Chapter Four: The Baby Sniper
"We've got to find this guy now," Uncle Ed declared, the kids on the other end of the comm in perfect agreement.
Uncle Greg's own agreement came through clear in his voice. "Yeah, Spike found a photo. The guy's name is Petar Tomasić. Quit his job two weeks ago, and no one's answering the phone at his apartment."
Judging from the change in background noise, Uncle Ed had moved inside the command truck. "Guys, subject is confirmed. Petar Tomasić. 26-year-old, Caucasian, dark hair. Sam, Jules, where are you?"
The sound of exertion came over the line. "We're heading up to the clock tower," Uncle Sam called.
"Sweeping floor by floor," Aunt Jules added. "Nothing here, Ed."
"Copy, Sam. Wordy, Lewis, what's your 20?"
Uncle Wordy's voice was calm, steady. "Clearing the mechanical room. Heading to the East Tower."
"All right, keep talking to us," Uncle Ed ordered.
Uncle Greg's remarks came right on the heels of Uncle Ed's order. "Eddie, Luka Boblic is here. He was on scene. You might want to listen in."
On the other end of the comm, the two kids traded looks and gave their full attention to the speaker by Kira's arm.
"Luka, this is Ed Lane," Uncle Greg introduced.
Had the teenagers been present, they would have seen a young man the same age as Petar, with black hair in a crew-cut. Thick eyebrows hovered over brown eyes and Luka had sharp features and a cleft chin. Worry and concern was written across his face and his expression as he faced the two SRU members was unhappy.
"I know who you are," he said to Uncle Ed.
"You know why you're here?" Uncle Ed asked, the slightest of edges to his tone.
"Petar left a message on my phone," Luka admitted. "I heard on the radio what was happening. I came down as fast as I could. No one would let me through."
Uncle Greg's tone was curious, no condemnation in it. "Petar left a message?"
The worry and concern blazed out of Luka's words. "He said, uh, good-bye. I knew something was coming." It sounded like he turned away from the two men as he inquired, "Where is he?"
"That's just it; we don't know," Uncle Greg confessed. "So, let's start with the basics, okay? Does Petar have access to a gun?"
"I-I don't know. I… Last week, he told me he was thinking about getting a rifle from some guy, black market. I don't know who. When I heard that, I-I said, 'Petar, you do this, I swear I'll turn you in myself.' He… He told me to forget it. He was just kidding." Luka's voice broke with guilt and grief. "I believed him. I believed him."
The two teens looked at each other, knowing that they would have made the same mistake in Luka's shoes. Their uncle's words backed that up. "This isn't your fault, Luka. Okay, he made his own choice here today. But you can still help him."
Luka's voice rang with doubt for that sentiment. "He was…so angry at everything, everyone." There was a pause and then Luka added in Uncle Ed's direction, "He thinks you ruined his life."
It was fortunate that Luka could not hear the angry hisses from the two kids at headquarters. Kira gave them a warning look and they piped down.
"Did he say what kind of rifle it was?" Uncle Ed asked, voice even.
"I don't know," Luka replied.
"Does he know how to shoot it?" Uncle Ed pressed.
Nothing…silence. The kids traded horrified looks.
Uncle Greg would not let Luka hold his silence. "Does your friend know how to shoot a rifle?"
There was another pause, as if Luka was gathering himself. Finally, "Snipers were how we protected ourselves. Petar shot eight men dead before he was sixteen."
Lance swallowed hard; just like the Second War. Children fighting a war because no one else would; his and Alanna's parents had been in that war, some of the few adults willing to fight against the Death Eaters.
"Croatia, it was a civil war, sir," Luka explained. "Petar Tomasić was one of the best snipers in our country."
"What happened?" Uncle Greg asked, though how he kept his voice gentle and calm, Lance had no idea.
"Petar got recruited by the local militia. He fought alongside his father against the Serbs. Everyone called him 'Mali Sniperist'- 'Baby Sniper'. He protected our village."
Uncle Ed must have left, for his voice rang out on the comm, firm and decisive. "Subject is a skilled sniper, familiar with urban warfare. If he was missing his mark, he was missing it on purpose. Guys, this is a revenge situation. Good news: We've narrowed it down. He's looking for me. I killed his father at First York Plaza." The two teenagers joined the angry, terrified silence. None of them would let Tomasić get to their friend and pseudo family member.
Luka kept talking. "Two years, I was at school, he was hiding in the hills, fighting our enemies. Until they found out who he was. They didn't come after him. They came after his family." The kids traded looks again; this, too, they were familiar with. After all, the Death Eaters had gone after Harry Potter's supporters and family in hopes of bringing him down. "They tortured his mother and they killed her and… And he nearly went crazy. But his father saved him. They-they escaped through two countries on foot."
"So, the woman that, um, that was shot at First York…" Uncle Greg queried.
"Stepmother," Luka filled in.
Reluctantly, Kira piped up, "Boss?"
"Yeah, Kira?"
"You were right. Spoofing network confirmed all three 911s were routed through them from the same client. But they don't want to release the client's name without a subpoena. Want me to play bad cop on them?"
"No, thanks, Kira," Uncle Greg replied. "I think we may have what we need right here."
