Chapter Seven: Made to Lead the Way
"Spike, breathe," the on-scene negotiator ordered, catching onto the raven's impending panic attack before he could give himself away to the subject. "You're going to be okay; we're going to get you out of there."
"What's he saying?" the gunman demanded, leaning over his hostage.
He lifted unseeing eyes to his captor, unable to think beyond the raw betrayal twisting in his chest. It was supposed to be his team coming for him – not some other team. Why hadn't his friends come for him? Why didn't they care? His breathing quickened, turning to short, gasping pants. His team wasn't there – they were supposed to be there. Always and forever.
"Spike, listen to me. Breathe!" The yell in his ear was a sledgehammer to his canine hearing – and almost too distant to comprehend.
Crack. The blow sent him sprawling on the ground, cringing; a whimper broke free as he lifted a hand to his cheek, throbbing painfully. A hand grabbed the back of his shirt, hauling him back up and thrusting him at the phone again.
"Listen up, blindy – I don't care if I hafta crack your egghead wide-open. Just pick up that stupid phone and tell that cop I wanna a car with a full tank o' gas."
Numb, Spike obeyed. How could they do this to him? How could they leave him hanging like this? He needed his team – but they hadn't come. Why? He lifted the receiver, wincing as it touched both of the bloody gashes on his jaw.
In a monotone, he announced, "He wants a car. Full tank of gas."
"Copy that," the negotiator replied. "Tell him we'll need some time to run that up the chain of command. I'll call back in fifteen minutes."
Unable to think beyond the loss welling up in his soul, Spike repeated the negotiator's words to the gunman nearly verbatim. He'd been so sure his team would save him – to have that ripped away physically hurt. Letting the phone drop back in its cradle, he fought the urge to howl like the wild dog he was.
"Well, that went well."
Constable Leon Young ignored the sarcasm laid thick in Gwaine's dead-pan tone. He'd known – they'd all known – that Scarlatti would react badly once he found out the team on-scene wasn't Team One, but he'd severely underestimated the depth of his fellow constable's distress. So much for his half-baked plan to have Scarlatti act as their inside source – a role the other man had been playing wonderfully, right up until he'd heard Leon on the phone instead of Lieutenant Parker.
"Any ideas?" their Sarge asked, worry in his voice. If Scarlatti didn't make it out, Team One would rip them to shreds, but judging by the reaction they'd seen on the store's cameras, Scarlatti had gone from active and involved to nearly catatonic.
"Find a Time-Turner and take that other call so Team One can take this one?" Gwaine suggested.
"Thank you, Gwaine, that's very practical," Sarge drawled. "I'm sure you have a shiny new Time-Turner for us to use, too."
"Give him a couple minutes," Mordred put in. "He's blind and someone just got shot right in front of him. Betcha he thought for sure it would be Team One."
Nods went 'round the team, even though most of them couldn't see each other as they hurried to set up as much gear as they could.
"You think he'll bounce back?" Percival asked.
"Maybe, maybe not," Mordred admitted. "But we gotta give him that chance." Dark eyes flicked up to his team leader. "Leon, what if you use his OMAC code?"
The curly-haired brunet allowed a hum as he stared at the camera feeds from inside the store and considered the idea. "I'll have to be careful Mordred. We don't want the subject realizing he has an SRU constable on his hands."
His teammate nodded. "I've got an idea – do we know if the store has any TVs up front?"
Leon's brows shot up; over the comm, he heard Elyan say, "Two of the store managers made it out; I'll ask 'em."
The team leader frowned as he listened to his other teammates continuing to set up, wondering how on Earth Mordred intended to take advantage of TVs inside the store. And… "Mordred, what are you doing?"
The computer tech looked up from where he was rapidly shuffling through material inside one of the Command Truck's cabinets. "You know how I got that NAS (2) set up at home?"
"I recall you gleefully setting it up for a team movie night, only to end up arguing with your computer for half an hour before giving up and putting the movie disc in your Blu-ray player."
