With that she walked into the elevator and turned her back on them as the door closed. Savas felt it better to leave her last request unanswered.
“Gabriel and Mary?” he whispered to Cohen.
“On their way. He’s okay, patched up.”
“Once we’re outbound, I’d like to talk to them.”
Cohen nodded. Miller was silent, and the remaining ride to the basement garage was eerily quiet.
The doors separated to reveal an underground parking lot — gray walls, flickering fluorescents, and row upon row of vehicles blurring into monotony. Standing out dramatically from that background was a black FBI van. It was built for undercover work, devoid of any insignia or lettering, the communications equipment inside visible through the open side door. Only the telltale bulge of the black antenna by the back doors would announce an investigative presence to the trained eye.
Alongside the van was a row of four uniformed SWAT officers. They were fitted in black uniforms and external body armor with weapons at their sides. Poison looked them up and down with a scowl.
“I’m part of the matrix now,” she said bitterly. “Is this all you could get?”
“You think Fawkes will throw worse at us?” asked Miller.
“I don’t know what he might do anymore,” she said. “I hope these Storm Troopers know what the fuck they’re doing. He won’t mind wasting any of them.”
Cohen handed Savas her crutches and faced Poison, her brown hair like a shawl offsetting the angry fire in her eyes. Cohen startled the hacker by reaching up to her shirt collar and straightening it.
“Look, Ms. Ivy—Poison—whatever you want to imagine yourself to be in the matrix. A little appreciation for putting ourselves in harm’s way would do you well. Appreciation for dedication, duty, public good and all that. Inside the suits are human beings, just like you. Try to remember that.”
Poison stepped back from the intensity in Cohen’s glare, but the agent had turned away. Savas tried to rescue the moment.
“We were lucky to find anyone. Fawkes has pressed all the panic buttons. Washington’s on fire and New York might be next. We have what we have. Most importantly, we have you. I just hope Fawkes wants you badly enough to do something stupid.”
Miller motioned to the SWAT personnel. “Poison will go in the van with the team. There shouldn’t be any issues along the way, but if there are, they’ll need a small army to get to her out.”
“Assuming they want me alive,” she said.
“That’s the basis of the entire plan,” said Cohen. “Otherwise, he’ll just drop a drone on you when he gets your position.”
Poison looked terrified.
Miller continued. “The rest of us will follow in the car. I’ve put through all the channels we can for clearance, without revealing exactly what we’re doing of course. Hopefully we’ll make it through the checkpoints without issues. There are a lot of ways to get to Brooklyn. If we’re held up at one bridge or tunnel, we’ll try another. Hopefully we won’t waste too much time.”
Savas nodded. “What this means, of course, is that we’re on our own. No backup. This entire operation would never fly with the brass if they knew what we were trying. It’s too unorthodox, too poorly planned, too risky.”
Poison laughed. “You’re giving me a whole lot of confidence.”
Miller scowled. “You should worry about the warehouse. You’ll be dug in with no place to go there. Like I said, I don’t anticipate any issues in transit today. Fawkes doesn’t know what we’re up to, he won’t know where you are without his GPS device. Angel will leak the location once we’re ready.”
“Unless he knows a lot more than you think he does,” said Poison.
Tires screeched. The group turned toward the sound. From the exit ramp two white vans rushed recklessly into their level and came screaming to a halt. Savas cried out as the doors of the vans swung open and dark shadows leapt out, weapons drawn. Cohen grabbed onto Poison and fell with her to the ground behind a car as the FBI SWAT team faced the oncoming figures.
Miller drew his gun and concealed himself behind the back of the van. Savas rushed forward beside him, pulling out his Glock and crouching. The SWAT team remained exposed, flanking their right.
In the sudden chaos, the sounds of automatic gunfire echoed madly through the underground chamber.
50
The haphazard positioning of the participants insured that the firefight would be quick. The SWAT team was exposed and took the brunt of the initial offensive, unable to find cover. They responded by advancing into the fray and opening fire. Despite their protective gear and powerful weapons, they were outnumbered, and the attackers cut them down mercilessly.
But not without cost. Savas had kept the van between him and the assailants. He swung his gun arm into the line of fire just as the last SWAT man fell in front of them. Multiple bodies of their attackers lay on the asphalt as well, shell casings littering the ground beside him and in front of the vans. Gunshots exploded above his head as Miller fired, and Savas saw a shape fall as it ran, a body striking the concrete only feet from the shelter of parked cars.
His peripheral vision caught other forms dashing for cover on his left and right. A magazine dropped to the ground beside him as Miller reloaded, sliding down the side of the van.
“How many?” Savas asked.
“Four or five more,” Miller panted. “They’re spread across.”
Savas spotted movement behind a blue pickup. He blasted its windshield for effect more than any hope to strike a target.
“Right idea,” Miller said. “But it won’t stop them for long. They’ve got the firepower on us. And still the numbers. How the hell did they know?”
Savas shook his head. “No time for that. Take point.”
Miller swung into position and fired several shots. He ducked back and a barrage of gunfire chased him, blowing out the tires on the far side of the van, the windows exploding. Glass rained down on them.
“So much for an escape,” Savas muttered.
He had turned back toward Cohen. She was propped on one knee and the car, poised with a pistol, head barely over the hood. Poison crawled behind the Crown Vic, terrified. Savas wondered if she could be the target. Was Fawkes there to terminate her?
Harsh words disabused him of the notion.
“Send the girl!” a man’s voice cried. “All we want is the girl!”
Savas saw Cohen shake her head vigorously in the negative. Miller sighed.
“We might bring them down, John,” he said, “but not before we’re bloodied up good.”
“Any ideas?”
“If I had a few minutes, maybe.”
Their assailants wouldn’t give them thirty seconds.
“We’ve got one of your men!” came the voice. “He’s wounded but not dead. Send the girl or we waste him!”
There was a scream and Savas thought he heard the word “name”. A rattled voice could barely be heard.
“Agent Longwell. Special Weapons and Tactics.”
The voice was gasped, in pain, heavy breaths between the words.
Savas dropped to the ground and slightly forward. For a moment he was able to see ahead, the presence of an armed intruder pointing a gun at the slumping body of a SWAT officer, a trail of blood across the floor from where he’d been dragged. He rolled back behind the van just as shots ripped open the asphalt where he’d been. “Hurt bad but still alive,” he said to Miller. “Damn!”
“You got ten seconds!”