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was pounding as we raced towards the scene.
    When something like this
happens, the only people on the radio should be those that are on the scene. 
Everyone else should be listening for details.  Where are the shots coming
from?  Which direction should we not approach from?  Where is the downed
agent?  The goal is to clear a path to him, push back any attack, and render
immediate aid.
    By the time we sped on to the
scene it was getting dark, the perimeter was in place, and there was an airship
overhead.  Our immediate goal was to reach the agent who had been shot.  As we
approached there was a patrol car guarding the part of the perimeter that
blocked our access.
    “Can’t go in,” said one of the
officers.
    We identified ourselves with
credentials and badges.
    Despite that he still refused:
“Sorry, guys.  The command post says no one in or out.”
    “The command post?  Listen, I’m
the case agent,” Jake asserted. “I’m telling you to move your vehicle or I’ll
push it out of the way with my car.  Do you understand?  We have an agent down
in there and his partner is calling for help.  We’re going in!”
    The officer complied, moving
his car.  As he closed the perimeter behind us once again, the airship above
immediately noticed us entering and came on the radio asking us to ID
ourselves.  (Our undercover cars didn’t have large identifying numbers on the
roof as police cars do.)
    “Fed 2-7 is rolling in.” I
responded.
    “Air-3 to Shop-2-7; be advised
that you are heading into the kill-zone.  Stop.  Do not proceed.  Back up.”
    Jake grabbed the mic from my
hand.  “Air-3,—Fed 2-7.  Point us to where the agents are—repeat—direct us to
the location of the downed agent.”
    “Roger 2-7, continue moving
straight ahead—northbound . . .”  But before they could tell us how far ahead, or
anything more, the command post stepped on the airship’s transmission.
    “Fed 2-7, you are to report to
the command post immediately.”
    Jake and I looked at each
other, wondering who was sending these orders to us.
    “Fed 2-7 report back to the
command post immediately—acknowledge!”
    Jake was thinking.  Finally,
Jake responded.
    “Negative CP, Fed 2-7 will not
leave the area.  We’re going in to find our agents.”
    “2-7, exit the area immediately—we
are waiting for a SWAT team.  That’s an order!” barked the voice over the
radio.
    “Negative,” was Jake’s instant
response; as he turned the volume down and looked over at me.
    By this time we’d both
recognized the voice as that of a supervisory agent who just happened to be
dating the Assistant US Attorney assigned to the task force.  For some reason
he thought he was in charge.  The reality was that he was from another agency,
and his own training was flawed.  His experience with things like this was
zero, zip, nada; yet he’d dared to assume control. It was clear that the other
agencies liked his idea of waiting around until a special tactical team could
arrive.  After all, no one could say for sure where the shooter was.
    “Okay, he’s keeping everybody
out and they’re listening to him.  We aren’t going to get any help from them. 
They’re afraid.  If we go back to the command post we’ll be taken out of the
picture.  Are you ready to move forward and do this with me?” Jake asked.
    “Let’s go.” I told him. “The
chopper said straight ahead.”
    Then suddenly - two more shots
rang out.  We both ducked instinctively.  Our guys were still under fire.
    With the sniper still out
there, our best chance of reaching our guys safely and perhaps spotting the
sniper's muzzle flash, would be if we were on foot. We had our vests, our
MP-5's, our 9mm’s, radios and flashlights.  We spilt up and started to move
carefully up the street on different sides, using the darkness, the cars, the
trees and the shrubs as cover.  We moved in the direction that we’d been told
our guys would be, using the tight