As soon as he reached the second floor, he saw the others, who had returned earlier, gathered together and discussing something.
—You're back just in time.—
Hank saw him appear and quickly said:
—I was about to call you. We're heading to Rosemont.—
—Huh?—
Ethan shrugged in confusion as he dug his spoon into the ice cream.
—Jacob Sims,— Antonio explained. —This man is one of the leaders of the North Side gang.—
—Erin and Sumner already got the latest lead from Tony Johnston's lawyer. While Johnston was in prison, Sims was using that auto shop for illegal car trafficking.—
—After Johnston was released, the two of them had a conflict over financial interests. According to the leads provided by Rosemont, the police found Sims's whereabouts at a local convention center.—
Ethan interrupted him.
—What kind of convention?—
The others standing in front of him exchanged looks, and Ruzek said with a frown:
—Gun show.—
—Wait.—
—How did Johnston's lawyer know all that? What's the connection between Sims and Dr. Elliott? Why did Sims kill Johnston?—
—She's a lawyer. She didn't say anything else because of attorney-client privilege. As for Sims,— Hank continued, —we were able to place him at the scene thanks to the last call made to Johnston's phone. It's already been verified.—
—For the other two questions, we'll have to get the answers from Sims himself.—
—Alright, then let's go.—
Rosemont, Convention Center.
It was a suburban area of Chicago, with its own sergeant and police department.
Since Erin and the others couldn't get back in time, Hank brought Burgess and Atwater in as backup.
When they arrived, they could vaguely sense that the local police didn't exactly welcome them.
Ethan understood. Police departments like theirs had a strong sense of territory.
It wasn't aversion, just simple displeasure.
However, suburban areas often needed support from the city police.
Hank stepped forward to communicate, unifying everyone's radio channels to make orders easier.
Otherwise, everything would turn into chaos and be prone to spinning out of control very quickly.
According to the leads provided by the Rosemont Police Department, Jacob Sims was still inside the gun show and had not left.
Olinsky went inside to scout the area, while the others spread out outside the convention center.
After buying some hot dogs, Ethan slowly walked through the parking lot in front of the convention center and discovered that the gun show wasn't much different from what he had imagined.
There were people everywhere, carrying long guns and handguns, all of them excited, like children at an amusement park.
As he approached the patrol car, the window rolled down.
—Hot dogs?—
He handed over the ones in his hand.
—Thanks, that's great.—
Burgess quickly took them and gave one to Atwater.
—Detective.—
Burgess wiped ketchup from the corner of her mouth with her index finger and licked it.
—We're not going to have a shootout here, are we?—
—Yeah, this is not a good place,— her partner added.
Although the newly purchased guns had trigger locks, it was normal for people coming to buy weapons to carry one or two on them.
—That's not something we get to decide.—
Seeing the bit of ketchup left on Burgess's mouth, Ethan took a big bite of his hot dog.
—Don't worry. If a shootout really breaks out, they'll definitely run like hell. Just stay alert.—
Several Rosemont Police Department patrol cars were parked separately in front of the convention center.
There was no need to worry about them alerting Sims. Gun shows naturally required the presence of local officers to maintain order.
—I'm Commissioner Kane. My men are ready whenever you give the order, Sergeant Voight.—
An unfamiliar voice came through the earpiece.
Hank pressed the walkie-talkie.
—First we need to confirm the suspect's identity and the number of people with him. Watch every entrance and exit closely. If you see anything suspicious, report it immediately. Over and out.—
He set the walkie-talkie down and picked up the hot dog.
A response came over the radio, and then everything went silent.
Ethan leaned against the cold hood of the engine beside Hank.
—Olinsky, have you identified the target?—
—Yeah, I've got eyes on him.—
Olinsky's voice came through.
—Looks like a kid in a candy store.—
Olinsky continued:
—Looks like there are three people with him, and they don't look friendly.—
—Alright. Don't lose sight of them.—
The few standing together exchanged looks, and Hank said in a grave voice:
Ethan took a deep drag from his cigarette, then tossed the butt to the ground and crushed it under his foot.
A few minutes later, a voice came through the walkie-talkie:
—They're about to move,— Olinsky said quietly, keeping his distance as he followed them from the opposite sidewalk. —They're all carrying new AKMs and extra magazines.—
He paused briefly, pretending to look at a shop window as the group moved a few yards ahead.
—Sims is in front. Yankees baseball cap, brown leather jacket.—
His voice dropped a little lower.
Ethan and the others were more than a hundred meters from the main entrance.
From a distance, they could see the people Olinsky had mentioned pushing open the glass doors and quickly leaving the convention center.
