Chapter Text
Bottom line, Street knew fairly quickly that the pitch conversation for their new sting wouldn’t be easy. He even briefed Deacon on the exact way this conversation would go, and the older man had agreed. They’re proven right almost instantly.
“No, no, absolutely not,” Hondo rushes. His hand comes out in the air, creating a thicker mental divide between him and Hicks, versus Street and Deacon. “There is no way Street is heading out on another undercover mission- not after last time.”
Street sighs. “I knew you would say that,” he huffs. Street uncrosses his arms biting his cheek. “Look—“
“What’s this about Street going undercover again?” Chris demands, rounding the corner from behind the pillar. Tan and Luca follow, and Street quickly realizes that this won’t be a very private conversation.
Deacon is quick, luckily, to get his recommendation in to settle the forming tension. “Let’s go to the briefing room, alright?” he offers, glancing around between his teammates. “We can discuss this there. In private.”
Reluctantly, the rest of the 20-David squad follows them in without much more of a bark. Hicks and Lynch stand on the other side, arms folded and face twisted, but no one’s expression reads as angry as Hondo’s does.
“Talk,” Hicks says bluntly.
Hondo follows up with, “And you better have a hell of an explanation for this one.”
Stepping up force, Deacon embodies the pure experience and confidence that’s helped him be the right-hand of many S.W.A.T. leaders over the years. “A CI contacted me over the weekend. He said that his brother had reached out saying that their church was getting ready to enact a ‘Doomsday Death’ situation by this Friday.”
As he talks, Street grabs a tablet and starts to pull up the pictures they have gathered for this. “It’s not a church; we’re looking at a strong religious cult that has grown over the past few years. All led by this man— Jackson Paring.”
In sync, Street throws his picture up on the screen and clears his throat. “I saw Deac looking over his profile while I was working in the tech room and recognized Jack almost instantly. I worked with him undercover back in my first few years at Long Beach. I was working an angle when his following was smaller. I was from a different branch of another church looking to work with his ideals. He never found out my true identity— he’s too off the grid.”
"Short version is,” Deacon jumps back in, “they’re not gonna fold to anyone they think is an outsider,” he explains. “If we go in as religious men from a nearby convent looking to join them, they’ll jump at the opportunity to spread the word. Train us and send us out as missionaries.”
"Yeah, this all makes sense,” Luca agrees, pointing at the screen on the wall with a waving hand. “But why does it have to be Street?”
"It won’t be just Street. I’ll be in there, too,” Deacon explains.
Chris shakes her head. “I still don’t like it. I’m good in undercover. Let me go.”
Street snorts. “No chance.” He fixes the tablet in between his arm and his side. “No offence, but Jack is a horrible person. He thinks women are inferior, so he won’t think you’re up for the job. This guy is also super racist, so it wouldn’t be good to send in Tan or Hondo, either.”
Lynch laughs lightly. “Sounds like a peach,” she mutters.
Hondo takes a deep breath, replacing his weight across his legs. “You’re telling me.”
"Luca hasn't been in the field for a while now, not much since his injury. It’s just better this way,” Deacon says, slapping a hand on Street’s shoulder. “I can take the lead for the most part. I’m older and more familiar with his teachings. Street knows enough to get him through as a young learner.”
Street nods excessively. “I told you guys that Sunday school was good for something.”
The room falls silent. Street’s eyes dance around from person to person, jumping across emotions and trying to gather the general consensus of his coworkers. He finally falls upon Hicks, who still looks displeased. “You still don’t like it,” he guesses.
Hicks grunts, a sarcastic smile taking over his face. “No shit,” he answers. It cracks a grin on Deacon’s face, that he’s not overly serious. “I’m not a fan of sending Street back undercover— not after last time and not this soon.”
Street hangs his head as the disapproval. Deacon’s hand slips from where it rests. No one speaks up.
”But it’s our best shot.”
His head flies up and straight to Hicks, as does the gaze of most of his team. “It gives us the best chances at stopping a mass suicide, and I won’t deny that.” He shrugs. looking across the table to the leader of their squad, who still stands off to the side, defeated and fuming. “If Hondo agrees, I’ll sign off on it, and we’ll get this going.”
When he sees Chris’s eyes piercing directly into Hondo’s form, they’re pleading, a desperate sort of question to get him to turn them down. Luca, normally perfect at hiding his fear, is begging the same question. Even Tan’s eyes are wide and scared.
“I do not like this, let me make that perfectly clear,” Hondo starts. His form loosens a little, his shoulders falling and his eyebrows uncurling ever so slightly. “But I trust my team. Street, Deacon— if you both think that you’re up for this,” he pauses, watching as both men give him a nod, “then, let’s go take this son of a bitch down.”
The breath of relief that leaves Deacon forms a smile in its wake. Street grins in return, cheering, a little ‘woop’ and a ‘thank you’ leaving him as he runs off to return the tablet in his grip. He knows the room he’s left is dealing its the aftermath of a promise to compromise his safety, but the need to leave an undercover operation successfully is stronger than his fear.
