James 516: A London Carter Novel (London Carter Mystery Series) Read online

  JAMES 516

  A London Carter Novel

  (Book 1)

  __________________

  BY

  BJ BOURG

  www.bjbourg.com

  JAMES 516

  A London Carter Novel by BJ Bourg

  This book is a work of fiction.

  All names, characters, locations, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination, or have been used fictitiously.

  Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, locales, or events is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved.

  No portion of this book may be transmitted or

  reproduced in any form, or by any means, without permission in writing from the author, with the exception of brief

  excerpts used for the purposes of review.

  Copyright © 2014 by BJ Bourg

  ISBN-13: 978-1-52323-213-0

  ISBN-10: 1523232137

  Cover design by Christine Savoie of Bayou Cover Designs

  PUBLISHED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA

  Contents

  CHAPTER 1

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 4

  CHAPTER 5

  CHAPTER 6

  CHAPTER 7

  CHAPTER 8

  CHAPTER 9

  CHAPTER 10

  CHAPTER 11

  CHAPTER 12

  CHAPTER 13

  CHAPTER 14

  CHAPTER 15

  CHAPTER 16

  CHAPTER 17

  CHAPTER 18

  CHAPTER 19

  CHAPTER 20

  CHAPTER 21

  CHAPTER 22

  CHAPTER 23

  CHAPTER 24

  CHAPTER 25

  CHAPTER 26

  CHAPTER 27

  CHAPTER 28

  CHAPTER 29

  CHAPTER 30

  CHAPTER 31

  CHAPTER 32

  CHAPTER 33

  CHAPTER 34

  CHAPTER 35

  CHAPTER 36

  CHAPTER 37

  CHAPTER 38

  CHAPTER 39

  CHAPTER 40

  CHAPTER 41

  CHAPTER 42

  CHAPTER 43

  CHAPTER 44

  CHAPTER 45

  CHAPTER 46

  CHAPTER 47

  CHAPTER 1

  Tuesday, August 16, 2011

  “London, where in the hell are you?” Jerry Allemand’s voice was laced with excitement—unusual for him—and I heard sirens screaming in the background. “We’ve got a hostage situation with shots fired at the First Gold Bank off of Highway Three in Gracetown!”

  “Anyone down?” I rushed inside to dress in my sniper uniform—drab green coveralls and black boots.

  “Not that we know of,” Jerry said. “The guy walked in to rob the place, and one of the tellers hit a silent alarm. Warren Lafont was in the Food-N-Stuff parking lot and got there just as the suspect was walking out the door. They surprised each other, and the prick took a shot at Warren. Thankfully, he missed.”

  Warren Lafont was a two-year patrol cop who worked day shifts. “Did Warren return fire?”

  “No. By the time he got his gun out, the man was back in the bank. Warren backed off and waited for backup.”

  “Do we have a description of the suspect?”

  “White male, thick blond hair, tattoos on both arms and the right side of his neck. He’s wearing worn jeans, a red muscle shirt and has a bandanna over his face.”

  I stepped into my coveralls and pulled the zipper up. “The rest of the team…are they en route?”

  “I heard Dean, Ray and Alvin go out on the radio.”

  “What about Kent?”

  “Not yet.”

  “Okay, I’m walking out the door. If you get there before me, get the guys set up.” I flipped my phone shut and grabbed my tactical gun-belt from the closet in my room. After snapping it around my waist, I pulled my pistol from the closet and shoved it into my low-riding holster, then rushed out the door.

  My lights flashed bright and my siren screamed as I rushed toward the hostage scene in my marked cruiser. My radio scratched from time to time as members of the SWAT team announced their arrivals at the scene.

  Within minutes of leaving my house, I pulled my cruiser to a stop in front of Bestman’s Market—a busy convenience store south of First Gold Bank—and stepped out. Betty Jo’s Fried Chicken restaurant was located between Bestman’s Market and the bank, and the Magnolia Parish Sheriff’s Office’s mobile command center had been parked in the south side parking lot of Betty Jo’s. SWAT operators scrambled about in their ninja garb, utilizing the restaurant building as cover. Captain Anthony Landry—his bald head red from the sun’s brutal rays and his forehead speckled with sweat beads—was barking orders at them.

