Girl Under Fire (A Sam Hemming FBI Thriller Prequel)

way, I turn super focused as I swing around.
Harold didn't wait for me to get going. He had moved ahead and planted himself at the communications station while I rushed out the door and took the express elevator down to the basement, where the rest of the team sat waiting. I hopped into the SWAT team's field command vehicle and took my place up front, like Mac, one of the best tactical drivers in the business, gives me the nod.
"Strike Force Bravo is ready to move," Mac said, waiting for me to take control of the operation. The chain of command was strict. Mac only took his orders from me from that point onward. I took my orders directly from Harold. No one else was allowed to breach the chain of command.
"I have control," I reply.
In my earpiece, I could hear Harold asking for a com check.
"Yeah, I got you, five my five," I answered, then looked toward Matt. "Let's go," I replied, giving him the final green light he needed to get underway.
Keeping my head in the game was what would keep me alive until the night wound to its way to its logical conclusion. This was not the time for half-measures or inflated egos. I knew that. But Harold's question stuck in my craw like a splinter with an ax to grind. I still couldn't get why he seemed to be looking for an excuse to scrub the bust.
But the second the lead Swat truck burst out of the basement and hit the asphalt behind the two snowplows, I put my head where it was supposed to be. We were flying blind on this one, and it wasn't just because of the snow. Nyke's rendezvous and where the bust would eventually go down were not known until the very last minute. Nyke was careful that way. He never set up meetings until just before the time it was due to happen.
34th Street was dead silent except for the rumble of our convoy. I thanked the heavens for the two snowplows that cleared the road ahead. If it wasn't for them leading the convoy, I am not sure we would have been able to make it to the rendezvous point.
I intended to use the back streets to get to where we were going, but Mac felt that using Park Avenue would be better strategically. Better planning would not have left this up to us to determine on the fly. But because we didn't know the rendezvous point, it became another hurdle to overcome.
I could see his point, but I was looking at it tactically. Back streets were quiet, and we needed all the quiet we could get since no one was on Park during the blizzard conditions; I was sure the lookouts that would undoubtedly be parked on the intersections near Bleecker would see us coming from a mile away.
"What's your concern about Park Avenue?" Harold asked over the radio.
"Nyke is going to have lookouts as far north as Union Square. They are going to see us coming from a mile away. We need to deploy jamming equipment." I told him. My answer to his question was implicitly answered
Mac nodded in agreement.
"No doubt," Harold answered. "I'll take care of it."
"How, boss? What do you have in mind?" I asked, hoping that he was reading my mind. The lookouts would be drones that would position themselves over the intersection and look down all approaching paths. At the slightest indication of trouble, the targets would be in the wind.
"I've deployed a five gigahertz jamming device," Harold answered, the sound of ice in his voice coming across clearly.
"Brilliant," I replied. It was exactly what I was thinking. Our communications channels were beyond civilian bands, and they were impervious to the jamming devices unless someone had the cryptographic code.
"Okay, the drones are in position, and you were right. Eight drones were hovering at three hundred feet, and they were only transmitting video on the five-gigahertz wavelength. I let them fly but cut off their eyes."
"Good thinking," I said as I figured he was definitely not on the ball tonight. He should have thought of it long ago. That bird should have been up above them while we were still in the basement. It would have only taken the drone.  Cutting off their eyes alone was sufficient. Mac had just established himself on Park, and it was far enough down-range that they would not have picked up the convoy. Besides, our lights were all off. We were running night vision.
The drive from 34th and Park down to Union Square felt like ages. I've been here before; when my juices are pumping, and I can feel the heightened pressure in my head, time seems to slow down. Everything leaves me with plenty of room to react. To make sure my brain can process all that, I have so much blood pumping to supply it with oxygen that it feels like I am about to stroke out. But I seem to be okay. The only thing I have to do is to remind myself to keep breathing so that there is enough oxygen for the blood to carry.
"How's it looking on-site?" I ask. Harold now has a clear view of the vicinity where the meeting is going down.
"Two cars just arrived," Harold replied.
I sit up in my seat. It's getting real, I think to myself. Until we have eyes on them, everything usually just feels like a part of a plan. Once there are visuals; however, it starts to feel real, and the adrenaline gets amped up.
"Is it Nyke?" I ask
"No," Harold answers, his voice now showing a little excitement. It's getting real for him too. "It's someone I don't recognize," he says.
"Let me see. Patch me into the feed," I insist, and I can hear him repeat my request