Читать книгу Daddy Defender - Janie Crouch - Страница 11

Chapter Three

“All I’m saying is that she thinks you’re the janitor,” Roman Weber said as he ran at Ashton.

Ashton grimaced as Roman’s boot hit his linked fingers. He used his leg and arm strength to boost his teammate up onto the fifteen foot wooden wall, part of the obstacle course the SWAT team regularly completed.

It was supposed to not only build fitness, but promote teamwork. Right now, Ashton just wanted to push his teammates over the wall, then run the other way.

“That’s about as firmly parked in the friend zone as you can get. Janitor.” Lillian Muir, Omega’s only female SWAT agent, snickered. Being the lightest, she would be the last up the wall, since any of the other team members could pretty much hoist her up one-handed.

Derek Waterman, SWAT team leader, stood beside Ashton to boost other members up the wall and shook his head. “Let’s focus, people. Plus, we have a guest.”

Tyrone Marcus, not yet a full-fledged member of the SWAT team, had joined them for this morning’s training and was next over the wall. The younger man smiled at the banter as he flew toward Derek and Ashton, jumped into their waiting hands and pulled himself the rest of the way up. But he didn’t say anything.

Ashton knew he liked that kid for a reason.

Derek nodded his head up, indicating it was Ashton’s turn. Ashton jogged back about ten feet from the wall, then burst forward in a sprint. As he jumped onto Derek’s waiting hands, Derek’s push upward helped propel Ashton to the top. From there, the other team members helped him climb over.

Ashton immediately turned and reached his arm down, along with Roman. Derek was already running toward the wall, using his huge size to propel himself up and catch their arms. Ashton and Roman pulled Derek, then reached back down so they could do the same with Lillian.

She was much lighter and faster and soon the whole team was over the wall, the final obstacle on the course. Everyone sat, catching their breath.

“I don’t know that he’s in the friend zone,” Liam Goetz, hostage rescue specialist, said. “She did make him muffins.”

Ashton shook his head. “You guys give it a rest, will you?”

“Uh, she made muffins for the janitor who came over to fix her sink,” Roman argued, blatantly ignoring Ashton.

Lillian reached over and high-fived him. “That just means Fitzy is parked in the VIP section of the friend zone. Still the friend zone.”

Ashton closed his eyes, wishing that would make them all go away. Even the new kid was grinning, although he still hadn’t said anything about it.

Not that anything anyone had said was untrue. How he’d let this situation with Summer, the only woman he’d had real feelings for in years, get so out of hand he didn’t know.

“She doesn’t think I’m the janitor. She thinks I’m the building’s maintenance man. There’s a difference,” he muttered.

Mistake.

Everyone burst out laughing, now arguing the difference between maintenance man and janitor. They all jumped down from the wall and walked back toward the building, except for Ashton and Derek.

“Hey, we’re hitting the new gas and airborne substances simulator in an hour,” Derek yelled out after them. “But not you this time, Tyrone. Sorry. Everyone else, be ready.”

They all nodded and responded, slapping Tyrone on the back. He’d make a good team member after another few months of training.

Ashton just leaned back against the wall, enjoying the quiet.

“You need to tell Summer who you really are,” Derek finally said. “Not telling her is going to bite you in the ass eventually.”

Derek wasn’t one to run his mouth like the rest of the team. He didn’t share his opinion for no reason or generally participate in the teasing. So when Derek spoke, people listened.

Ashton opened his eyes. “I know.” He grimaced. “Although I’m so concerned about saying the wrong thing around her, I can barely get a sentence out. She must think I’m a moron.”

Derek chuckled. “I doubt it. Maybe a little shy or something.”

Ashton rolled his eyes. “If my mother could hear someone calling me shy. The one of her three kids who never shut up. She would have a field day.”

“Everybody likes Summer. And you have too many mutual friends for her not to find out who you are eventually. It’ll be better coming from you.”

Ashton hit the back of his head against the wooden wall. “If it was just about her thinking I was the maintenance guy, I would tell her.”

“But you’re worried about the situation on the day her husband died.”

As always, the bile pooled in his stomach at the thought. “I had the shot, Derek. I could’ve taken that hostage-taker out. Tyler Worrall and those others would still be alive. Summer would still have a husband and Chloe would still have a father.”

“We’ve all been over the footage, Ash. Us as a team. Steve Drackett and the review board. Taking the shot that early would’ve been a mistake. Joe thought he could talk the guy down. We all thought he could talk the guy down.”

But there had been a second, right before the man pulled out the hand grenade that killed nearly everyone in the room, that Ashton could’ve done something. He’d been on the building across the street with his sniper rifle.

He should’ve taken the shot. His gut had told him to take the shot. But he’d ignored it.

And people had died.

Ashton shrugged. “Well, I don’t think Summer is going to be interested in dating the guy who could’ve saved her husband’s life.”

“You know, Joe Matarazzo already tried to claim blame for Tyler Worrall’s death. Summer wouldn’t let him. What makes you think she’s going to hold you at fault?”

