Containment

San Diego Police Department negotiator lieutenant Jason Thomas leaned back in his grey ergonomic chair in the Sunshine Realty office across the street from the bank. Although still being debriefed, preliminary information from the woman and child released by the men in the bank was not good. Three heavily armed assailants, a fourth injured or dead. Military grade weapons, body armor, and a demonstrated willingness to tangle.

“What do you think?” asked Superintendent Frank Williams, the officer in operational command of the scene. Almost fifty, Frank’s hair, including his thick moustache had completely surrendered to grey in the last few months. Lines permanently etched into his face as he squinted down at Jason.

“Our boy in there is as cool as a cucumber, he’s not going to make this easy,” Jason said, nodding slowly before pushing the thin gold rimmed glasses back up onto the bridge of his nose.

Frank frowned and shook his head. “We didn’t find anything of potential danger in the van, planted an electronic disabler under the hood and a magnetic GPS locator under the driver’s front wheel well.”

“Okay,” he replied.

“Pulled a set of prints of the dead perp in the van, we sent them off nothing yet,” Frank advised.

“This guy is planning something, I can feel it in my gut,” Jason said, sucking air through his teeth. “Kid says our head guy in there has been shot,” he informed.

“Bad?”

“Kid’s description sound like a side shot, between the plates in the armor,” Jason supplied.

Frank shook his head, “Ugly way to go,” he conceded.

“Kid also says the leader is the one holding everything together, he dies we might have a massacre on our hands,” he informed.

Lieutenant Cole Markham, SWAT commander, walked in, black hat turned backwards on his head.

“Cole,” said Frank, Cole nodded in return.

“Cole,” said Jason.

“What’s the sit-rep?” Cole asked, hands on hips.

Frank provided an overview of the current situation, using the banks floor plans to point out where all of the gunmen and hostages were located according to information provided by the mother and son.

“Coordinated intrusion, two teams supported by snipers, one in the front, one in back, bang, bang, dead bad guys, everybody is home for dinner,” Cole said directly.

“What kind of collateral damage we looking at?” asked Frank, eyes narrow and cold.

“Twenty percent, tops,” answered the black attired commander.

“There’s still twenty people in there, twenty percentage means four dead,” protested Jason.

“Tops,” added Cole, nodding.

“These guys are packing military gear, body armor, the whole shebang,” Jason replied.

Cole frowned.

“What about Jackson, the patrolman that took one in the face?” Frank asked.

Jason shook his head and pursed his lips, the policeman died in the ambulance on his way to the hospital. “Our guy in there, I’ve been calling him Clint, asked, I told him we’re golden out here. They get a whiff we got a dead cop out here, they suddenly get a whole lot more desperate to avoid the needle,” Jason replied.

“Smart,” Frank said nodding and clapping Jason on the shoulder.

“Why the van?” Cole asked, looking at the monitor and pointing.

Jason pursed his lips, and shook his head, “We swept it, I don’t know. Would’ve been smarter to take the armored car.”

“Slower,” commented Cole.

“But armored. They wanted that van for some reason,” he said. “Curious.”

“Stupid criminals,” Cole snickered. “Let them take the van and a couple of hostages, take them out. Twenty percent becomes ten percent, better yet.”

“There are news helicopters flying overhead and dozens of cameras out there scrutinizing every single move they make and we make. So far, this guy has given up hostages and there’s been no further exchange of gunfire, we need to be very careful how we move forward,” suggested Jason, nodding toward Frank.

A uniformed officer approached, Stevens the name on the tag, “We just got a hit on the prints from the dead guy in the van, name’s Tanner, Jeffrey, an ex-con recently released after three years in Folsom, got a record twice the length of my arm. Paroled three months ago, jumped parole three weeks ago,” he informed.

“What did I tell you, bunch of mentally challenged ex-cons looking for a score,” Cole stated, smug. “You assholes should’ve stayed with liquor stores and gas stations, idiots,” he barked in the direction of the bank.

Frank nodded. “Get me someone in records at Folsom, I want to know if any of this guy’s friends got out in the months before or after. I want to bloody know who the hell we’re dealing with in there. The kid said one of the guys in there mentioned a Pat, so see if there’s anyone named Pat or Patrick on their role.”

“Yes sir,” replied the cop, nodding before departing.

Jason drummed his fingers over the desktop, waiting. Unlike Cole, Jason had the opposite feel, he didn’t think these guys were stupid at all. The only reason the cops were even here was blind luck. Random patrol car spotted the van, called it in, plates belonged to an entirely different vehicle, two other cruisers in the vicinity. Otherwise these guys were ghosts long before the cops arrived. As it was, they caught the robbers by surprise and they went back into the bank as police reinforcements started to arrive.

Waiting was part of the job. Picking up the phone, he pressed the receiver shaped icon.

“What is it?” ‘Clint’ answered.

“Just thinking of ordering up some pizza for the troops out here, you probably got a lot of hungry mouths to feed in there, what do you say?” he suggested.

“We’re good in here,” replied the voice on the phone.

“No tricks Clint, I promise,” he said with a slight chuckle.

“No food.”

“I know you said everybody was okay in there, but my super wants to know if you wouldn’t mind me coming in and having a look for myself,” Jason said. “I’ll be unarmed.”

“No, you got all the intel you need out there already, ask the kid or his mother, they’ll tell you everything and everyone is fine,” said ‘Clint’, then he disconnected the call.

Minutes ticked by, agonizingly slow, morning shifted into afternoon.

Stevens returned. “I got something out of Folsom, a Patrick Swayne, known associate of Jeff Tanner’s and another recently released inmate named George Mendel.”

Jason nodded, a smile on his face, the pieces were coming together. Tim had mentioned one of the gunmen had said, “Pat’s gone.”

“Run all known associates on those three guys and get me a cross referenced list ASAP,” Frank said. Steven nodded and vanished.

Within an hour, they had a list of eighteen possible candidates, and an army of uniforms out to try and locate persons on that list in an attempt to narrow down possible suspects.

“I think the sumbitches are waiting for night, darkness to cover them,” Cole said.

Frank shook his head, “We got enough spots to light up a Hollywood premiere out there, there is no hiding in the darkness,” he said.

Cole nodded. Afternoon slid into early evening and still no list of demands or further contact from the men in the bank.