cheap and reproduce like rabbits.
All the more targets for me.
I loaded a high explosive round into the launcher and let it fly.
The grenade exploded about twenty feet from one of the idiots, sending him and a nearby buddy flying. I jacked another at them, having the same effect.
The beauty of a grenade launcher is that it can be used as a mortar, which are a bitch to spot and shoot at for the most experienced combat soldier. These guys probably couldn't hit the broadside of a barn, let alone a single grenadier who they couldn't find.
I lowered my Mk-17 and aimed at one brave/ incredibly stupid soul and squeezed the trigger. The rubber round was blunt as hell and hurt like it too. He'd live, just not very happily for the next few days.
The 7.62mm rubber knocked him on his ass. He rolled over and staggard to his feet. Another idiot didn't get the message and started firing wildly. He got a round to the solar plexus for his trouble. The rest got the message and amscrayed.
"Go," I said into my mike.
I watched as she raced from her hidden position and to the Connex and used bolt cutters to break the lock and disappeared inside.
I cursed when I heard police sirens, "Our rouse has been discovered. Get out now."
"I'm not done yet."
"Lyn-"
"I'll be fine. You get out!"
If Lyn got caught, she was facing life imprisonment.
If I got caught, I had maybe forty-eight hours until I was assassinated by my former employers.
"Rendezvous, back at the hotel," I instructed, cursing myself for what I was about to do.
"Wilco. See you there." I hope so.
When Cótez said that whoever had kidnapped him were planning a raid in the Port of Miami, Horatio had immediately called in SWAT and more reinforcements for help. If the Port was raided, not only would the media spin it to make the police look bad, but it could embolden terrorists.
Which kinda left his head when someone shot out his engine block.
Horatio ducked out of his vehicle as automatic fire peppered his Hummer. The squad cars and SWAT van behind his vehicle ground to a halt. The rearmost vehicle tried to backup, but it met a similar fate as Horatio's.
Horatio lifted his head to try and get a bead on the shooter. He got a silhouette before he ducked a bullet whizzed past his head. Whoever it was was being judicious in their firing. Single shots, usually a single second interval between them.
The police officers weren't so careful. They found his silhouette and fired everything they had at him. Horatio came out of cover and fired twice, seeing it duck out of view. The police, especially SWAT with their fully automatic weapons, continued a steady stream of fire.
"Hold your fire!" Horatio shouted, "HOLD YOUR FIRE!"
Reluctantly, and slowly, the police stopped firing.
There was no return fire.
PLEASE REVIEW!