No Solution - Chapter 1
Summary: In what will become a hostage-taking with no acceptable solution, some may wonder if Jules will always be the one to pay the price for another's actions.Pairings: None, but Sam/Jules if you squint and read between the lines.
Rating: PG-13 for violence and minor bad language.
Spoilers: Nothing significant if you've seen everything up to Remote Control.
No Solution
THURSDAY
It was a warm Thursday afternoon. The day had thus far been spent "keeping the peace", as Team One Sergeant and head negotiator, Gregory Parker, would say, without any major incidents.
At the sudden sound of the emergency siren blaring, the seven-member team sprang into action.
Dispatcher, Winnie Camden, calmly and clearly announced the call, but felt the flush of excitement nevertheless. Even though she would remain at headquarters, providing information to Greg as it was needed, she was an integral part of the Strategic Response Unit's operations.
"Team One! Hot Call!" Her voice resounded in tandem with the vreep-vreep shriek of the klaxon. "Reports of a suspicious package, possibly a bomb, planted on a streetcar stopped at Spadina and Queen."
Ed Lane, head sniper and team leader, approached Winnie's desk. "Who called it in?" he asked.
"Call came from an operator with the TTC," she replied. "Says a passenger on the 510 line boarded at Dundas, carrying a backpack. Disembarked at Queen without the pack, but dropped a note. When the operator read it, it said: 'Bomb'."
"Real creative," Ed observed sourly. "Just one word, and you've got instant panic."
Remaining team members, Greg, Jules Callaghan, Kevin 'Wordy' Wordsworth, Lewis 'Lou' Young, Mike 'Spike' Scarlatti and Sam Braddock, had assembled to hear the preliminary information.
"We get a description of the guy?" Greg asked.
"The operator described a young Hispanic male about twenty," Winnie answered. "White T-shirt, black bandana, shades, dark jeans... that's all we got."
"Not much to go on," Wordy said with a frown, as they moved to deploy.
The seven got rolling towards their destination, keeping in contact with Winnie along the way as the situation developed.
Already they knew first responders to the scene of the possible incendiary package had the area cordoned off, passengers of the streetcar evacuated, as well staff and patrons of nearby shops and businesses. The traffic commission had halted the 510 line, and was implementing their own contingency plan to accommodate their inconvenienced riders.
Upon arrival, Greg hopped out of the team tactical truck and approached a pair of uniformed officers who had been first on the scene. He identified himself, and asked to speak with the streetcar operator. They pointed out a man wearing a transit uniform who was standing behind a barrier.
"Name's Alvin Snyder," one of the officers said. "He's really spooked, but he's been helpful. Did everything right by getting his passengers off quickly and calling in the threat."
"Thanks," Greg said, and hurried over to Alvin, who looked to be in his late forties with a balding head of red hair, and a very freckled face.
Ed, Sam, Wordy and Jules exited their Chevy Suburban trucks and stood by, awaiting instructions from Greg. Spike and Lou remained inside the tactical truck, which also doubled as a mobile command post, monitoring any further chatter or possible reports of their on the lam suspect.
"Mr. Snyder, I'm Sergeant Greg Parker; I'm with the Strategic Response Unit. I hear you did a really good job earlier keeping your passengers safe."
Alvin nodded. He seemed to be coming to terms with the potential severity of the situation. "Yeah, I just did what I thought was right. It's all just so surreal, you know? At first I thought it was some kind of joke when I read the note, but then I saw that the guy had left the backpack on the seat..."
"Where, exactly, did this guy leave it?" Greg asked.
Alvin swallowed nervously. "About the fourth seat back. Right side."
"Did anyone else touch it or look inside it?"
The streetcar operator shook his head. "No way. I just told everybody in the car that we were stopping due to an emergency, and to exit immediately. I sure wasn't gonna touch it. I didn't want to risk getting myself blown up."
"Thank you, Mr. Snyder. I just want to confirm the description we got of this guy: Hispanic male, approximately twenty years old, dark sunglasses, white tee, dark jeans, and a black bandana on his head?"
"Yeah, that's right," Alvin answered.
"Anything else you remember about him? Any logos or tattoos? Scars, that kind of thing?"
"Well, he might've had some tattoos on his arms and stuff, but I can't be positive. I wasn't really paying attention to him. It was really the note that got my attention."
"Thanks for all your information," Greg said. "Please remain behind the barrier. If you can remember anything else about that passenger, please let one of us know immediately. Okay?"
