Blood Money

Chapter Fifty-Five

The SWAT leader’s voice was in Andie’s ear, and he wasn’t happy.

“Henning,” he said via microphone, “tell Miami-Dade to stop patrolling the parking lot before they get my men killed!”

Andie was standing outside the communications van in a dimly lit parking lot behind a vacant warehouse. The black FBI SWAT van was parked beside the van. The chosen location was strategic: two buildings downriver from the apartment complex. The way the Miami River bent to the north, Andie actually had an unobstructed view from the parking lot behind the warehouse to the waterfront apartment units. It was the FBI’s makeshift command post-close, but not too close, to Merselus’ apartment. Andie was in constant communication with the SWAT leader in the field, in position and ready to begin negotiations if a hostage situation developed.

“Are the officers on foot or in vehicles?” asked Andie.

“I’ve seen two squad cars. Don’t know if there’s a foot patrol. But I’ve got four team members in stealth on a yellow-light site sweep. If MDPD officers in uniform start knocking on doors, it’ll be a disaster.”

A yellow-light sweep meant no busting down doors, no gunfire-just a pass through the area to collect information and assess the situation.

“I’ll shut it down right now,” said Andie.

Merselus switched on the TV. The television media’s obsession with breaking news could be his friend in a situation like this. Nothing quite like the local Action News chopper to reveal police positions and give the bad guy a bird’s-eye view of law enforcement strategy. As yet, none of the stations had jumped on the story. He kept the television on but muted the sound, just to stay alert to any noises in the parking lot.

“I can’t breathe,” said Sydney.

She was sitting on the floor with her back to the wall, her wrists still fastened behind her. The problem was the double pillowcase Merselus had put over her head. He wasn’t trying to suffocate her-not yet, anyway. He just couldn’t take it anymore, the way she cried and carried on every time she caught an eyeful of the dead old man on the floor. He’d known women to find a way to peek out from behind blindfolds before. A couple of pillowcases, one on top of the other, were infallible. And he’d found it amazing how long a young woman in good health could go that way without actually suffocating.

“Just be still,” he said.

Merselus looked for a place to sit, but there was none. He’d turned the room into a makeshift fortress. Anyone trying to force his way into the apartment would have to pass through a mountain of furniture. The entire room had been cleaned out, except for the television. There was a crack of light at the edge of the wall and along the top of the window. The drapes were so old and worn that, in spots, the lining had lost its blackout quality. Merselus considered that a positive, since the room would brighten with the swirl of police lights in the parking lot-if and when they came.

“Quiet,” he said. He could have sworn he’d heard something. He had to move the mini-refrigerator to get to the door and put his ear to the hollow metal. He heard nothing, but he waited. Then he heard it again.

Pounding.

What the hell?

No, it was knocking. Distant knocking. They were knocking on apartment doors. From the sound of it, they were still several doors away. But no doubt about it: The police were actually going door to door.

Idiots!

Merselus switched off the television, and the room went black. Then he positioned himself at the doorjamb, held his pistol at the ready, and waited.