Kyle's Return (34 page)

A call came in over the PA system, informing us about
an incident on Daltona Street in the commercial district. There was
an explosion in one of the old warehouses. Jack and I were trained
in chemical hazard and explosives, so it came as no surprise that
my team was ordered to arrive immediately. And that was all we knew
for now. The dispatcher had no other details available.

We raced to the lockers, pulled our turnout gear on,
and soon the firetruck, the tanker, and the paramedics’ rig drove
through the slowly waking streets of Portland. The firetruck’s
lights and blaring siren warranted us free pass through the sparse
4 a.m. traffic. Cars and busses pulled to the sides of the road,
letting us through.

Jack blasted the horn and swore angrily, stomping on
the brake pedal. A heavily bundled homeless woman started to cross
the street, an old shopping cart in front of her. The cart was
filled to the brim with all kinds of junk—probably containing all
her possessions. Jack swerved the truck to the side, swiftly
turning the steering wheel.

The woman stopped in the middle of the street as if
surprised at the approaching firetruck with its lights flashing and
horn screeching. She watched us, motionless, waiting for the
vehicle to pass.

“Come on, lady! Move back!” Jack roared, although she
wouldn’t be able to hear him anyway.

“Relax, bro. She’s probably deaf. Or doesn’t get it,”
I said. I was normally a laid-back type, while Jack’s temper flared
at the slightest reason.

In addition to being one of many cousins, he was also
my best buddy. The guy had a heart of gold, despite his apparent
anger problem. We both had served in the Marines, and then he had
followed my path to become a firefighter.

Jack spat through his window. He shot me a glance and
grinned. I snorted, shaking my head. The dispatcher updates chirped
through the radio.

“What the hell is that about? An explosion?” Jack
hollered over the siren.

“Must’ve been a gas leak.”

“Or some asshole dragged his barbecue inside again.
Like last month, remember? Shit for brains.”

“Hard to forget,” I said.

I watched the sidewalk to my right. A small group of
homeless people sat together, leaning against the building and
smoking cigarettes. Two blocks farther, another two slept on the
ground, wrapped in old, tattered sleeping bags.

“The cops are on their way too.” I nodded to my side
mirror.

Jack glanced in his own mirror. “There is also a
black unmarked car in the other lane, driving head-to-head with the
cop. Someone’s asking for trouble. Wait, they just put a beacon on
the roof. What the hell?”

By the time Jack finished his sentence, three black
sedans with tinted windows accelerated past us, their beacons
flashing red-and-blue.

“Cops?” he asked.

“I don’t think so. Looks more like one of the
agencies.”

Jack looked at me. “Wonder which one. This job ain’t
a barbecue accident.”

I frowned. “No, doesn’t look like it is.” I lifted
the microphone and pressed the button to speak to the dispatch.
“Give me more info on that explosion.”

She came on the line, “Not much left from the
structure. All leveled down. Looks like a crapload of explosives
were used.”

“Motherfucker.” Jack hit the steering wheel with the
heel of his hand. “Which gang was it this time?”

“We might find out soon.”

Jack shot me a glance.

“What?” I asked.

He smirked.

“Oh, that tells me a lot, bro.” I laughed. I knew
that look—he was about to give me shit about something.

“Where the fuck did you disappear last Friday? You
were supposed to meet me and Julio at Black Pelican.”

Black Pelican was one of our hangouts that I lately
decided to avoid. A certain feisty redhead bartender chick and I
had too much of a past. I wasn’t interested in making it a future.
But she was.

“I told you I might go if you two morons chose to get
shitfaced somewhere else and not at the Black Pelican.”

A small, red sedan swerved onto our lane. Jack turned
the siren on for a moment, and the car scooted away over two lanes
to the left.

“Rita wasn’t there last Friday. You should’ve seen
the new girl.” He suggestively wiggled his eyebrows. “Tits like
melons, man. And those eyes. I fucking get a hard on just thinking
of her.”

“Tell
her
that, not me, asshole.”

He burst into laughter and punched me on the arm.
Hard. The guy didn’t know his own strength. I tipped my chin toward
the scene ahead of us.

Plums of thick, dark-gray smoke puffed above the spot
where a small warehouse used to stand on the corner of Daltona and
Warren Streets. Red-and-yellow fire licked the scattered chunks of
concrete and fragments of broken timber strewn all over the area.
The buildings around were badly damaged as well.

Jack pulled Rescue 8 to the curb. I opened the door
and jumped out, my boots hitting the ground with a dull thud. I
quickly scanned the area, trying to locate the Incident Command. I
spotted Chief Holton talking with two dark suits. FBI?

