register
Log in
forget the password
front page
Rankings
Boys' Novels
Girls It was already past midnight, and the patrolling police helicopters had been replaced, but the standoff between the two sides showed no sign of ending.
But let's be honest, Texans are far superior to Californians in terms of enforcement. The DPD quickly issued a temporary flight ban through the FAA (Federal Aviation Administration), allowing only police aircraft to operate within the city limits.
Therefore, the embarrassing situation in Los Angeles, where the major news stations' helicopters outnumbered the police helicopters, did not occur, and all the news vehicles were stopped two miles away.
Aubrey leaned against the command vehicle, gun in hand, looking up at the library's second floor, its exterior a blanket of white, illuminated by countless searchlights. He couldn't help but yawn.
"If you're really free, bring our car over. We'll go get a late-night snack together after this is over."
Jack was annoyed by the guy standing there, an eyesore. The DPD officers around him were extremely nervous, but he was the only one who was completely relaxed.
"I just heard the bomb squad is decontaminating a suspicious package in the underground parking lot. If it's a fake, does that mean SWAT can be deployed?"
Aubrey had been with Jack through many ups and downs. While he could remain calm under a hail of bullets, at least in this situation, it was hard for him to get nervous.
"Even if it's a fake, that doesn't mean Micah Johnson doesn't have other explosives. He's well prepared."
Jack's interest piqued at the mention of the bomb squad. He seemed to have seen a bomb disposal robot earlier, and this time, instead of having to experience the adventure himself, it would be nice to just be a spectator.
Sometimes a man's hobbies can be quite simple. Just setting up an excavator to dig dirt can attract a crowd of idle onlookers. Watching the bucket repeat its monotonous operation, scooping up sand and dirt one shovel at a time, the pressure of life seems to ease.
The bomb disposal robot used by the DPD bomb squad looks a lot like a miniature excavator, except the cockpit is replaced by a pole with a camera, and the digging arm is replaced by a universal manipulator.
Well, at least the tracks look pretty similar.
"This is our latest model of remote-controlled bomb disposal vehicle, the 'Remotec Model F-5.' We just installed a water bomb."
After the two FBI agents identified themselves, a bomb disposal expert, clearly a former military officer, took the initiative to introduce them.
"Detectors didn't find any suspected explosives on the package, but to be on the safe side, we've decided to use compressed air to destroy it."
"Won't that detonate the bomb?" Aubrey asked curiously.
"The chances are slim. The high-speed airflow will instantly damage the internal wiring and detonator, rendering it ineffective. And we're almost certain it's a fake bomb. Maybe some idiot student forgot their backpack here."
This middle-aged man, in his forties, with a hard-edged face and a military demeanor, was a warm-hearted man. He appeared serious, but once he opened his mouth, he was a chatterbox.
He kept a poker face as he explained while his hands, carefully operating the remote control, moved the robot closer to the suspicious backpack.
"3, 2, 1!" With a muffled thud, the compressed air pierced a backpack placed against a pillar, sending paper flying and dust billowing into the air.
The bomb disposal expert's assessment was correct; the suspected bomb was likely just a backpack left behind by a student. It was just that it was over in a flash, unlike the excavator's digging, which Jack could watch all afternoon.
He was about to say goodbye to the bomb disposal expert when he saw Aubrey, chin in hand, looking thoughtfully at the bomb disposal robot. "Tell me, if the current standoff is caused by concerns that the other party might possess explosives and cause additional casualties, is there a possibility?"
—
"Using a remote-controlled robot to approach Micah Johnson? And then what? I don't recall the bomb disposal team's bomb disposal robot being armed."
Chief David Brown's tone was a little stiff, his voice irritated. Now that the two sides had been at a standoff for several hours, the DPD no longer had to worry about the media accusing the police of maliciously killing the suspect.
If we delay any longer, there's a good chance the morning news will feature some subtle sarcasm about the DPD's incompetence and waste of taxpayers' money.
"But a makeshift modification isn't difficult. Sergeant Lake says he can use the materials he has on hand to create a simple device capable of releasing stun grenades. It'll only take about an hour."
Aubrey smiled and raised a finger. The Sergeant Lake he was referring to was the stern-looking bomb disposal expert standing behind them.
"An hour? That's too long. Besides, stun grenades can't guarantee the suspect's incapacitation. I don't want the suspect to detonate the bomb on his body when my officers rush over."
Chief David Brown frowned, thinking for a moment, then beckoned the bomb disposal expert forward. "Twenty minutes to install a pound of remote-detonated C4 on your little toy. Can you do that?"
"Huh?" Even the bomb disposal expert, usually calm and composed, was taken aback by this, but then reacted. "Of course, sir, it'll be done in 15 minutes."
Jack and Aubrey looked at each other in astonishment. Using C4 directly? Was this DPD chief that aggressive? In
the
quiet hallway, Micah Johnson's heavy breathing was clearly audible even across the nearly ten-meter corridor.
The police negotiator had long since given up, shouting himself hoarse. The police cars downstairs had silenced their sirens, but the blinding floodlights streaming through the windows into the hallway were still glaring, punctuated by fleeting flashes of red and blue police lights.
Micah Johnson knew he was dying. A bullet wound had penetrated his left arm, and although he loosened the tourniquet every twenty minutes, the numbness in his fingers was becoming increasingly pronounced.
He knew another bullet had penetrated his back, lodged in his ribs after penetrating the ceramic plate. Although the bleeding had quickly stopped, every breath brought a jolt of excruciating pain that shot straight to his toes.
He should have purchased the Serbian-made armor plates. Many of his comrades in Afghanistan had used the cheap knockoffs, and they'd never had any problems.
The excitement he'd felt from the white powder he'd prepared was gradually fading, and sleepiness began to creep into Micah Johnson's mind.
He'd just sucked up the last bit, but it had little effect. That damned drug dealer had probably ripped him off. If he could escape, the first thing he'd do when he got back was to put a bullet in that bastard's head.
Maybe he should try playing dead now and trick those damned cops into coming in. He still had plenty of bullets, and even killing one more would be a win.
Just as Micah Johnson's groggy mind began to wander, a strange mechanical sound reached his ears.
The creaking sound echoed in the quiet hallway, like caterpillar tracks rolling over the ground, giving him an inexplicably eerie feeling.
The sound reminded Micah Johnson of an old movie he'd seen as a child called "Thunderbolt 5," in which a robot made these strange noises.
Curiosity drove him to quickly glance in the direction of the sound. The moment he saw the object, he couldn't believe his eyes.
Could it really be that robot called "Thunderbolt 5"? But his childhood favorite was "E.T. the Extra-Terrestrial."
As he was daydreaming, Micah Johnson couldn't help but change his position and quickly looked into the corridor again.
He was not mistaken, it was indeed a robot, with a large tracked chassis equipped with a mechanical arm, and a white object was clamped in the mechanical arm.
"Damn cops, what do you bastards want to do?" Micah Johnson repeatedly pulled the trigger at the strange thing, and the bullets scraped sparks on the metal baffle and tracks.
But the robot continued to move forward, very slowly, but it seemed unstoppable, 8 meters, 5 meters, 3 meters, it was already in sight.
"Go to hell!" Micah Johnson roared, but before he could make any further moves, a white light lit up, and a huge explosion shattered the glass of the entire corridor, and by the way, blew off all the ceilings.
(End of this chapter)