S4 EP1 cont.

Grey, Nyla, John, Lucy, and Avery were already waiting in Wesley's house when Ollie and Tim joined them, the latter two being the last to arrive. Wesley let them into the living room urgently, the lines on his face seemingly deepened in the past twenty-four hours.

"La Fiera is holding Angela at a compound outside Guatemala City. I'm going to get her back," Wesley declared, looking at each of the cops surrounding his living room, "but I could use help."

"I'm in," Tim responded instantly.

"Me, too," Avery stated.

"We all are," Lucy added.

"Hold on," Grey put a pause to their determination, "The only people qualified to even think of doing this craziness is Bradford and Harper... and maybe Morrison."

"Are you saying we don't even try and save her?" Tim questioned with a scoff.

"Of course not," Grey frowned, shaking his head. "But we can't just go running into hostile territory without a good damn plan. La Fiera is gonna have sicarios and half the police force protecting her. She'll know the second we step off a plane."

"So, then, we don't fly commercial," Nyla concluded simply.

Grey turned to her. "Last I checked, LAPD doesn't have an air force. And the D.E.A. isn't gonna lend us theirs."

The room fell into an uneasy silence, all trying to rack their brains for some plan. John suddenly lifted his head when an idea came to light. "What about Max?"

"Who's Max?" Avery asked this time, mirroring the confused look on Lucy's face.

Grey stared at four of his officers, finding them exchanging odd looks with each other. "I'm listening," he urged.

"Um, you remember that counterfeiting case a while back that started with the murder of a transient?" John prefaced hesitantly.

"You mean the case where the killer came wandering up to you at the docks in Long Beach?" Grey sent him a look, "Yeah, I remember it."

"Yeah, well, you weren't fully in the loop for some aspects of that arrest," Nyla added slowly.

"Max works in the shadows at the Defense Department. His unit runs covert operations around the globe," Tim shared with the now weary-looking Grey. "They printed that counterfeit money to fund them."

"And we let him walk with it in exchange for our killer," Harper nodded.

"He would have the resources to fly us in under the radar," Ollie suggested.

"Maybe even provide tactical support on the ground," John chipped in.

Grey folded his arms. "And why would he do that?"

"Because he doesn't want his sins put on blast," Ollie responded swiftly.

Wesley took their suggestion as a feasible option, stepping forward. "You have a way to contact this guy?"

"Not exactly," Tim murmured.

"Well, last time, he found us when we ran the name of a colonel through the system," John informed. "I would bet that if we ran that name again, he'd find us again."

Grey was still pondering their suggestion as seven pairs of eyes waited for him expectingly. "Okay, do it," he caved, "Nolan, Chen, you fold in with Bradford and Harper. Start a mission plan. Marshall and Morrison, you're with me at the station to work the murder case."

"Sir, I..." Ollie grew uneasy at the arrangement. Part of the reason was that she was on the case where they dealt with the counterfeit money operation, but the bigger reason was that she was not at ease with the idea of being a part of the team hunting for Jackson's killer. "Sir, I can't do that."

Grey narrowed his eyes at the officer. "And why not?"

The truth? To keep it short, she was just not sane enough to do so.

"Because if I catch a look of Jackson's killer, I'm afraid I might be compelled to kill him instead."

Usually, someone would counter such words of a cop, but right now, everyone was tired and angry. The room fell silent again, with Ollie's determined look locking with Grey's sympathising stare.

"Sir, she's... she's not wrong," Lucy broke the silence hesitantly. "I'll switch."

And Grey nodded at last. "Alright."

Ollie responded with a grateful nod at both the watch commander and her friend.

"Nolan, come here," Grey called out just as the group was about to leave; John headed to him curiously. "Given everything that happened, it's easy to lose sight of what today signifies for you— the end of your time as a rookie," he declared, "You accepted your punishment with grace and humility, and I'm proud to say you are officially a P2. Congratulations."

"Thank you, sir," John responded, shaking the watch commander's hand.

As Grey picked up his ringing cell, the others circled over, each passing on their congratulations.

And in the midst of the madness that they were entrapped in, they found themselves a brief moment to breathe away from the burning grounds.

But only a brief moment.

"The DNA came back," Grey announced, lowering his phone slowly, "We have an I.D. on Jackson's killer."

Ollie's jaw tightened, her throat dry when she swallowed. Jackson's killer. The masked man, the one who so coldheartedly put a bullet through his heart, the one who ripped her best friend away from her.