The Chief was pointing to the screen of a small
laptop in his hand. Both dark suits nodded and exchanged a silent
glance.

“Ethan!” Chief Holton saw me approach but made no
introductions.

“Chief.” I nodded.

The dark suits wordlessly walked away.

“Feds?” I asked.

“Yep.” His bushy eyebrows pulled together, deepening
the permanent crease between them.

Chief’s eyes were puffy and red, the skin on his
jowls sagging more than normal. He was pushing sixty, and his
health was failing. Diane, one of my good friends, worked in the
clinic where Chief Holton had his annual physical done for the past
ten years. She didn’t think he should be working in such a
physically demanding job.

He turned the laptop screen toward me and indicated
the blueprints of the building. “Look right here.”

I leaned closer, but there wasn’t anything out of
ordinary at the spot he alluded to. “What am I looking at?”

“A panic room,” he said under his breath.

“In a
warehouse
?” I sounded incredulous even
to my own ears.

The Chief glanced around. Rescue 12 and 18 were
laying hoses. Jack and the rest of my crew were getting our
firetruck ladder extended and positioned by the adjacent building.
One of the Rescue 18 Battalions was taking care of setting their
ladder to the next-door building.

When the Chief looked back at me, our eyes met. His
stare was hard when he quietly said, “This isn’t… wasn’t a regular
warehouse.”

“I figured that much already.” I nodded toward the
feds.

He followed my stare. “Yeah. I don’t know a whole lot
about what’s going on here. They aren’t exactly the chatty type.
But they want us to get to that panic room right away.”

“There can’t be any easy access after the whole
structure has been blown to pieces. We need the drilling equipment
and the excavation unit to get here,” I said.

“Yeah. They’re here.” He pointed behind me. The
special units had just arrived. “That room isn’t on the blueprint
filed with the city.” He gestured to the computer screen. “But the
feds claim it’s there and insist that we find it quickly.”

“There is someone in there.” This wasn’t a question.
I didn’t have to ask. Four years of deployment in Afghanistan with
the Marines equipped me with the ability to put two and two
together fairly quickly. “Someone important enough that the feds
are swarming all over.”

“They’re hidden well, whoever
they
are.”

Two police cars, with their beacons flashing, pulled
into the site. The KOTS News Station van arrived right behind them.
The doors slid open, and Anne Fischer, the morning news reporter,
stepped out, pulling down on her tight mini-skirt. She had the best
legs ever, but that wasn’t all I liked about her body. Anne was one
of those lean but deliciously curvy women that looked amazing in
and out of clothes.

I exhaled and felt my brows bunch together. Anne and
I had a thing in the past. Nothing serious, just pure, adult fun.
Hell, I haven’t had anything serious with any woman since tenth
grade, which was purely by my own choice. Relationships were not
for me, despite my mom desperately trying to hook me up with her
girlfriends’ daughters.

Now Anne was here—at my workplace, so to speak. I
never mixed work with pleasure, so seeing her at the incident site
didn’t sit well with me. She was at her work too though, so I
couldn’t hold that against her. I just didn’t want her to notice
me.

I walked fast to my team to coordinate the operation.
They knew what to do without me babysitting them, but I was their
captain and my place was with them now. Besides, I wanted to avoid
Anne. Damn, I wanted to avoid too many chicks lately.

“Rescue 12 and 18 are about to start.” Jack pointed
to the groups of firefighters from the other two houses. They were
almost finished with laying their hoses.

The ladders were up, extended all the way to the
upper floors of the two neighboring buildings. We were to
extinguish any interior fires, right after Rescue 12 and 18 took
care of the exterior flames.

“Our hoses are ready?” I asked.

“Yeah, all is ready, Cap,” Jack said.

“Okay, we move in as soon as the interior fires are
snuffed.

By the time the flames on the outside were doused,
the drilling and excavation teams operation was already in full
swing. Chief Holton came up behind me right before I went with my
guys into the building on the left while Rescue 18 went into the
right structure.

“Ethan, Jack, come here, you two.”

I looked back at him in surprise. “Sir?”

Jack stood beside me. He was a big guy, even taller
and bulkier than me. At six-foot-two I towered over most of my
buddies and coworkers. In our heavy fireproof coats, pants, and
bunker boots, we looked like giants next to the short and plump
chief.

Chief Holton glanced back and to the sides, as if
making sure nobody can overhear us. “Jack, take the battalion lead.
The Captain stays here. I have a special mission for him.”

“Yes, sir.” Jack nodded and rushed into the building,
no questions asked.

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