"Copy that," Kira acknowledged. She didn't notice the grim looks being traded back and forth behind her back. Child soldiers, the pair knew, were not to be underestimated. After all, hadn't Harry Potter and his generation won a war three decades in the making? Hadn't they beaten wizards and witches far older and far more skilled than they?
Uncle Greg's attention was back on Luka. "Luka, if we can talk to him, we may be able to stop him from harming anybody else."
"I know his cell number," Luka replied.
"Thank you," Uncle Greg replied. His charges scowled though. They knew perfectly well how strong a motivator revenge was. If they'd had half a chance to get at the Death Eaters who'd murdered their parents, well, there would have been a pile of bodies left behind them and they'd have gone to Azkaban instead of Toronto.
The figure lay in his second sniper perch, watching the activity below. Why was Luka here? And why was he helping them? His gaze returned to one of the men he knew, that he recognized, and hate flared again. The murderer might have pulled the trigger, but this man had given the order. The coward who'd spoken to his father and only spooked his father further. If he had given Petar a chance, instead of simply giving the command… He had been tempted, oh so tempted to decide on two targets, but then he'd seen the girl…the little redhead who called the coward 'uncle' and she, she looked like his mother. So he would settle for the murderer.
His phone rang and he freed a hand to reach down and pick it up. He flipped the phone open and held it up to his ear.
"Petar Tomasić?"
Tomasić contained a snarl; the coward. He held silence, refusing to give the coward an opening.
"Petar, it's Greg Parker with the Police Strategic Response Unit. Thank you very much for picking up."
Tomasić still held his silence, but he did look through his scope at the clustered black trucks. The half-moon shape they were parked in was frustrating to the sniper, it meant he didn't have as clear of a shot as he would have liked.
The coward wasn't giving up, wasn't even deterred by Tomasić's silence. "Petar? Petar, I think, I think it's important that we start talking."
Grimly amused, Tomasić inquired, "Why?"
He spotted the murderer coming to stand by the coward and shifted, hopeful that he could get a shot.
"Maybe I can help you if I can understand what you're looking for," the coward babbled. Tomasić contained a snort. As if the coward would be honorable enough to surrender the murderer; they hadn't even been honorable enough to acknowledge that his father had been murdered, executed in a country where he should have been safe.
"I know what I'm looking for," Tomasić shot back, letting his anger surface.
"Oh, yeah?" the coward asked, the false note in his voice infuriating his listener.
"Ed Lane," Tomasić declared. "It's Ed Lane I want."
Just as he'd expected, the coward would not give him the killer, the murderer. "Okay, okay. Let me start working on that," the coward lied.
With a scornful laugh, Tomasić repeated, "Working on that?"
The coward didn't stop, he kept lying for the man standing next to him. "Well, yeah, he's out of range. I-I got to track him down."
"He's standing next to you," Tomasić retorted.
His first mistake, for the coward immediately dragged the murderer behind the largest truck. Tomasić swore to himself; while he might not have had a shot, now they knew he could see them.
Sure enough, the coward observed, "I guess you can see everything, huh, Petar?"
"Like you," Tomasić sneered. "You can hear everything. You can see everything. Almost." He hung up, focused on a particular spot. If the coward would not give him Lane… "May God forgive me," he murmured in his native Croatian.
Then he fired and watched as the young police officer fell, dead before he hit the ground.
"Officer down! Officer down! Officer down!" rang out from multiple sources as the group behind the trucks stared at the fallen cop.
Inspector Stainton hit the side of the truck he was next to, furious. He whirled toward Sergeant Parker, his voice trembling with his anger. "Well, we waited till he shot again, didn't we, Sergeant?" He pointed toward the fallen man. "That kid was twenty-four years of age. Fresh out of police academy."
Parker's own anger flared up. "You tell me how we could've prevented that!" he yelled, giving the attitude right back. "You tell me!"
Stainton got right in Parker's face, jabbing a finger at him. "You want to call the chief on this? You call him, you explain it!"
As Stainton stalked away, Parker's retort drifted after him. "No, no, I want to settle this thing."
By the command truck, Ed Lane's focus was on the job. "Confirm Team Four is containing east buildings."
Alanna Victoria Calvin was furious, no enraged. When the shot had rung out, she'd clenched her fists so tightly, blood had seeped out. She hadn't let go until Uncle Ed's voice had come back on the comm, then she sagged in relief, he was alive.
She looked up at her brother and he gave her an encouraging look. With a quick gesture, she slipped off her chair and he followed her to the empty locker room.
"We have to do something," she burst out.
"I know, sis, I know, but what?" Lance ran a hand through his hair. "The station is locked down, no way Kira will let us leave."
"There is a way," Alanna countered and her brother spun, his eyes wide.
"No, Alanna, don't," he hissed.
Alanna shook her head. "I'm not losing them, Lance, none of them. He can't have them."
Her form blurred as she spoke and, as she finished, violet light swept over her, leaving a phoenix behind. The phoenix lifted off the ground, into the air, and swept her wings outward.
Fire ran over her, engulfing her and shrinking down to a fine point. Lance covered his eyes and when he could look again, Flamewings was gone.