Tim had his hand on her shoulder again, giving it a light squeeze, drawing her mind to a more important matter at the time being—

Find Angela and get her back safely.

➤➤➤

Ollie was sat next to John in his kitchen as he scoured the online maps to look for La Fiera's compound in Guatemala, based on the approximate location Wesley had sent them. Behind them, in the living room, stood Nyla and Tim, who were in a conversation.

"She in her right mind to do this?" Nyla had asked.

"Yeah," Tim replied easily, though her questioning stare remained pressing. "You'd rather her go after her best friend's killer and shoot him dead?"

"Of course not. But our op is dangerous. It shouldn't be a second-choice plan," Nyla stated, sighing at the weary expression on his face. "You were her T.O. You know her better. Is she in her right mind to join us in this op?"

"She's got this," Tim's assurance was firm, glancing over to the kitchen, where Ollie was helping John on his laptop. "Trust me, the only thing in her mind right now is to rescue Lopez," he asserted, "And she may even surprise you with her newfound fury."

Nyla nodded at last, and they headed over to the kitchen when John informed them that he had found the satellite images of La Fiera's compound. Four pairs of eyes watched the screen as John examined the images. But other than providing them with a bird's-eye view of the building — a large compound in the middle of terrains — it was not helping their case.

"No, these satellite images are garbage," John finally sighed, "I can't even see the place." He shut his laptop in defeat, rising to get himself a stress-coffee. "I-If I'm gonna find a crack in the system, I need high-res photos," he stated, "Blueprints would be even better."

"Yeah, we're not gonna get those," Nyla deadpanned, "This is not the kind of place that's ever been listed on Zillow."

"No, but whoever designed the place would have the plans," John enlightened, setting his mug down on the countertop. "We just need to figure out who that is and borrow them."

"And how do we find the person who designed a drug lord's compound?" Ollie probed.

A knock on the door interrupted John's reply. The four of them swapped glances, with three drawing out their guns and standing in cover while John approached his front door and opened it. An unfamiliar-looking man stood on the other side, taking a step into the house.

"You were told to leave us alone."

"Where's Max?" John questioned him.

"We're all Max," the man stated matter-of-factly, pushing past the other officers in the house as he strolled into the living room. "Why am I here?"

"We need help," Tim informed, sticking his gun back into his waistband. "One of our own is being held in Guatemala— Angela Lopez."

Max clicked his tongue in recognition. "The girl with the .50 cal."

"The woman," Nyla corrected him sharply. "And you're gonna help us get her back."

"No can do. We don't do private parties," Max rejected briskly.

"Well, then," Ollie cleared her throat, "We'll be sure to make that distinction on CNN by daylight."

Max's expression faltered a little, now eyeing each of them with gritted teeth. "We had a deal."

"Circumstances changed. We're making a new deal," Tim stated curtly.

The man in the middle looked at each of their serious faces, studying their threatening gazes, but another thing they all shared was their desperation. "I can get you in and out, provide basic supplies on the ground, but no personnel," Max gave in, "And if you get caught, you're on your own."

John weighed Max's offer; it was a good enough one for them. He exchanged a look with each of his fellow officers, who all nodded at him in response.

"Next stop, Guatemala."

➤➤➤

The four cops arrived in Guatemala by helicopter, each filtering out of the chopper after Max, all dressed in sandy colours other than John, who was in a suit. They followed him towards two vehicles parked just a short distance from their landing spot.

"Two untraceable vehicles, full gas tanks," Max announced, "Four ARs, five mags each."

"We won't need them," Tim interjected. "This turns into a shooting war, we lose ten times out of ten."

"Sure, but I'm still gonna take mine," Nyla spared him a glance before opening the trunk of one of the vehicles.

"In the bags, there's pistols, an R.C. ground drone, scrambled radios, flashlights, food, and water," Max resumed, "You have ten hours to get your woman and get her back here for exfil. We won't wait, and we will not make more than one pickup. Is that clear?"

"Yeah."

Max nodded at them at last. "Happy hunting."

"Boy, does he sound slap-able," Ollie murmured, counting the last duffel bag at the back of the car before shutting the trunk.

"Yeah, tell me about it," Nyla grunted in response.

They watched Max left by the helicopter that brought them in; Tim turned to the group intently. "Alright, we're gonna set up an overlook, recon the compound while you go steal the blueprints from the architect," he nodded at John, "find us a way in."

