The air duct was narrow, even for a man of Luca�s slight stature, forcing him to take extra precautions with the automatic rifle, which was carried in his right hand. A bump in the wrong place could sent a spray of bullets ricocheting through the metal tunnel, alerting the teenaged perpetrators of his position, and possibly causing himself bodily injury, all decidedly undesirable possibilities.
The flashlight and the pry bar were carried in his left hand. Unable to bring his knees far enough forward to propel himself through the square tunnel, he was forced to drag himself along with his arms, inch by inch, using his elbows for momentum. The going was slow, as he sought to protect the expensive rifle from being bumped or marred on the edges of the tunnel.
By memory, he selected the appropriate junctions as shown on the schematic, working his way through the maze toward the auditorium, squeezing his slender frame through some very tight corners as he changed direction when necessary. He knew he was not making good time. Any moment, now, Lieutenant Harrelson would be checking his progress to see what was taking so long.
As if on cue, an impatient voice on his radio broke the silent in the tunnel. �How�s it going, Luca?�
Luca laid down the rifle and pressed his body tightly against the wall of the tunnel so that he could reach the microphone that was attached to his belt at his waist, banging his elbow on the side of the tunnel. He grimaced at the tingling sensation that shot down his arm, and resisted the urge to utter an oath. Instead, he gripped his elbow for a moment, thinking bad words to himself. Then, as the discomfort passed, he pressed the button on the microphone, and replied, �Let me put it this way, Lieutenant: I have a brother who owns one of those terriers that chases rabbits down their burrows. Now I know what that dog feels like. Or a moth in a cocoon. Or maybe a cork in bottle. Take your pick.�
His two teammates and Deacon smiled at one another, and even though Hondo�s eyes were smiling, his voice was typically stern, reflecting not a trace of amusement as he replied, �Just keep your mind on getting into the auditorium, Luca.�
�I figure I�m almost there, Lieutenant. However, it is a little hard to tell with no landmarks in here to guide the way.� He replaced the microphone on his belt, picked up the rifle again, and proceeded.
After taking the correct turn at the final junction, Luca finally found himself looking through the grill in the school auditorium. As expected, it was empty.
Laying down the gun and the flashlight, he inserted the flat edge of the pry bar into the cleft where the grill was affixed to the wall, and pulled back on the bar. With a squeal of protest, the screws lost their grip and separated the grill from the wall. The noise seemed loud in the narrow tunnel, and the police officer instantly froze, waiting to see if the sound would attract the attention of the gang members who patrolled the hallway just outside the auditorium doors.
The moments passed uneventfully as Luca peered cautiously through the grill, watching and waiting for one of the young gunmen to reveal himself. He shifted, pressing his head against the side of the tunnel, trying to see as much of the auditorium as possible, but nothing moved inside the room. The auditorium and the tunnel were so quiet he could hear his watch ticking on his wrist.
Finally, deciding that the sound must not have carried into the corridor, he reached down and removed the microphone from his belt again. �Lieutenant,� he said, keeping his voice low. �The auditorium is empty. I�m leaving the duct now.�
�Okay,� Hondo responded, quietly. �See if you are in a position to neutralize the one in the corridor closest to us, but above all, try not to alert the others in the cafeteria of your presence. We don�t want to lose the element of surprise.�
�Yes, sir.�
Satisfied that it was safe to leave his hiding place, Luca returned the microphone to his belt, and pushed the grill from the opening, then pulled himself out of the tunnel, spilling rather ungracefully onto the floor. Grateful that none of the other guys had seen that rather uncoordinated exit, he got himself quickly into an upright position, and crouched on the floor to observe his surroundings.
The auditorium could have been located in any school in America. Every auditorium he had ever seen was pretty generic in design. Three sections of seats, built on a downward slope and separated by two aisles on either side of the center section and two more outside aisles, faced the stage, which was constructed of polished wood and concealed behind heavy draperies.
