Isle Avenue 3
Part Three.
Ailen General, John was quick to discover, hadn't actually been completely evacuated like he would have expected in a situation involving high explosives. He had found out the hard way when he busted through a frosted glass door into the ICU in search of a makeshift weapon only to find a terrified young nurse sitting beside the bedside of an elderly gentleman connected to a multitude of medical equipment.
“What are you doing here?” he demanded.
The young woman looked at her patient and that back at him. “We can't move him without having to shut off all the life support which will kill him. I volunteered to stay behind.”
That was remarkably brave of her, especially in a department this close to the A&E.
“My name's John Bradwell,” he said, approaching the bed. “I was one of the hostages and I managed to escape, is there anything in here I can use as a weapon so I can go back in and help the others?”
“Are you mad?” she asked. “They've got the Special Police snipers up on the roof, go up there and they can get you out.”
It was an incredibly tempting offer especially now that he knew his children were safely in the hands of the Ailen police department, but then he thought of the terrified group of people downstairs who had risked their own safety so that he could get away and bring help. He knew that he could save them, it wouldn't be to difficult to take down a single untrained madman if he could get his hands on the right tools.
“I'm a police officer,” he said. “I can help those people down there.”
She nodded her head at him and stood up.
“There isn't very much in here I'm afraid,” she said, removing a set of keys from around her neck and moving to some cupboards. “All the good stuff is over in the OR but that's in the other part of the building.”
“That's ok,” he said, following her to the cupboards. “What have you got?”
She was rifling through several boxes and laying things out on the bench top.
“There's needles, stitch cutters, scalpels.” She pointed to each packet in turn. “And surgical scissors.”
“Give me a couple of scalpels and some scissors,” he said, accepting them and shoving them in his pockets when she offered them to him.
“What are you going to do?” she asked, watching with concern in her eyes that he actually found quite touching.
Honestly he hadn't thought much past escaping the A&E, knowing that his kids were safe had given him a confidence boost that had brought him this far. Logically he knew that escaping the hospital and letting the police take over was the best bet for all concerned, but his heart just wasn't ready to leave the hostages which were left in the hands of a complete mad man.
“Probably something very stupid,” he answered.
**
The locker room which was used by the A&E staff was on the same level as the department but far enough away so that it was easy for Mike and Joe to enter it without being caught by Rick McNamara. Trying a few of the lockers Mike quickly learned that they were all locked.
“Bollocks,” he said, kicking out sharply at the nearest locker. “There goes Hilton's cunning fucking plan.”
“Hey hey hey,” answered Joe, leaning against a door covered in High School Musical stickers. “I've still got a trick up my sleeve.”
He didn't really seem the kind of man who thought to far ahead, he appeared to be the rogue, insubordinate kind that Jamie hated and who ran rings around Mike. There was something about his slouch and slow smirk which screamed confidence; eye candy who knew exactly how attractive he was. It was disgusting to watch.
“And what's that?” he demanded, folding his arms across his chest and narrowing his eyes at the other man.
“This.”
With two kicks to the locker beside him and a well aimed punch to the door, the High School Musical locker popped straight open with a loud creak.
“Brilliant.” Mike hurried forwards and grabbed the several items of clothing which were hung untidily on hangers inside. “I'm already wearing a suit so I'll just put the lab coat over the top. Here ...”
Holding out the bright blue scrubs to his colleague, Mike frowned when he snorted out a laugh and shook his head.
“I don't think so babe,” he said, nodding towards the open locker. “You don't know Jack Sampson.”
“Who cares who it belongs to, just wear it.”
This was definitely not the time nor place to be dragging out petty arguments with someone that wasn't even here.
“You don't understand,” Joe took the scrub top and held it up against himself. “Jack's about a foot shorter than me.”
“Well you can't go in wearing that,” said Mike, gesturing to the flight suit.
Joe glanced down at himself and frowned, fingers plucking restlessly at the hem of his outfit. “Why not?”
“Because, you git, its obvious you're not a doctor,” said Mike. “And how often do helicopter pilots just wander down in Accident and Emergency?”
“You'd be surprised,” answered Joe, with a slow shrug of his shoulders.
“Just put the scrubs on.”