  I donned my utility vest and retrieved my sniper rifle—a black, police tactical system, chambered in .308 caliber, equipped with top-of-the-line glass and bipod—from where it had been secured in the rifle case in my trunk. After slinging it over my shoulder, I hurried to the mobile command center. Captain Landry met me by the front door and ushered me inside. “We need to talk,” he said in a serious tone.

  We walked to a large dry-erase board that covered the entire far wall of the command center. Gina Pellegrin—a detective I’d recently recruited to be my sniper coordinator—had already sketched out the surrounding parking lots and buildings. I nodded my approval when I saw the colored printouts of aerial satellite maps taped to the edges of the board. Gina looked up when we approached and smiled at us.

  “Give us a minute, Gina,” Captain Landry said. Gina nodded and walked off. When she was out of earshot, Captain Landry turned to me and frowned. “You’re gonna have to kill this guy, London…first chance you get.”

  “You think?” I asked, as casually as I could, trying to ignore the surge of adrenalin that coursed through my veins.

  “No, I know it. He took a shot at Warren, he killed a teller inside and now he’s demanding something we can’t give him.”

  “What’s that?”

  “He wants a blacked-out SUV and two hostages.”

  I pursed my lips, nodded my understanding. We could never let a suspect go mobile with a hostage…ever. “What happens when he realizes we won’t do it?”

  Captain Landry indicated with his head toward an enclosed glass room at the front of the command center where a team of negotiators were talking into headsets. “He told the negotiators he’s going to start killing hostages if we don’t park the SUV in front of the bank within the hour.”

  “What’ll we do?”

  “I’m trying to talk the sheriff into letting us set him up. I want to deliver the vehicle like he wants, but then I want you to drop him when he steps out of the bank.”

  “Will the sheriff go for it?”

  “He’s worried about something going wrong, but I assured him you’re up to the task. He wants to give the negotiators some time to work their magic, but I don’t see this guy giving up.”

  I stared up at the map Gina had drawn. The roof of Betty Jo’s was much too close to the bank to be an effective sniper hide. A Food-N-Stuff was located west of the bank and, judging by the scale on the maps Gina had printed off the Internet, it was about a hundred and fifty yards away. I’d have an excellent visual of the entire front side of the bank from that rooftop, and the air conditioner units and the storefront would provide excellent concealment. I pointed to the center of Food-N-Stuff’s roof on the map. “I’ll grab Jerry and we’ll set up here. We’ll provide intel and when you’re ready to roc
k and roll, just say the word—it’ll be done.”

  Captain Landry slapped my back. “Get to it then, so we can wrap up this shit before another innocent person dies.”

  I nodded, then walked out into the blistering heat. Jerry was geared up and waiting for me, his thick brown hair already dripping sweat. He pointed to Block’s Truck Stop and Casino two hundred yards northwest of the bank. “I sent Dean and Ray to the truck stop. They’re gonna set up where they can cover the back of the bank.”

  “What about Alvin?”

  “He’s in the trees along the bayou, covering the eastern side.”

  We hurried to my cruiser, set our rifles on the back seat and then headed south on Highway Three for a quarter mile before turning down Green Oaks Street. The street led to a large subdivision that had sprung up years ago around the Food-N-Stuff shopping center, and it allowed us to get to the back of the building without being detected from the bank. We banged on the back door of the store. After several minutes, a manager inched it open and peered outside. His eyes and mouth widened when he saw the rifles, but he quickly relaxed when I pointed to the badge sewn into my sniper vest.

  “I’m London Carter,” I began, “and this is Jerry Allemand. We’re snipers with the Magnolia Parish Sheriff’s Office.”