The locker room is silent. Hondo tries his best to make small talk, but Deacon's already left, and with Street being the only one who wants to help the situation, the air is stiff and awkward. Tan and Luca leave with murmured goodbyes. Hondo leaves with a defeated smile.
Chris slams her locker door shut. She doesn't say anything when she slings her bag over her shoulder, just stomps from the room before Street can even get his second shoe on. Then, he decides that running into the hallway in one sock isn't the worst fate possible.
”Chris, wait,” he calls, jogging up to her in the hall. She turns around wordlessly, begging her question with a mere raise of her eyebrow. “I know you don’t want me to do this,” Street starts. She huffs, almost to say ‘obviously,’ but he continues. “But, I’m not scared. I trust Deac. I trust me.”
“I trust you guys, too. You know that.” Chris sighs. “It’s just… every undercover op you’ve had in S.W.A.T. has gone sideways,” she points out. “Don’t you think that’s a sign?”
Street shrugs. She’s not wrong, not necessarily, but he’s always known that he can get out of it. “I trust my team, too, to get me out if I need it,” he finalizes. Chris’s head falls ever so slightly with her defeat. “I didn’t come out here to rub it in your face. I— I wanted to tell you that I… rewrote my letter. Well, letters.”
Chris stares at him in confusion.
“The letter I wrote you at first— it was half-assed, ok? I still thought it was some stupid, bullshit sentiment that wouldn’t matter within the next day. But…” Street trails, searching for the words he thought he had rehearsed enough to stay on top of them. “But these undercover stings have really proved how quickly everything can change.”
”When I wrote you the letter, I thought the only person I had in my corner was my mom,” he admits. “And after Nate… I know now that you guys… you’re my family. All of you. So I— I rewrote your letter, but I also wrote one for the rest of the team. Each of you.”
Chris swallows hard enough for Street to notice. “Street—“
”I don’t want you guys to need them, either. But, I thought you should know,” he rambles. Embarrassed, Street clutches the strap of the bag flung over his shoulder. “You deserve that, at least.”
Chris is quiet as she mulls over her words. Street takes the chance to look around, glancing around HQ and knowing that he won’t be back tomorrow, that he won’t be back for days, if all goes well. He takes a deep breath of his home.
Then, without him even seeing the movement, Chris wraps her arms around him. It’s not often that they hug, especially not since their kiss, so it takes a second for the shock to wear off enough for him to hug her in return. But, once he does, it feels good.
“We won’t need them,” she reiterates before pulling away. Chris keeps a hand on his arm. “Come back in one piece, ok? Or I’ll kick your ass back to LBPD.”
Street smiles the widest grin he can muster. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
They head out to the compound the following morning. Street’s dressed in the closest thing he can get to his ‘Sunday best.’ His tan khakis paired with the baby blue and white patterned button down couldn’t make him look more childish if he had asked. Even Hicks had laughed when he saw it.
They piled into an SUV, he and Deacon, Hondo, Hicks, and Lynch. They set up base a few acres off of what belongs to the compound. There was a small cabin that formally belonged to an elderly man that never sold after his death. Still enroute, Hicks takes two ties out of a box and passes them to Hondo, who deals them out to his two teammates.
“These ties are wired,” Hicks warns from the front seat without turning around. “I had them threaded through the fabric so that they won’t be felt, even if these psychos pat you down.”
Street nods, but Hondo casts a glance back up to the man. “Commander, that means they won’t be able to hear us.”
Hicks nods. “I know.”
Hondo looks surprised, but Hicks just sighs as he looks at the three in the back through the rearview mirror. “We can’t have any device that can be visible. If this operation is found out, we don’t know what kinds of methods they have set up.”
Even though it feels like he’s missing something, Hondo lets it go.
They meet the rest of the 20-David squad at the house. Even if they weren’t supposed to come in this early, they would stop at nothing to see off their teammates.
As Lynch shuts the door, Deacoon and Street finish passing out greetings to their friends.
“You look like his son,” Tan jokes, pointing between the two.
Chris snorts. “Yeah, you do. This tie isn’t helping your case, man.” She leans forward, looking him over. “Seriously, this outfit is perfect. Only thing you’re missing is the earwig.”
Street stays silent. Chris’s smile begins to falter. “Where is your earwig?” she asks.
Deacon sighs. “We won’t be bringing any.”
”What?” Luca asks, stepping forward. “No ears?”
”We will have ears inside. The mic in threaded through their ties,” Hicks interrupts, stepping forward. “No phones, either. We cannot have a single way for Jack and his followers to know Street and Deacon are communicating to outsiders.”
Hondo shakes his head. “There’s something you guys aren’t telling us, man,” he insists. He points to the inside of the circle. “This operation doesn’t need to remain small, not this time. We are a team; tell us what you know.”