The younger man flushed bright red as the rest of the team sniggered over the comm. "I, ah, I got all the kinks worked out now. Works really well." He straightened. "Anyway! My SRU laptop doesn't have a disc drive, but I was gonna see if I could talk Parker into letting us use the briefing room one night for the whole SRU, and, um, I already picked out a bunch of movies we could choose from…"
Staring at the small external hard drive in Mordred's hands, Leon crossed his arms. "You have movies on there?"
The dark-haired constable nodded, already moving back to his laptop to plug the drive right into his computer. The palm-sized drive didn't have any power cord, just a USB cord – it took Leon a moment to realize it drew its power from the computer itself.
As the small drive spun to life, Elyan's voice came over the comm. "Mordred, we're in luck. All the registers have TVs for in-store ads and they're hooked into the store's network."
Mordred grinned, a feral grin that reminded Leon of Mordred the Dark – or the villain in the movie his teammate was already mounting as a virtual image onto a virtual disc drive.
Edgar thrust him down, sneering when Spike crashed down on his forearms; the former computer tech cried out instinctively, but was still too numb to react in any other fashion. He registered the kick to his hip – right into the bruise from the conveyor belt – and yelped again. As the other man left, a parting jeer drifting in his wake, the raven lay where he'd fallen, head slumping down between his arms.
His team hadn't come for him. They hadn't cared enough to come for him. Instead they'd sent Team Four, the time-lost Knights of Camelot. The team that went tactical more than any other team in the SRU! Well, no wonder – it wasn't like knights were trained to negotiate. They weren't trained to see subjects as human – no, far better to just deal with the bandits and if there were a few peasant casualties, well, that was just how things went.
Two small forms moved in on either side of him and he was suddenly aware of moisture trickling down his cheeks. "Spike?" a young voice asked. "Are you okay?"
He shook his head, the lump in his throat too big for him to speak.
"Aren't they coming for us?" another voice asked.
How could he reply? It wasn't his team, it was the knights. Knights who would try, he knew, but they weren't SRU. Tactical was their best weapon – their only weapon.
Then he heard something else. A rustling and buzzing from the direction of the registers – the monitors with ads that he'd tuned out within seconds of getting into line. Something whispered in the back of his mind and he listened.
"That's his MO, isn't it? I mean, what are we, a team? No, no, no, we're a chemical mixture that makes chaos. We're… We're a time bomb."
That was Bruce Banner – the Hulk. Wait, The Avengers? How the heck was that movie playing in a grocery store? A video rental store, sure, but here?
"You need to step away."
Nick Fury – a scene on the Helicarrier?
"Why shouldn't the guy let off a little steam?"
"You know damn well why. Back off!"
And that was Tony Stark and Steve Rogers. Oh, he was getting a feeling about this…
"Oh, I'm startin' to want you make me."
"Yeah. Big man in a suit of armor. Take that off, what are you?"
"Genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist."
He heard Steve Rogers' next line, scorn ringing loud in Captain America's voice as he tore down Stark's self-image, but Spike's mind locked on that one phrase. Genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist. OMAC code – his OMAC code. Team Four, it had to be. Trying to get him back in the game.
Against the floor, his fingers curled, a spark of determination crawling up his spine. Never give up. Never back down. Never lose faith. But what could a blind man do?
A hand touched his back and he jerked, inhaling a single sharp breath. "Spike, are we gonna be okay?"
"Don't bother him, Thomas – that guy really hurt him."
The boy sniffled and Spike heard Karl tug his little brother close – inside his head, he imagined a mini-Ed doing the same for a mini-Roy and wondered if that had ever happened in real life. Or had Ed and Roy been too much at odds for such affection?
Gritting his teeth, Spike pushed himself up on his forearms, carefully pulling his legs in – he didn't want to attract too much attention from the subject, not when he was about to get his head back in the game where it belonged. Turning on his side, he finished sitting up and getting his legs underneath him; both palms touched the tile floor and he took a moment to steady his breathing, mind whirling.