On his right was a single side door that he knew from the diagram would lead into the corridor near the cafeteria, where the students were being held hostage. Directly before him, at the head of each of the two primary aisles, were the doors leading into the north corridor in which the guard had been posted.
The doors were both open, and Luca crept silently up one of the sloping aisles between the rows of seats, and stopped beneath the illuminated sign that read: EXIT. With the muzzle of his rifle pointed at the ceiling, he pressed his back against the doorjamb, then leaned cautiously into the corridor for a quick look.
On his left, the nervous teenager was pacing back and forth behind the barricade of overturned tables, but he never once looked behind him, obviously expecting that an attack would come from the front, not the rear. As Luca watched, the teenager stopped and cocked an ear toward the front corridor, listening for any indication that the police were coming.
Luca smiled slightly, but he felt a certain sympathy for the youth. The waiting must be torture for the obviously inexperienced gang member. The biggest curiosity was the fact that the jittery teen had been placed as the guard. Perhaps an initiation test to prove his worth?
Shifting his rifle to his shoulder, bringing the barrel into firing position, Luca left the cover of the doorway and moved quietly up the corridor toward the boy.
Still pacing and muttering to himself, the teenager was not aware that he was being stalked until Luca was within ten paces of him. Suddenly, sensing that someone was behind him, he whirled around to find the policeman gazing at him down the long barrel of the M-16 rifle.
The teen�s gasp of fright was loud in the quiet corridor, and for a moment, Luca feared he would scream.
�Not a sound,� Luca commanded quietly. �Lay your pistol on the barricade.�
The expression on the boy�s face was sheer terror as he stared into the black bore of the fearsome looking rifle. Without hesitation, he placed the pistol on top of the barricade, and thrust his hands into the air, willing, if not eager, to comply instantly with the officer�s request. In the youth�s face, Luca was certain he saw a trace of relief that his participation in the event was over.
Luca continued to advance toward the boy, intending to handcuff him, but the boy was greatly intimidated by the sight of the rifle. With eyes fixed on the muzzle, as if waiting for the muzzle flash, he took an apprehensive step backward. Finally, in a panic, he abruptly turned and fled.
Luca snatched his microphone from his belt, and spoke quietly. �Lieutenant, the kid in the hallway panicked. He�s running up the corridor toward your position. He�s unarmed.�
�Got him,� Hondo responded.
�I�m going to try to see inside the cafeteria,� Luca advised.
�All right, but be careful, Luca. Do not -- repeat -- do not engage until we�re in position.�
�Yes, sir.�
Luca replaced the microphone and made his way back through the auditorium to the exit leading to the cafeteria. The auditorium door was not directly across from the cafeteria door. Instead, the door to the cafeteria was positioned slightly to the south, Luca�s right, offering a good view of much of the interior of the cafeteria through the double doors, which were open wide, revealing the frightened students, teachers, and cafeteria workers, and one of the teenaged gunmen.
Recalling that there was another door leading outside onto the schoolyard from the south end of the corridor, Luca leaned quickly around the edge of the open door for a peek, this time looking to his right, then dodged back to the safety of the auditorium interior. In that brief moment, he located the final gang member near the door, gazing through the window beside the heavy door. Wondering what had attracted the boy�s rapt attention, Luca chanced another peek, and saw that several uniformed police officers were positioned in the street across from the school ground. Mindful of the presence of the other hall guard, Luca shifted his focus to the events inside the cafeteria.
Deacon was waiting near the lobby to intercept the panicked boy when he pounded around the corner. In one fluid motion, he grabbed the startled teen by the shirt and flung him up against the wall, slapping the cuffs on the boy�s wrists before he could blink twice. Then, he turned his captive around and slammed his back against the wall.