No one from S.W.A.T. speaks up, leaving Lynch to clear her throat as she approaches. “Deacon’s CI— the same informant from the beginning— reached out to Jack and let him know he had two friends coming to learn about his teachings. Jack asked that they don’t disrupt the ritual he has placed for two days from now.”
”That’s the suicide,” Tan points out.
“Yes,” Lynch confirmed. “It means a lot to them. Jack said that things will get dangerous.”
Luca’s eyebrows furrow. He clenches his jaw, trying to keep his heavy confusion at bay. “But, we know how they’re doing that. The….” he waves his hands around, “…poison and all.”
Lynch takes a deep breath. “Jack said that if these two,” she gestures vaguely at Deacon and Street, “cause any mass panic, he has a different way to take everyone out accordingly.” Aside from her awkward attempts to get the heavy words out, the room is silent with a beg for her to continue. “He has the place lined with explosives.”
“Woah, woah, woah. Back up, right now,” Hondo demands, anger clear and loud in his words. Luca, Chris, and Tan have all jumped up with their own mumbles, but his insistence takes them all over. “You’re sending my men into a minefield?”
Chris glares. “And you two knew about this?” She points to Street and Deacon, specifying her audience, though the answer disappoints her and leaves her to stew in her disappointment.
Hondo opens his mouth, but is stopped before he can say anything else. "This is not to be argued against, Hondo. Stand down.” Hicks’s order is strong and unwavering. “We did not know this at the time we had you sign off. But, if we pull back now, it draws suspicions. Jack will know something is up, and it’ll lead to him prematurely killing a ton of people, or going after Deacon’s CI or his brother. It’s too late.”
The good luck that was supposed to be spread through their mini ‘going away’ party dissipates fairly quickly as Hondo leaves the room, slamming the door to wherever he went to hide at. A heavy sigh leaves Street’s throat as he hangs his head. Deacon slaps a hand onto his shoulder. “Drinks are on me once we get out of here,” he offers.
The joke falls flat, in the end. He and Street peel out of the driveway with emotions weighing them down, leaving nothing but a few speakers in the house as the only method to verify their safety.
Only a few minutes after Street and Deacon leave, Hondo reemerges from the other room. His entrance is silent, but the air in the room shifts as he owes, morphing to absorb the anger he’s still holding.
Hicks, however, doesn’t take it as lightly as Hondo wishes. He storms over, taking his hand off of his chin as he does. “Wanna tell me what the hell that was?”
"You cannot be serious,” Hondo mutters. Hicks’s eyebrows fly up on his forehead. “Commander, you sent my team into a rigged building with no help! Without warning us in time to come up with a plan!”
"Don’t you think I know that?!” Hicks’s yell is sudden, enough to make the rest of the 20-David squad to stop pretending like they aren’t listening. “I know how dangerous this is, believe me. But, if we pull out now, Jack will know something is up. We have way too many lives on the line, you know that.”
The room falls silent. Hicks turns around, pointing to Luca, Chris, and Tan, then back to Hondo. He groups them all together. “And I don’t appreciate you four putting more emotion and more pressure onto them before they enter an extremely dangerous undercover op! That is completely unacceptable.
"Hey, Deac?” Street’s voice comes through on the speakers. Hicks stills. The entire team glances at the computer. Deacon merely hums in response and continues to drive. “Do you think we’re in the wrong here?”
Deacon’s response is delayed, almost as though he’s trying to say something with his eyes that Street doesn’t pick up on. "Mics are on, Street. They can hear us.”
"I know,” the younger admits, a bit of disappointment in his voice. “I just— I feel bad. I didn’t want— we all know how my last undercover op went when I lied to the team. And we did it again.” Another moment passes where no one speaks. “I don't want to go into this with— with hatred.”
Deacon sighs. “No one hates you. Or me. They’re just… they’re just as scared as we are.”
There’s nothing else said, at least, nothing loud enough for the mic to pick up. Hicks sighs and turns to his team. “This is why we did not want you guys to know. Your reactions have more an effect on their performance than you know.”
Chris looks down at the ground. She twiddles her fingers together. “We’re sorry,” she apologizes. “We just… don’t want a repeat of last time.”
Hicks doesn’t say much else on the topic. He pulls out his phone, which is lit up with a call from another number. He places his finger over the ‘answer’ button, but waits to swipe. He looks back up at the team as he walks towards the door. “Safe word is ‘Orlando.’”
Hondo sighs. “You heard the man. We hear ‘Orlando,’ we go in.”
Tan nods in agreement. “Bomb squad nearby?”
“Not quite,” Lynch interrupts, arms on her hips. “They’re caught up in a threat upstate, but they will get here as soon as they can.”
Hondo acknowledges her, but knows that it’ll lead to something worse.