With a deep sigh Joe snatched the scrubs out of his hand, hung them back up and quickly drew the zipper on his flight suit down. Discarding that item of clothing he pulled the gun from his waistband and started pushing his boxers down, they were nearly at his knees by the time Mike realised what was happening.
“What are you doing?” he demanded, running over and frantically pulling the underwear back up so that it was covering everything that was on display. “You can't just seduce your way in.”
“There ain't anyone in there is going to believe for a second that I'd wear boxers underneath scrubs,” answered Joe.
“Who's going to know you twat?” Grabbing the scrub top off the hanger Mike shoved it over the other man's head. “What is your boyfriend in there or something? This some kind of kink?”
Joe's head appeared from within the blue fabric. “You're very perceptive, must be why you're a detective.”
“You're sick,” said Mike, pulling on the lab coat over his suit. “This is a very serious situation.”
He watched as Joe finished pulling on the scrubs, tucking the gun back into his waistband, and frowned at the half inch of flesh which was revealed between the pants and top. The gun clearly visible.
“I don't think this is going to work,” muttered Joe.
“Yeah no shit,” Mike scratched his chin. “Where's the female change room?”
“Next door,” Joe looked confused. “Why?”
Without even bothering to explain himself to Joe, Mike ducked quickly through the door and then into the room directly next to it. The room was almost identical to the one he had just left, and fortunately it seemed like the girls were more trusting than the men because the first locker he tried was open. Inside there was a bright pink set of scrubs which looked they were close to if not bigger than Joe's size, with a name badge reading Sally on them. Mike pulled the name tag off and threw it into the locker, grabbed the scrubs and hurried back into the male change room.
“No way,” said Joe, the moment he caught sight of what Mike was carrying. “I will look like a complete douche.”
“Wonderful,” answered Mike, pushing them into his arms. “Put them on.”
**
The sound of slow moving footsteps outside of the ICU caught John's attention, just as he was about to attempt to begin his infiltration back into the A&E. Everybody within the hospital knew not to come down into the lower levels and without a doubt the police would be moving at a faster pace. Pushing open the door a fraction he looked out into the hallway to see a very unusual site. There were two men moving towards the A&E at a deliberately slow pace, clearly doing their own attempt at getting into the department.
One of them was quite short with messy light brown hair and a broad muscular build. The other was tall and slim, with perfectly styled black hair and olive skin. The unusual thing was they were both dressed as medical personnel when it was clear that neither of them were, one was probably police if the way his eyes were constantly darting around his surroundings and his right hand was twitching by his hip was anything to go by. While the other one, though he was dressed in hot pink scrubs which were to big for him, was without a doubt military.
Taking a deep breath he stepped into the hallway and cleared his throat, automatically ducking when they both spun around with guns in their hands pointed directly at him.
“Whoa,” he said, holding his hands up. “Calm down.”
The shorter one of the two lowered his weapon and stepped forwards with a grim expression on his face.
“Who the hell are you?” he demanded, quickly holstering his gun back underneath his coat. “Are you a complete idiot?”
“Colonel John Bradwell,” answered John, holding out his hand politely despite the harsh tone in the other man's voice.
“Oh just wonderful he's a complete nutter,” said the man, waving at his companion to lower his gun. “I'm Detective Mike Cotton … major crimes.”
So this was one of the detectives that he would be working with and honestly John didn't know what to think of him. He had a temper and probably no small amount of arrogance, though his hazel eyes were expressive enough to show that he was genuinely concerned about the people being held down the hall.
“Whose pinky?” he asked, nodding in the direction of the other man who scowled when he heard the nick name.
“Ah this is Joe ...” He trailed off and frowned.
“Lucas,” answered Joe, moving forwards to shake John's hand. “Nice to meet you.”
“Yes,” said John. “Wish it could have been under better circumstances.”
A slow smile came to Joe's face and he gave John an assessing look. “Yeah me too.”
Having been picked up in many different ways by many different people John was used to this sort of behaviour, it didn't stop him flushing up his neck and onto his cheeks.
“You're not my type I'm afraid,” he said, and Joe gave a understanding nod.
“Oh sweet Jesus,” hissed Mike, rounding on John. “You should get out of here and leave it to the professionals.”
“Hey I'm a professional,” John crossed his arms. “Actually I'm probably more experienced in these sorts of situations than either of you.”