"Okay," Alvin replied.
Greg returned to his waiting team.
"So what's the plan?" Ed asked.
"Well, the operator says the backpack is sitting on the fourth seat on the right hand side, but no one knows for sure if it's a bomb yet."
"Aw, Spike's going to be so choked that 'Babycakes' can't board the streetcar to confirm," Jules joked, eliciting a few chuckles from Sam and Wordy. She was referring to Spike's pet name for the anti-explosives robot he doted on.
"I heard that," Spike shot back from his spot inside the truck.
"That's because I wanted you to hear it," Jules replied.
Greg turned to Ed. "So what do you think? This case remind you of anything?"
"You mean like when we were dealing with Danny Rangford's ruse with the suitcase last year?" Ed replied.
"Yeah. Suspicious package left behind, targeting a transportation hub...only this time it's definitely not a retired SRU Sergeant that's responsible."
"Right," Ed concurred. "This sort of M.O. speaks to an individual who's organized and mentally competent, but emotionally detached."
"Why leave a note?" Sam asked.
"Maybe this guy wants publicity," Wordy suggested.
"Could he be watching?" Jules asked, indicating the crowds of people that were gathering down the block, choking pedestrian traffic on the sidewalks. They even spotted a couple news cameras.
"Okay, we really need to get those people further back," Greg said, echoing everyone's thoughts for the safety of the on-lookers. Keeping them far clear of the heavy plastic barriers that had been set up was one of his main concerns. He sent Jules and Sam off to force the people to retreat.
"Boss, I've been thinking," Spike's voice carried over their headsets.
"Go ahead," Greg said.
"If we could find out how wide those streetcar doors are, we might be able to get Babycakes up on a makeshift ramp, and in to get a look at that backpack. If people can get baby carriages up on those things, it might be a tight fit, but I think I can get Babycakes up and in there, too."
"Sounds good, Spike," Greg said. "But first, I want eyes in. I want to be able to see this thing before we start poking around."
"Sure thing, Boss," Spike replied, and immediately moved for the hand-held, fibre-optic unit with the flexible camera scope.
Sam and Jules returned from assisting with the crowd control just as Spike was stepping out of the back of the truck.
"It never ceases to amaze me how nuts people get when something like this happens," Jules said with a shake of her head. "Everyone out there with their cell phones and camera phones... in ten minutes this whole thing will be all over YouTube."
A moment later, a flash of light accompanied by a loud pop brought cries of surprise from the very crowd Jules had just been critical of.
The interior of the streetcar was filling with smoke. The explosive device had detonated.
"Whoa," Spike said under his breath. "I guess we're not going to need eyes in or Babycakes after all."
At the conclusion of the debriefing of the incident, Greg and Ed remained seated at the conference table.
"Something's bothering you," Ed said quietly to his friend.
Greg pouted. He ran a nervous hand over the back of his head. "Yeah... It was too easy. The whole thing was too easy. Why go through all the trouble of leaving an explosive device on a streetcar if it's just going to be a dud?"
"Think this was some kind of test or dry-run by terrorists to see what kind of response it would get?" Ed asked.
Greg shook his head. "There's been no up-tick in terrorist chatter in recent weeks. And it doesn't fit the profile. Hispanic male? Note-dropping?"
"So what, then?"
Greg sighed. "I don't know. But I don't like having my chain yanked."
"Then let's hope we find this guy before he graduates to more highly-explosive ingredients," Ed commented, and stood up to leave.
Greg remained seated for long minutes after Ed departed, wondering what to do about the worry gnawing at his insides.
4 DAYS AGO
Reynaldo Villalobos stared at the face opposite him through the plexi-glass partition. It was not an unpleasant face; one that might even be considered pretty, if not for the coldness of the eyes, and the hard line of the mouth, seemingly set in a permanent frown. He picked up the receiver on his side, and waited for his visitor to do the same before he started talking.
In Spanish, they rapidly shared information, being careful not to reveal anything that would be construed as dangerous or threatening by those who would surely be monitoring the exchange.
A plan was secretly hatched and set in motion.
Reynaldo watched the retreating figure of his visitor. He'd met many scary people in his line of business, but she was by far the most frightening, and he'd do anything to remain in her good graces.
As he was escorted back to his drab cell, Reynaldo took comfort in the knowledge that bail money would soon be on the way, and with it, his freedom, if only temporary.
