The Ambitious City (42 page)

Aziz made contact with the SWAT team, then reported, “Nothing
new, sir. Butter is alone on the porch, smoking. The kids are taking turns on a rope swing on a tree to the right of the driveway.”

“Good sign. That means she’s hasn’t been invited to the meeting,” Swets said.

“Let’s hope she stays out there,” MacNeice said.

In the park’s parking lot, a dozen or so onlookers, some carrying soccer balls or picnic blankets and hampers, stood ogling or taking pictures of the cops with their cellphones. Getting out of the car, MacNeice approached the sergeant standing next to the two large black vans. “Don’t worry about these folks, Mac,” he said. “They’ve been told we’re doing an exercise and a public relations tour, trying to drum up enrolment in the police academy.” He smiled.

“That’s reassuring, Sergeant Keeler. Did they buy it?”

“Oh, big time. Actually, it’s not a bad idea. Sure, some of the kids want to touch the weapons, but other than that it does a worlda good to get out here and mingle. I’m not shittin’ ya—it really does.”

“Put the idea forward.” MacNeice looked over at Keeler’s men, who were standing in front of the second van. “They’ve been fully briefed?”

“Yes, sir. We have the images on board both vehicles. But I understand DI Aziz brought some printouts?”

“I wasn’t expecting two units. Was that your idea?”

“This is a large assignment for us, which means lots of chances to learn. Let’s go into my office.” He climbed up into the van and MacNeice followed.

Inside the truck, a young officer in black Kevlar was working the computer terminal. The screen was mounted horizontally, with blocks representing the two SWAT units and the two unmarked cars.

“Jansen, this is Detective Superintendent MacNeice.”

The young man looked up, snapped his hand forward and said, “Sir.”

MacNeice shook the young man’s hand and turned to Keeler.

“Tell me the plan.”

“We’re aligned with yours. We’ll take this unit to the front left of the driveway, where we have a sightline to the barn, well clear of the house. The second unit will stop here—off to the right—with a clear view to the side of the house and any activity near the vehicles or the garage.” Jansen tapped the keyboard till thin red lines mapped the geometry of the sightlines. Mac’s car was off to the left, angled to provide cover against any fire from the house while shining its headlights at the front door. Vertesi’s car sat at an opposite angle on the other side of the driveway. Pale triangles of white pointed towards the house.

“The vehicle headlights will be augmented by our roof-mounted floods—three on each unit. Show ’em, Jansen.” Jansen clicked the keyboard again and trios of white cones created a saturated path of light covering the house and the vehicles on the screen. “They better be wearing shades if they want to see us,” Keeler said.

“Okay, it’s anyone’s guess how they’ll react, but I want to give them the opportunity to surrender. So we’ll put it to them first by loudspeaker. Clear?”

“Yes, sir. We’ll wait for your signal—or theirs. If they start popping at us, we’ll unleash.”

MacNeice nodded. “Let’s hope that doesn’t happen.”

MacNeice stepped out of the van. Before he could get to his car, the vans were already loaded up and turning about.

“Swetsky, you drive.” MacNeice threw him the keys and got into the passenger side.

“Mac, I’ve been thinking. If her phone’s inside the house, there’s a risk someone other than Melanie will answer it when you call,” Aziz said.

“It’s a risk, but I don’t see an alternative, do you?”

Swetsky was pulling out of the parking lot.

“No.”

MacNeice pressed the button and Butter’s phone started to ring. Swetsky pulled onto the northbound county four-lane that would take their convoy to the concession road. The phone rang several times, then went silent for a moment. “Hi, it’s Mel. I’m not near the phone right now. Please leave me a message.” MacNeice disconnected before the beep.

“Recording?” Aziz asked.

“Yes, and I think it would be a mistake to—” His phone rang. “MacNeice,” he said.

“Hi. I’m sorry, did you just call me? I had the phone in my jeans but couldn’t get to it in time.” Like her phone message, the voice was cheerful, melodic.

“Yes, Melanie, I did.”

“Do I know you?”

“No. I’m Detective Superintendent MacNeice, from Dundurn Homicide.”

He heard her inhale sharply. “I’m calling to ask you to get your children away from the house immediately.”

“Why? What’s going on?” she whispered.

Aziz, listening to the spotter, said softly, “She’s off the porch, Mac, moving towards the kids.”

He nodded to indicate he’d heard. “The house is about to be raided. If there is any violence, I want to be certain that you and your children are out of harm’s way. Do you understand?”