�Okay, son, I want you to start talking. How many of your friends are still in the cafeteria?�
The teenager was shaking so badly he could hardly find his voice. He began to cry. �I didn�t know they was gonna do this, I swear! You gotta believe me!�
�Talk to me, boy,� Hondo said, sternly. �Your leader, Michael. Is he capable of killing those hostages?�
The boy was shaking his head back and forth. �I don�t know, I don�t know. I didn�t want to join them in the first place!� he sobbed. �I asked them to help get Chris outta jail, and they told me I had to help. I told �em this would never work! I told �em, but they never listen to me!�
�He�s useless,� Hondo said. �Get a uniformed officer in here to make the arrest.�
O�Bannon approached him, hesitantly. �Excuse me, Lieutenant? Your young officer forgot his vest.� He held up the bulletproof vest that Luca had left behind.
Hondo exchanged a worried glance with Deacon.
�Too many distractions,� Deacon said. �I forgot about it, too.�
�So did I,� Hondo admitted. �Damn it! I should never had allowed him to take it off.�
�Should we contact him and warn him?�
Harrelson shook his head. �No. He�s close to the cafeteria door. Contacting him by radio might give away his position. I instructed him not to engage, so we�ll take it to him.�
Hidden from view behind the auditorium door, Luca continued to monitor the situation inside the cafeteria, and what he was seeing and hearing made his blood run cold. The acoustics in the cafeteria were excellent, allowing him to overhear nearly everything that was being said to the hostages.
As he had predicted to Harrelson, the leader was terrorizing his captives.
�Obviously, they are not taking us seriously,� said the teen known as Michael. He was pacing back and forth, and his path took him in and out of Luca�s line of vision. His face was flushed, and even from the distance, Luca could see that wild-eyed appearance inherent to drug addicts. The boy was wired, primed for a violent action. In his hand was a pistol, which he waved carelessly at the hostages, who cowered and cringed, fearful of being shot. Occasionally, he paused to point the gun at one of them, laughing hysterically when they recoiled in fear. Then, in a matter of seconds, his mood turned sour again.
Luca grimaced, hoping the gun did not go off by accident.
�I told them I would start executing hostages,� Michael ranted to the students and teachers, who had no choice but to sit and listen to his insane ravings. �They think we�re not serious because we�re still in our teens. They think we�re still just boys.� He whirled on one of the teachers. �Isn�t that right, Mr. Weiss?�
The teacher shrank back from the pistol that was thrust into his face. �Michael, please just give up this madness. Surrender to the cops, and ---�
�Shut up!� Michael screamed in his face, enraged. He must have sprayed saliva in the teacher�s face, for Weiss grimaced and jerked his head back and turned his face away, repulsed.
Michael stalked menacingly down the line of students who sat against the wall on the floor, looking at each of them in turn.
�We need to do something to make those pigs realize that we�re serious. If we conduct an execution, they�ll sit up and take notice soon enough. Then they�ll release Chris and Mitchell and pay the ransom for the others.�
Another boy, unseen by Luca, said, �I�m not sure this is a good thing, Michael. Killing other gang members in a fight is one thing, but what you�re talking about is murder. If we kill one of these people, we�ll do hard time in prison! They will never let us go!�
�Yes they will,� Michael insisted. �They�ll realize that we mean business, and they�ll have more respect for us.� He laughed again. �Maybe they�ll even stop hassling us when we�re protecting our turf.�
�This was a stupid idea, Michael! They ain�t never gonna let us outta here, no matter what we do!�
Michael ignored him, continuing his path down the line of students, seeking the appropriate candidate, someone he had hated while still in class himself. Finally, he seized a boy by the front of his shirt and yanked him to his feet. �How �bout it, Brett? You wanna be the first to be executed?�
Luca felt his pulse quicken. The situation was becoming deadly. He reached for the microphone at his belt again, intending to inform Harrelson, but the situation was progressing too rapidly. His hand returned to the rifle.
Brett�s eyes were wide with fear. �N-no, please Michael. I never did anything to you.�
�No? You�re just the perfect student. All around athlete, honor student, class president, and all the girls. Mister Popular. Yeah, I think you�ll do just fine.�
Luca raised his rifle to his shoulder, prepared to react to the new turn of events, and sighted on the boy�s torso. He had been ordered not to engage, and would not do so unless the youth was a direct threat to the student. But as he sighted down the long barrel, he knew that he could not fire unless Michael made a clear and definitive gesture, such as raising his pistol to the boy�s head, and if he shot the gang leader at that point, reflex would cause the teen to pull the trigger anyway. If that happened, he would be crucified by the department and the press for causing two deaths.
