If Angels Fall

SEVENTY-SEVEN

The spiresof the Bay Bridge, then the Golden Gate, passed below the FBI’s Huey helicopterafter it lifted off from Hamilton Navy Air Force base in Alameda near Oakland.It headed west over the Pacific.

Mid-afternoon. Visibility, excellent.

Langford Shaw, the San Francisco FBI’s SWAT teamleader felt the tension aboard. He glanced from his notes to his men, whilelistening over his headset to the play-by-play of the bureau, the Coast Guard,the Navy, and the task force in Wintergreen. It was a massive rescue operationand he was in charge.

Four years to retirement and fate drops this ball-breakingfucker in your lap. A fuckup here and you were done. Well, he was a veteranagent of many wars and he’d be damned if he would allow that to happen. Shaw’sface betrayed nothing, although his gut hardened when he got the call toactivate: the kidnapping case again. The FBI’s elite Hostage Rescue Team was enroute on a Lear from Quantico, but they were hours away. Until then, it was allon Shaw’s shoulders and those of his team.

Intelligence put Keller in a twenty-one-foot,twin-engine open craft with three child hostages somewhere in the Gulf of theFarallons, between Point Reyes and the islands. Each SWAT member was handedphotos of Keller, his boat, the children. The top theory said Keller would killthem at sea between four and six P.M., if he hadn’t already done so. What theyhad here was a life-and-death hot pursuit and Shaw expected to execute thefinal option.

The Coast Guard’s C-130 Hercules out of Sacramento andtwo Twin Otter auxiliaries were flying track crawl search patterns over thearea. The guard also had its HH-65 chopper with the rescue hoist and diversscouring the islands. The Point Brower, a 110-foot cutter, armed with athree-millimeter cannon, had long since put out from Yerba Buena, making forthe islands at twenty-five knots. Two high-speed, aluminum, diesel-powered“ loaders” were searching the region. A second cutter, the Point Olivo,was coming down from Bodega Bay. The guard offered to scramble two Falcon jetsfrom L.A. Shaw accepted. He then requested a U.S. Navy chopper pick up fouradditional SWAT team members at Hamilton, drop them at sea on the PointBrower. That would give him two sniper teams at sea level and another angleon the target, should they find him.

Shaw’s bird was the command post where everything wasbeing coordinated. Once more, he checked assignments, setting up the Huey’ssniper points. “Mitch, you’ll take starboard, and Ronnie, you set up on aft fora clear shot.” Shaw indicated Fred Wheeler, the negotiator, on the satellitephone to Professor Kate Martin, learning about Keller’s background and stresspoints. “Fred will try to talk him out of it, if he gets the chance. The restof you are assault, depending on how we unwrap this one.” Shaw switched fromthe chopper’s intercom to his team radio. “Roy, Doc! Call when you put down onthe cutter.”

As they passed over San Francisco’s shoreline, Shawwas called from the FBI’s office on Golden Gate Avenue with word that anotherbureau Huey, just in from L.A. on a maintenance run, was empty and available.Good, he wanted two more sniper teams picked up for a third angle. And he hadanother idea. “After getting my guys at Hamilton, pick up some task forcemembers on the house at Wintergreen. We could use them up here. Put a rush onit.”

FBI Agent Merle Rust took the relay call from Shaw tothe mobile command center at Keller’s house in Wintergreen, then requested theSFPD clear the park a block west of the house for a helicopter landing.

“Walt,” Rust told Sydowski, “they want us in the airas observers. A chopper will be here in fifteen minutes. You and me.”

“They spot anything out there yet?” Sydowski followed Rustout of the bus after they informed the others.

“No.” Rust shielded his eyes. “Chopper’s landing inthe park west of here.”

Tom Reed appeared before Rust and Sydowski, lookinglike hell.

“Take me with you.”

“What? How did you-?” Sydowski said.

“I was coming to the bus and I overheard. I want togo.”

“Impossible, Tom. I’m sorry,” Rust said. “It’s againstpolicy.”

“I have to know.” He was determined.

“Tom” — Sydowski softened his voice — “stay herewith Ann. She needs you. You can help the others. You should be together.”

“Ann overheard you, too. She wants me to go. We haveto know. Whatever happens. I have to know.”

“We’re sorry, Tom,” Rust said, walking quickly withSydowski to his car. “You will be told the minute we know anything.”

Reed walked with them. He was unrelenting. “I’m theonly one here who has seen Keller, talked with him. Please. I know this man.You could regret not having me there.”

The FBI’s Huey was in sight.

At the car, Rust and Sydowski looked at each other,saying nothing. The helicopter approached, blades whipping, slicing, descendingto the park as the news choppers reluctantly backed off. The press was going tobe out there anyway, Rust figured.

The ground plummeted beneath them and in minutes, Reedwas thundering over the Pacific, sitting knee to knee with FBI SWAT Teamsnipers. Seeing their weapons, their icy faces, and hearing their muted radiochatter, nearly smothered him. Someone passed him a radio with an earpiece sohe could listen, hear clearly the voices of unseen forces. Saviors. Planning arescue from the immaculate blue sky. If it wasn’t too late.

From the chopper, the Pacific seemed a universe ofchanging hues and eternally deceptive whitecaps that were, or were not, boats.How could they ever find anyone down there? His stomach lurched. It was futile.He was peering into an abyss.

Forgive me, Zach. Please forgive me.

Reed’s hands were clasped together as the chopperbanked hard for an immediate northwest heading.