The pricey lawyer their organization kept on retainer and the bleeding-heart judge that presided over his hearing ensured that bail wouldn't be revoked for him, given his limited role in a daring abduction scheme the previous month.
Reynaldo smirked. Too late to change your minds now, he thought, and too late for that bitch cop that killed El Jefe...
FRIDAY
Jules Callaghan rose early on Friday and did a few stretches in front of her bedroom mirror. She ignored the twinge of pain that greeted her when rotating her shoulder. She knew she should be grateful she was even alive after a sniper's bullet had torn through her Kevlar vest and nearly killed her several months ago.
After weeks spent in a hospital and endless hours of physiotherapy, Jules had recently reclaimed her position on Team One.
She was proud that her body had responded to the rigorous regimen she'd planned with her therapists, and that she was once again in peak condition. This morning was going to be just another step towards maintaining that level of fitness.
While the team members were expected to put in mandatory work-out time in the facilities housed at SRU headquarters, Jules still enjoyed a good outdoor run, especially after being cooped up in a stuffy hospital room for so long.
Jules donned a jogging outfit and tied her running shoes. She slipped her mp3 player into one of the pockets and inserted the ear buds. She locked her door behind her and set off for her run. Most of the neighbourhood was still asleep at this hour, and she was happy for the solitude.
Her feet followed a path towards a park that was frequented by other joggers and dog-walkers. This morning, she hadn't yet crossed paths with anyone. Thirty minutes into her run, Jules reversed her course, intending only to run for an hour this time out. Her breath came in steady, strong intervals, and her heart pounded in her chest.
Up ahead of her, Jules noticed four men, all dressed in dark clothing that didn't look like exercise apparel. They were heading in her direction, but didn't appear to be in any great hurry.
Wonder what they're up to, Jules thought.
As she got closer, she could make out that they all seemed to be in their late twenties to early thirties, Hispanic, and tough-looking.
Her cop instincts started buzzing. Something's not quite right about those guys, she mused. She tried to ignore her growing discomfort as each step brought her closer and closer to them. Jules could see that they had noticed her, and were actually keenly observing her.
She was near enough now to hear their rude cat-calls, even through the music playing through her earphones.
Just a bunch of juvenile pigs, she thought with disgust.
"Hey, chica!" one hollered.
"Chica, chica, chica!" They chanted.
Jules felt her cheeks flushing with embarrassment. She didn't realise she'd been holding her breath until she'd finally run past them, and expelled a lungful of air in relief.
But the relief was short-lived. Jules yanked her headphones out of her ears to confirm that she was hearing several footfalls behind her in hot pursuit.
The four men were bearing down on her, faces stretched with wide, cruel grins.
Jules poured on the power, hoping to outrace them, maybe get back to the main street and alert a passer-by, or get to a neighbour's house.
She'd been trained in close-quarter, hand-to-hand combat, but she wasn't in the mood to take on four targets at once.
"Why run, chica? You will not escape us," one of the four threw this taunt.
Jules dared not waste precious seconds turning to see how much distance she'd put between her and her pursuers, but she sensed they were very close.
She heard a yell, and felt a body slam solidly into hers. She tumbled to the ground, a mass of limbs tangling as they rolled on the grass and soil. Jules struck out blindly; felt her fist connect with flesh and cartilage. A cry of pain from her attacker instantly followed.
Rough hands grabbed at her, forcing her to her feet. A meaty arm locked under her chin, choking off her air supply. She jabbed her elbow behind her and found the ribs of the man restraining her. A loud curse was uttered, and the pressure on her throat abated. Jules drew in a quick breath, tried to take stock of her situation, and assumed a judo stance.
One of the four was doubled over, hands covering a bloody face. He was being tended to by a second man.
"She broke my nose, man!" he howled.
A third man was timidly circling, trying to best determine another way to attack.
The sound of a gun being cocked behind her made Jules freeze. Goon number four may have sore ribs, but now that he was holding a gun, Jules knew the whole situation had changed for the worse.
"Stupid cop," he spat, nudging the back of her neck with the barrel of the pistol.
Oh, my God, Jules thought in a panic. How do they know I'm a police officer? The coldness of the weapon against her exposed skin made her want to scream.
"You are going to come with us," the armed attacker whispered harshly. "You will not scream, and you will not struggle. You do, and your policia friends will never find your body. Comprende?"
Jules nodded, but wondered to herself: What do these guys want with me?
It was her last thought before she felt a sharp pain in the back of her head, and then everything went dark.
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