As Luca considered this, Michael raised the pistol and aimed it at Brett�s head. Believing he was about to die, Brett closed his eyes, his face distorted as he struggled not to cry.
�No, please don�t kill me,� Brett begged.
Luca shifted the barrel slightly, sighting on the pistol that was clutched in Michael�s hand. T. J. was the sharpshooter, the one accustomed to making bull�s-eye shots. But T. J. wasn�t there. It was up to Dominic Luca to stop the murder of the innocent teen.
Make it count, Luca, he thought as he closed his left eye and focused intently on the pistol with the right eye.
�Good bye, Brett!� Michael said. Dramatically, he cocked the hammer of the pistol.
Carefully, Luca squeezed the trigger on his rifle.
A deafening report echoed through the corridors as the pistol jumped from Michael�s startled hand. In an instant, the stunned teen whirled to face his attacker, and recognized the hopelessness of his situation. He did not try to recover his pistol, knowing that it would be ruined. He thrust his hands in the air. �Don�t shoot me!� he cried.
In the foyer, the two principals jumped at the sound of the gun, and the SWAT officers instantly spun toward the direction of the shot. Distorted by distance, it was impossible to determine if it had come from the M-16 or one of the pistols carried by the teens.
Harrelson snatched the microphone from his belt and shouted into it, �Luca! What�s going on? Did you fire that shot?�
Luca was too busy to respond.
The other boy, the accomplice who had protested against the execution, stepped into Luca�s line of vision, his pistol in firing position, as if prepared to ward off attack.
Luca�s initial reaction was to shoot before being fired upon, but his finger hesitated on the trigger. The teen�s gesture was decidedly threatening, but the police officer was reluctant to put a bullet into a boy who was probably bluffing. Sure enough, when faced with the wrong end of an M-16, the teen�s resolve disintegrated.
Michael saw that his accomplice was weakening. �There�s only one of them! Shoot him, Hauser!�
Hauser glanced at Michael, then back at the officer, realizing instantly that the police officer possessed a weapon that far outdistanced his handgun in firepower. �If I do, he�ll kill us both!� His hands shot into the air, and he allowed the pistol to dangle uselessly from his finger by the trigger guard. �Don�t shoot!�
�You coward!� Michael spat, angrily. �You and Dickens are both cowards. Mitch said you weren�t worthy of being a Stingray when you first wanted to join. And Dickens, he ain�t nothing like his brother, Chris!�
�Throw the pistol out here toward me,� Luca commanded. �Use your left hand.�
The teen wasted no time in transferring the pistol to his other hand, and tossing it out the cafeteria door. It clattered on the tile floor and skidded against the opposite wall of the corridor.
Emerging cautiously from the doorway, Luca shifted his eyes and his weapon quickly to his right, looking for the teen who was posted at the south door. He was nowhere in sight, and Luca presumed he had fled through the door when the shot was fired. So much for his declaration to Harrelson that the Stingrays were as mean as they come. He was only one man, yet he had somehow managed to overcome all four of them with only one shot fired.
This is too easy! a voice inside his mind warned, but he dismissed it. It had happened, and the hostage situation was now under control.
Turning back to the teens in the cafeteria, his weapon still in firing position, he gestured with the muzzle of the rifle. �Over there, against that wall,� he commanded.
The two teens had no choice but to comply. As they moved toward the wall, they were helped along when several of the male teachers and students shoved them roughly from behind. The only available restraint was a roll of masking tape that one of the students had been using to tape posters to the walls. It was wrapped liberally around the two perpetrator�s wrists, binding them together behind their backs.