It was the truth since in the AFP alone he had been in attendance at eight hostage situations ranging from domestic issues to full blown terrorist attacks. He had however always had Captain Sims directing the situation and had never been left to his own devices, which was a very good thing seen as how he had always been classed as a loose canon.
“Well you can't go back in there if McNamara knows who you are,” said Cotton.
“I managed to get a bit of a look at the bomb,” answered John, deciding to ignore the tone of the other man's voice. “There isn't a dead man switch which means he has to actively detonate it, if we take him out before he figures out what's happening he shouldn't be able to set it off.”
Joe, who had been watching their interaction carefully rose an eyebrow. “Shouldn't … that doesn't sound very definite.”
“Nothing in this situation is definite,” answered John. “But its our best bet … what was your plan?”
Joe shrugged. “Pretty much the same as yours except get all the hostages out first.”
“Not going to happen, the moment the hostages start running he's going to set it off,” said John. “He is extremely unstable.”
“The man has a bomb strapped to his chest,” muttered Cotton. “Of course he's not stable.”
He had a point.
“Alright which one of you two is the best shot?” he asked.
“I've had sniper training with the USAF,” answered Joe, not looking the part of a hardened military officer in his bright pink scrubs.
“Okay, then I'll distract McNamara and you take the shot,” said John. “Do you have a gun on you?”
Joe patted the front of his left hip.
“And what am I going to be doing?” demanded Cotton.
“Back him up,” answered John. “Everyone ready?”
**
The moment John stepped back through the doors and into the A&E, Rick spun around with a furious look on his face.
“What the fuck do you think you're doing?” he demanded, his hair still wet from the sprinkler system. “Pulling a stunt like that, you're dead.”
With that he stormed forwards and grabbed John by the throat, drawing all his defensive mechanisms to the forefront and he had to fight himself not to throw the man off and break some vital part of his body. He kept having to tell himself that he was just the distraction.
“Let go,” he hissed, struggling weakly for show.
“Oh no.” Rick dragged him past the soaking wet hostages huddled together and through the doors into the waiting room. “I'm going to slit your throat and then throw you outside … see how long it takes you to die.”
John let out a pained grunt as his hair was grabbed and pulled to expose his throat, and he felt the sharp bite of cold steel against the sensitive skin there. Just as the knife began to press down there was the sound of a single shot being fired and Rick jerked away from him, though clearly still on his feet and now fighting mad.
“Shoot again!” He yelled as he saw Rick's hand snake underneath his coat towards the bomb, and all of a sudden there was the loud chorus of two guns firing continuously and John dropped to the floor out of instinct.
When it all finally went quite he looked up to see Mike quickly re-holstering his gun and hurrying forwards to check the pulse of the man now laid out on the floor.
“He's dead,” said Mike.
“Finally,” came a voice from the door and John turned to see Paul standing there holding the door open for the other hostages. “It's about time.”
**
“This had better not be like the movies,” said Mike, glancing first at the hostages pressed against the far wall and then at the two former military officers picking through the innards of the bomb. “And why can't we let them go and the bomb squad in?”
He watched as Bradwell passed the scalpel he had been using to pry the front of the display off to Joe who was looking suitably tense.
“Because this...” Bradwell tapped a fragile looking piece of equipment attached to the explosives. “... is the receiver for a remote detonator.”
Mike had known that it would be to easy to just kill McNamara and have it done with, so now both he and everyone in a five mile radius were in even more danger than when the prick had been alive.
“So someone is probably keeping an eye on what's going on,” said Mike, tapping his fingers nervously against his thigh.
“Fucking fantastic,” muttered Joe around the bottom lip he was chewing on.
“I thought you were good in high stress situations,” said Mike.
“Sweetheart I am brilliant in high stress situations,” he answered.
It was a strange conversation to be having in the waiting room of an A&E, kneeling in a puddle of blood which was steadily draining from the dead body.
“If we release the hostages or bring anyone in the bomb will probably be detonated,” said Bradwell, clearly ignoring the bantering.
Mike pushed a hand through his hair and sat back on his heels as his soon to be partner delicately pulled several wires from the bowels of the mechanism.
“So how long has it been since you diffused a bomb?” he asked.