When the door opens, it’s not Jack. It’s another man whose face looks to hold equal amounts of anger, but with less brains backing him. He’s a big guy, tall and buff, and his glare and angry snarl isn’t helping their chances. “Can I help you?” he grunts, sounding anything but willing and inviting.
Street glances at Deacon, who clears his throat. “We’re here for Jackson Pairing,” he starts. “We’re from the Yarish Convent. Tell him it’s David Clark and James O’Neil.”
The man’s eyes dance between them, before he finally takes a step back, opening passageway into the building. Deacon takes the lead, walking in before them. Street follows with one last exhale, and the man shuts the door behind them.
From their post on the hill, Lynch peers out of the window with binoculars. She watches as an unfamiliar man leans out of the doorway that Street and Deacon when into, looking around at the empty land before sealing them inside. Without looking away, she announces to the rest of the group, “They’re in,” she informs.
The man keeps them at the entrance. “Wait here,” he orders, before disappearing down the hall. The only communication they share in hi absence is a quiet “We’re inside” that is no doubt only to ensure that the team knows of their success. It only makes Street think of what he was told at the beginning of his last op— getting in is the easy part. It’s getting out of it that’s hard.
When they see the guy who let them inside again, he’s got Jack on his tail. The leader grins as he approaches, first approaching Deacon. “You must be David,” he says holding out a hand to shake.
He looks older than what Street remembers. His hair is almost completely grey now, with a thicker beard that lines his face. He has a new scar that runs from his wrist up the side of his arm, but Street’s not sure how big it is, as it disappears up the sleeve of his flannel.
“That’s me,” Deacon says as he returns the handshake. “It’s great to meet you.”
Jack pats his shoulder as he pulls back. “Likewise. It always is when people come to learn more about my teachings. Especially when it means those at Yarish have finally started to show me respect.” Jack moves past Deacon and, once he lays his eyes on Street, his smile grows. “James. How good is it to see you again, huh?”
He skips the handshake then, going straight for a hug. Distantly, Street thinks about how he doesn’t really think they were ever this close, even when he was in the peak of his operation all those years ago, but he doesn’t deny the embrace. “You too, Jack. How you been?”
“Good, good,” he insists as he backs away. Jack grins, clasping his hands together in front of his chest. “I didn’t expect to see you around here ever again.” He looks at Street, who tries to hide the worry that evades him at that sentence. “Sarah says that she hasn’t seen you around our branches in years.”
Street hums. It’s not a completely unprecedented question— he had prepared for this one. “Yeah, I know. I’m planning on apologizing while I’m here,” he admits. Street has an urge to scratch the back of his neck, but the fears that it’ll make the tie stand out keep his hands at bay. “I’ve been down in Long Beach for a while now. I met David at his church in L.A. When he went over to Yarish, I thought I’d throw your name out.” Jack hums. Street follows up with, “They’re pretty impressed by your teachings, y’know.”
”Good to know,” Jack agrees. “Well, we’ve expanded quite a bit since you’ve last been here. David, you’ve never had a look around.” He waves his hand around behind him. “Would you like a tour?”
“There’s a hallway after the front entrance,” Deacon says quietly once he’s locked in the bathroom. Hondo has a piece of paper out in front of him, standing with Luca as they try to map out the description Deacon is giving them. Alternatively, Tan and Chris have a copy of the blueprints that the city has, cross-checking the two in order to see what illegal construction has occurred.
“The left end of the hallway has four classrooms, an office, and a supply closet. The right side leads to a stairwell. The upstairs hallway has six bedroom. They’re cramped. On average, four adults and two kids to a room.”
Tan snorts. Even though all the paperwork is currently holding up, there’s still much to be said. “You guys think that’s up to code?”
“The doors in the middle lead to the gathering area. A stage with a few rows of pews. The stage looks like there could be a trap door built in. There’s a few wires leading to a box besides the entrance. A basement door is next to the stage. Left side.”
Chris shakes her head. “There’s not supposed to be a basement.”
Hondo gets seconds away from asking Deacon if he got a look at how big the basement is before remembering that he won't hear the question. He simply makes a dotted-line box on the map with a label. The only other detail they note is a balcony off the front of the building, but there's not entrance from the inside.
Deacon doesn't talk for another moment. He's fairly quiet when he clicks his tongue and looks around, as obvious through the fabric movement in their audio feed. "Listen. I know we briefed this guy, but... he's smart. He knows something's up already. I'll try to keep Street and I on the downlow, but..." he pauses. Deacon sighs. "I don't know. It doesn't feel right. One wrong move and this guy will serve us our asses on a plate."
Hondo swallows stiffly. He can't physically offer any help to his Sergeant, but even if his voice could be heard, Hondo's not sure it would be of much help. He's just as worried as Deacon is. Even if the man doesn't show it easily, Hondo can tell. It's the little things that you learn to pick up on after working together for years.
Deacon signs off with a huff. The door opens. While he walks towards commotion, Hondo shoves the paper away. "Get these new additions out to the bomb squad. They need to have this the second they get here. Can't breach safely without it."
