Sign of the Maker (Boston Crime Thriller Book 4) by Brian Shea (ebook reader android .txt) 📕

moment. Lots of conjecture had been thrown at the wall. It was possible Smith overheard Collins talking. Maybe Collins even talked about bombmaking to him? The connection was tenuous at best, but until Kelly had Smith in the interview box, everything was just a theory.

SWAT, with help from patrol, had already cleared a one-block radius around the watchmaker's home. Moving a bunch of people out of the densely packed neighborhood was easier said than done. Equally challenging was keeping the foot and vehicular traffic from entering the area. A plainclothes unit had been watching the residence since the bomber's identity became known. They'd radioed in and broadcast that he entered thirty minutes ago and had yet to leave.

Boston PD SWAT was now supplemented with a contingent of the FBI's Hostage Rescue Team. Neighboring rooftops were lined with snipers covering every accessible angle. They provided a protective overwatch for the units forming on the ground while also serving as additional eyes. Hulking tactical vehicles lined all four corners of the building. The command post was set up just outside the one-block area. Kelly and his team, positioned outside of it, looked on while they waited for tactical to handle the apprehension. Barnes stood close enough for him to feel the tension emanating from her body. And he knew she could feel his.

They had made several attempts to call the watch store, but there was no answer. They had one phone number for the address. The last known record for a cell phone number under Smith's name had come from three years ago when he was arrested. They called it and found it to be no longer in service. Members of SWAT had deployed a throw phone. Under cover of the sniper team, they managed to successfully throw it through the front of the watchmaker's first-floor storefront. That was twenty minutes ago, and he hadn't picked up yet.

The phone's receiver also worked like a high-tech baby monitor, feeding the tactical team information through the audio and video components built into the device. There was little in the way of noise and still no visual of their suspect.

"You sure he's still in there?" Langston huffed.

"We haven't seen him leave yet, and they did see him go in." Halstead was steady, his even-keeled approach sustained even under the most acute of stressors.

"They're positive?" Kelly hated questioning things already explained, but in light of the bomber's ability to misdirect, he worried they were missing something. And if that was the case, it could prove catastrophic for the assembly of law enforcement currently surrounding Smith's home.

"They said it was him and I've got to trust them on this."

"I'd hate for this guy to get a drop on us again."

"We got the best of the best here right now. BPD SWAT has handled plenty and HRT is as good as they come." Halstead fanned his hand in the direction of the operators staggered at various positions around the brownstone.

Smith's better, Kelly thought, but didn't say the words aloud. Kelly had been with SWAT on the tactical side, as an operator, and then as a negotiator. He knew they were good, some of the finest cops he'd ever served with. And he was terrified he was missing something that was putting their lives in peril. He owed it to them to run every possibility. He'd already come up short five times. He didn't want to add a sixth. These thoughts plagued Kelly’s mind as he looked out over all of the blue lives exposed to the potential threat.

They began using the Bearcat's PA system to broadcast their communication announcements. "John Smith, this is Boston PD SWAT. We're here in force. There are hundreds of highly trained police officers and federal agents currently surrounding your residence. There's no way out. You are completely and totally surrounded. The only way to bring this to a peaceful resolution is for you to walk outside now. We need you to come out the front door weapon free with your hands visible. Have nothing in your hands when you exit. Come to the front door of the shop and wait for further instructions."

They'd been saying this or something similar since the throw phone had proven useless. Now came the waiting game. Kelly had waited hours and sometimes days on standoffs. And by the looks of this one, it would be the same. There would be no breaking down the perimeter and allowing the bomber to roam free. They were locked on this location until they had their person.

Kelly's head was pounding. He grabbed four ibuprofen and swallowed them down with some lukewarm water that he found in the cupholder of his Caprice.

"Movement. We have movement," one of the tactical operators announced over the radio.

"Standby."

"Sniper One, I have the front."

"Sniper One, call it as you see it."

"Target confirmed. Moving toward the door. Can't see hands. Repeat, no eyes on the hands."

Kelly could taste the bile rise into his mouth.

"Ten feet from the door. You'll be seeing him soon. Tan trench coat. No sign of weapon. Hands in pockets. Call the shot."

"Hold on the shot." Tactical Commander Captain Lyons's voice filled the radio.

"Looking for the green light," the sniper pushed.

"Standby. You do not have a green light. Apprehension team, move up!"

Kelly looked on as a group of operators piled out of the back of the Bearcat parked on the southwest corner of the building. The seven-man team wearing heavy Kevlar body armor stacked up on the driver's side of the boxy assault vehicle and awaited the next command.

Smith shuffled into view. Kelly saw him as he neared the broken glass of the storefront. He wanted nothing more than to run through the police tape and rip him limb from limb. A savage hatred filled Kelly as he thought of the devastation he'd witnessed firsthand. He thought of the aftermath of the attacks and the people who would be recovering for the rest of their lives because of what this man had done.

He breathed deeply and