The look in Bradwell's eyes when he looked up did not fill his with confidence.
“Theoretically about eighteen months ago,” answered Bradwell.
“And practically?” asked Joe, subtly backing away from the bomb as if that would make any difference should it go off.
“I haven't actually ever diffused a bomb,” said Bradwell, gesturing for Joe to hand him the surgical scissors. “Though I've seen it done about seven times.”
“Right,” said Mike.
In the resulting tense silence it gave him the opportunity to have a good look at the man Jamie had picked out to be his next partner, and he had to admit that she hadn't done such a bad job this time. The man was maybe a couple of years younger than him, tall and slim with dark brown hair and hazel eyes. Ok so he was clearly insane and trigger happy, but the pretty almost made up for that.
“I feel like I should be asking whether its the red wire or the blue wire,” said Joe.
“Its neither,” answered Bradwell, tapping the tip of the scissors against the side of the casing. “Its white or yellow.”
“Alright,” Mike dug his fingers painfully into his thighs. “So which one is it?”
“White,” Bradwell sounded ridiculously confident as he moved to cut the wire.
“Are you absolutely sure about that?” demanded Mike.
“Well we're going to have to do something aren't we?” the other man glanced up from beneath his eyelashes. “We can't all just sit here forever.”
Actually to Mike, compared to a future where he was nothing more than a splatter on the floor, sitting here for ever seemed like a very good idea.
“Fine then just cut it,” said Mike.
“Okay here goes,” muttered Bradwell, leaning further over the bomb. “One… Two...”
Mike closed his eyes tightly and took a deep breath.
“...Three.”
There was the 'snip' of the scissors closing and when absolutely nothing happened he released his breath and slit open one eye. Across from him Joe's dark eyes were wide and terrified, whilst he looked surprisingly pale beneath his olive skin. Bradwell had his head tipped backwards to expose his throat, eyes closed and chest heaving with pants. It was in this moment as Mike stared at him that he realised he was well and truly screwed.
“Well,” Bradwell's head lowered so that he could meet Mike's gaze face on. “That was fun.”
“You… you...” Mike jumped to his feet and glared down at him. “You git. I nearly pissed myself and you think this is fun?”
The man shrugged and slowly stood up, one hand clenched in Joe's collar as he dragged the pilot up with them.
“Everyone has a hobby.”
**
Stepping out of Ailen General and into the car park, surrounded by the hostages, John took several deep breaths and looked around at the scene. There was quite a crowd gathered at the far edges of the car park being held back by barriers and uniformed police, probably sticky beakers and a few legitimate concerned family members of those who had been held inside the building for eight hours. Closer to the hospital were quite a lot of police cars, some with the lights still on, and many special and uniformed police.
Glancing to his left he saw Detective Cotton standing with an attractive black woman talking, mostly with his hands, while a petite Asian woman poked and prodded him clearly looking for injuries. Past them Paul was being loaded into the back of an ambulance on a gurney, while both Jackie and Julie were being looked over by paramedics. On his other side Joe was kissing Ryan Weston with such desperation that he was worried they were going to get arrested for indecent exposure if Joe's wandering hands actually found their target.
“Are you John Bradwell?”
John found his attention wrenched away from the kissing couple and to the tall silver haired man who had sidled up to him.
“Yes,” he answered.
“I'm Inspector Edwards,” said the man, holding out his hand and waiting for John to take it. “You did a good job in there.”
“Thanks.” He slid his hand free of the other man's grasp and stepped back. “Where are my...”
He didn't even get to finish his sentence as the Inspector clapped him on the shoulder and gestured over to where a woman was approaching them holding Madison's hand and clutching Jake to her chest.
“Do these belong to you?”
John didn't even listen to what the other man was saying, sprinting over to his kids and swinging Madison into his arms.
“Daddy,” she said, wrapping his arms around his neck and burying her face into his shoulder. “What happened to the bad man?”
Telling his three year old daughter that he had shot and killed another human being wasn't something he had ever thought he would have to do, oh sure it was part of his job but he had hoped that his children would be kept far far away from all of this. In the end he decided that he would have to answer her question with a lie.
“He's going somewhere he can't hurt anyone again.”
Ok so maybe not a complete lie.
“That's good,” she answered.
Part Four