"Right," John responded, glancing at his watch. "Wesley's plane should be landing right now."

"He needs to play his part perfectly, or they're gonna kill him the second they're clear of the airport."

➤➤➤

"On the bright side, they don't have a tank," Ollie noted, staring at the camera feed of the R.C. ground unit they had deployed.

"Yeah, but they got everything else," Nyla stated as Tim manoeuvred the R.C. to inspect the external defences of La Fiera's compound. "I mean, this place is crawling with guards."

Tim lowered their feed to the road, where they saw a police vehicle driving up the hill. "Cop car— he's coming up to the house," he informed. The three of them watched the video feed closely as the vehicle parked at the compound's entrance, with a couple of cops stepping out. Wesley stood out in his white suit, ducking out from the back of the car. "Well, they didn't kill him."

"Yet," Ollie added bleakly.

➤➤➤

"I got bad news," John shouted out as he exited his vehicle at the recon site, holding the compound plans in his hand. "According to the blueprints, this place is a fortress— redundant security systems, pressure-sensitive alarms."

"Uh, but there's good news, too, right?" Ollie asked unsurely, manoeuvring the drone setup as Tim continued the inspection from the ground.

"Yes. There should be a covert way in. It's an access tunnel that leads to the wine cellar," John informed, eyeing the drone's camera feed. "Pan left. Right at the base of the house..."

Ollie followed his guidance, lowering their drone's camera angle to the side of the compound as the four of them transfixed on the video feed.

"And, there. Now, zoom in," John furrowed his brows as the feed zoomed larger, "And it— Damn it!"

"What?"

"Well, they realised it was a weakness. They put a gate on it," John grunted at their potential entryway that was now gated. "That was not in the plans."

"Maybe we can break the lock," Nyla suggested, "or, uh, bump it, or—"

"No. No, we'd be exposed too long. A roving patrol would spot us," Tim cut in, "Plus, there's no guarantee that other new security measures aren't inside." He let out a strained sigh, shaking his head. "We have to go to Plan B."

"I don't like Plan B," Nyla rolled her eyes, "There are too many unknowns."

"But Plan B sounds better than staging a frontal assault," Ollie chipped in weakly.

"Yeah. Would you rather stage a frontal assault on an elevated position?" Tim added, glancing at Nyla, who rolled her eyes again defeatedly.

"No!"

With the drone and R.C. collected back, Ollie was busy dissembling it to stash away while Tim dialled a number; Nyla and John were in a pair, prepping for their new plan.

"Hey, Bradford. I'm here with Chen," Avery's voice came through the loudspeaker.

"Did you get her?" Lucy quickly asked.

"No," Tim replied in a beat, "We're going to Plan B."

"I don't like Plan B," Avery's voice sounded bitter, even through the phone.

Tim rolled his eyes, sending the three others a shared irritated look. "Join the club. It's what we got."

"Are you two ready?" Ollie asked through the call.

"Not yet. But we just need to set up. It'll be quick," Avery stated.

"Call us when you're in position," Lucy added.

"Oh, and Tim," Avery called again, his voice tentative, "Make sure she's alright, yeah?"

"Of course." Tim exhaled heavily when he ended the call, putting away his phone then reaching for his radio. "Max, come in."

"Go for Max."

"We're going to Plan B."

"Ooh. Really?"

"Yeah, we don't have a choice," Tim deadpanned. "The pickup's at a new extraction point."

"Copy that. We'll be there in sixty. But if you're not there on time, we're not waiting."

The group of cops rolled their eyes.

"Alright, we got to go get set up," Nyla announced.

"Alright, I'll stay here, keep eyes on them, let you know when they're on the move," John stated, "Then I'll fall in behind, meet you at the exfil."

"Guys, we got to alert Wesley," Ollie mentioned, stalking towards the other vehicle to pick up a set of fireworks.

Plan B is officially in motion.

➤➤➤

"How come you're here with me?" John asked from the driver seat as he and Ollie watched closely to the drone feed deployed to track the movements from the compound. Tim and Nyla were already set off to the hospital to rescue Angela, assigning Ollie to join John in watch-and-report duty.

"To babysit you, obviously. You've just only joined the P2s," Ollie replied with a shrug, her eyes still fixed on the video feed for movements.

John raised a brow at her. "Uh..."

