Mourning Dove (27 page)

Ella followed Blalock outside, where the whooshing sound of the rotor blades greeted them, along with a cloud of dust. A state police helicopter had landed less than a hundred feet from the building in an empty parking lot. Ducking low, they ran over and climbed up into their seats behind the pilot and crewman.
They were airborne with a stomach-dropping lurch ten seconds after buckling themselves in.

“How about filling me in now?” Ella asked, having to shout a little over the sound of the engine. She was still queasy and trying to look at Blalock, not outside into the empty sky and receding lights far below.

“A sporting-goods shop owner in Albuquerque sold an undercover ATF agent an Astra with Iraqi
military markings. There’s reason to believe that there are other weapons of interest in there as well, including AK-47s, AKMs, and other variants of the original design. Considering the case you’re investigating, and the connection to an Astra, I thought you’d be interested in taking part in this raid.”

“Absolutely.” Ella thought about the bartered “goods” mentioned in Jimmy’s story, obviously
not really nails and shoes. If this was a coded reference to illegal weapons trade, they were getting closer. She already knew how high the stakes were after nearly getting killed just a few hours ago.

Ella struggled to sit still and conserve her energy, but adrenalin was coursing freely through her now and her body screamed for action. As the helicopter hurtled through the air at over a hundred
miles per hour, she could feel her heart racing nearly as fast. It was a curious fact, but nothing made you appreciate life more than facing the possibility of death.

E
lla met with a dozen FBI and ATF agents at their office. Everyone was equipped with compatible radios, vests, raid jackets, and caps. Pistols, MP-5 submachine guns, and Armalite M-15 rifles with night vision scopes were the most common weapons in hand. A two-officer sniper team from the state police was burdened with an enormous fifty-caliber autoloading rifle
on a bipod.

“The firepower the perps have inside that store is impressive,” the senior ATF agent, Jerry Murbach, told them. “I’ve been inside and, near as I can figure, that place sees action twenty-four/seven. Employees work late into the night after the place is locked up, and someone sleeps in a back room. They also have security cameras set up covering the front and rear exits of the building.
Surprise will be difficult to achieve. Expect resistance, and be aware that the perps may be wearing vests, maybe even better than ours. That’s what the fifty caliber is for.”

Ella checked her own weapons, aware that the others on the team were doing the same. She trusted her pistol in close-range combat more than anything else they’d offered her, and knew a head shot would take anyone down despite
body armor. But she’d also qualified with other tactical weapons, including submachine guns. If required, she could handle an MP-5. But it was
a room-clearing weapon that allowed for little finesse in selecting targets. It did, on the other hand, provide excellent firepower when clearing out a sniper’s nest at close range or encountering a roomful of armed perps.

A half hour later they moved
in silently, using a variety of unmarked vehicles, and the teams got into standby position, backed up by APD’s SWAT team. The shop was located in the city’s north valley, with a major street at the front and a small alley in back. Another row of warehouses lined the street behind the business, most of them closed at this hour, then came the railroad tracks. They’d make their moves simultaneously from
front and rear, giving the people inside only a few seconds’ notice. Any delays in making an entry would only endanger lives. A city garbage truck coming down the alley would provide walking cover so the rear assault team could get close before being seen. The front assault group was using a city bus to screen them in a similar manner. With a bus stop at the curb right outside, it was the perfect
answer.

The first move front and rear would be against the video cameras. A sharpshooter on each team would take out the lenses with a silenced twenty-two using special rounds. Then they would attempt a simultaneous break-in with battering rams. The garbage truck was scheduled to go out of service, so, if it became necessary, they’d use it to crash the back door, which had been reinforced.

Ella crouched next to Blalock. “I hope taking part in the raid will give us dibs on questioning the suspects.”

“It’ll get you that chance a lot faster than if we’d shown up tomorrow morning with a formal request. ATF doesn’t have to cooperate—they’re after the guns and they’re taking point on this. But I thought you’d want to see this up close and personal, and your own training qualifies you
as an expert here. These weapons are now making their way into some big-time gangs working out of Mexico and California, and I think the pipeline starts with your suspects.”

“Snipers, take out the cameras!” Ella heard through her radio
earphone. She was half jogging, keeping up with the garbage truck as it eased down the alley, screening her and the rest of Team Two from the flat-roofed, one-story
brick sporting-goods store to her left. Blalock was a few steps ahead, his MP-5 ready. His weapon could have carried a noise suppressor, but, because the doors would have to be broken down anyway, stealth wasn’t going to be an issue except at the beginning. Ella had the submachine gun slung to her right at the waist, ready, but had already decided on her familiar nine-millimeter pistol loaded
with armorpiercing rounds.

A low pop from the suppressed twenty-two pistol in the two-handed grip of an ATF sharpshooter was barely discernible over the engine noise from the garbage truck. “Two out,” Ella heard, followed instantly by a similar message from the shooter out front. With both cameras down, anyone inside watching a monitor at the moment would react. But until they looked out, whoever
was inside had just been blinded. “Execute!” came the order over the earphone.

The truck stopped, and two helmeted men in bulky flak jackets, carrying the heavy battering ram by handholds on both sides, ran up to the back door. Ella and Blalock followed, covering them. Two more officers, with assault rifles, watched the windows and rooftop.

“ATF! Open up!” one of the men yelled.

