Page 1 of Race to Save Her

ONE

The rural neighborhood, scattered with older homes and trailers along gravel streets, was on official police lockdown. Residents had been told to shelter in place while a half dozen patrol officers maintained a tight perimeter of the area as SWAT zeroed in on the highly dangerous situation that was brewing.

The house of interest was a small, single-wide trailer with one man inside who had just committed a violent robbery. There had been a high-speed chase throughout the city, ending here. The man was now refusing to come out peacefully.

Dense trees and a dilapidated fence surrounded the dwelling. A tattered swing tied to a tree branch swayed slightly. The trees, along with overgrown weeds, partially masked a direct view for the officers. The front door, the only main point of entry, and two windows faced the street, with four more windows around back. A navy, four-door sedan remained parked where it had come to rest after the police pursuit.

The breeze suddenly stopped, as if on cue, revealing the warmth of the afternoon. It was strangely quiet.

The commanding SWAT sergeant scrutinized the situation, moving cautiously, and listened to his headset, where he could hear the negotiator trying to defuse the situation and convince the subject to surrender without incident. Eight fully geared SWAT operators had paired off to cover any of the possible escape routes, and were ready for the order to breach their focus, weapons drawn. As well, two sniper teams were in position, expertly camouflaged, lying on their stomachs in between low-lying bushes and large trees, creating a secure location perimeter—waiting to receive, if necessary, the go-ahead for the kill shot. Tensions were high as the well-trained team waited in anticipation for anything… and everything.

There was a white van parked out of sight down the street that accommodated the incident response team. Inside, one officer jotted down notes on a board, detailing the background of the robbery and the weapons they knew belonged to the suspect. The SWAT negotiator was in the thick of things.

They all watched the outline of a man pacing behind the windows. The primary police negotiator, Jack Devlin, addressed him. “Brandon, think about Sara and Emma,” he said. He’d been conversing with the unstable subject for some time, strategically building rapport. He was dealing with a man who had just robbed a store and shot the owner, before taking the police on a high-speed chase, and now home, was threatening to use a gun against the officers on his property.

The man was not giving up. SWAT’s job was to bring things safely to an end.

“Don’t bring my daughters into this,” said Brandon Bates, raising his voice over the phone.

“They’ve already lost their mother. They don’t deserve to lose you too.”

“Their grandparents took them from me,” he barely whispered. “From their own dad…”

“Brandon, how can we resolve this?” said Jack, redirecting the conversation, but staying on point. He kept his voice calm and personable, a technique he had honed flawlessly over several years, making him very effective in talking down individuals threatening to shoot themselves or the police.

He adjusted his headset, glancing to the secondary negotiator listening in. She gave a subtle nod in return.

Devlin continued. “We can figure this out, Brandon. But you have to help me to help you.”

Brandon went from being angry to hysterically crying. “Doesn’t matter, you’re going to kill me anyway. Just get it over with.”

“Listen to me… We don’t want to kill you.”

“You cops always kill people.”

“You’re safe with us, just as long as you don’t do anything crazy. All you have to do is come out and show us your hands. That’s it. You’ll be fine.”

“I can’t…”

“You can.”

“I’m scared.”

“I know you’re scared. We can end this in a good place.”

There was a pause. Devlin heard the unmistakable metallic racking of a gun—readying it for firing.

“Brandon? Brandon, you’re not going to do something stupid that you can’t take back?”

The suspect said something, but it wasn’t clear.

“Brandon, you with me?”

“Yeah,” he said slowly.

“First, put down the gun.”

The scribe updated the board: