ignore them as she coordinated her personnel.
“Both protocol and courtesy demand that the HSO be informed if and when we verify the location of Blair Bissel,” Tibble commented.
“I’m not immediately concerned with protocol or courtesy, sir, but with the locating, restraining, and capture of a multiple murder suspect. It’s entirely possible that other members of the HSO were involved in or privy to the plans and actions that involved three operatives. Informing the organization at this time of this operation may, in fact, compromise same if Bissel has some contact in-house.”
“You don’t believe he does, not for a minute. But it’s good,” Tibble said with a nod. “Logical, and you can be sure I’ll use that angle when the shit falls. You miss Bissel here, or fail to wrap him up tight, some of that shit will fall on you.”
“He’ll be wrapped.” She turned back to the monitors, marking the time. Waiting.
They were in a suite of offices one floor below LeBiss Consultants. The occupants had been swept out, and she only needed Roarke’s confirmation that the security in LeBiss and the penthouse level had been shut down to start the next stage.
“They’ll want to take him, Lieutenant,” Tibble added. “Move both him and Sparrow into federal territory.”
“Bet they will,” she started. “As long as they both face the murder and conspiracy to murder charges, I don’t care who locks the cage.”
“They’ll want it quiet. This sort of screwup within their own ranks won’t play well with the public.”
Yeah, she thought, definitely stickier. “Are you ordering me to sweep this under the rug, Chief Tibble?”
“I’m giving no such order, Lieutenant. But I will point out that public statements regarding certain details of this case would be politically unwise.”
“I’ll bear that in mind.” She looked over as Roarke walked in.
“Done,” he said. “Your man’s blind and deaf. The elevator to the studio is disabled.”
“Acknowledged.” She picked up her communicator. “Dallas. I want those stairways blocked and manned. Do not, I repeat, do not move in on either target location. Begin evac.”
She gestured to the monitor. “Find him.”
“I’d like to scan and locate,” Reva said. “I’d like to man the controls on that.”
“That’s Feeney’s call.”
Feeney gave Reva a little pat on the shoulder and had to fight off the itch to run the program himself. “Go.”
She input the designated coordinates for LeBiss, configured for body heat imaging, then did a slow scan. “Nothing there.” Her voice shook a bit, but she cleared her throat and changed the coordinates for the penthouse.
When she saw the mass of red-and-orange light, she simply stared. “Target confirmed,” she said as Eve stepped forward. “He’s alone. Coordinates put him in the studio sector.”
“What’s this?” Eve demanded, circling a line of blue.
“Fire. Flame. Intense heat. He’s working.”
“He’s armed,” Roarke put in. “See here, this space, the angle and position on the body. “Sidearms, would be my guess.”
“Okay. Suit up.” She grabbed her own body armor.
“Bringing up audio. He’s got music on. Trash rock,” Reva said after a moment. “He’s excited, buzzed up,” she added. “He listens to that when he’s revving. He’s got a lot of metal in there. Equipment, works-in-progress. It’s going to be tricky to tell if any of what I’m getting is weaponry.”
“We assume he has it. Keep him locked.” Eve fit on her headset. “I want to know where he is and what he’s doing at all times. I want to know the instant the building’s clear. Let’s move into position.”
“Go.” Feeney spoke into his communicator. “Unit Six, this is base. Friendlies moving into your sector. I repeat, friendlies moving through.”
“They’ll give us the picture,” Eve began as they started toward the stairwell. “Weapons on stun. Dallas on the door,” she said into her headset, then opened the door to the stairwell.
The two-man crisis unit stood ready. “All quiet,” she was told.
“We stun him. I don’t want him drawing a weapon. Nobody gets hurt on this op. We put him down, restrain, and move him out clean.”