Page 78 of Crosshairs

Just as I held the radio up to acknowledge Terri Hernandez, our windshield in the surveillance vehicle shattered. My brain registered the sound of the gunshot at about the same time that glass sprayed into the car.

I ducked low in the seat as the rest of the windshield dropped onto the dashboard.

Trilling bailed out of the car instantly. It took me a moment, then I yanked the latch to the door, but it didn’t open easily. I realized that Tavarez was huddled against the car and I had to bark, “Joe, move away from my door!”

Tavarez scrambled to the rear wheel.

I tumbled out of the car onto the asphalt, then scuttled back to the protection of the vehicle. My hand hit something wet in the road. Blood. I looked up and saw the bullet had struck Tavarez in the ear. I blurted out, “Joe, you’re hit.”

“No shit. It’s just my ear. I’m okay.” He reached up and touched his ear gingerly. “God damn, that was too close.”

I started to call out on the radio when I realized I’d left it in the car. Before I could open the door and reach for the radio, another shot rang out.

I did what every cop under fire does: I crouched down for cover and wished I had more.

CHAPTER 98

I WASN’T THE only one trying to find shelter behind the surveillance vehicle. Joe Tavarez and Rob Trilling were both huddling near the rear of the vehicle. I noticed Trilling had stayed calm and kept surveying the street for a safe path to get to the building where the sniper sat.

After another shot, I risked opening the driver’s door to reach in and snatch the radio off the seat. I heard radio traffic, someone already asking what had happened.

I shouted into the radio, “Shots fired, shots fired! Shooter is on the balcony!”

Jeff Mabus, in charge of the ESU team, came on the air. “We’re moving as a group into the lobby. Too dangerous to split up.”

Terri Hernandez said, “I can cover the front door.”

Trilling called to me from his position at the rear of our car. “I’ll cover the back.”

I saw him low-crawl from the car until he was covered by another building. Then he started to run.

I glanced over at Joe Tavarez, who had his Glock pistol trained on the roof. His ear poured blood onto his shoulder, but he held his position.

I said, “Joe, we gotta stop the bleeding from your ear.”

“It can wait. We can stop this asshole right now if we keep our cool.”

I said, “Joe, that’s someone who read the memo. Someone in the analysts’ room or maybe the FBI. Do you have any ideas who it could be?”

Tavarez peered up at the balcony like he might recognize the man with the rifle. Then he snapped his fingers, leaning back slightly as he turned to me. “Son of a bitch.”

I said, “What is it, Joe? Who’s up there?”

Another shot rang out. It was from a different position on the roof. The bullet ripped through the car’s side window. It hit Joe Tavarez in the center of his back and exited through his chest.

Tavarez toppled onto the asphalt with a thud. Blood immediately spread across the street.

I quickly reached out and grabbed him by the arm to drag him back behind the car. I checked his pulse. It seemed futile, but it felt like he might still have a heartbeat.

I grabbed the radio and called out, “Officer down, officer down! We need medical help!”

Harry Grissom came on the radio. “How bad is Trilling?”

“He’s not the officer down.”

“Who else is there with you?”

I didn’t want to confuse things. I just said, “Harry, stand by.” I heard sirens. Help was coming. I saw a woman and two kids stepout of a building across the street. I screamed, “Police! Get back inside!” The woman gathered up the children and stared at me and Tavarez lying on the ground. I shouted again, “Get back inside!” The woman turned quickly, fumbled with the door handle, then shooed the kids inside and followed them.