Manhattan Lockdown

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

GABRIEL HAUSER WAS on the stairwell as he left his apartment building to return to Mount Sinai when six men-four in combat-style uniforms and two in suits-blocked the way.

Gabriel said, “Can I help you?”

“Just get out of the way, sir.” Gabriel recognized one of the big blond men who had stood silently behind Detective McDonough three hours earlier in his apartment.

“I asked you what’s going on.”

“I need you out of the way, sir.”

Gabriel stretched out his arms and touched both sides of the stairwell, blocking passage, knowing the gesture was futile, almost comical.

The group of big men didn’t stop climbing the steps. As they continued, two of the men in uniform came forward, grabbing Gabriel by the knees and arms and lifting him back up the steps. Gabriel was strong and agile but realized these men were experts in the dark art of overpowering and controlling other people. They had the training of Navy SEALs or Army Special Forces.

As soon as they released their grip, the lead agent said, “Sir, if you do one more fucking thing, we will put you in cuffs and take you away to where nobody will ever find you.”

Gabriel didn’t move as the bulky men passed by him to the door of his apartment. He heard one of them murmur, “The fucking faggot loved it when we grabbed him.”

Gabriel’s rage made him shake.

Cam appeared in the doorway, impeccably neat as ever, his expression at first quizzical and somewhat annoyed, as if he expected to find boisterous teenage pranksters on the landing in front of the apartment. And then his expression changed to fear, a reaction that Gabriel had never witnessed.

The lead agent, who clearly believed no one would ever question his authority, said, “I need you to step aside, sir.”

Seeing the fear in Cam’s face and knowing that as a teenager in the Deep South Cam had several times been beaten by local boys in pickup trucks, events that Cam later referred to as his “Matthew Shepard moments,” Gabriel lunged forward. The startled men didn’t react at first. Even serious drug dealers when confronted by agents with weapons and search warrants tended to become docile. They were startled by a well-dressed doctor who vaulted toward them and pushed the lead agent in the back, making him stagger to the side. The man was momentarily startled and then he was furious, with deadly hatred in his eyes so much like the expression Gabriel had seen in Afghanistan from infantrymen suddenly under attack. “You fucking queer,” he shouted as he regained his footing. He reached beneath his jacket and his swift hand emerged with a pistol.

Cam was crying.

Gabriel feinted to his left, and the big man stumbled when he missed Gabriel’s head as he swung toward it with the pistol in his hand.

Gabriel laughed at him in the second before two other men, suddenly recovered from the shock of Gabriel’s resistance, tackled him. Under their weight, Gabriel fell to the floor. Strong hands flipped him over as other strong hands wrenched his arms behind his back and put plastic handcuffs, tightly, on his wrists. His face was pushed to the floor. Then Gabriel heard Cam screaming, “Leave him alone, leave him alone.”

Gabriel also heard Oliver’s barking escalate, wildly. He heard, too, one of the men grunt. “Fuckin’ dog bit me.”

Another voice, authoritative and loud, said, “Shoot the fucker,” and a gun with a silencer fired, a thud. Oliver whimpered and wailed, obviously injured. Cam screamed. “Don’t, please don’t, what did you do? What did you do? Don’t hurt him. He’s just a dog.”

They spent an hour in the apartment, opening every drawer and door, scattering clothes out of Gabriel’s and Cam’s meticulously ordered closets. Even though Gabriel lay facedown in the hallway, he heard them say repeatedly to Cam, “Where’s the damn bracelet? Where did he put it?”

Cam didn’t answer. He sobbed continuously. Gabriel’s mind was not fixed on the pain in his wrists and arms but on the image of his beloved partner who he was certain was on the floor trying to soothe Oliver, who sustained a constant whimper.

One of the men pulled back Gabriel’s long hair and asked, “Where did you fucking put it?”

Gabriel said, vehemently, “Go fuck yourself, Jack.”

As the sound of the ransacking subsided and finally stopped, Gabriel heard one of the men speaking on his cell phone. “Not here, no sign of the thing, ma’am.” The man paused, listening. “Everywhere, we went through everything.” Another pause as the man listened and then said, “He attacked me. I want to bring him in, ma’am.” He listened again. “Not a problem, ma’am.”

Within seconds of the conversation’s end, the handcuffs that had painfully bound up Gabriel were unlocked and he was jerked up to his feet. They left the building without him.

Gabriel ran into the apartment. Cam was on his knees next to Oliver. Always the instinctive surgeon, Gabriel touched every part of the dog’s body. There was a long bullet graze on Oliver’s left side. Gabriel ran to the bathroom and retrieved the needles and thread he needed to stitch the still-bleeding wound. There was dried blood all over the dog’s fur.

When he finished that, Oliver became quiet and looked at him with what Gabriel believed was a grateful gaze.