• Choose a category
• All
• Classic-Fiction

A couple of members of the federal and the Iowa TAC teams crawled up on the place out of the corn and did a thorough recon. It was dark by then, and Wittman had lights on in the house. The other TAC team members were waiting in sweltering vans about half a mile away, pulled back in a field entrance among towering cornstalks. The recon team would say ‘‘when.’’

Volont, Hester, George, Deputy Roberts, and I were in Volont’s minivan, which was equipped with enough radio equipment to run a small White House. We were further up the road than the full-sized TAC vans, and had our engine running. That meant we had our air conditioning on. We were probably the only comfortable people in the unit. We sat there, just able to hear an occasional cricket, and watching the fireflies in the corn. It was beautiful.

Strategically placed in the surrounding area were some twelve patrol cars, each with two officers. Their job, basically, was to seal off the roads just a minute or two before the TAC teams hit the residence.

Coming up in a hurry was the ex-Army OH-58 from the Cedar Rapids Police Department, with its FLIR equipment. Its job was to watch the area of Wittman’s farm with the FLIR and track anybody who might leave before they were supposed to.

We waited for the recon team’s report.

‘‘God,’’ I said, after a minute, ‘‘I just love resources.’’

‘‘This is mainly to ensure that nobody gets hurt,’’ said Volont.

Sure. But, if we’d been able to afford a band . . .

The recon team leader, Tac One, called in. I looked at my watch, out of habit. 2218.

‘‘TAC One has four vehicles in the yard, and what we count as eleven people in the house.’’

‘‘Fuck,’’ said Deputy Roberts.

‘‘Great,’’ said Volont, and meant it. He picked up his mike. ‘‘What does it look like they’re doing?’’

‘‘Looks like a 4-H club meeting,’’ whispered TAC One.

‘‘Adults?’’ asked Volont.

‘‘Mature,’’ came the whispered reply.

‘‘Check the surrounding area,’’ said Volont.

‘‘Done,’’ came the reply. ‘‘Clean.’’

‘‘Well done,’’ said Volont. He switched channels. There was absolutely no doubt as to who was in charge. ‘‘Sky One,’’ he called, addressing the CRPD chopper. Since it was on the federal payroll for the duration, they changed the call sign.

‘‘Go ahead,’’ boomed Sky One. Volont had turned the volume up to hear the whispers of TAC One. I think we all jumped.

‘‘ETA?’’

‘‘We’re orbiting about five miles out. We can be there in two minutes.’’

‘‘Come in and hold at a mile and a half,’’ said Volont. ‘‘TAC One?’’

‘‘TAC One,’’ came the whispered reply.

‘‘Break your packs, Sky One will be holding at a mile.’’

‘‘Roger that.’’

‘‘Break your packs’’ referred to little heat packs that were Velcroed to the shoulders of the officers in the corn and around the farm. Smacking them caused them to mix their chemicals and heat to about 150 degrees. That way, the FLIR could tell the good guys from the bad guys by the intense white spots on their shoulders.

‘‘TAC Six,’’ called Volont, addressing the federal TAC team leader.

‘‘Six.’’ Crisp, calm.

‘‘Sky One is holding at a mile or so. Are you go on the data from recon?’’

‘‘We’re go.’’

‘‘Right,’’ said Volont. ‘‘Do your thing.’’

‘‘Roger that.’’

‘‘Sky One has two vehicles in motion. Those your guys?’’

‘‘From the east, on the highway about now, two vans,’’ said Volont.

‘‘Ten-four.’’

‘‘They’re friendlies, Sky One,’’ said Volont.

We began to move.

Volont changed channels again. ‘‘All units, take your positions,’’ he said.

‘‘I got lots of vehicles movin’ down there,’’ said Sky One.

‘‘That’s us,’’ said Volont.

The federal team went in the house, with recon and the Iowa team securing the perimeter. We pulled in the yard about ten seconds after the federal team hit the residence. There were lights on all over the place, including the basement of the house, with flashlights shining beams inside the darker rooms. I could see the bright basement light shining out of the storm door that led to the basement from the outside.

‘‘One got out of the