Team Four had access to the store's internal network – they had eyes on him, the other hostages, and the gunman. If they didn't already have the blueprints, they would soon; Mordred might not be up to his level, but he and Lou were fairly well matched in skill set. With their subject's primary target already down and dead, it was highly likely that Team Four's tendency to go tactical was an asset – Sarge was a great negotiator, but he tended to try and negotiate even after subjects made it clear they hated his guts.
Soft, he ordered, "Thomas, tell me about where we are. Where the other hostages are."
Little arms flung themselves around his chest, clutching tight. "Mister Spike." Thomas's voice trembled with fear and tears; Spike knew the only reason he hadn't shouted was the ever-present threat of the gunman.
Reaching over with his free arm, Spike touched hair – fine, thin, short strands – and wondered what color the boys' hair was. What shade their eyes were. His magic might show him their outlines, but it couldn't fill in shades or colors.
Pushing regret aside, he murmured, "I'm here, kiddo, but I need to know, okay? Tell me where we are."
"Okay," Thomas whispered, though he didn't begin until he was almost in Spike's lap. The adult 'saw' him pull out the smartphone and listened as the young child described everything around them.
As the gunman dragged him towards the store phone again – whacking him into the conveyor belt just like the last two times – Spike had to admit Leon was trying. Straining to find common ground and create a rapport with the subject, enough to get him to stand down and release hostages.
Trouble was, their subject had already tunneled in on one solution and woe betide anyone who suggested another solution. Unable to take out his agitation on Leon, the gunman had 'rewarded' Spike's cooperation with several more blows from the barrel of his gun. Painful – both cheeks were bloody and throbbing now – but far preferable to a bullet.
He was thrust into the now familiar desktop surface and the phone deposited in his hand – the subject still believed he was helpless as a newborn babe and Spike had no intention of correcting that impression. "Tell him I want that car! Now!"
"Easy, buddy, easy. I'll tell him," Spike promised, bringing the handset up to his ear. "Hello?"
"Hey there." Leon, concerned and relieved, all at once. "How are you doing?"
"He wants his car," Spike replied. "Any time now would be good, if you know what I mean."
The other man hummed under his breath. "We're still working on it." Liar – no SRU team worth its salt would give into a demand like this unless there were other factors in play – that meant losing control of the unfolding situation.
He was about to relay the message, cheek already aching in anticipation of the blow from that gun barrel, when Leon said, "It's starting to look like rain though."
Rain? Why was Leon… Spike's mouth dried up for an instant, then his mind presented a perfect counter. Sharp, he retorted, "You guys had better remember I've got precious cargo."
"Tell 'em to stay out!" Well, well, Edgar wasn't quite as much a fool as Spike had taken him for. Pity.
He repeated that threat, praying that at least one member of Team Four would understand his message. It was possible – they'd known enough to pull The Avengers card, but he wouldn't know until it was all over.
"What was that all about?" Elyan wondered out loud as Leon put down the Command Truck's phone.
Leon shook his head, casting an inquiring glance in their computer tech's direction. "Mordred?"
"Gimme a moment, guys," the curly-haired raven replied, scowling in concentration. "It's familiar, just not sure where…"
"More sci-fi?" Sarge ventured.
"Well, yeah, Sarge, but that's a lotta ground to cover," Mordred countered, muttering an additional something under his breath that Leon wisely opted not to hear. The tech's fingers flew over his keyboard, bringing up a search engine. He typed into it, scrolling rapidly, then shot back up to the top, growling as he frantically typed in an additional search term.
The team leader leaned in, wincing – apparently, 'precious cargo' could refer to any number of things, making it rather lousy as a hint, but it had likely been the best Scarlatti could do. "Movie?" he suggested – a long shot, but they had already used The Avengers as a way to indirectly communicate with Scarlatti.
"Prolly, but I'm not finding anything," Mordred complained. "I swear I've heard that somewhere, though, Leon. Recent, too, but I can't remember."
"What movies you got on that hard drive?" Percival inquired out of the blue.
"You're asking that now?" Gwaine demanded, incredulous, but Mordred was already pulling up the Explorer window on the external hard drive still plugged into his laptop.