“Yeah, but how—What can I do, where can I go? My kids—they’ve got nothing to do—”

“I know that, Melanie. Can you get your car out of the driveway?”

“Shit … no, they’re all blocked in. Mine’s in the garage … oh, fuck … What’s gonna happen?”

“Spotter says she’s panicking. If anyone comes out right now
it’s—” MacNeice raised his hand to stop Aziz.

“Melanie, look across the road to the forest.”

“Yeah. But what?”

“Take your kids.”

Swetsky tapped his shoulder and pointed. He’d passed the cruiser at the intersection and was turning down the road towards the farmhouse. MacNeice nodded. “Tell them you want to go looking for the rabbits that live in that forest.”

“Fucking rabbits?” she almost shrieked.

“Yes. Go straight to the far edge of the forest. There are two police officers there. When you get there, lie down and stay down. They’ll tell you when it’s safe. Do you understand me, Melanie?” He kept his voice calm and reassuring.

“Go to the far end of the forest … look for rabbits … stay down. Oh, God, if they catch me … fuck!”

“They won’t. Go now. If anyone comes out, you and the kids are looking for rabbits. Go now, Melanie.”

“Okay, okay.” The line went dead.

“Rabbits … that’s fucking amazing,” Swetsky said.

“If it works.”

Aziz sat forward suddenly with the cellphone pressed to her ear. “The front door just opened … Spotter thinks it’s Ross—he’s calling her … He’s stepped off the porch and is walking across the lawn …”

“Do I stop?” Swetsky asked.

“Keep going.”

“He’s yelling at her. ‘Babe, where the fuck are you going?’ ” Aziz looked around as the SWAT van loomed over the Chevy. She could see black-gloved hands on the steering wheel. When she looked up, the driver nodded down at her. She took a deep breath. “Melanie just said, ‘Honey, we saw rabbits. We’re going to look for them.’ He’s buying it, the spotter thinks.”

“Rabbits … fucking rabbits,” Swetsky said, shaking his head.

“He’s gone back inside.” Aziz exhaled. She handed MacNeice a Kevlar vest from the back seat. “Put this on.”

MacNeice wriggled into it just as they crested a small hill.

“Farmhouse in sight. There’s Melanie and the kids off to the left, almost to our men. Spotter’s flashing me, probably wants to know what to do with them.” Swetsky pointed at the narrow white beam.

“Tell them, Fiza,” MacNeice said, noticing that Melanie was staring towards the approaching caravan.

Covering the mouthpiece, Aziz said, “I’m on it.” Then, “Yes, get them to lie down beside you. Tell them it’s a game. Make sure they stay put, no matter what happens. Right … you’re all hunting for rabbits. I’m offline now.” She put the phone in the pocket of her vest and unholstered her Glock 17. “Done.”

“Good. Hand me the bullhorn. Remember, Swets, angle the car so the headlights are on the house.”

“Got it. I’m coming out your side.” Swetsky said, undoing his seatbelt.

“High beams.”

“Check.”

Swetsky swung the Chevy rudely into the shallow ditch, kicking up gravel as he spun it around. MacNeice and Aziz braced themselves to keep from toppling over, MacNeice focusing on the farmhouse. He saw the front-door blind shiver. Behind their car, the powerful SWAT vans bounced in and over the ditch and came to a halt, one on the front lawn next to the chairs, the other to the right of the driveway. Swetsky, Aziz and MacNeice were out of the car just as Vertesi’s came to a stop. Twelve heavily armed men in battle gear bolted from the vans. Six ran for cover behind the vehicles parked in the driveway and the others took positions crouching outside the house, three on either side of the porch. One of the spotters came running up behind MacNeice and knelt beside Aziz at the
rear of the Chevy. Keeler stood behind the lead van, ten feet away. He held his hand up to get the detective’s attention, then dropped it.

MacNeice lifted the bullhorn. “You people inside—this is the police. There’s no chance of escape and no need for bloodshed. Drop your weapons. Come out the front door with your hands on your heads and lie face down on the lawn. Do it now.” He turned off the bullhorn and set it on the hood. The sounds of twilight—swallows, bats, crickets—and the low purring of the SWAT van’s engine replaced the rush and rumble of vehicles and the rattle of armed men. The house was lit up like noon on a xenon day.

