Ronick cast a disheartened glance at the now-missing matchbox, then leaned close to the wounded Black state trooper. "I'm sorry about your partner," he said softly. "We've placed his body in the office next door, for now."
"Why the hell don't you have an alarm at the back door?" the trooper, Jeffrey, muttered, his voice already woozy from blood loss and the drugs not yet taking effect.
"They've been busted for two months now. You know this place is about to be shut down," old Officer Jasper snapped, glancing out the window cautiously.
"There's a car parked near the tree line—hasn't moved. Some people just got out. I count at least six. They're spreading out!"
"You'd better move away from the window. Jack said there's a sniper out there," John warned, still keeping his post against the wall by the door.
"In this goddamn weather, no sniper's gonna hit a thing." The old man grumbled, but still edged his head a little farther from the glass.
"No dial tone. Could the storm have taken down the phone lines?" Across the room, Alex set down the receiver and walked toward Jack with a pair of tweezers she'd found somewhere.
"These might come in handy."
"I thought you were just a shrink," Alice said, watching as Alex deftly sterilized the tweezers with alcohol.
"I'm a forensic psychological consultant for NCIS," Alex replied, pushing back her hair. "I've been to Syria and Afghanistan. I might not be great with a gun, but I've had medical training."
She watched Jack calmly slice open the wound, fingers digging in to locate the bullet, and added with a wry smile, "Still, clearly not as good as him."
Meanwhile, Ronick was pacing in circles, visibly agitated. "This doesn't make sense. They shouldn't still be here unless they're sure no backup is coming. The phone lines must've been cut."
"Radio's jammed too. Must be a professional in Bishop's crew. I bet the cell towers are blocked too," said Jasper, clearly defeated.
Unfortunately, he was right. Both Alice and John tried calling out—signal was full bars, but no calls would go through, and data was completely down.
"What exactly happened?" Jack asked calmly, tweezers in hand, as he knelt beside the increasingly delirious Jeffrey.
"I dunno… When I got back there, Baker was already down. Two guys wearing ski masks…" the trooper murmured, voice soft and dreamlike.
"I heard you firing. That close and you didn't hit anyone? Your aim must suck," Jack needled him intentionally.
"Fuck you, man…" Jeffrey tensed. "They ganged up on me. I was trying… I swear I hit one of them. They were wearing vests, had to be. I swear I hit one—at least one…"
He was getting worked up, seemingly forgetting that Jack was rummaging around in his insides.
"They killed my partner… I was pissed, man, seriously pissed. I chased them, but those guys were pros. Real pros. Covering each other, like textbook moves straight out of academy drills. But my aim was solid—I drove them off, had them scrambling…"
His voice faded, and then he went silent.
"Did he…" Alice's eyes widened in fear. "Did he die?"
Alex, kneeling beside Jack, quickly checked the trooper's breath and rolled her eyes. "No. Just the meds kicking in. He's asleep."
A sudden shatter of glass startled everyone—everyone except Jack, whose hands didn't even tremble.
Bang bang bang! Jasper, already on edge, opened fire wildly out the broken window with his sidearm.
"Stop! It's not a bullet!" John picked up a chunk of brick from the floor. Written on it in black marker was a name: Bishop.
While chaos broke loose on one side of the room, Jack remained cool as ice, focused entirely on the surgery. His composure seemed contagious. Alex even moved to block the cold wind blowing through the broken window so it wouldn't affect him.
"He was hit by a sniper," Jack said, finally extracting the bullet and holding it up to the light.
It was a 7.62mm rifle round. It had shattered one of the trooper's ribs and lodged inside him. Fortunately, the bullet hadn't fragmented—just slightly deformed—allowing Jack to extract it cleanly. A shattered round would've been a nightmare to explain, not to mention far harder to treat.
Meanwhile, voices rose on the other side of the room.
"I'm telling you, these guys out there are Bishop's men. They're here to break him out. They won't stop until they do!" Jasper insisted.
"Listen up, everyone," he continued. "They're not here for us. If we give them what they want—hand over Bishop—this ends. No more bloodshed!"
John's eyes went wide, but before he could respond, Ronick exploded.
"No! Absolutely not! There is no way we're handing over that bastard—he's a cop killer! He's not walking out of this station under my watch!"
Jasper shouted back, pointing toward the couch where the wounded trooper lay. "This is the only way to end this! We've got a wounded officer right there!"
"Uh… He should be fine for now," Jack cut in, casually dropping the bloody bullet into a glass, which clinked as it landed.
"I told you there's a sniper—maybe more than one," he added, placing the glass in front of Ronick, who instantly recognized the difference between a rifle round and standard civilian handgun ammo.
"You're saying we should just hand him over?" Ronick's voice rose sharply.
"I'm saying we're surrounded," Jack replied calmly. "They came prepared. The snipers mean they had a contingency plan. Sneaking in was just phase one. When that failed, they immediately cut communications to stop us from calling for help."
"And if I were their commander, the next step would be to cut power."
Just as the words left his mouth, the entire building plunged into darkness.
"OK. I'm guessing this station doesn't have a backup generator either?" John asked, flipping on the tactical flashlight mounted beneath his sidearm. His voice still carried a trace of humor, but it was clear now—tension was rising.
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