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Max advised the other team via radio where the second shooter was, notified them that there may be others as well, and directed them to pull Fran to safety once he gave them the signal to do so.
    The plan Max, Steve, and the wounded detective agreed on, not that the latter had much say in it, was that Max and Steve would use suppression fire to keep the second shooter inside the leather goods store while the other team pulled Fran to safety.  At the same time, the detective would make his way to the other team’s position so he too could be evacuated.
    With the plan set, Fran still rolling around and yelling for help, the detective making faces as he got up on his one good foot, and Rudd asking for an update over the radio, Max said “Go,” and Steve started by firing one round about every second into the wall at the leather goods’ store entrance.  When he was down to his last shot, he shouted, “Out!” prompting Max to start shooting in the same manner.  They went through two and a half magazines this way before the wounded officers were safely out of the line of fire, inside Macy’s.
    By agreement, over the radio, two of the officers from the second team would care for the wounded cops until rescuers arrived, while the other two joined Max and Steve in trying to neutralize the second shooter, who was occasionally firing in their direction.
    Max shouted, “Hey man, give up.  You can’t get away.  There are cops all over the place.”
    “Not trying to get away,” a voice responded.
    No accent, Max thought; voice calm, almost relaxed sounding.
    “Why are you doing this?”
    “Why?  Because it’s time.  Because God commands it.  Because of all my dead brothers and sisters.  Because of America’s arrogance.  You pick.”
    Committed, Max thought.  Educated.  Confident.
    “Is it arrogant of me to say I’m going to kill you?  Huh, asshole?” Steve shouted.
    The gunman answered by firing two shots that spit floor tile debris up into the air.
    The two officers positioned near the Macy’s entrance immediately returned fire.
    “Team One, status,” came Rudd’s voice over the radio.
    “One suspect dead, another suspect contained on the second deck across from Macy’s.  Two of our guys wounded, one seriously.  Definitely terrorist types.  Gonna need a negotiator in addition to medics.  Have them come up using the escalator inside Macy’s.”
    “Hostage!” shouted one of the officers near the Macy’s entrance.  “He’s coming out!”
    Max could see both the officers across from him pointing their weapons at the leather goods store and quickly scrambling backward into Macy’s, looking for better cover.
    Max and Steve ducked into the alcove of the shop two doors down, with Steve taking a kneeling position and Max standing over him, both with their carbines up.
    He was in his mid-twenties, maybe five foot eight, white, short blond hair, clean shaven, wearing a loose fitting, long-sleeve white shirt out at the waist, and khaki pants; just a normal looking guy.  He was holding a thirtyish, white female by the back of her neck, with the barrel of his AK resting on her shoulder and pointed at the base of her skull.
    “Not so arrogant now, are you!” he shouted.
    He then moved the barrel of the rifle slightly and fired two rounds at the officers in Macy’s.  The muzzle blast caused the woman to scream, duck, and put her hand to the gun side of her face.  But he held on to her, making her stand back up again.  She was crying.
    Max didn’t think about it.  Into his shoulder mic he said, “Flash-bang on the way,” and then to Steve, “You copy?”
    “Do it,” Steve replied.
    Max dropped his carbine to the end of its single point sling, yanked a flash-bang grenade from his vest, pulled the pin, and tossed it at the terrorist.
    A flash-bang is a baseball-sized, short-fused explosive device that doesn’t project any shrapnel but is extremely loud and bright upon detonation, yet at the same