Chapter Three: Revenge for First York
The figure strode toward his next building, clad in an SRU uniform and bullet-proof vest. Over his shoulder he carried a police issue duffle bag and he wore a plain black ball cap. His uniform carried a sergeant's chevron and he moved with confidence and self-assurance. As he approached the entrance to the building, he barked, "Team Three, I need access," at the two uniformed patrolmen guarding the entrance.
One of them made a 'follow me' gesture and said, "We kept the elevator open for you," as he led the figure into the building. As they walked, the officer remarked, "What a scene, huh?"
The figure following him was silent, his expression placid.
"I don't get it," the officer continued, "I really don't. I mean, what kind of person would do something like that?"
The figure moved past the officer into the freight elevator without a word, pointedly ignoring the officer's words. He tapped the button to engage the elevator and turned back, finally speaking. "Thank you."
"Good luck," the officer called as the elevator's doors slid down and shut.
Alone now, the figure swung his bag down and opened it, allowing his fury out from under the mask again. Efficiently, he checked his weapon, prepping it for firing once more. His prey might anticipate his move from his first perch, but he would not see his death coming until it was too late. The murderer would pay; that was all that mattered anymore.
Lance and Alanna traded looks; while they wished they could have gone along, it did sound like Team One had things under control. The injured man had been safely retrieved, their family was hunting down the sniper, and things sounded as if they were going as well as could be expected.
Over the comm, they could hear as Uncle Greg and Uncle Ed started bouncing ideas off each other. Uncle Ed led with, "Tactically, we can't do anything until…"
Uncle Greg finished the thought, "Until he starts shooting again. Okay, so help me out. Who is this guy?"
"Criminal sharpshooter. I mean, usually it's military or law enforcement."
"Yeah, but this guy doesn't seem to be hitting his mark," Uncle Greg observed.
"He's trying hard not to, right?" Uncle Ed parried.
Uncle Greg agreed. "Dozen shots, only one injury- what are the odds, right?"
"Hit the locator pretty good."
"Okay, let's assume he knows what he's doing. Typical profile: tyrannical sadist, antisocial, wants to play God, wants control, wants to see innocent people suffer."
The teens exchanged nervous looks. That sounded like a Death Eater to them. Except no Death Eater would ever use a tech weapon; such would be regarded as beneath them, even without the magical world's laws regarding using tech weapons. So, a non-magical Death Eater then?
"Except…" Uncle Ed argued.
Once again, Uncle Greg saw where the other was going. "Except there's only one injury. Not much of a sadist." Uncle Greg's voice turned a bit thoughtful as he thought out loud. "Maybe it's targeted. Maybe it's revenge. Maybe it's, maybe it's personal."
Two pairs of eyes locked on both ends of the comm. Personal.
"That's what Wordy said in the briefing room, right? 'Feels like it's personal.' "
"Three swatter calls, one shift. That's a first," Uncle Greg pointed out.
It made sense, it made a horrid kind of sense and the teens barely had to hear Uncle Ed's grim, "This guy's trying to wear us out. It's urban warfare strategy. You hit the army when they're tired returning from battle."
The rest of the conversation flew over the two kids' heads as they tried to wrap their heads around the idea that their family was being targeted by someone willing to shoot innocents just to draw them in. When Kira reached out to turn the speaker off, she was hit by two high capacity glares. "That's our family out there," Alanna hissed.
"We can handle it," Lance added.
Kira met their eyes. She knew what the Boss would prefer, but with two sets of eyes half-glaring, half-pleading at her… Kira dropped her hand away from the speaker.
"Can we see a map?" Alanna asked suddenly.
"Why?" Kira inquired, wary.
"So we can get a better idea of where they are," Alanna explained with a would-be casual shrug. She was careful not to give away the real reason.
"Okay," Kira agreed, bringing up the same map their Uncle Spike was using miles away.
Alanna studied the map carefully, tuning back into the conversation on the comms.