The constable's lips moved soundlessly as he scrolled through his list of movies – Leon suppressed a whistle at how many fit onto the palm-sized drive humming next to the laptop. Then Mordred's expression twisted and he clicked the back button on his mouse; the team leader's brows shot up into his hairline as he realized Mordred had two different folders full of movies on his little drive.
The second folder, marked TV Shows, was brimming with titles both familiar and unfamiliar, though Leon hardly had time to scan the titles as Mordred sped down to the bottom, rapidly clicking into one folder in particular, then into a second. "Yes!"
"You got it?" Elyan asked hopefully.
"The Transformers movie," Mordred declared, spinning in his chair to look up at Leon as he spoke. "During the downtown battle, Lennox tells the incoming Blackhawks that he's sending them a civilian with precious cargo."
"So what's that for us?" Sarge pressed, sticking to the practical.
"Spike said he's got the precious cargo – betcha it's those kids or the other hostages…"
"Or both," Percival put in.
"Or both," Mordred agreed. "He's gonna cover them so we can focus on taking the subject down." He darted a glance up at his team leader. "Leon, I'm gonna route Scarlatti's phone to your earpiece – let us know if he says anything."
"You think he will?" Leon questioned, knowing Mordred intended to cut him off from the tactical side of the call so he could focus on their inside man.
The computer tech nodded. "I betcha he will; the subject still hasn't cottoned on and Spike has to know Kira routed it to us."
Leon swallowed down his unease as Mordred tapped at his keyboard. The comm went ominously silent in his ear, with only the background noise of a child sniffling and people moving around near Scarlatti's phone. He heard footsteps, vibrating the phone and coming closer – a glance up confirmed that their subject was hauling Scarlatti back to the two little boys he'd been with all throughout the call.
He saw the subject shove Scarlatti in the back, right in time with a distant hitch of breath and the sound of people crying out in objection at the mistreatment of one of their own. The former knight's fists clenched and he longed to run his sword through the coward attacking a blind man. A blind knight – one of his fellow knights. Injured in the line of duty and sidelined, but still one of them.
A second shove sent Scarlatti tumbling to the ground and Leon's teeth ground together as a yelp of pain coupled with the subject kicking Scarlatti in the side. The blind man lay still for several moments as his tormentor moved away, then he awkwardly sat up and twisted to pull his legs in; the two boys crowded close as soon as he stopped.
For several minutes, Scarlatti simply sat where he was, panting slowing down into regular breathing. Leon's eyes darted to the other store cameras, watching as his teammates moved into position – he wished he could hear their chatter, but Mordred was right. If Scarlatti had any other messages for them, they couldn't risk missing them in the process of setting up for the takedown.
There was a soft cough in his ear and Leon's gaze flew back to the camera they had focused on Scarlatti. The blind man had reclaimed his phone from the younger boy and now lifted it close to his mouth.
"I'll drive."
Leon reached out, tapping Mordred on the shoulder. The other twisted, glancing up in expectation. "He said, 'I'll drive.' "
"You shoot," Mordred finished, nodding. "Guys, I'm plugging Leon and Scarlatti into the comm again. Move on Scarlatti's mark."
"We're moving on a blind guy's mark?" Gwaine yelped.
"Yes, you are," Leon ordered. "Scarlatti may be down, but without his intel, we wouldn't be going tactical. Not yet." Which was a bad thing, given how intractable and volatile their subject was. "He must know something we don't. Trust him."
There was a long moment of sullen silence – none of them were comfortable with letting a blind man call their entry – even if he was one of them.
Then Sarge's voice rose. "You heard Leon, team. Move on Scarlatti's mark."
"Copy that," the team replied, reluctant, but willing to trust their leaders.
Spike focused, eyes narrow behind the dark glasses as he summoned up as much magic as he could, ordering it towards the subject pacing back and forth in front of his hostages. Emerald swirled, outlining the man and his weapon, down, but ready to swing up at the least provocation.
The SRU constable watched the man pace, judging his strides and each lap with the precision of a man who knew how fast his teammates could move when they needed to. Team Four might not be his, but there were certain standards every SRU team had to met in order to pass their yearly quals.