MacNeice saw someone moving behind a second-floor window. “They’re taking positions inside—get down. I’ll give it one more try.” He lifted the bullhorn and flicked the switch “Randall Ross, Perry Mitchell, the rest of you—come out now! Hands over your heads—” The upper-floor window burst open and two shotgun blasts slammed into the driver’s side of the Chevy, blowing out the windows. “Keeler, it’s all yours!” MacNeice yelled.

On Keeler’s signal, four members of the SWAT team fired tear gas into the front and side windows—the large shells tore through the blinds. MacNeice saw a running figure inside before a shredded blind fell back into place. On the driveway side of the house, someone opened up with an assault rifle on the SWAT team making their way along the far side of the vehicles. They had to sprint the three feet between the Jeep and pickup truck—the last member had just left the cover of the Jeep when he was hit.

With a deafening roar, from every window, shotguns, assault rifles and Uzis tore into the vehicles and ripped up the ground in front of them. The Chevy shuddered with the impact, slamming down onto its rims as the driver’s-side tires were shot out. In a break between bursts, they heard one of the SWAT team scream, “Man down, man down!” If anyone answered, the response was lost as the onslaught resumed.

With the unrelenting fire directly above them, the team outside the house hugged the wall and waited for an opportunity to lob their stun grenades inside. Those behind the vehicles hunkered down, waiting for someone inside to stop to change a magazine so they could respond in kind. MacNeice realized the bikers hadn’t been fazed by the tear gas. He yelled to his team, “Stay down, all of you,” then crept past them to the rear of the Chevy, where he paused, took a deep breath and sprinted towards Keeler.

Several rounds zipped past him, tearing up the road, and something stung his leg. He screamed over the noise, “They’re wearing masks!” The van was also taking fire and shuddering. He leaned into Keeler, his face so close that MacNeice’s reflection filled the Plexi shield. “This is covering fire!” Keeler nodded. MacNeice made several downward jabbing motions with his left hand. “Explosives in the basement—they’re buying time for Ross. Understand?”

Keeler nodded again. Through his helmet mike he yelled, “Six, eight and three, M
84S
through the basement, then first- and second-floor windows.
Go-go-go!
”

Phwumph, phwumph, phwumph
. The stun grenades thudded through the windows and the firing from inside stopped. They could hear yelling from somewhere on the first floor, three loud, sharp bangs followed by bright flashes, and then silence. The tear gas puffed out of the windows—it looked as if the house was exhaling. The SWAT team were on their feet and advancing. Keeler pushed up his mask and called out to his men, “Move! Get in there now!”

There was a flash and an explosion from somewhere inside the house, and the blinds flew out of the window frames.

“What the fuck was that?” Keeler yelled. Turning to MacNeice and slicing his hand from side to side, he said, “It wasn’t us. Not us!”

MacNeice realized what it was: Bigboy had screwed up. “Get your men back!”

“What?”

“Pull them out—fast! Do it!”

Keeler understood, yelling through his microphone, “Everyone away from that building! It’s gonna blow! Go-go-go!”

The team that was heading to the side door, their weapons at the ready, looked back in Keeler’s direction, hesitated and then scattered, running for cover behind the vehicles in the driveway. The six caught in front of the house saw Keeler and MacNeice waving frantically and started running towards the van and the Chevy. They were almost there when the house appeared to sag inwards from the roof to the ground, accompanied by creaking and snapping. A second later, with a deafening roar, the building tore skyward. It came apart as it flew up and then out in a disintegrating mess of glass, wood, plumbing, roofing, steel, cheap furniture … and bodies.

Everyone behind the vehicles got as low as they could, pressed against steel and earth. Those who hadn’t made it to cover crawled like crabs under or behind the vans. Williams said later that he was standing by Vertesi’s car, his jaw dropped like a kid’s, watching the house head skyward—“It was better than a movie”—when Vertesi grabbed his Kevlar vest and screamed three words at him—“
What goes up …
”—then pulled him to the ground.

And so it came down—the heaviest debris first, stabbing and slamming into the ground, punishing the vehicles, digging into anything soft and richocheting off anything hard. Next the glass and wood and lengths of twisted pipe slashed into every surface, looking for something to hurt. No one could say with any certainty how long this hellish hail lasted, but at some point it ended, and people began emerging from their hiding places.

Particles of insulation, upholstery, clothing, pillows, blankets
and carpeting were floating everywhere like snowflakes, completely disinterested and in no hurry to come down. It made the air seem alive, almost magical. Both headlights of the Chevy were shot out, but when the artificial snow drifted into the remaining lights of the SWAT van, MacNeice thought he could hear the chorus of “White Christmas.”