  The manager opened the door wider, nodding excitedly. “This is about the bank robbery, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, sir,” I said. “We need access to your roof.”

  The man turned immediately and called over his shoulder, “Follow me!”

  We walked through the stockroom—navigating a maze of pallets and buggies—until we arrived at a metal ladder bolted to the back wall of the store. It led to a square opening in the ceiling. The manager tugged a ring of keys from his belt and shuffled through them. He selected a small brass key from the dozens attached to the ring and held it out to me. “This is the key to the padlock.”

  “Thanks.” I slung my rifle over my shoulder and scurried up the ladder. Hooking my left arm under the top rung, I turned the key in the padlock. I could feel the heat emanating from the metal door. When I removed the lock, I turned the handle and eased the access door open. I peeked through the slit in the opening and surveyed the rooftop, trying to get a bearing on our location. Air conditioners were scattered along the roof just like in the pictures Gina had printed, and the storefront made it impossible for me to see any of the buildings along the highway, including First Gold Bank.

  I turned and tossed the keys into Jerry’s waiting hands and then pushed my way into the bright daylight and onto the rooftop. Within seconds, Jerry’s head and shoulders appeared in the opening and he sprung from the last step and landed lightly on his feet. At five-nine, he was the smallest of the snipers and arguably the most nimble.

  Crouching low and keeping the storefront between the bank and us, we made our way toward the front of the store. We stopped about twenty feet from the edge of the roof and dropped to our knees. After grounding my rifle, I crawled until I could see around the storefront and had a good visual of the bank. A few squad cars were positioned at various angles in front of the bank. Deputies and SWAT officers were hunched behind them. Other than that, there was no activity down there.

  I moved back to where Jerry waited. “I have a good shot of the bank from there,” I said, nodding to where I had crawled. “Once I’m in position and have eyes on the bank, I’ll motion for you to join me.”

  Jerry nodded.

  Still hidden behind the storefront, I dropped prone on the boiling roof and cradled my rifle in the crook of my forearms. Inch by inch, I moved—the searing heat penetrating my uniform and tearing at my flesh—and little by little, the bank parking lot came into view. When I was far enough that Jerry could fit beside me, I carefully moved my rifle out in front of me, slowly extended the legs of the bipod and pulled the butt into my shoulder, all the while moving in exaggerated slow motion so as not to attract any attention from below.

  Once my sniper rifle was snugly in the pocket of my right shoulder, my cheek naturally found the familiar stock weld—the result of hundreds of hours behind this very rifle—attaining perfect eye relief. I began breathing slowly and steadily. Within seconds, my muscles began to relax. My heart rate dropped to almost nothing. The pain from the scorching rooftop began to diminish. My right index finger stroked the trigger guard.

  CHAPTER 2

  Blinking sweat from my right eye, I peered through the scope and surveyed the front of the bank. It was a little over a hundred and fifty yards away, but my ten-power scope made it look like fifteen. I couldn’t detect any movement from the shadows inside the bank. The suspect had obviously shut off all the lights and drawn several of the curtains. To an unsuspecting viewer, this could be any normal Tuesday in August, except the insane traffic was absent and there were no customers bustling about the usually congested area.

  I felt Jerry’s presence beside me. Without taking my eye from the scope, I asked him to turn up the police radio. Jerry set the radio on the hot roof in front of him and adjusted the volume so we could both hear the radio traffic. He then pulled out his spotting scope, extended the tripod legs and pointed it toward the parking lot below.

  “I bet you wish you had a sniper mat now, eh?” he asked, referring to my unrelenting rebuke of snipers who relied on shooting mats, pinch bags and other shooting accessories to make them more comfortable.

  “Not at all,” I said softly, never taking my right eye off the bank. “Innocent people could die in the time it takes to set up all that shit. All a real sniper needs is his rifle, data book, lots of ammo and a radio.”

  “When you get old and retire,” Jerry said, “I’m gonna take over the team, and we’ll have blow-up mattresses, battery-operated fans and camouflage umbrellas.”

