"Can someone explain what's going on? Why are we surrounded by the police?" Alex whispered after Jack let the blinds fall back into place. She had been peeking over his shoulder, anxious.
"They're crooked cops. Here to silence him before he can testify," Jack answered bluntly, jerking his chin toward Bishop.
"Goddamn you, you damn n—this is all your fault, dragging us into this mess!" Jasper, the old officer, was spitting expletives non-stop.
Bishop only sneered. "Those guys out there? They're your colleagues, old man."
"Don't lump me in with those bastards. If I were in charge, I'd already have kicked your ass right out the front door," Jasper shot back without missing a beat.
"Save your breath, all of you. Don't waste time bickering—those guys outside? They're dead serious. Every one of us is now a target."
Captain Ronick, true to form, began pacing again. It seemed anxiety always made him walk in circles—he'd already done four or five loops.
"I don't get it. Why are we targets?" Alice asked, still trying to piece things together.
"Because now we know too much," John said as he handed her the serial-number-scratched Glock 17. "You know how to shoot, right?"
"I practiced at the range for a while." Alice took the gun, removed the mag, checked the chamber, and reassembled it. Her movements were a little clumsy but passable.
Jack then handed the FN57 to Alex. "You didn't just learn field first aid on deployment, did you?"
The FN57, with its manageable recoil and armor-piercing capabilities, was ideal even for a woman's grip.
Alex mimicked Alice's check-and-clear, except with more confidence. She clearly recognized the military-grade SS190 rounds and raised an eyebrow. "This part of your personal collection?"
"Something like that. I packed it because I was traveling with that guy," Jack gestured at John, "but apparently it wasn't enough. Fair warning—those rounds won't punch through plates. Aim for the head or below the belt."
Jack's jab earned him a mock scowl from John, who shook his fist in protest.
"Okay, here's what we're gonna do," said Ronick, perhaps buoyed by the others' composed demeanor. He finally stopped pacing, a plan forming.
"I'll assign everyone a key position. We'll hold this place. We just need to make it till morning."
"Morning means help's coming?" Alex asked, a spark of hope in her eyes.
"No. But the snowstorm will pass. And even if most of this factory district is abandoned, someone's bound to show up for work. They'll have to retreat then."
Ronick looked to Jasper for affirmation, but the old officer was too busy glaring daggers at Bishop to notice.
John chimed in, "You're the commanding officer. We follow your lead."
Jack gave a subtle nod in agreement. Honestly, he hadn't thought much of Ronick at first. The guy seemed like a burnt-out husk of a cop, waiting for a desk job.
Jack didn't need Alex's psych eval to guess what it said: the failed undercover op had wrecked Ronick—physically, emotionally, professionally. He might have been cleared by Internal Affairs, but the mission still cost him two partners.
He'd been the one to give the order to split up. His partners had followed it without hesitation—and died for it. Ronick had probably replayed that moment a thousand times in his head, asking if one different call could've saved them.
The weight of that guilt had crushed his confidence. Even now, though he no longer limped, he couldn't let go of his dependence on painkillers.
But none of that mattered now. Ronick had earned a sliver of Jack's trust the moment he ran out the back door under fire.
It wasn't much—but it was enough.
Originally, Jack had planned to go full Rambo through the storm. He'd assumed the attackers were just gangbangers coming to break Bishop out—easy targets, especially under snow cover.
But when he realized they were cops—trained Anti-Gang officers—that changed everything.
Jack wasn't afraid of losing a firefight. He was afraid of what might happen behind him while he was gone: John getting held hostage, the others slaughtered. Not worth the risk.
If Ronick wanted to hold the line, then so be it. Jack would play along—for now.
After all, the 13th Precinct was built during America's industrial golden age. That meant real concrete beams, reinforced walls, and decades-old bricks thick enough to laugh at small arms fire.
Every window had thick iron bars. This place was built to withstand a siege.
With everyone on board, Ronick finally stepped up. He grabbed a sheet of paper and drew a big capital "L" rotated counterclockwise—roughly the shape of the precinct.
The long bottom of the "L" faced south—the front entrance and lobby. Behind that was the office space.
At the inner corner, a creaky wooden stairwell led to the second floor. A short hallway branched off to the holding cells and some private offices.
Past the holding area, the top of the "L" was a supply room—where Jack and Ronick had found the back door earlier.
"Snipers are likely covering the front from southeast and southwest rooftops. Once the front's sealed, everyone stays clear of those windows. We'll clear out furniture and use the space to maneuver.
Jasper, Alice—you cover the lobby. Alex, take Officer Jeffery to an inner office and keep him hidden. The holding cells—John, Agent Tavoller, that's your post. They'll definitely try to breach there.
I'll cover the back door. Everyone clear?"
Ronick had distributed the risk evenly—except he'd given himself the worst job. Jack had a different idea.
"Forget the back door. They'll head for the cells anyway. I'll handle that alone. Send John to help at the front. You stay in the hallway and cover the stairs—be ready to move."
"You sure?" Ronick looked skeptical. Jack had shown himself to be the best shooter here, but this was starting to sound like madness.
The others looked unsure, until John spoke up with unwavering conviction.
"Listen, this guy once took someone's head off through a two-inch glass slit with a pistol. At forty yards. If he says he's good—he's good."
…
A beat of silence passed.
Then Bishop, who'd been quietly listening, finally spoke.
"Well, if you're that short on manpower, Captain, why not give me a gun too? Looks like we're all on the same side now."
______
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