"I'm kidding," Ollie shook her head. "One — or both — of them doesn't trust me enough to put me on rescue duty. Which, if I'm being frank, is quite understandable."

"Harper or Bradford not trusting you is understandable?"

"John, I don't even know if I trust myself right now," she sighed. "Don't worry, I don't hold grudges. It's for the best," she claimed, "But hell am I visiting my therapist every day after we head back..."

Ollie's phone rang in her pocket, and she picked it out, staring at the caller ID curiously. "It's Lucy," she shared before picking up the phone. "Hey, if it's about the traffic feed, you gotta call Tim—"

"We caught him," Lucy informed shortly.

Ollie felt as though the air was put back into her lungs. Those three words were enough for her to feel a wave of unplaced goodness circling within her — one thing had gone right today, and they were up for more — sufficient to get her senses kicking. "That's great. Thank you."

"Yup," Lucy cleared her throat, "Be careful, alright?"

"Sure thing." Ollie ended the call and glanced over to John with a light smile. "They caught Jackson's killer."

John, too, let out a long breath. "That's some good news today," he nodded faintly, "I have a feeling we'll be getting more good news sooner or later."

Ollie abruptly straightened her back, squinting at the drone feed. La Fiera's crew had just brought Angela and Wesley out of the compound, but they had separated them into two vehicles. "That's gonna be 'later'," Ollie dulled, "Hell's sake, they're gonna kill him."

John picked their radio up immediately. "We got a problem."

Nyla responded instantly. "What is it?"

"They're taking Wesley somewhere to kill him," John notified, exchanging a look with Ollie, who nodded firmly in response. "We're going after them."

It took a beat before Nyla's voice came through again. "John, you can't," she urged, "We have—"

"I have to," John insisted firmly. "I'd never be able to look Angela in the eyes again if I didn't."

Ollie snatched the radio over next. "Without Wesley's help, none of you would've found me in the bottom of the barrel," she stated heavily, "I owe him that much."

"Ollie, listen—" Tim's voice came through, but Ollie had killed off the line as John hurriedly put their car into motion.

➤➤➤

Tim hauled over a nearby equipment drawer and rammed it against the door they had entered through, in hopes of buying them time. But he could already hear the crew nearing. He quickened past Nyla and Angela, with the former administrating a counter-effect shot to the latter. "We gotta go. We gotta go."

The door did not, in fact, buy them enough time. The sound of rushing footsteps closed in as the four of them made the run for it. Gunshots were fired in the hospital hallways.

"Max, we need immediate evac," Tim spoke urgently through his radio.

"We are three minutes out."

A few bullets flew in their direction, with Nyla pausing to whirl around to return fire. Swiftly, she put a bullet to the side of a fire extinguisher, buying them more time they needed.

"We'll be dead in three minutes," Tim hollered, "Get here faster!"

"We need to save Wesley," Angela strained out. "They took him!"

"Nolan and Marshall's got him."

Angela seemed to calm a little at the knowledge. They hurried to the rear of the hospital, with Tim kicking down the door to let them out. Bursting out of the hospital building, they saw their ride landing just in time.

Max slid open the helicopter door, waving frantically for them. "Let's go, let's go!"

But more bullets came in their direction— coming from La Fiera, who was alone in her pursuit. Angela stumbled a little but caught herself right back up, whirling around with rage in her eyes. Lifting her gun, she pulled the trigger once— twice— shooting La Fiera right in the chest.

The woman had barely yelled out in time before she fell face-first into a chain-link fence.

Angela had not bothered to spare her another look as she and the others hurried to get into the helicopter.

Tim pulled the door shut as the helicopter took off, and the three of them were finally able to catch their breath for a moment.

"You okay?" Harper asked.

"The bullet just grazed me," Angela informed, turning to look at them. "What about Wesley? And Nolan? Ollie?"

Tim snapped his head up to Max. "We need to make another stop."

"No other stops. I told you that," Max spat.

But quickly enough, he found three guns pointed at him with three faces that were very much ready to shoot him.

"Okay, we're gonna make another stop."

➤

John and Ollie had followed the vehicle carrying Wesley through acres of terrain before the car stopped by an orchard. The pair of cops pulled over behind a shed, watching as Abril and one other guy yanked Wesley out of the backseat of their SUV, urging him into the orchard.

"Let's go," John hushed, and they both got out of their vehicle to follow them.

Quietly and carefully, they trailed after Abril and her henchman, who had a gun pointed at Wesley's back as she pushed him further into the orchard.