"…come from different phone numbers?" Uncle Greg was asking.
Uncle Spike's normal cheerful tones were now matter-of-fact and business-like. "Yeah, but it sounds like spoofing to me."
Twin confused looks were joined by Uncle Greg's "Spoofing?"
The explanation was joined with a touch of sarcasm. "Seems it's perfectly legal to impersonate another caller ID if it's 'for entertainment purposes only.' "
Lance and Alanna's looks were now startled. That sounded like a loophole large enough to fly an Abraxan horse through. They leaned forward, listening to the file Uncle Spike played. Male, young, accent.
"They guarantee privacy," Spike continued, "They don't release clients' names."
The second file was a female voice, also young, and with an accent similar to the first. Suspicious looks were cast at the speaker.
"For a little extra, they'll mess with the pitch of your voice," Spike finished.
The third file played. Male, young, accent. Realization flared and two worried looks were traded.
"You hear that? Three voices, one accent. Eastern European?" Spike observed.
Uncle Greg had put even more pieces together than his charges had. "Ed. Personal. First York."
"No way," came the instant denial.
Undeterred, Uncle Greg kept going. "No choice. 'It's not me, it's your father. This is war.' How did Clark describe the guy at the bus stop today?"
Alanna clenched her fists, trembling. First York. No…No. Not again. Why couldn't that day just leave them alone? Uncle Ed hadn't done anything wrong, he'd just been protecting an innocent woman.
"Yeah, European accent, young guy," Uncle Ed admitted.
"Eddie," Uncle Greg pressed.
"No way," came the still automatic protest, but softer.
"Call your family," Uncle Greg ordered.
Uncle Ed gave in with a soft, "All right."
Uncle Greg's voice lifted, his words ringing clearly through the comm. "Team, listen up. We think we know who this guy is."
Alanna bit her lip, clenching her hands harder. You can't have them, she thought at the distant sniper. You can't have my family. No matter what.
The order to lock down the SRU was very unwelcome for the two teenagers. They'd actually been very privately plotting their exit strategy so they could sneak out and help with the sniper. A lock down would just get in their way, but they knew better than to protest. At least aloud, though their complaints came through quite clearly in their expressions.
Uncle Greg was talking to Uncle Ed again, so the pair leaned closer to listen. "Okay, mid-20s, dark hair, ordinary-looking, spoke with an accent."
"I know," Uncle Ed confirmed.
"You shot his father."
"He was close enough to feel the bullet fly." Alanna sucked in a breath; they hadn't known that part. "He took me to court for wrongful death," Uncle Ed added.
"And he lost," Uncle Greg pointed out.
"Yeah," Uncle Ed agreed.
Uncle Greg's attention shifted to getting more information. "Okay, Kira, Spike, I need you to pull up a wrongful death lawsuit. Last name: Tomasić."
Uncle Spike called in first. "Copy that. I'm also sending out a photograph of the subject. News footage, First York." The image that he found was flashed across Kira's screen as well, letting two plotting siblings see who they were after.
Kira, typing away, had the next tidbit. "Boss, I've got his employment records."
"Next of kin?" Uncle Greg queried.
"Goran Tomasić," Kira replied.
"That's his father. He's deceased." Lance and Alanna traded looks. That was one way to put it. "Any emergency contacts?"
Kira examined the records and announced, "Luka Boblic. Here, I got a cell number."
"Okay, let's get that guy here immediately," Uncle Greg ordered. "Let's send a squad car."
In the background, the two kids could hear the Inspector approach and ask about progress. The response wasn't just disappointing to the Inspector. Waiting until the next shot? It wasn't something the kids particularly wanted, but they could see why their uncle had said that. Some things just had to play out, no way around it. All they could do was wait…and pray that no one died. Alanna, though, kept her head down. If anyone knew what she was planning…well…they wouldn't know, not until it was too late to stop her.