Every Dying Hour by Justin Rishel

Author:Justin Rishel [Justin Rishel]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Rowdy Dog Press
Published: 2020-10-04T00:00:00+00:00

16

The Raid

“SWAT is suiting up now,” the detective continued. “Chief Inspector wants you and me to get two teams together and come in right behind SWAT to start sweeping the house.”

“Got it. Where did the lead come from and where is the Chief Inspector?” Lewis asked.

“I don’t know, but I think it just came in. She’s briefing SWAT.”

“Was it a CI or…”

“I don’t know.” The detective was turning to leave. “I have to go get ready. I’ll meet you at the staging area.” He was halfway across the Command Center when he turned back. “Bring the BSS team. She wants them there. She specifically mentioned them.” He exited the large room through the door Aubrey first entered several days ago.

Staring at the empty BSS desk, Lewis then glanced sideways at Aubrey. “Where is your team?”

“They went to interview some chemical weapons expert out at the Navy port. Won’t be able to get back for at least a couple of hours.”

With a half-smile, Lewis said, “Well, as the ranking present member of the BSS investigative team, you’re going to have to go for a ride.”

“I guess so.” Aubrey couldn’t help the wide smile now plastered across his face. “Let’s get going.”

* * *

In the driver-less Metro PD van, Aubrey sat toward the front on a shallow bench along the bulkhead. In addition to Aubrey and Lewis, five other officers sat silent. The tension in the van was noticeable; everyone had been working on this case with more focus and intensity than any case before it. The possibility that they could be on their way to a turning point or, better yet, an end to the entire case, had piqued everyone’s adrenaline.

Aubrey’s mind was still working over the discoveries he made in the last hour—the use of “we” versus “them” in the detainee statements, that every bomber since Ralph Jacobsen might never have belonged to OFP and could have been snatched off the street and drugged. More so, he ruminated on the approach the Task Force had adopted in recent weeks. The sheer number of detainees and the inverse proportion of evidence and leads gained disturbed him.

Aubrey looked out of the front of the van. In the artificial light of early morning, the cars ahead of them magically parted. Each of them fitting neatly into gaps appearing out of nowhere in the lanes of traffic next to them. He knew that the Metropolitan Traffic System was working to clear the lane ahead of them by adjusting the placement and speed of every car on the road ahead and those nearby. A few inches forward or back for thousands of cars could free up a lot of room in short order.

“I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of watching that,” Aubrey said, staring ahead. “I feel like Moses.”

Lewis, who was not paying attention, said, “Moses?”

“The Red Sea.”

“Oh, right. I get it.” Lewis paused. He looked to be considering something unknown to Aubrey then asked, “Did you get any other ideas from looking at the big board? You were there for a while before I walked up.

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