"Roger." Tan gives a stiff nod and takes both copies of the blueprints with him, laying them out in the corner as he takes pictures and takes a phone call.
Chris joins Hondo and Luca at their table. "What're you thinking, Hondo?" she asks.
"I'm thinking..." Hondo trails, crossing his arms. He tries to grab at the straps of his vest out of instinct, but it's not there. "He's probably storing the explosives in the basement. No reason not to report its construction if it's not for something illegal."
"And without knowing how big the basement is, we don't know what kind of force we're going up against," Luca points out.
Hondo agrees with a hum. He gives them a curt nod as he walks away, joining Lynch at the window to look around while they wait for meaningful noise clutter. Luca turns to Chris. "How you holding up?"
"Fine," she grunts. Luca tilts his head slightly, just enough to make sure that she knows he sees right through her facade. "I'm just worried about Street."
"We all are," Luca reminds. "Doesn't mean you have to look so guilty about it."
Chris shrugs. "I know he's right about needing to go in. I know this operation relies on the prebuilt trust he has with Jack. I just..." Chris blinks a few times. "I wish I could do something more to help him."
Luca reaches out, setting a hand on her shoulder. He squeezes. "I know, man. But the best we can do right now is stay here and listen to him," Luca explains. He gestures his head in the direction of the convent. "And be there to kick that guy's ass the second he lets us."
That one gets a smile out of Chris, which Luca takes in stride as a win. It's then that Hicks comes back in. It's been well over half an hour since he left on the phone call, and his face dawns more anger than he left with. "That was the mayor," he announces as he approaches Chris and Luca. "And her secretary. And the spokesperson for just about every news station in the area."
"What's going on?" Hondo asks, walking over.
Lynch goes with him, this time. Her face is twisted. "The mayor contacted you directly?"
Hicks snorts. "No. No way in hell. I made her secretary patch me in," he explains. "There were some officers from the academy in S.W.A.T. earlier. Rocker was briefing his team in the kitchen about being backup for this operation if necessary. The officers overheard and started blabbing enough for a local independent reporter to hear."
"Are you kidding me?" Luca gawks.
"I let the mayor know to shut it down immediately. I also contacted enough agencies in the county to get them to hold off on this for the time being."
Hondo pinches the bridge of his nose. "If this gets out, our men are good as dead."
"I know that, Hondo," Hicks grits through his teeth. "I also know that agencies don't control the indie reporters. If you guys have anyone you can rely on to overhear street chatter, you get that set up. We can not have it getting back to Jack that Street and Deacon are S.W.A.T."
Chris nods. "I know a CI that works close to that stuff. Give me time," she offers as she walks back to a room.
Just after, Tan approaches from the corner. "I got through to the bomb squad. They've got knowledge on the updated blueprints." Tan hands the rolled-up papers to Hicks. "Take a look; there's a few things that aren't what we have on file."
Hicks nods as he takes them under his arm. There's no time to review them, though, as the sentences through the speakers become clearer. They match up on both Street and Deacon's speakers, so they start to pay attention.
"Hey," Deacon says as he approaches Street, who is frantically looking around. They're far enough from the stage that he feels comfortable enough to talk to him. "Anything new?"
Street swallows. "Met a woman. Her name's Lola. Says she and her boyfriend are planning on breaking out of here by tomorrow."
Deacon's eyes go wide. He does his best to control his expression and covers up any blubbering movements by coughing into his elbow. "That could ruin everything," Deacon claims. "If he catches them trying to escape the day before he plans on killing them, he could speed it up and do something before we're ready."
"I know. I tried to talk her down and I think I got through to her. The only real problem is her boyfriend," Street explains. He looks around, ensuring that no one can hear him, especially the few guards that they have around the room. Most of them are lingering close to Jack's side. "Lola said that her boyfriend, this Pete guy, wants to hurt Jack before he gets out."
"What is he trying to do?" Deacon asks.
Street shakes his head. "I don't know, but we need to find it before he does it. Now that Lola isn't willing to go with him, he'll probably break." Street looks around the room but can't spot the familiar face he's searching for. "He's a ginger. Long hair. Wearing a teal flannel and black boots." After serving the description, Street starts off to the right.
Deacon gives him a "Roger" as he walks away. He takes his own glance of the room before starting off in the other direction. He doesn't get very far, but neither does Street. The younger of the two is just feet away from the doorway that a man matching Pete's vague description comes tumbling out of. He manages to catch his balance before getting kicked again in the side by none other than Jack. The leader is sporting a cut on his face that matches the bleeding one on his arm.
"What's happening?" Deacon asks, approaching one of the guards.
The bigger man puts a hand out. "Stay back," he instructs. Deacon gulps as he watches the man tighten his grip on the gun on his hip. "We deal with betrayers as necessary."