One teacher, the one called Weiss, glanced out the door at the SWAT officer. �Thank you, officer. You couldn�t have cut it any closer.�
�Yeah, well, my boss may not be so forgiving,� Luca said, more to himself than anyone else. Harrelson would be incensed that he had disobeyed a direct order not to engage, but he hoped the lieutenant would be understanding of the life-threatening situation with which he had been presented. The satisfaction Luca felt at saving the boy�s life would override the tongue-lashing he was sure to receive from his supervisor.
Lowering the rifle, he turned to retrieve the pistol that was still lying on the floor, and caught an unexpected movement out of the corner of his eye. Raising his head, he saw that the door to the boys� restroom was slightly ajar, and through it he could see the round muzzle of a pistol aimed at him.
Instantly, he raised the M-16 again, but it was too late. He saw the muzzle flash as the pistol was fired, and an instant later he felt the impact as the bullet struck him in the abdomen. He was flung roughly to the hard tile floor, knocking the breath out of him. Without making it a conscious thought, he was aware of the teachers and students scrambling for cover inside the cafeteria. Some of them were screaming in fear. The teen fired a second shot as the officer fell, but it sailed harmlessly over Luca�s head and impacted the wall farther down the corridor. Still, it had been close enough that Luca could actually hear the whine as it passed only inches from his head.
As his training dictated, Luca rolled, scrambled to his feet, and darted into the protective cover of the auditorium again. With his back pressed against the doorjamb, he paused briefly to catch his breath, then leaned out the door, rifle to the ready.
The teen fired again, the bullet shattering the wood frame of the door.
This kid was good! Luca dodged back, then leaned out again and returned fire, but he was not in a proper position to take accurate aim. He was right handed, and he was firing to his right, so the auditorium door that protected him from the teen�s view also prevented him from properly positioning the rifle without stepping into the corridor to clear it. Fired hastily, the bullet whistled past the teen�s head, and bored a hole in the glass window behind him. A spider-web design of cracks spread outward from the round hole in the center.
Alarmed by the additional gunfire, Harrelson�s voice shouted over the radio, �Luca! What the hell is going on back there?�
Outgunned, the teenaged gunman saw prudence in flight. As the officer dodged back inside the auditorium again, he shoved the restroom door open, and raced for the exit.
Luca leaned out into the corridor again, and saw the teen fleeing. Taking a step out to clear the doorway, he fired, but the bullet went wild, striking the wall beside the door. He did not bother to fire again, knowing that the kid could not escape. He would be easily apprehended by the uniformed officers outside. The possibility also existed that he might recognize the impending capture, and decide to reenter the building, so Luca backed into the auditorium again and leaned against the wall behind him, breathing heavily, waiting to see if the youth returned.
�Luca!� Harrelson�s voice shouted again.
He knew by the breathless quality to Harrelson�s voice that he and the others were running toward his position at that moment, not knowing what awaited them.
Resigned to the reprimand and possible disciplinary action he would receive, Luca reached for the radio, but stopped, noticing that his hand was shaking. He stared at it in surprise, recalling the last shot he had fired. It had gone wild. He had just fired a perfect shot at the pistol to disarm Michael, and followed it with two wild shots. Something was wrong.
His legs felt wobbly, and he was becoming strangely weak, as if all his energy had suddenly drained from his body. Something warm and wet was spreading across his abdomen.
The adrenaline rush was fading, and he began to feel pain in his midsection. Looking down, he saw the front of his jumpsuit was soaked with blood. His blood. With a combination of surprise and despair, he remembered the vest that he had mistakenly left behind in the lobby. This was the price he paid for his careless error.
He laid his head back against the wall, silently cursing his negligence.
Outside the twin north doorways of the auditorium, he could already hear his teammates approaching at they raced along the corridor, approaching the cafeteria. This time, in their haste to reach the scene of the shooting, they made no attempt to be silent.
So, this is what it feels like to be shot, he thought to himself.
Unable to support his weight any longer, his legs folded beneath him, and he sank down the wall in a seated position to await the arrival of his teammates.
Go to Chapter 4