—Everyone, don't move until I give the order.—
Hank took the walkie-talkie, his voice hoarse.
—Wait until they get into the car, then use the patrol cars to surround them.—
That was the safest method, since it guaranteed none of the three would escape.
—Burgess.—
Hank grabbed the walkie-talkie.
—You two go to the main entrance and cut off their escape route.—
—Copy that.—
Burgess answered, and the Chicago Police Department patrol car started moving.
After Sims and the others left the convention center, they only walked about ten meters before stopping behind a car.
They opened the trunk and placed their assault rifles inside.
Hank stared intently, ready to give the order at any moment.
At that exact instant, a Rosemont Police Department patrol car turned on its siren and sped past them from behind.
—What the fuck.—
Ethan snorted in irritation. Those damn idiots. He knew they were upset about being under the orders of the Intelligence Unit, but they shouldn't have rushed in like that without thinking.
—Commissioner Kane, back off.—
Hank pressed the walkie-talkie and shouted forcefully.
The other side completely ignored the order, drove the patrol car straight toward Sims until it was only a short distance away, and stopped abruptly.
The officer driving shoved the car door open and shouted nervously:
—Police! Don't move!—
The wail of the siren had already alerted Sims and the others.
They didn't obey the order.
As soon as the patrol cars closed off the street and the officer opened the door to get out, the men reacted at the same time. They moved quickly toward the trunk, lifted the lid, and pulled out the assault rifles as if they had already rehearsed that moment.
—Police! Drop the weapons!—
The order echoed through the street, but it was already too late.
One of them chambered his weapon with a sharp motion. Another spun on his heels, raising the barrel toward the nearest patrol car. In a matter of seconds, all of them were aiming.
The officer who had just stepped out of the car froze for barely an instant, long enough to understand that this wasn't going to end well.
—Guns! Guns!— someone shouted.
And then the street exploded.
Bang, bang, bang.
A burst of gunfire erupted in the parking lot.
The sound bounced between the cars, dry and deafening. The first bullets struck the patrol car door with brutal violence, punching holes through the metal and sending fragments of paint and steel flying.
A second later, the windows shattered in a rain of glass that fell over the seat and pavement.
The officer barely had time to react.
He had never imagined those men would dare open fire in the middle of the street, against police, in broad daylight.
For an instant, his body froze in surprise, trapped between the order he had just shouted and the roar of the rifles answering him.
Bullets whistled around him.
One struck the doorframe, far too close to his face. Another tore off a piece of the side mirror. The officer cursed, lifted his arms by reflex to cover his head, and staggered backward, searching for cover behind the patrol car.
—They're shooting at us! They're shooting at us!— he shouted, his voice cracked by adrenaline.
He dropped behind the front wheel just as another burst hit the windshield and turned it into a spiderweb of cracks.
—Everyone move.—
Hank was so angry he wanted to curse, grabbing the walkie-talkie and shouting:
—Go, go, go!—
Immediately, gasps and screams filled the air. Civilians ran in terror everywhere, and the scene became extremely chaotic.
Burgess was slowly driving the vehicle when the sudden gunfire startled her, just like Atwater.
Hearing Hank's order, Atwater activated the police lights, and Burgess quickly stepped on the accelerator.
As they approached the main entrance of the convention center, they saw several people hiding behind a vehicle.
All of them were carrying pistols and firing continuously in another direction, riddling the patrol car in front of them with bullets.
In the middle of the tension, the words Ethan had spoken in the past kept echoing in Burgess's mind.
Don't panic.
She pressed her lips together and slowed her breathing.
She quickly opened the car door, and although her heart was pounding from the adrenaline, her hand held the Glock firmly.
After aiming quickly, she pulled the trigger with determination.
Bang!
A bullet shot out of the barrel, striking one of Sims's closest companions and spraying a cloud of blood.
Then, like an unexpected echo, Ethan's words returned to her mind.
If you're not confident in your aim, don't hesitate to fire a few more times.
She remembered Ethan saying it with that unbearable calm.
Kim didn't hesitate.
She fired.
Bang, bang, bang!
Burgess pulled the trigger instinctively and rapidly. The barrel didn't stop spitting fire.
The man in the black jacket burst into a cloud of blood, his body trembling several times before his head fell to one side.
When she saw what she had just done, she finally realized what had happened.
The other side returned fire, and several bullets struck her patrol car.
Burgess ducked quickly and retreated. When she reached the rear of the patrol car, she dropped to the ground.
Her face was pale, as if she could hear her own heartbeat.
The grip of the Glock was already soaked with sweat, and she felt a sudden dryness in her mouth.