"I'll take the big guy," Ollie whispered.

"Sounds ambitious," John noted.

"Not at all," Ollie spared him a glance, "That woman looks deadly. You can have her."

With another signal, they split up, each taking a path around where their targets were at. Ollie circled behind a few trees, making sure not to step over the fallen twigs and not make a sound as she advanced toward them.

"Oh, this is very dramatic," she heard Wesley's voice.

"Life is sacred, no? We should honour it when we take it," Abril replied cockily. "Plus, they'll use your body as fertiliser. Makes the oranges extra sweet."

Ollie paused briefly next to a tractor, her eyes lighting up with an idea. It shouldn't be too hard to drive this thing, right?

She was not entirely wrong.

"Bueno. This is far enough," Abril announced, stopping deep in the orchard. She lifted her gun, cocking it, and pointing it at the back of Wesley's head. "Where do you want it, in the face or the back of the head?"

Wesley did not show his fear, scoffing instead in return. "Neither."

Ollie got the tractor to start, roaring its engine. Her idea of diverting their attention worked favourably. Just as she drove the tractor forward, distracting them, John took the chance to emerge from the trees, and he swung a thick branch Abril first, then one of her companions.

Unfortunately, he did not make it in time to draw out his gun before Abril kicked it out of his grip.

Ollie hopped down from the tractor, rushing towards the two men deep into fistfights. She pulled out her firearm and first hurried over to the man who was choking Wesley on the ground, sending the bottom of her gun at his skull. But the guy got back up to his feet almost immediately.

He lunged towards Ollie, who did not match his size, and hence toppled backwards onto the ground. She did a quick turn when she saw a shoe before her face, saving herself just in time. Leaping back onto her feet, she continued the fight by sending her knuckles into his face. But he countered her with a punch to her stomach and an elbow to her jaw.

She caught herself before she could hit the ground, fiercely launching forward and tackling the guy. Wesley came in with an assist by hammering the guy's head again with the branch that John had dropped aside, causing the guy to double over in pain. Ollie immediately stepped up and stomped her boot onto his face, knocking him out.

"Thanks," Ollie panted out, nodding at Wesley.

"No, thank you," Wesley managed out, still rubbing his neck sorely.

On the other side, John took a few hits and kicks, but when Abril turned to kick him again, he caught her leg, throwing her against a tree.

With two of them unconscious at last, their relief was enhanced by the whirring sound of a helicopter above them.

"That's our ride. Let's go!" Ollie called out, waving at the others, and the three of them hurried out of the orchard.

Wesley was sprinting towards the helicopter that was landing at an open field right up ahead, as though his injuries did not affect him. John, on the other hand, was slower, feeling all the cuts and bruises on his body.

Tim and Nyla jumped out of the helicopter to cover for them, all yelling at them to hurry.

Ollie stumbled into the seat, with Tim climbing in last and shutting the door. The helicopter took off once more, with everyone feeling victorious but incredibly exhausted, all glad that their madness had reached an end.

Angela and Wesley were hugged tight, silently rejoicing at reuniting together. To his side, John clapped him on the arm, then nodded at Ollie, who managed a weak smile in return.

Her chest was heaving, and her body was sore. She could feel the bruises on her knuckles, the cuts on her face, and the burning stare she was getting from the man seated opposite her. Tim was still eyeing her with a face of concern.

Ollie tried sitting back up — Oh, and the ache of getting struck square in the stomach — but immediately failed to do so. Her hand reached up to clutch her torso, and she squeezed her eyes shut, hissing in pain.

Tim stared at her bloodied cheek and the wincing scrunch of her nose; he bumped her knee with his. "Are you okay?"

"I will be after some really, really strong painkillers," Ollie mumbled back, feeling depleted.

"They've arrested Jackson's killer," John informed in the noisy helicopter.

But Angela snapped to him curtly, gaping in shock. "Jackson's..." Her breath skipped, her eyes already glistering. She had heard the muffles, heard the gunshot, but she had hoped—

"They shot him point blank," Ollie told her, sounding strained, her head lowered. "It was quick."

Acknowledging that actuality herself sent a wave of grief crashing over her mind.

And it will soon mess her up brutally.

━━━━━

I've always wondered when did Angela find out about Jackson 🤔 could be when they shot him, but it was never addressed (not that i remember of) so 🤷

Heads up: next chapter is gonna be SAD.