The ram, basically
heavy pipe filled with concrete, came back and hurtled forward, striking the door right above the lock. The door gave an inch, but no more.

“Again!” Blalock yelled, and the big men with the ram swung once more. The door flew open like it was on springs.

“Gun!” Ella yelled, yanking the man in front of her by the back of his vest as a rifle barrel appeared from behind a big wooden box.

Bullets
flew from inside, striking the doorjamb and ram, which had suddenly become unmanned as the agents scattered.
When the ram struck the ground the officers behind the truck returned fire, splintering wood from the box that the man inside was using for cover. An assault weapon fell to the floor next to the box, but the shooter had either ducked back or gone down.

“Cover!” Blalock yelled. He paused
a second to make sure everyone understood then ducked inside to his right, crouched low. Ella saw a face appear around the corner of the doorway leading into an adjacent room, and fired. The person ducked back, but Ella heard a yelp. She hadn’t fired at the face, instead aiming for the wall a foot back from the trim.

“Cover!” Ella yelled. Blalock nodded, his submachine gun covering the passageway
beyond. She stepped in, swung around the back of the door, and saw a man flat on his back on the floor, a big bruise on his head. Spotting a pistol near his hand, she kicked it away. “Target down! Storeroom clear!” she called into the radio mike at her throat.

Blalock fired a short burst into the doorway, and Ella turned, seeing a man raising a weapon in the other room. He ducked away, and so
did she and Blalock. Ella pulled the door inward, realizing it served as good cover as well as giving those outside a better field of fire. She then holstered the pistol and brought up the submachine gun. Someone out of view sprayed the room with automatic fire, but the angle was wrong and all the rounds hit were the wooden boxes lining the wall. Sand began to pour out from the holes, and she realized
the owners had reinforced the walls like a bunker.

Gunfire erupted from elsewhere in the store, and she kept low, aiming toward the door leading into the interior. No targets presented themselves, but it sounded like a real firefight was taking place at the front.

“Team Two, hold position,” the call came over the radio. “Flashbangs in five.”

Ella started counting, and at four covered her ears
and lowered her head. There was a tremendous flash, then an enormous
explosion that shook the building. She looked up, weapon up, as two men stumbled into the storeroom, their hands empty.

“Down on the floor,” Blalock yelled, aiming at their chests. The men, shaken and dusty, one with blood on his arms, went to their knees, then down on the floor. Ella covered him as Blalock moved forward. Once
he was in position and guarding the prisoners she was able to advance.

From her new vantage point, Ella could see into the next room, the main display area of the store. The air was hazy and the stench of cordite, strong. She could see a leg sticking out from behind a counter, but the person was faceup, probably wounded or dead, and the leg wasn’t moving. Ella realized it was probably the person
who’d stuck his head around the corner to look. Silently, she hoped to find a gun in his hand, or nearby, when she finally made it into the room. Killing an unarmed man would make her upcoming nightmares even worse.

Suddenly there was a shout, a short burst from an automatic weapon, then a loud bang. Ten seconds went by. Ella and Blalock remained in position, ready to engage anyone from the front
who might still be mobile and thinking of moving in their direction.

“Front room clear! Take the prisoners into custody, then get the medics in the building,” Ella heard Murbach say over the radio.

Blalock stood, his weapon on the two prisoners as their backup came in from the alley. “You take any hits, Clah?”

“No.”

“Something bothering you?” Blalock motioned for the ATF guys to cuff the prisoners,
then came over to where she was standing.

Ella realized she still had the submachine gun facing forward, so she lowered it on the sling until the barrel was facing down. “Yeah. But I gotta see something for myself.”

She stepped around the men on the floor, brushed by the closest ATF man, who nodded grimly, then looked into the front room. Officers wearing raid jackets were all around the room,
talking and searching for weapons. She could see two perps down, dead or dying. They’d been armed to the teeth, judging from the assault rifles close by and dozens of rounds of spent brass scattered over the floor. A third man, wearing a helmet, tattered and bulky vest, and some kind of metal thigh protection, was on his back beside the shattered door, a bloody hole in his chest. What appeared
to be an AK-47 was close to his lifeless hands. He’d tried to rush the front, apparently, and had come face-to-face with the state police team and their big rifle. Finally she walked back to the spot by the storeroom passageway she’d been avoiding, but there was no body there.

“You looking for the guy on the floor?” an FBI agent Ella vaguely recognized said, coming across the room.

“Yeah. He
still alive?” Ella managed, not seeing any blood on the floor.

“Lucky SOB. He’s outside, in custody. Nearly peed his pants. According to him, one of you Team Two guys shot the pistol right out of his hand . . . through the wall! That wasn’t you, was it?”

Ella nodded, a stupid grin forming on her face. Now, the nightmare would be a lot easier to take.

“Ella?” Blalock called from the doorway.
“You ready to meet with Murbach?”

She followed Blalock back into the storeroom, where the ATF man who’d led the raid was examining the boxes stacked around the room. “I know they’ve got what we’re looking for in here someplace, but all that’s in these crates so far is sand. They had Iraqi-stamped Astras, Brownings, various models of AK assault rifles—fully auto, and more. My guess is they stashed
them inside heating ducts, vaults in the floor, behind cabinets, or in the ceiling. Check everywhere you can think of. We’ve got three wounded men, and one of them might not make it to the hospital. I’m not leaving this hellhole until I find the cache.”