The Blue Nowhere

hiding.
    Taking the phones down was standard procedure. Five or ten minutes before an assault you had the subject’s phone service suspended. That way nobody could warn them of the impending attack.
    Little had done a number of dynamic entries into barricaded sites—mostly drug busts in Oakland and San Jose—and he’d never lost an agent. But this operation was especially troubling to the thirty-one-year-old agent. He’d been working MARINKILL from day one and had read all the bulletins, including the one just received from an anonymous informant, which reported that the killers felt they were being persecuted by the FBI and police and planned to torture any law enforcement officers they captured. Appended to this was another report that they’d rather die fighting than be taken alive.
    Man, it’s never easy. But this . . .
    “Everybody locked and loaded and in armor?” Little asked Steadman.
    “Yeah. Three teams and snipers ready. Streets’re secure. Medevacs from Travis are in the air. Fire trucks’re around the corner.”
    Little nodded as he listened to the report. Well, everything seemed fine. But what the hell was bothering him so much?
    He wasn’t sure. Maybe it had been the desperation in that guy’s voice—the one claiming to be from the state police. Bishop was his name, or something like that. Yammering on about somebody hacking into the bureau’s computers and issuing phony assault codes against some innocents.
    But the rules of engagement issued by Washington had warned that the perps would impersonate fellow officers and would claim that the whole operation was a misunderstanding. The perps might even pretend to be state police. Besides, Little reflected, hacking into thebureau’s computers? Impossible. The public Web site was one thing, but the secure tactical computer? Never.
    He looked at his watch.
    Eight minutes to go.
    He said to one of the techs sitting at a computer monitor, “Get the yellow confirmation.”
    The man keyed:
    FROM: TACTICAL COMMANDER, DOJ NORTHERN DISTRICT CALIFORNIA
    TO: DOJ TAC OP CENTER, WASHINGTON, D.C.
    RE: DOJ NORTHERN DISTRICT CALIFORNIA OPERATION 139-01
    YELLOW CODE CONFIRM?
    He hit ENTER.
    There were three levels of tactical operational codes: green, yellow and red. A go-ahead green code approved the agents’ movement to the staging site of the operation. This had happened a half-hour ago. Yellow go-ahead meant for them to get ready for the assault and move into position around their target. Red controlled the actual assault itself.
    A moment later this message came up on the screen:
    FROM: DOJ TAC OP CENTER, WASHINGTON, D.C.
    TO: TACTICAL COMMANDER, DOJ NORTHERN DISTRICT CALIFORNIA
    RE: DOJ NORTHERN DISTRICT CALIFORNIA OPERATION 139-01
    YELLOW CODE:
    “Print it out,” Little commanded the communications tech.
    “Yessir.”
    Little and Steadman checked the code word and found that “oaktree” was correct. The agents were approved to deploy around the house.
    Still, he hesitated, hearing the voice of that guy claiming to beFrank Bishop over and over in his head. He thought of the children killed at Waco. Despite the Level 4 rules of engagement, which stated that negotiators were not appropriate for tactical operations involving perps like these, Little wondered if he should call San Francisco, where the bureau had a top-notch siege negotiator he’d worked with before. Maybe—
    “Agent Little?” the communications officer interrupted, nodding at his computer screen. “Message for you.”
    Little leaned forward and read.
    URGENT URGENT URGENT
    FROM: DOJ TAC OP CENTER, WASHINGTON, D.C.
    TO: TACTICAL COMMANDER, DOJ NORTHERN DISTRICT CALIFORNIA
    RE: DOJ NORTHERN DISTRICT CALIFORNIA OPERATION 139-01
    U.S. ARMY REPORTS MARINKILL SUSPECTS BROKE INTO SAN PEDRO MILITARY RESERVE AT 1540 HOURS TODAY AND STOLE LARGE CACHE OF AUTOMATIC WEAPONS, HAND GRENADES AND BODY ARMOR.
    ADVISE TACTICAL AGENTS OF SAID SITUATION.
    Man alive, Little thought, his pulse skyrocketing. The message knocked any suggestion of a negotiator right out of his thoughts. He glanced at Agent Steadman and said calmly, nodding at the screen, “Pass the word on this, George. Then get everybody into position. We go in six minutes.”

CHAPTER 00101100 / FORTY-FOUR
    F rank Bishop walked around Shawn.
    The housing was about four-feet square and made of thick metal sheets. On the back was a series of ventilation slats from which hot air poured, the white wisps visible, like