Deacon nods but doesn't take more than a single step back. He watches as Street tries to get through on his own side, but it blocked by another one of Jack's defenders. The younger man sighs as he accepts defeat.
In the center of the room, Jack pulls Pete to his feet by the back of his shirt collar. Only about half of the church's people are in the room preparing for tonight's service. "Pete here says that he's better than me," the man starts. "Better than us." He twists the fabric tighter in his fist. "He says that our teachings are wrong. What do we do with people like this?"
One of the followers in the front row of pews laugh. "Deal with 'em accordingly."
There's something more sinister in his words than he lets off. Jack kicks the back of his knee, making him kneel. "If you want to get out of here so bad, then get out of here." Jack throws Pete forward; the man goes frantically crawling for the room's exit. He makes it to the doors as the doorman opens it up for him. He runs straight through for the exit to the building but collides with closed doors. Deacon sighs, moving to help the guy out, but a sudden gunshot sounds through the room. Pete crumples to the ground.
The second a gun sounds off, every back in the room straightens out. Hondo's eyes squeeze shut, knowing that if there's any threat to either of their men, they're already to late to stop it. Hicks clenches his jaw. "Standby," he tells the team.
Street's gaze snaps from the entrance over to Jack, finding him standing in the center of the aisle, shotgun in hand. A few of the men in the pews give him a supportive holler, while two of Jack's friends start to move. They each give him a pat on the back before walking to the front to clear Pete's body.
"From now on, no one enters and no one leaves until Friday's offerings," he declares. A thought pops into his head. "Actually..." he waves his hand around the room, hanging the shotgun off of his back. "Get everyone here. We're cancelling tonight's service for a meeting." He starts to walk away before pointing at Street and waving him on. "James, you're with me."
Street's eyes look with Deacon's. They can't say much, but Deacon gives him the smallest nod he can give, and Street disappears through the building behind Jack. He catches a glimpse of a device in the hands of Jack as he leaves. Deacon turns and faces the wall. "Detonator is in Jack's hand," he informs quietly.
"We can't enter," Hicks says, "not without the bomb squad."
"Commander, he could kill everyone inside right now."
Hicks points towards the window. "And if you guys go in, he'll get another four bodies. You think he'd take kindly to the LAPD S.W.A.T. rolling up on his land to talk right now? You are staying here, end of story."
"We have to round everyone up," Jack says as he leads Street around the halls. "Bring everyone in, lock the doors, and..." suddenly, he leans closer to Street, a hand on his shoulder, his whisper so close to his ear that Street can feel his breath. "...we need to do a loyalty test."
Street blinks, terrified of what it could entail, seeing as the last time someone had broken his trust, it led to the man taking a round to the face. He swallows. "What- what is gonna happen to the people who fail?"
Jack shrugs as they walk down the hall. He raps the back of his knuckles on each door a few times with a shout to meet in the gathering. "I’m not sure yet," he admits as though it was obvious. Fear begins to grow in his gut and falls from Street's lips on the next exhale. "If they can't respect the offerings, then they shouldn't be a part of it."
Street hums. He helps herd people together to head downstairs. "David hasn't told me much about the purpose of the offerings, but I'm not really sure if he knows the reasoning behind your plans."
Sighing, Jack closes the door to the arena and turns to Street, as though his knowledge isn't something that can be shared with everyone. "These people- they could never comprehend why God treats us like he does. They take the good things and get greedy and accept that they happen with the expectations that they'll continue without sacrifice," he explains. "The offering on Friday- it's for our families. We are offering ourselves for the good of the people."
"Offering yourselves?" Street asks as though he's unaware of the future. "In what way?"
The look Jack gives him tells him exactly what he already knows, but his words say something else. "Whatever we're willing to give," he says. He shoves a stack of papers into Street's hands. "Give this to my men; tell them to had one to everyone. Matthew 6:19: Do not store up for yourselves treasures on Earth. God accepts the greatest things we have to offer, whatever we think that may be."
Their lives, Street thinks as he watches Jack enter and take the stage.
He gives a stack of paper to each of the guards. There's a bin of pencils held by another that starts to give his out, too. Deacon is still on the opposite side of the room where he was last seen, but he's leaned over by a pew as though he was eavesdropping on phasing conversations.
"It's come to my attention," Jack interrupts, drawing Street's attention and snapping his gaze up to his speech, "that there are a few members of the church who no longer align themselves with our beliefs. Nor can they seem to speak up. They keep... going behind our backs," he explains, waving his hands around. "Some of you think you're better than me, no? Better than God?"
He speaks about himself as though he and their all-powerful deity are the same. it makes Street nauseous, the idea that one man thinks he is so important while holding the lives of people in the palm of his hands.
Jack takes a pause, wringing his hands together. "In front of each of you is a piece of paper. Write your name. I want you to forget what you had planned to offer for our session on Friday. Instead," Jack's smirk grows sly, "I'd like you to write down the biggest sacrifice you'd be willing to give for your creator."
