Chapter 1: The Bust

The van shuddered yet again as it hit a bump in the road. Even in the almost pitch black darkness of the cabin, Captain Walker could observe the nervousness of his team. That heart-pounding anticipation had its outlet in many forms. Some bounced their knees or fumbled with their gear. The greenie next to him was sweating so profusely that Walker could feel the small beads dropping onto his own leg. He winced, but the bench was cramped enough that he couldn’t slide away. Trying to ignore the heat radiating from the bodies pressed against either side of him, Walker glanced around at the rest. As the transport passed under a streetlight, the interior was briefly illuminated. Walker could clearly view the “SWAT” emblazoned on the back of his men’s vests. A flash of light passed across Lieutenant Fields’ face; Walker could see Fields’ gloved hand clasped around his trademark crucifix pendant, his lips dripping saliva as he prayed to his Lord, hoping his faith in that faceless deity would shield him from harm. 

    The cool, crisp voice of the dispatcher chimed in their ears. “Tee minus sixty seconds to deployment,” it said. Walker fumbled for his rifle and could hear the clicking of others doing the same. The greenie next to him flicked off the safety. Walker laid a hand on the barrel of the kid’s gun.

    “I wouldn’t do that yet, if I were you,” he warned. “You don’t want that thing to go off in here.” The rookie looked at him, eyes wide and full of innocent fear. He hastily moved to obey his commander just as the van came screeching to a halt.

    The door swung open and the modest little suburban houses lining the street greeted them. Captain Walker clambered over the bench and out of the van, the rest following close behind in formation. A few troopers were holding in their breath; the rest were panting enough to make up for it. As they approached the house, Walker could feel the booming reverb of a subwoofer on his chest. The house was clearly still occupied; the lights, however, were still off. Walker glanced down at the standard-issue digital watch on his wrist, which was strapped with the face against the inside of his arm to prevent its reflective surface from giving him away. It was almost two in the morning. They fanned out against the faded yellow walls on either side of the front door. Fields hurried forward, shotgun in hand. With one well-placed blast, the knob on the door was blown out and he kicked his way in. 

    “Police! Put your hands up!”, bellowed Walker, following close behind. Their barrel-mounted LEDs flooded the room with light, exposing piles of money strewn across the messy floor. Several shabbily dressed women screamed and threw up their hands as officers moved in to cuff them. Another trooper moved to disable the loud speakers. A section of the squad broke off to clear the rest of the first floor while Walker and his men assembled by the staircase. 

    “Clear!”, echoed a voice from the kitchen. Walker motioned to his men, and they swiftly proceeded to the second floor. 

The team came upon a dim hallway leading into three rooms, all of which were closed. Walker’s men broke off into groups and huddled around each of the doors. Walker, taking point, kicked in the door of the last room and strode in. The silhouettes of three men were visible. Two immediately threw up their hands, but the last dove towards a nearby desk. Walker swung towards him and fired three consecutive shots. The man crumpled like paper as the bullets sank into his chest. As Fields moved to handcuff the other two, Captain Walker approached the third, who lay unmoving. He aimed the flashlight on his rifle towards the desk, illuminating the shiny metal of a six-shot revolver resting on a pile of papers. 

“It’s a good thing you took the shot, Captain,” remarked Fields. He turned back towards the dark hallway. “Clear!”

“Clear!”, responded two voices simultaneously from both of the other rooms. The team regrouped by the stairs and moved back down onto the ground floor, leaving everyone they had arrested with an officer in the kitchen. Only the basement was left.

They congregated by a door leading downstairs. An officer Walker didn’t recognize blew his breath and slammed the door open. He had taken two steps down the stairs when four loud cracks echoed through the house. Dust clouded the stairwell, and one of the women held in the kitchen screamed. The unknown soldier moaned and collapsed against the stairs. 

Walker and the rest of his men wasted no time. They rushed down, firing blindly in the direction the shots came from. As the basement flooded into view, Walker could clearly see six targets. They were quickly dropped by the team, who then moved to search the rest of the floor for other targets. 

“Clear!”, someone shouted. Walker breathed a sigh of relief and lowered his rifle. An officer who had stayed back to tend to their fallen comrade flicked on the lights. 

Walker gestured to the cop who had been shot: “What’s his status?” The officer sorrowfully shook his head in reply. Walker leaned in for a closer look and sharply drew in his breath. It was the rookie. Fields crossed himself for the body, yet Walker knew he was secretly relieved it hadn’t been him. They all were. 

He turned back towards the rest of the room. The only furniture occupying it was a dusty old couch riddled with holes from the firefight. One target lay on it, blood dripping from his forehead. The rest were sprawled across the floor. Walker glanced at the wall opposite the stairs. A few of their shots had gone through it, exposing what looked suspiciously like plastic wrapping inside behind the drywall.

“Tear that wall down,” he ordered. A trooper moved forward, sledgehammer in hand. After a few strikes, the rest of the drywall collapsed and a cloud of debris flooded the room. Walker shielded his eyes. The dust settled, revealing dozens of white, cellophane-wrapped bricks lining the wall. Walker fumbled for the radio strapped to his chest.

“Strike leader to HQ”, he reported. “Jackpot.”

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