Because she didn’t know—nobody knew—about that second shot Ashton could’ve taken as the man was pulling out the hand grenade from his pocket. Ashton’s hesitation had lost the shot, then cost everyone in the room their lives.

Ashton shrugged. “Gut feeling.”

Derek slapped him on his shoulder. “Well, sometimes our gut feelings about women leave a little to be desired.”

Ashton stood up. “Let’s go battle with tear gas. That should be more fun.”

* * *

A GOOD MAJORITY of the SWAT team’s time was spent in training. Running different scenarios so they would be more prepared once they were out in the field.

A lot of exercises—like the obstacle course they did this morning—were for physical fitness and general team building. They knew each other’s strengths and weaknesses. The team often had to go into situations with multiple unknown or rapidly changing variables. Their training exercises ensured team cohesiveness.

Most of the training was routine: do it once, do it again, until there were no mistakes. They spent hours at the firing range together. In simulators together. Rappelling down walls. Studying hostage rescue, shields, vehicle assaults, even tactical medicine.

Despite the jokes this morning, most of the SWAT team’s training was taken seriously by everyone. It required focus, tenacity and teamwork. Often pushing themselves to the brink of mental and physical exhaustion.

It was hard. But that’s why not everyone did it. Only the ones who made the cut.

You could damn near see the excitement in the room now as everyone on the team gathered around the training techs to hear about the new challenge they were about to undergo.

Facing something new as a team had them all itching with enthusiasm. You never got a second first chance.

“Alright, boys and girls.” Steve Drackett, director of the entire Critical Response Division, was present for this inaugural training session. “Sadly, responding to tear gas and airborne elements is almost becoming routine in this day and age. We need a place where all SWAT teams can train. It won’t be just us using this facility, but departments from around the country.”

Drackett turned to the half dozen people standing around—some in lab coats, some in suits, a few from other SWAT teams besides Omega Sector’s.

“The designers—made up of analysts, computer experts, airborne terrorism experts, chemists and some of the best video game developers in the country—have pulled exactly zero punches with this new training facility. This is about as real as it gets outside of an actual combat zone, including actual tear gas.”

Steve smiled, but nothing about the facial movement felt comforting. “Participants might wish it wasn’t quite so real by the time they’re through, including the physical stimuli that will occur when someone gets shot. But I can guarantee you will be more prepared for your next critical response call involving gas or a possible airborne bioterrorism attack.”

Ashton shifted from where he was leaning against the doorframe. “Sounds like the developers are taking a little too much joy in our pain, boss.”

One of the men in a lab coat, complete with pocket protector and glasses, shrugged. “If you don’t get shot by anything, there won’t be any pain.”

Ashton cracked a smile. So the nerds wanted a fight. “Fair enough.”

He saw Lillian’s fist stretch out from where she stood next to him and he tapped it.

“The sensors are worn over your normal gear,” the lab coat guy continued. “Light and flexible enough that it shouldn’t impede your movement or speed in anyway. It will just...notify you when you’ve been hit by a subject’s weapon.”

Everyone noticed the slight hesitation and ghost of a smile on the tech guy’s face as he said notify. Evidently the notification wouldn’t be pleasant.

“Enough talk.” Roman Weber smiled, although no one in their right mind would call the facial expression inviting. “Let’s get to the action. Bring it on.”

The SWAT team was dressed in full tactical gear, just as they had been when they ran the obstacle course this morning. It only took a few minutes to get from the briefing room to the warehouse-sized simulator. Knowing everyone would be watching from the briefing room kept the pressure up, but that would be the least of their worries in a few minutes.

“We’ve got a big audience, people, so you can expect that they’re going to be throwing everything at us, up to and including the kitchen sink,” Derek told them. “Look sharp and watch each other’s six.”

Because the scenario involved possible tear gas but didn’t guarantee it, none of them had their masks on yet. The ability to get the masks situated quickly was an important part of a real-life airborne attack.

They stood inside the holding room. In just a moment, the door would open and the clock would start. One of the revolutionary parts of this simulator was its ability to mechanically reset rooms and situations. Every time the door opened, the team entering would be facing a different scenario.

Just like real life.

The door flew open and they got into formation, entering the darkened hallway so that everyone was facing a different angle. Using abbreviated sign language, the six-person team motioned to each other about who would take the lead and who would bring up the rear.

Everyone was focused but had the slightest smiles pulling at their faces. The team lived for this sort of challenge.

The scenario was a dark alley, amazingly lifelike. Ashton reached over and touched one of the “city” walls. He couldn’t feel the texture through his gloves, but it obviously had weight behind it, like a real wall.

An announcement from what would be the equivalent of dispatch came in through the earpieces they all were wearing.

“SWAT team, we have intel that a group of five men is attempting to exit a bank two blocks to your north. Be advised suspects have hostages and have released tear gas into the vicinity.”

“Masks on, people,” Derek said as they began jogging toward the north, staying close to the wall. Soon they were around the corner from the bank.

