A.N. I do not own Flashpoint, I have only borrowed it and the characters for entertainment person only.

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Surprised by the uncharacteristic word that came from the Italian's mouth, Greg raised an eyebrow. "Spike?"

"It's us! We're the 'they!'" he yelled. "January 17th! Last year! There was a robbery at this very bank that went south! A group of first graders were on their field trip visiting the bank when the robbers broke in. A hostage situation ensued, headed by the SRU's Team Two, and all in all it was a successful outcome—the subjects were caught rather quickly—but one of the fifty-six hostages died. The casualty was an Isabelle Maclaney, 6 years old!"

Geg's heart ached thinking about the life lost so young. "Isabelle. Izzys. Bring up a picture of her father and send it to Jules. She's the only one who's seen our subject. He said that 'he' isn't the important one today, and then he gave us Izzys' name so I'd bet anything..." He let his voice trail off as Spike went to work.

Moments later, Jules confirmed that Mr. Maclaney was indeed the man in the conference room of the bank.

"Okay guys, we've identified the subject and it sounds like he's after revenge. During the hostage situation last year, he must have spoken with a member of Team Two and thought that they were promising to get his daughter out. When he discovered he lost her… well, I imagine he's had a pretty rough time this past year, and now he's recreating what happened and probably trying to make us the victims in some way. Everyone proceed with extreme caution. We still don't know exactly why he's here, nor what he is planning. Right now it is our priority to secure the hostages—"

"Boss!" Jules' voice crackled over the coms. "Things are escalating in there! He's moving very aggressively towards the hostages and even starting to aim his weapon at them."

"Sam! Ed! What's your status?" he demanded. Things were moving way too fast for his liking, and he had a terrible gut feeling that no matter what he did, this was not going to end well.

Up on the roof, Sam had just finished attaching his line and moved towards the edge of the building when Greg demanded their position. "We're rappelling as we speak, we should be directly above the windows in moments. There are two windows into the room, both are floor to ceiling but the east one is considerably wider. We were originally planning on both entering through that window, but believe it will be better if we come from two different spots. Ed and I will not be able to see each other; there's a two foot concrete protrusion running between the windows from the 38th floor down to the 20th." Trying to lighten the mood, he added, "I think it's supposed to be artistic, but I'm going to have words with the brilliant architect that decided it was a good idea."

Ed couldn't help smiling as Sam disappeared behind the offending 'artistic concrete.' They reached the top of the 35th floor window, and Ed took over the radio. "Boss, we've reached our position. We'll attach the explosives to the very top of the window, out of his sight because I can see that the blinds are down about a foot. Sam and I will then drop down on either side of the window, remove our main lines, and prepare to enter. We'll wait for your signal."

"Copy that, Ed. Spike, get him on the phone again."

The subject picked up and their conversation floated through the coms, but Sam tuned them out, instead focusing on the task at hand. The breeze clawed at his jacket, pulling at the parts that were loose from his vest, as he carefully started placing the charges. He was glad his gloves were so warm, otherwise he worried that he'd drop the explosives because of numb hands. As it was, his face was already well on its way to being frozen, and he was having trouble feeling his toes. "Hey Ed," he called softly through the coms. "Two more charges to go. How's it going over there? You drop one? I almost did."

A quiet bark of laughter sounded in his ear. "Not funny Sam! Can you imagine what would happen if one of these things fell on the spectators below? I appreciate the attempt to lighten the mood, but let's focus."

Sam grinned and couldn't resist one more jab. "I wasn't kidding."

There was a pause. "What was that? You're saying you seriously almost dropped an armed explosive over four hundred feet?!"

"Nope," Sam said cheekily, placing the last charge, grateful for the brief stress relief the banter supplied. "Just kidding."

Ed swore. "Don't do that to me! I'm not as young as I used to be and I don't think my heart could take that!"

"Last charge set," Sam informed him briskly, switching into his fully focused mode.

"Copy that. Last charge set here, too. Dropping to side and disengaging main lines, ready for entry."

Sam, who was entering through the larger, east window, moved to the right and lowered himself so that he was even with the base of the window. "Hey Spike."

"Yeah Samtastic?" Spike asked.

"Is the immediate area beneath us being cleared of people? These windows will mostly blow in just a few feet, but I'm sure there will be some stray pieces that'll go out."

"Already being taken care of, Sam. You just hang tight."

He could hear the Italian's grin in his voice. "Not exactly the right time, Spike." He grimaced as he detached the main line from his harness and held on to it for dear life.

"Actually, I was thinking it was the perfect time, seeing as you are quite literally hangin—"

"Spike!" Ed cut in. "Next time, we'll give you this job and then you can see how you like all of the joking!"

"Seeing as I'd probably be the one coming up with all of the jokes, since you guys have a sad lack of inspiration when it comes to these kinds of things, I think I'd like it just fine," the Italian retorted.

All joking leaving the air, they began to tune back into the conversation Greg was having with the subject. It sounded like Greg was getting nowhere, and the subject's voice was rising. The last thing he said before hanging up, in response to Greg's assumption that he must be feeling lonely up there, was: "I am not alone! I'll prove it to you!"

After a moment, Jules broke in frantically, "Boss! He's escalated! He's moving towards the hostages and he's pulling one out of the bunch and pinning her against the wall! I do not have a shot, I repeat, no joy!"

Greg swore. "All right, Ed, Sam it's a go! We've lost contact and he's threatening the hostages! He's escalated to a red and I don't think he's coming back from this!"

"Copy that," Sam replied. "Ed, you ready?"

"Copy, Sam. On my count of three we'll each detonate."

Sam turned his back to the window, still tightly clutching his line, and maneuvered the detonation device into his grip. He blew out a breath.

"One," came Ed's murmured voice over the coms.

He licked his cold chapped lips and swallowed.

"Two."

He breathed in one final breath, before letting it out fully, and with it, all thoughts of anything other than what he was about to execute.

"Three."

Both he and Ed pressed down on their detonators.

"WAIT!" Spike's desperate scream sounded over the radio in the split second before the boom of the glass shattering deafened them.

The bang of the blast slammed into Sam's ears, and all appeared to be going well as he tossed a flash bang into the now gaping window and prepared to enter, but then… things fell apart. He felt the impact of a bullet hitting his chest long before the echo of the shot reverberated in his already ringing ears. The bullet punched through his vest with contemptuous ease, mocking the Kevlar that was supposed to keep him safe, and lodged itself firmly in his body: a place no bullet belonged. A moment later, he felt the impact of a second metal cylinder slicing into his chest, coming to rest very close to the first. He felt his grip on the line go slack and immediately his stomach surged upwards as his body descended on a rapid one way trip towards the ground. There was little time for his life to flash before his eyes… in fact, the only image he saw was the snow covered ground rushing up to meet him; the snow was beautiful, but it would do little to cushion his body from the four hundred and twenty foot drop. The pain in his chest magnified as he twisted in the air, and his vision began to fade… but, known for his stubbornness, the release from pain that unconsciousness offered, waited just long enough for him to hear a resounding CRACK!... then he knew no more.