  I didn’t reply, just maintained my visual on the bank. Nothing moved in the windows. I watched for what seemed like forty-five minutes…still nothing. The radio was silent, except for an occasional report from Gina saying the negotiators were trying to get the deadline extended. Sweat dripped from my pores. Jerry lay still beside me, and I could hear his steady breathing.

  “You didn’t fall asleep on me, did you?” I finally asked.

  “Snipers don’t sleep, they—”

  Suddenly, the radio screeched and Gina came on. “Sierra One…standby. The suspect just stated he was going to kill a hostage and then he cut off communications.”

  I trained my crosshairs on the front of the bank, moving smoothly from the glass door to the windows that lined the front of the bank. “Can you see anything with the spotting scope?”

  The spotting scope was four times more powerful than my rifle scope, but Jerry said he couldn’t see any movement from inside. “The deadline’s already past,” he said. “I don’t think he’ll—”

  A distant popping sound interrupted him. It sounded like a muffled pop. I frantically scanned the front of the bank. “Was that a gunshot?” I asked.

  Jerry smashed the button on the police radio. “Sierra One to Command, was that a gunshot?”

  “Ten-four, Sierra One, shots fired!” Gina answered.

  I strained to penetrate the darkness inside the bank. Still nothing. “Damn it! I can’t see shit. What about you?”

  “I’ve got nothing. Wait a minute… I see something. Check window one. It looks like someone’s moving toward the door.”

  I saw it. Two men were struggling with something…it looked like the limp body of a woman. They were dragging it toward the door. I focused my crosshairs on one of the men and then moved it to the other. “Neither one of them is the suspect.” I moved my attention to the limp body. It was a young girl…couldn’t be more than twenty. My blood began to boil. There was a bullet hole in her right temple. A trickle of blood had drained from the hole and spread down her cheek. Her eyes and mouth were open, frozen in terror. She wore a nice business suit with a nametag pinned to the front left lapel.

  “She’s a teller,” Jerry said.

&nb
sp; The two men pushed the door open and deposited the lifeless body on the sidewalk. One of the men, a paunchy fellow with a bald head and thick glasses, hesitated by the door and said something to his comrade. The other man glanced over his shoulder into the bank and reached for Paunchy’s arm. Paunchy pulled away and made a halfhearted attempt to bolt across the parking lot.

  I instinctively swung the crosshairs to the doorway, searching for the gunman and hoping I was wrong…I wasn’t. Two more pops sounded from the interior of the bank and Paunchy stumbled and fell to his knees. He tried to get to his feet, but a third shot dropped him. He fell hard to his face. Blood began to spread across the back of his white shirt. I searched desperately inside the bank, trying to see past the other man. “Where the hell is the shooter?”

  “I can’t see shit inside!” Jerry yelled.

  The other man rushed back into bank and the door swung shut. Before it closed, I saw him disappear to the left, between the counters. “They’re behind the counter. Call Alvin; ask him if he can see the counter.”

  “Sierra One, Sierra Three, you have a visual on the counter?”

  There was a slight pause and then Alvin’s voice came on the radio. “Negative. A female subject pulled the curtains shut about an hour ago. I have nothing.”

  “London, standby,” Captain Landry called over the radio. “Things are gonna move fast. We’re bringing the SUV to the front of the bank as demanded. Hold on for more.”

  “Ten-four,” Jerry replied for me.

  Six SWAT members rushed toward the back of the bank. One of them carried a battering ram and another held a ballistic shield. When they reached the corner of the brick building, they crouched low, poised for an assault. Making entry into a building occupied by innocent hostages and a crazed gunman was too risky. This was shaping up to be a sniper-initiated assault, where I would take out the primary gunman and the entry team would move in to secure the hostages and take out any other threats.

  “London,” Captain Landry called a minute later, “we’re live in fifteen. As soon as the SUV gets here and the suspect shows himself, engage him. When he goes down, the entry team will move in and secure the hostages.”