The bad guys the team was combatting resembled lifelike robots. They had sensors on their frames that could pick up on any movement or sound within human parameters. If a person could see or hear the SWAT team, the robots would be able to also.

And shoot accordingly.

Not real bullets of course, but the entire team’s gear was covered in a netting that held sensors. The same ones the lab guy had explained would notify them when they’d been hit. Shots the bad guys took and the team received would be marked and counted against them. A direct shot to the head or enough shots to the chest—even with vests—would “kill” the SWAT member and they would be unable to help the team any longer.

Basically it was a game of laser tag but much more intense.

“Ashton, Liam, I want you to find some way to get to higher ground so we can take shots if needed. Lillian, Roman, keep lower.”

The sound of gunfire—scarily realistic—could be heard throughout the building.

Everybody scattered, each going to their assigned place.

It really was an amazing facility. Ashton jumped up and grabbed a fire escape ladder and pulled it down. It easily supported his weight as he climbed up. If he didn’t know he was in a simulator, he would swear he was on a city street at night. The creators had captured the chaos of a hostage situation with eerie accuracy.

Ashton spotted the window he wanted to get to. It would give him excellent vision into the bank.

He looked at Liam. “I’m heading up to that window.”

“Roger that. I’ll stay here.”

Ashton had to make a pretty big leap over to the next “building,” but grabbed the balcony and pulled himself up with no problem. He eased along the ledge to get to the window he wanted. Carefully.

Simulator or not, a fall from twenty feet would do some serious damage.

Once he made it through the window, he pulled out his mock sniper rifle.

Ashton spoke into his mic. “All set, Derek. I have visibility on the targets.”

“Roger that.”

“I’m in position, too, Derek,” Liam said. “Ashton and I can take out at least three of the perps.”

“Hold. We’re working our way around behind them.”

From his riflescope, Ashton watched as Roman made his way down the edge of the wall, using the smoke for cover. Ashton couldn’t see where Lillian moved, but that wasn’t unusual. Her smaller size gave her a distinct advantage in situations like this.

“Whoa, Roman, bogey on your six.”

Ashton saw the human-looking robot step out from around the corner and aim at Roman. Ashton took the shot, even though he knew it would be too late.

The robot immediately powered down as Ashton’s electronic bullet hit him, but the damage had already been done. Roman’s suit lit up in the shoulder.

Roman’s obscenities flew over the comm units. Ashton watched through his sniperscope as Roman grabbed the shoulder that had been “hit.”

“Damn it, that hurts.” Roman’s voice was tight with pain.

“What?” Everyone asked it at the same time.

“Those sensors,” Roman said, teeth clearly gritted. “Shocked the hell out of me when I got hit and it’s still sending a pretty damn painful pulse every few seconds.”

Not unlike what you would feel if you got shot in real life while on a mission. Although probably not nearly as painful.

“So I guess you’re not dead,” Liam said.

Roman cursed again under his breath. “No. Just wounded. No wonder that lab coat bastard was all but laughing.”

“Alright, that’s it. Let’s finish this. If they’re going to use force, I’m not going to hesitate to order you all to do so, too,” Derek said.

It was over less than two minutes later.

Ashton and Liam picked off three more of the six—five had been bad intel from the beginning, a nice little twist in the game—Lillian was able to take the other two from where she’d successfully sneaked around behind them.

The lights came up, and all mechanical bad guys stopped moving. The good guys had won that particular scenario.

“Alright, people, we’re going to need to debrief. Not just our actions but how everything worked in here,” Derek said. “Meet in the control room in fifteen minutes.”

Ashton took off his gas mask now that overhead ventilation units were sucking all the residual tear gas and smoke out of the building.

He stood up and looked around the room he had crawled into to take his shots. It looked just like an apartment living room. Maybe the room would be part of another scenario—domestic hostage-taking or something.

He turned to walk to the window so he could crawl back out and find a way to the ground when metal shutters suddenly dropped from the ceiling, covering the window, blocking his route.

Great. There went that exit. When the scenario finished, obviously everything shut down. Literally.

Ashton turned toward the door on the other side of the room; the only other exit. He’d find his way back down using that.

But the metal shutters dropped from the ceiling there, too, covering the door.

“Um, Derek, I’ve got a situation here. I think Big Brother just locked me in the apartment building room I was using as cover.”

Liam laughed. “I guess they don’t have all the bugs worked out.”

“Roger that, Ashton.” Derek responded. “The control room should be able to hear this conversation and let you out soon.”

“But until that time,” Roman piped up, “please use your isolation to reflect on how you plan to move yourself out of the friend zone with the lovely Ms. Worrall.”

Ashton rolled his eyes and gave a mock laugh. “You know what? You guys can kiss my—”

His words froze up as every sensor on his clothing and gear began to jolt him repeatedly. Ashton dropped to the ground, his muscles seizing up from pain, as almost every inch of his body was bombarded by a near constant flow of electric shock.