Total pages in book: 71
Estimated words: 68867 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 344(@200wpm)___ 275(@250wpm)___ 230(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 68867 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 344(@200wpm)___ 275(@250wpm)___ 230(@300wpm)
“There they are,” Carmen yelled excitedly.
“Lang,” the radio in the BearCat chirped at the same time. Lang moved from where he was, on the other side of Carmen at the window, over to the dash.
“Go ahead, Ching.”
“Your girl’s family should be coming down the stairs now. I informed them that she was safe. Don’t have her join them, though. She’s a witness now, and depending on what happens here, we—”
We all heard it then—machine-gun fire. Everyone dropped to the ground, and no one moved as the firing continued.
Five men ran out of the building, all running and turning and firing at the building as they went, with their AK-47s. I covered Carmen as they fired at the crowd, crossing the street and running toward the park there. I could hear screams and cries as they continued to fire, the rat-tat-tat-tat, before the first guy went down, shot in the right shoulder and leg. Then the next and the next, all hit in the same exact place. The last two men were hit, one in the left leg, the other, again, in the right shoulder. It was impressive shooting. No one was dead, but they were all immobilized. Not one of them moved.
Once there was no more shooting, Dorsey was running with Ryan right behind him, followed by a whole group of CPD officers. I heard sirens then and knew the EMTs would be arriving shortly.
Once the all-clear was given, people started rising slowly, many of them wounded, but everyone stood, no casualties on the ground. Ian came out of the building, carrying his helmet in one hand and a Remington 700 rifle in the other.
“Holy shit,” I said softly, moving my hands to Carmen’s ears. “He made all those shots.”
“He’s a Green Beret, right?” Lang stated, mindful of Carmen. “A ranger and black-ops guy. It’s not surprising he can do that.”
Still, it was both impressive and terrifying. He’d saved lives, and in the midst of bullets flying, had the clarity of vision not to kill the men he was shooting at. I was amazed.
As I watched, Ian passed the rifle and helmet to Ching, who had exited with him, and they were followed by Cho and Lopez, whom I hadn’t even seen arrive, and eleven men, all with their hands zip-tied behind their backs, then members of SWAT.
Ian pulled a baseball cap from a pocket in his cargo pants, slipped it on backwards, then started directing people.
“Lang,” came the call over the radio from the dash of the BearCat.
“Ching,” he answered.
“Your girl is free to rejoin her family.”
Meaning that her being a witness, her testimony to what happened, was no longer vital. The men in the building had fired on law enforcement, and that was enough to make arrests. We had all the corroboration we needed.
Escorting Carmen to her family, she ran to her grandmother, who hugged her tight. I saw a woman running from the street, heard her yelling, and saw Carmen turn and hold out her arms. This was, of course, her mother. I looked for her father, saw a man lingering by the parked cars, and jogged over to him.
“Sir, are you Carmen’s father?”
He didn’t answer, and I asked again in Spanish.
Still no answer.
“I’m a federal marshal,” I explained. “ICE and Homeland are here only for the gang members, not for anyone else.”
The way he searched my face was heartbreaking.
“You see, sir,” I said, pointing. “ICE and Homeland are taking charge of the cuffed men, over there. All the families are on the other side.”
That’s when he saw Carmen smiling and waving. He waved back. She then pointed at me and gave the thumbs-up.
As he passed me, he gave me a quick pat on my arm before running toward his family. Several officers ran toward him because they had no idea who he was, but Lang was there to tell them not to worry, that this was one of the fathers, and to let him through. He gave Lang a pat on the arm as well.
When we reached them, Carmen grabbed hold of my hand and squeezed tight.
“It’s okay, sweetie. You’re all safe now.”
“I know,” she whispered, “I trust you. But the man next to Marta, that’s not her brother. That’s a member of the gang.”
“Which one is Marta?”
“The one with the Wonder Woman T-shirt.”
I saw them, bumped Lang, and started over.
He followed for a moment, then veered toward the edge of the crowd, moving fast, coming around behind the guy as I approached from the front.
“Marta, hi.” As she turned to me, the man, maybe in his early thirties, kept an iron grip on her shoulder. “It’s Mr. McCabe. From school.”
She nodded. “How are you?”
“What’s goin’ on here?” I asked her, moving closer, smiling like a simpleton the whole way. “This is all so excitin’.”
“It was a fire drill,” she told me, “like at school.”