Dark Sacred Night (Harry Bosch Universe #31)(91)
Cespedes was quiet a moment and Bosch knew he was deciding how much to tell Bosch. The SIS was a very insular group within the department. Once officers transferred in, they never transferred out. They cut off relationships and contact with old partners and friends in the department. In the fifty-year history of the unit, there had only been one woman ever assigned to the team.
“Foothill gangs has a deep-cover snitch,” Cespedes said. “He got us the cell number of a shot caller on the same level as Cortez. We hijacked the cell and sent Cortez a message about a must-attend meet regarding you, Bosch, at Hansen Dam. We’re hoping that does the trick.”
Cespedes had just described at least two things that were compromising, if not outright against department protocol, not to mention illegal—if hijacking the phone had been done without a warrant. He was attempting to draw Bosch in and make him complicit in what might go down later. If Bosch didn’t object now, he couldn’t claim innocence afterward.
And that was all right with him.
“Why Hansen Dam?” he asked.
“The truth?” Cespedes said. “No cameras up there.”
He turned to look at Bosch. It was another moment where Bosch could either raise a flag or go along.
“Good plan,” he said, putting himself all in.
The SIS held a unique position in the LAPD. Often investigated by outside agencies ranging from the FBI to the media to civil rights groups, often sued by the families of the suspects shot, routinely labeled a “death squad” by outraged attorneys, the unit enjoyed a completely opposite reputation within the rank and file of the department. Infrequent openings in the unit brought hundreds of applications, including from those willing to drop pay grades just to get in. The reason was that, more so than any other unit, this was seen as true police work. The SIS took violent offenders off the board. Whether they were taken alive didn’t matter. They took out shooters, rapists, serial killers. The ripple effect of crimes not committed because of SIS captures and kills was unquantifiable but huge. And there wasn’t a cop on the force who wouldn’t want to be part of that. Never mind the outside critics, the investigations, and the lawsuits. This was to serve and protect in its rawest form.
Bosch felt no choice but to go all in. Tranquillo Cortez had not played by the rules. He’d had his men take Bosch from his home, from the place his daughter often slept. There can be no greater crime against a police officer than to threaten his family. You do that, and all bets are off. So when Bosch called it a good plan, he meant it, and he hoped that one way or another the threat from Tranquillo Cortez would be over before midnight.
43
At 8:10 p.m., the Mustang’s radio came alive with one call after another reporting that the target—Tranquillo Cortez—had been spotted and was on the move. Interpreting the radio code used by the SIS officers, Bosch deduced that Cortez was with an unidentified bodyguard/driver and had gotten into a white Chrysler 300 with a lowered suspension. The car had illegally smoked windows that made it impossible to identify those behind the glass.
The Chrysler was eastbound on Roscoe, and Cespedes let the entourage of SIS vehicles go by before putting the Mustang in play. Still, he hung back to see if Cortez had initiated any countersurveillance techniques such as a long-lead follow car. When he was satisfied there was none, he pulled into traffic to catch up to the others. His role as commander of the unit was to hang behind and be ready to move up into one of the corners of the floating-box surveillance surrounding the Chrysler should one of the four cars rotating positions be made by the suspect or otherwise taken out of commission.
Bosch heard over the radio that the Chrysler had turned north on Branford, which would lead directly into the park and golf course at Hansen Dam. Bosch listened as units identified themselves over the radio as Advance, Backdoor, and Outrigger One and Two and kept a running report on the moving surveillance. The voices were calm and slow, as if they were describing a golf match on TV.
“Where are we going in the park?” Bosch asked.
“The golf course parking lot,” Cespedes said. “Should be empty right about now. Can’t play golf in the dark, right?”
Bosch had asked the question as an attempt to get Cespedes talking about the plan. They were about a mile from the park and Bosch didn’t know what the tactical strategy would be once they reached the takedown spot.
“It’s going to come down to a choice,” Cespedes said. “It always does.”
“What do you mean?” Bosch asked. “What choice?”
“To live or die. The plan is always about containment first. We will put him into a situation where he knows he isn’t getting out of the box. He then has a choice. Go out on his feet or on his back. It’s amazing how many times these guys make the wrong choice.”
Bosch just nodded.
“This is the guy who had you abducted,” Cespedes said. “From the place your daughter calls home. Then he was going to torture you and feed your body to his dogs.”
“That’s right,” Bosch said.
“Sounds like a movie I saw once.”
“I heard somebody say that. I missed it.”
“Yeah, well, we need to teach these people that the movies aren’t real life. Bring a little truth to the situation, you know what I mean?”
“I do.”