Money to Burn

68

“WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON?” SHOUTED AGENT ANDIE HENNING.

Andie was three hundred yards from the heliport, inside an FBI mobile command unit that was parked on the entrance road. A full hostage negotiation team was with her.

Minutes earlier, FBI tech agents had just completed an infrared-camera scan of the hangar, which picked up a fourth hostage inside the helicopter. A recent corpse could give off enough body heat to be picked up by a scan, but the possibility of a fourth hostage tipped the already shaky balance away from an all-out SWAT assault. A peaceful resolution also seemed highly achievable once Kyle McVee had entered the building, a powerful businessman whose entire life was about cutting deals. The negotiators were just thirty seconds away from initiating contact by loudspeaker when the shooting started. Andie raced out of the command unit and couldn’t believe what she was hearing in her headset. WhiteSands Hangar No. 3 sounded like a war zone.

Andie was immediately on the bone microphone with the FBI sniper, who was on the rooftop of WhiteSands Hangar No. 2, directly across the heliport from Hangar No. 3.

“The order was to hold your fire!” she shouted.

“Roger that,” came the reply. “No shot from here.”

She switched over to the SWAT unit commander. Agent Kowalski and his team had taken various strategic positions, completely surrounding Hangar No. 3, invisible even to Andie, ready to move in the event that the planned negotiations broke down.

“Are you green on breach?” asked Andie.

The breach was forced entry-showtime in SWAT-speak. Green was the assault-the moment of life and death, literally-after yellow, the final position of cover and concealment.

“Negative,” said Kowalski, his voice crackling with radio squelch. “Hot environment, no element of surprise. Holding at yellow.”

From the sound of things in Andie’s headset, Kowalksi was positioned right outside the building.

“Who went green?”

“Local SWAT.”

“Repeat that, please.”

“Local SWAT sniper did not copy the order to hold fire.”

Andie had been in a similar situation before. It seemed that everyone right down to neighborhood crime-watch volunteers had a SWAT unit these days. Usually the SWAT leaders were able to agree and coordinate efforts. Usually.

An unmarked car squealed around the corner, and it screeched to a halt so quickly that its front bumper nearly kissed the pavement. Supervisory Agent Malcolm Spear jumped out and hurried toward Andie at the mobile command center.

“What the hell happened?” he shouted.

Andie looked toward the flaming building just as it exploded.