The Killing Hour Read Free Page B

would slowly pivot 360 degrees so they could visually inspect his form for weapons. If he was wearing a jacket, he would be asked to hold it open so they could see beneath his coat. Finally, he would be ordered to walk toward them with his hands on his head, turn, drop to his knees, cross his ankles and sit back on his heels. At that time, they would finally move forward and take their suspect into custody.
    Unfortunately, the driver didn’t seem to know the theories behind a proper felony vehicle stop. He still didn’t lower his hands, but neither did he reach for the key in the ignition.
    “Quincy?” Lehane’s voice crackled over the radio.
    “I can see the driver,” Kimberly reported back, gazing through the rifle sight. “I can’t make out the passenger side, however. Tinted windshield’s too dark.”
    “Squire?”
    Tom Squire had cover duty from Vehicle B, parked twenty feet to the right of Kimberly. “I think . . . I think there might be someone in the back. Again, hard to tell with the windows.”
    “Driver, using your left hand, remove the key from the ignition.” Lehane repeated his command, his voice louder now, but still controlled. The goal was to remain patient. Make the driver come to you, do not relinquish control.
    Was it Kimberly’s imagination, or was the vehicle now slowly rocking up and down? Someone was moving around . . .
    “Driver, this is the FBI! Remove the key from the ignition!”
    “Shit, shit, shit,” Alissa murmured beside Kimberly. She was sweating hard, streams of moisture pouring down her face. Leaning half out of the car, she had her Glock .40 positioned in the crack between the roof of their vehicle and the open door. Her right arm was visibly shaking, however. For the first time, Kimberly noticed that Alissa hadn’t fully removed her seat belt. Half of it was still tangled around her left arm.
    “Driver—”
    The driver’s left hand finally moved. Alissa exhaled forcefully. And in the next instant, everything went to shit.
    Kimberly saw it first. “Gun! Backseat, driver side—”
    Pop, pop, pop!
Red mushroomed across their front windshield. Kimberly ducked and dove out of the vehicle for the shelter of her car door. She came up fast and spread cover fire above the top of her window. More
pop, pop, pop
.
    “Reloading rifle,” she yelled into the radio.
    “Vince reloading handgun.”
    “Taking heavy fire from the right, backseat passenger window!”
    “Alissa!” Kimberly called out. “Cover us!”
    Kimberly turned toward her partner, frantically cramming fresh rounds into the magazine, then realized for the first time that Alissa was no longer to be seen.
    “Alissa?”
    She stretched across the front seats. New Agent Alissa Sampson was now on the asphalt, a dark red stain spreading across her cheap orange suit.
    “Agent down, agent down,” Kimberly cried. Another
pop,
and the asphalt exploded two inches from Alissa’s leg.
    “Damn,” Alissa moaned. “Oh damn, that
hurts!
”
    “Where are those rifles?” Lehane yelled.
    Kimberly shot back up, saw the doors of the Mercedes were now swung open for cover and bright vivid colors were literally exploding in all directions. Oh, things had gone definitely FUBAR now.
    “Rifles!” Lehane yelled again.
    Kimberly hastily scrambled back to her side, and got her rifle between the crack of the car door. She was frantically trying to recall protocol. Apprehension was still the goal. But they were under heavy fire, possible loss of agent life. Fuck it. She started firing at anything that moved near the Mercedes.
    Another
pop,
her car door exploded purple and she reflexively yelped and ducked. Another
pop
and the pavement mushroomed yellow one inch from her exposed feet. Shit!
    Kimberly darted up, opened fire, then dropped back behind the door.
    “Quincy, rifle reloading,” she yelled into the radio, her hands shaking so badly now with adrenaline that she fumbled the release and had to do it twice. Come on, Kimberly.