There – as the subject made his turn, Spike lifted his phone. Cocked his head to the side and waited. Another five strides, another turn. He waited, one finger tapping against the phone's carry case. Now.
"Beam rider incoming," he murmured.
"Team Four, standby," Mordred ordered.
Wait for it… Wait for it…
"Bring the rain!"
The subject whirled, gun rising.
"SRU! Hands in the air!"
"Weapon on the ground, hands in the air!"
"Police Strategic Response Unit!"
"Hands in the air!"
Spike grinned, watching with glee as emerald forms converged on the subject, shouting commands and orders. Caught at the furthest point away from his hostages, the gunman didn't have a prayer of escaping or triggering a final standoff; he was deprived of his weapon and slammed to the ground within seconds of Team Four's move.
Busy watching the action, Spike almost missed a forest brown figure scrambling up the aisle right behind him and the boys. His first hint was the figure sliding to a halt in front of him, weapon at the ready. A moment later, it lowered as the new arrival saw the gunman down and under control – aside from the loud cursing mixed with threats.
Spike looked up as the man in front of him turned and he could almost see the smile on the other's face. Reaching down, the figure offered a hand, waiting for Spike to take it. Suddenly wary, the former constable studied the hand, then bowed to the inevitable and grabbed hold. Lancelot hauled him up, steadying him on his feet automatically.
"Good work, Constable Scarlatti," he announced, capturing the full attention of the entire store.
"Constable?!" the subject howled over the flood of whispers from his former hostages. "He can't be a cop; he's blind!"
Lancelot ignored the interruption, though his voice rang with mischief. "Congratulations on your first hot call since that flash bang incident."
Spike allowed a weary smile. "Thanks, buddy."
At his hips, Thomas and Karl crowded in; Thomas proffered a familiar object and the smile turned genuine as Spike accepted his badge back and clipped it to his belt. He only wished he could see the expressions around him as the metal and leather object gleamed under the store lights.
[2] Network Attached Storage
Author Note: Happy Friday, all! I hope my fellow Americans had a wonderful 4th of July and I hope my international readers had a great time as well. ; )
As ever, I do hope everyone enjoyed this latest chapter (and Spike kicking butt while blind!) *insert regular plea for reviews*
In un-related news - I have gotten my very first Gift fic on Archive of Our Own! An authoress in the Star Wars fandom has very kindly Gifted her latest fanfic to me since I suggested the initial idea that the story is based on. Wishfulthinking is a wonderful authoress who has really brought Darth Vadar's Death Squadron to life, so I encourage any Star Wars fans among my readers to check out "Metamorphosis".
And now, coming back to my fiction, I recently discovered a very longstanding spelling mistake of mine. Makangeni, the lovely Italian artist whom I've been working with on Art Commissions, informed me that although 'nipote' is indeed the Italian for 'niece' or 'nephew', the plural is not 'nipotes'. It is 'nipoti'. Oops.
I won't be changing "It's a Magical Flashpoint" - I've been using 'nipotes' for years, so the genie is pretty well out of the bottle. However, I'll definitely be updating Small Beginnings.
I am heading into the last week or so before I submit Small Beginnings to my story coach for the Developmental Edit, so I appreciate your support and prayers as I do one last runthrough of the manuscript for all sorts of tiny little line edits - 2 chapters down, 24 to go.
The Lord has graciously guided me to a Reddit focused on Traditional Publishing (and critiquing query letters!) called PubTips. I have been posting my query letter (and the first 300 words) for critique and feedback, if anyone here is interested in checking that out. But please do give me a bit of time to get that posted - I'll be posting my 3rd query letter attempt later on today.
PubTips also has a great list of resources and 'sister' Reddits, so I now have quite a lot of information and even an entire writing community right on the other side of my screen! I praise the Lord for His provision and His wonderful timing in this. He truly has Small Beginnings in the palm of His Hand and He is guiding me through this incredible journey towards publication.
Have a wonderful weekend, everyone, and may the Lord Bless each and every one of you, on the other side of the screen. (Credit to God in a Nutshell for that line.)