The instant the shootout broke out, Ethan pulled his M4 rifle from the trunk. He crouched and advanced quickly, sliding between the parked cars nearby.
Antonio and Ruzek, who were behind him, quickly followed.
—Be careful.—
Hank shouted from behind:
—There are too many civilians here,— Hank's voice sounded over the radio. —Ethan, you have the green light. End this fast.—
Ethan clenched his jaw.
He had wanted to wait for the right moment precisely to avoid this. After so many casualties in his record, he had already been warned more than once, and lately he had tried to be more restrained. But now the order had been given.
Green light.
Everything had gone to hell because of that reckless Rosemont officer.
Ethan already knew it without anyone needing to say it.
That was why he advanced with his badge held high, clearly visible in one hand, while the other rested near his weapon.
—Chicago Police!— he shouted as he moved between the cars. —Drop your weapons! Get on the ground!—
Bullets crossed the parking lot in every direction.
Ethan came out from behind an SUV and advanced in a crouch. The distance had been reduced to about forty or fifty meters.
Farther ahead, Burgess and Atwater's patrol car was positioned across two rows of vehicles. Both of them were returning fire from behind the open doors. Burgess fired with a fast, controlled rhythm, forcing several of the men to retreat toward the trunk.
Then, for one second, the gangsters' gunfire ceased.
The Rosemont officer took it as an opportunity.
Damn it.
The man came out from behind the patrol car and started running.
—Don't run!— Ethan roared. —Get down, idiot!—
The officer didn't hear him, or panic beat his common sense.
Bang, bang, bang.
The shots came from the side, dry and fast.
The officer's body jerked several times before losing strength. Red stains bloomed across his khaki shirt as he stumbled, his arms extended as if trying to grab onto the air.
He fell to his knees first.
Then he collapsed onto the asphalt.
Ethan didn't stop.
His expression turned cold.
—Burgess, cover me,— he said over the radio, raising the rifle. —I'm closing the distance.—
He didn't wait for an answer.
He stepped out from behind the car with his badge still visible in one hand and the rifle firm against his shoulder. He moved quickly, crouched, using the vehicles as cover while bullets continued to strike metal, glass, and concrete around him.
—Police! Get down!— he shouted, more for the civilians than for the shooters.
Burgess responded immediately.
Her shots forced one of the men to hide behind Sims's car. Atwater joined in from the other side, keeping up the pressure. And when the other officers saw the officer fall onto the asphalt, their hesitation disappeared.
The parking lot exploded with gunfire.
The shooters tried to return fire, but they had already lost the advantage. From several angles, police weapons began punishing them without giving them space to move.
The trunk of Sims's car took hit after hit until it was perforated like a honeycomb.
A man in a red jacket tried to stand up behind the vehicle.
It was a mistake.
Several shots hit him almost at the same time. His body twisted sideways, struck the rear bumper, and fell onto the dirty snow of the parking lot. Blood began spreading beneath him, dark and fast.
It was impossible to know who had fired the decisive shot.
With so many casings on the ground and so many weapons firing at once, forensics was going to curse for hours when they saw that body.
Then, as quickly as it had started, the shootout stopped.
A strange silence remained, broken only by car alarms, the groans of the wounded, and the cold whistle of the wind between the wrecked vehicles.
Clack.
A casing fell near Ethan's foot.
He changed magazines with automatic movements, not taking his eyes off Sims's car.
—Cease fire!— someone shouted.
Ethan didn't lower his weapon.
He moved first toward the wounded officer. He knelt beside him, keeping the rifle aimed toward the vehicle with one hand while using the other to search for a pulse at his neck.
Weak.
But it was there.
—He's alive,— Ethan shouted over the noise. —We need an ambulance now!—
Then he stood.
There was no relief on his face.
Only concentration.
He advanced toward Sims's car with measured steps, rifle raised and finger off the trigger until he had a clear target. Before, the distance and movement in the parking lot had made any fine reading of his radar useless.
But the point of light he was looking for was no longer there.
Ethan gritted his teeth.
He circled the vehicle along the side, the barrel tracking every angle, and reached the rear.
Behind the bullet-riddled car, there was only a mangled corpse, collapsed among shell casings and shards of glass.
Sims was gone.
Ethan looked at it for a second, cold.
—Shit.—
He lowered the rifle slightly and spoke over the radio.
—Sims escaped. Secure the perimeter and check the others.—
Ethan shouted, looking toward the dense row of parked cars nearby.
Somehow, Sims had taken the opportunity to slip away, leaving only his companion there.
Hearing his words, everyone scattered.