Street blinks.
"What is the most important thing to you that you would give up, if it ensured your sanctuary?"
The question blankets over the room. Jack doesn't need to say anymore. Some people pause, blank stares floating around as they desperately rack their minds for the right personal answer. Other immediately start scrawling their pencil around to detail their most valuable parts.
"It's a loyalty test," Chris states. "I know this- I saw it somewhere else. He's seeing who really follows him. The- the most passionate people will pass it."
Luca hums, nodding and continuing his pacing. "He's seeing who is willing to give up their lives."
Tan swallows, staring between his teammates, knowing that the knowledge the gain in between now and whenever they can get their family out is vital to their safety, now that they can't leave on their own accord. "What will he do when people fail?" Tan asks. "And if he's not giving it to Street and Deac, what's he gonna do to them?"
Hicks takes a breath, then promptly leaves the house.
When the results come in, Street can see the disappointment on Jack's face. He doesn't even have to see them himself to know that people have failed, and that Jack is not happy with that.
Four people in total are in his office. Jack, Deacon, an armed guard, and Street himself. They watch as Jack flips through his papers, reading answers and separating them into two separate piles. When a paper is placed in the pile on the left, he writes a name down on a lined piece of paper.
"James, I need you to-"
Suddenly, one of the guards from the front barges into the room. The anger in his face is boiling over as he marches over, leans down to Jack's ear, and harshly whispers something that Street can't hear from where he stands. Jack nods as he listens, glances back and forth between Street and Deacon, and hums. "Ok," Jack tells the other man as he steps back. "Go grab Harry and meet me at the basement."
Street glances at Deacon, who's already looking at him, then back Jack. Jack's face is hardened, his jaw clenched. "You two- you're coming with me."
Street's nearly scared, but he hopes that his gulp doesn't show it. Deacon nods then and spreads his arms out. "Lead the way."
“Hicks, get in here,” Chris demands from the doorway. The man in question looks up, a wordless question written in his features. He’s still not convinced to follow. “Jack pulled Street and Deacon away from the group.”
That got his attention more than anything else.
The walk to the basement feels longer than anything else since they've arrived, despite dwelling there for hours upon hours. They're sat down on two heavy wooden crates that are connected by a few wires.
"I got a call from a friend. He helps put our ads in the papers. Talks to a few reporters," Jack explains. His two friends stand there, one by his side, the other behind where Deacon and Street are sitting, a hold on each of their arms. "He heard from a reporter that specializes in police and crimes that an undercover police officer is in my building right now."
Chris's hands are shaking she looks at her higher-ranking officers. "He only knows about one of them. He doesn't know that they're S.W.A.T., " she points out, but it doesn't give her or the others and of the relief she wishes it had.
"Which one of you is the officer?" he asks. His tone is a false sense of friendliness, as though he's trying to say he won't be mad. He sighs. Jack approaches the both of them, turning to Deacon first. "I'm inclined to say you, David. I've never heard of you before Tuesday, and now, there's suddenly an officer in my ranks? My people trying to leave?"
Jack whips his head over to Street. "But if it's you, James, I'd be even more disappointed." Jack leans down, closer to Street's face. "'Cause that means you've lied to a dear old friend of yours. Turned your back on someone who housed you for a week. I don't know which one is worse," he admits, clasping his hands together as he leans back. Street jumps at the sudden noise. Deacon nudges his shoe with his own but can't promise that the decision to stay quiet is a good one. "But, I need to know. Who is the officer?"
"They'll kill them if they admit," Luca mutters. "We gotta get in there."
"He still has that detonator," Lynch reminds. "If he hears a single gunshot from his men he'll blow them to smithereens."
Chris shakes her head. "And when will he not? Because from the looks of it, he'll do it no matter what." Her finger points between Hicks, Lynch, and Hondo accusingly. "You guys sent Street and Deacon in there to get killed."
"I’ll ask one more time,” Jack warns. His voice is low, dangerous, and threatening. His next words are spoken as individual sentences, each word carrying more stiff emphasis than the last. “Who. Is. The. Officer.”
Once again, neither Deacon or Street say a word. There’s a sigh, a shuffle, and suddenly, a tight hand in Deacon’s hair. It pulls his head straight back as a knife is brought quickly to his throat. In the split second it takes for the blade to just barely nick the bare skin shown by the movement, Street perks up.
“I am!” he shouts.
The man holding Deacon freezes before slowly letting him go. Jack stares, his glance bouncing back and forth between the two men in front of him. When his eyes finally settle on Deacon and they meet, he raises an eyebrow. “Is this true?”
The 20-David squad holds their breath, terrified at the sudden admission of guilt. Hondo looks like he’s ready to march down to the compound and break in on his own free will. Hicks has his nails wound so tightly in his suit jacket that they’re practically digging through the fabric. With the amount of tears forming in Luca’s watering eyes, Chris wouldn’t want to see the state of her own.
