|
|
|
|
Fourth story in the Anatomy of a Field Operation Series
“Report!”
I hear the crisp commanding voice in my ear, on edge as we all are just before everything explodes into action. The tedious details of preparing and setting up everything wears on everyone’s nerves, except perhaps young Mr. Dunne. He seems to glory in all those nit-picking details and endless arrangements.
“Seven-o-two in position,” comes the Texas drawl. I smile, not surprised that Vin would be the first to respond to Chris’ demand. He always seems to anticipate what our esteemed leader wants. His relaxed rolling tones breath calm, considered readiness through the radio. In two simple words he has conveyed to all of us that he is there, up above, watching over us.
I look up into the darkness of the rafters in this old warehouse and catch a glimpse of something lighter moving. I wonder for a second if it is Vin. Then realize it is more likely to be a pigeon nesting in the high roof than our sharpshooter. I had watched him tuck his long non-regulation curls up into a black knit toboggan and smear dark camo paint all over his face and neck. He can move like a shadow as well. Mr. Tanner is somewhere up there above me but neither I nor the criminals soon to be entering this building would see him moving about on his self-imposed mission to cover our backs. Or in Mr. Larabee’s case, his ass. I chuckle silently at my own humor.
“Seven-o-six, clear east,” came J.D.’s voice next. The excitement in it was clear. It is one of the advantages of youth, or disadvantages, depending upon one’s point of view. His eagerness and enthusiasm for disrupting the plans of the shadier side of common man infuses all of us. When this job becomes difficult we all draw from the boundless well of his energy. It keeps us going on this job that is often difficult and frequently dangerous.
“Seven-o-five, all clear on the western front,” rumbles Josiah.
“Seven-o-seven might be in position. Of course, it is difficult to tell in the new level of darkness you have found to consign me to.”
“You always have to use ten words when two would do, don’t you,” says Nathan, apparently unable to resist the jibe.
“Or in this case… twenty-five,” I reply. “I find I am in position after all or at least as close as may be ascertained in this black pit of a building.”
“You got what you wanted so’s you wouldn’t have to walk so far,” sounds Nathan’s voice again. “Seven-o-four, side door’s secure.”
“Seven-o-three, alley’s clear,” sounds Buck’s distinctive voice in my ear before I can voice a suitable retort to Mr. Jackson’s aspersions against my character. “Seven-o-seven… the usual.”
Buck and I have a running bet on these types of raids as to which of us can cuff the largest number of reprehensible louts. We have a sophisticated system of points taken for injuries to the cuffee and rewarded for several subjects attached to each other or uniqueness of items they’re cuffed to. Buck once cuffed a rather tall specimen to the blade of a ceiling fan and left it running on low. The poor thing was too exhausted from running in circles to fight the officers when they retrieved him.
“Raise you one,” I answer.
“Double or nothing on seven-o-three,” chirps in J. D.
“I’m in,” adds Josiah.
“Same here,” responds a Texas drawl.
“I can’t believe you all bet on things like that,” says Nathan’s exasperated voice.
“Seven-o-four’s not interested.”
“Didn’t say that. Put me down for the same… on o-seven.”
I’m glad that the darkness surrounds me as I know the surprise in my expression would be evident to all my colleagues.
“Cut the extra traffic,” says our esteemed leader’s voice. Complete silence falls. “And mark me down… for o-seven.”
I shake my head thinking perhaps my ears have betrayed me.
“I’m overwhelmed by your confidence in me seven-o-one.”
“Just don’t make me take anything I lose out of your expense account.”
I shudder.
“Most definitely not.”
“Heads up. Lights coming in.” Chris’ voice is crisp, clear and focused.
“Got ‘em,” replies Buck. All goes quiet for what seems an eternity. Then Buck’s voice again. “Host and family arrived. Checking the accommodations.”
“Host in sight,” says Chris and I knew he’d moved silently from his original position watching the front of the building to the interior. I felt sure he’d found a spot where he had our resident Texan in sight as well as an eye on each of our areas on the floor.
“Guests pulling up,” warned Nathan. Another interminable silence. “All tucked in tight.”
“Hold for my signal,” Chris’ voice warns.
Continues in Part 5. Movement
Feedback is welcomed at Oracle7777777@hotmail.com