Every instinct in Deacon’s body demands him to say no, it’s not. His good conscience begs him to take the fall. His fatherly instincts and protective friendship and years of experience put every bad thing that could happen to Street if he says yes at the forefront of his mind. But, when he thinks about the mission, knowing that he needs to stay in when they kick Street out, Deacon knows he has but one option.
“I...” he breathes, adverting his gaze away from Street. His eyes hang low in embarrassment and shame of his own actions. “I'm not the officer. So- so it must be true.”
Jack snorts. “And did you know this?”
“No,” Deacon lies again. “No, I—“ He pauses as he sees Street shit from the corner of his eyes. “I had no clue. He lied to me.”
Jack takes a second, judging the two based on his visuals. “Alright,” he finally agrees after a moment in heavy silence. He points to his henchmen, then back down to Deacon. “Take this man back up to his room. Apologize for the betrayal he’s just been through. We know what that feels like.”
The men nod, gently pulling Deacon from his seat and bringing him towards the stairs, leaving just Jack and Street in the basement. Deacon can’t throw a look back to his partner, but he can only pray that Street can read the apology through his presence.
Lynch lets out a sigh of relief as they take Deacon back to the stairs, knowing he’ll get out safely. “Thank god,” she breathes. Hondo casts her a glare while Hicks remains stoic. “What?” she defends. “They’re letting him walk.”
"Yeah, Deac,” Hondo reiterates. He points to the computer that’s running Street’s audio. “It’s not over yet.”
Jack sighs, tsking as he paces in front of Street. The younger man sits still, aside from the slight shake in his hand that hasn’t disappeared since his last undercover operation. “Lied to your partner,” Jack starts. “Lied to my people. Lied to me.” Jack takes a few steps forward, landing just in front of Street. He leans down, breathing against Street’s face. “Who are you really, James?”
For a moment, nothing transpires. There’s a beat of absence that makes Street shiver. “…I’m an officer with the LBPD. Long Beach,” he says. Even though it’s not quite honest— not anymore, at least— it won’t completely give away his identity. If he says anything close to what S.W.A.T. stands for, it could send Jack into a rampage. 'Take the bait,' he thinks.
Humming, Jack straightens back up. “Thought you’d say something like that,” he mumbles. “Here. Follow me, James.”
Street does as he’s told, albeit reluctantly. He steps up, walking behind Jack into a room off to the side. Jack points him to the corner. There’s a mirror on the wall besides a desk that Street fixes his vision on. He looks away as Jack closes the door to ensure he isn’t caught looking. The change in vision, though, makes sure that he doesn’t see the sneak attack coming.
Jack comes up from behind him, barreling into his back. It sends Street flying forward, straight into the mirror. The glass breaks beneath the contact, but Jack grabs a hold of Street’s hair and shoves him back into the shards that remain. Street cries out as it digs painfully into his skin before he’s thrown to the floor. He lands with a thud, sliding across the ground and curling up on instinct.
The first groan from their teammate has everyone in the room flinching. Glass breaks and Street cries out, which is followed by a loud thud. Hondo closes his eyes. Luca’s hands come up to his ears. Tan lowers his head in worry.
“We wait for his word,” Hicks says, not letting his eyes fall from the computer. His voice is shaking ever so slightly. “If he safe words, we’re in there.”
Jack’s boot comes flying into Street’s ribs. He curls hard, shielding them from the outside, but it just allows Jack to target other places. He straddles over Street, sending a few punches across his cheekbones.
“Pride comes before the fall,” Jack warns. He dawns a sick smile as he beats the sense into Street.
Street swallows. He looks up at Jack through swollen and bloodied vision. “I can take it.”
Jack laughs before sending another kick to his body.
“That was for us,” Hicks points out. He gestures to the computer. “He’s telling us that he’s good.”
Chris scoffs. “What, so we let him get tortured in there?”
The second she dropped that word— tortured— the whole environment shifts. Hondo takes a step back, finding the first fragile object nearby and sending it flying to the floor. “Damn it!” He yells.
Unlike any other time, Hicks doesn’t try to calm him. He knows there’s no use, and the only thing stopping him from reacting the same way is experience. The 20-David squad can do nothing but stare in horror as they listen to the growing cries of their teammate as he is beaten.
In the end, it takes another 5 minutes for Jack to completely leave Street alone. The man lets him stay there on the floor, glass digging into his exposed skin, moaning and shivering while he coughs out the pain of his ribs. Eventually, he's sent to a room in the hallway typically used for classes. He's fairly sure it's just for him to be punished, as his bed is a blanket and pillow on the floor, stowed away behind a desk, but he appreciates the little bit of luck that's allowed him to not end up like Pete.
Distantly, he wonders what Jack has in store for him that has allowed him to not end up like Pete. He shivers at the possibilites and thinks of Deacon.