Aldana was coming back to the tent with an EMT, instructing him, when Fred joined them, dropping his rifle with a frustrated snort.
"I can't get a clear shot! The hostages block every angle!"
Brock turned to Russell. "You and Miles go with the paramedic and try to make sure the rest of the hostages are okay."
Hank called Brock and Fred to show them the blueprints. "Look, I've found a way to get to the backyard, but we're gonna need a long ladder."
"Good. Morris, can you get us the ladder?"
"Hell yeah," replied Fred, happy to have something helpful to do.
Not right-away, never yes-sir: he was so Gillian's agent. Brock kicked it out to say to Hank, "After Coleman and Miles extract Cook."
"Agent Brockner, I have Robert Strafford's info," said Tanya.
"In a moment."
Brock nodded to Russell and he called the coffee shop once more. "We're ready when you are, Phil."
Phil watched Gillian tie a table cloth tight around Cook's leg. "No guns, no tricks, Agent."
"Two of us are going with the medic, but we're not armed."
Phil hung up and nodded at Gillian and the waitress. They pulled Cook up on his good leg and helped him hop to the door. Phil came behind them and put his gun to the waitress' head.
Gillian saw her shriek in logic fear and said, "Phil, why don't you use me as a shield?"
She felt the barrel against the back of her head and breathed in, forcing herself to keep looking straight ahead. To protect and to serve. Stupid motto. Why did she have to actually believe in it?
Russell and Aldana were already at the door, flanking the EMT, when the waitress and Gillian brought Cook out. Russell and the paramedic hurried to hold him up. Then Phil put his arm across Gillian's chest and the gun to her temple. She used the chance to whisper, "Let'er go too, Phil." And to everybody's utter surprise, Phil pushed the waitress out and dragged Gillian back inside, locking the door.
Gillian got to trade a quick glance with Aldana and blinked slowly, to let her know she was fine. And she saw Aldana's slight nod: she got it.
Everybody exhaled at the tent. Fred was back, leading two uniforms that carried a long ladder.
Brock signaled them to keep it out of sight from the coffee shop and turned to Tanya. "Lawrence, text Lieutenant Gillian and tell her to be in the restroom in five minutes."
Russell and Aldana came back to the tent, still surprised at what had just happened.
"Reg got the waitress out!"
"She talked him into it right before our eyes!"
Hank smiled. "And what do we say?"
All of them scoffed. "That's why she's the boss!"
Brock called them back to business without the hint of a smile, and showed Fred and Aldana the blueprints.
Only then he realized he hadn't asked Cooper for backup, and instead he was bossing the SCU around as if they were FBI agents under him. None of them had even thought of questioning it, yet Brock knew it was all about Gillian: they wouldn't let anyone else be there to save her, and they followed his lead because they knew that was what Gillian would do. Well, sort of. In her own rogue way, of course.
Anyway. "Morris, you and Miles get to the backyard with that ladder and wait for Lieutenant Gillian by the window. We need her to wear one of our radios and keep it hidden and open, so we can hear what's going on inside and give her information she can use."
That was officially making Gillian his inside man. It was a whole good deal of responsibility he was putting on her shoulders, not to mention risking her life if she was discovered. Nothing she wasn't more than up to.
"I already texted her," said Tanya.
"Good. Now go."
Fred and Aldana hurried away, with the uniforms carrying the ladder. King Gillian came marching on to the tent and Russell glanced at Brock to let him handle the man.
King Gillian focused his anger on his daughter's friend. "What the hell was that, son? We have twenty hostages and you get only two?"
In hardly ten minutes, completed Brock to himself, fixing his scowl on King Gillian while Russell applied his diplomacy.
"Yes, sir, and it's a good sign. We're confident that we can solve this in a peaceful way."
"Peaceful! Have you seen Cook's leg? He's having a limp for the rest of his life!"
Like you give a damn about Cook, Brock thought, knowing they were in opposite factions of the PD.
King Gillian went on. "And you didn't even get Reg out! Just some... waitress!"
"Sir, you know no one here cares about her more than me. Reg's fine, and she's being a great help inside."
All of a sudden, King Gillian's face was the perfect image of contempt. "Sure she is. And sure she's thrilled to work another case with you, huh?" He glanced at Brock. "First you brain-wash her with that profiling shit, and now rumor has it you're trying to steal her to your ranks." He scoffed scornfully. "Well, good riddance. You should warn your senior officers what a pain in the ass she is."
Russell was so shocked at his words that Brock snarled, "We don't have time for this," and he stepped up to stand between Russell and King Gillian. "Sir, I'm not repeating myself. Stand back or leave, your choice, but I won't have you interfering with our work any longer."
For an endless awkward moment, Brock and King Gillian glared at each other.
Until King Gillian scoffed again, shaking his head. "Be my guest. We'll be right here, ready to clean your mess as usual." He spun around and left.
Brock took a deep breath and turned to Tanya, who was just as shocked as Russell and Hank. "What do you have on Strafford?"
"He's Palmer's biological father, sir," she muttered.
"The King's coming back for more soon," said Hank.
Brock nodded curtly. Hank and Tanya noticed he looked unexpectedly pissed off about King Gillian's last words, but he looked away, not willing at all to explain himself to them. He scowled up across the street, at Orlando's, working on cooling it down.
Yes, he was pissed. He would've liked to smash a fist in King Gillian's conceited face, and wished he could've told him what he really meant. Because he hadn't gotten mad at needing to remind King Gillian who was in charge. What triggered his anger was the way he'd just spoken about his daughter. Brock didn't even care about the "profiling shit" cliché: he was outraged at the arrogant lack of love for her that King Gillian had just displayed.
Fine, Brock didn't like Gillian, and he could give a one-month seminar about his reasons not to. But he could still remember her proud and loving words about her father at the gala. And he'd gotten to know so well her unique, sharp intelligence, and her reckless guts. He remembered her so clearly crushed under a concrete column, only caring about sending him away to keep him safe, and worried about the bombs out in the city. So Brock didn't want to tell him stand back or leave. He really wanted to yell in his face: "you really don't deserve the love and respect of such a brave woman as your daughter".
And as the one other man she openly looked up to, now he was pissed at her too—for a change—for wasting her whole life going over her head to try to please such a selfish jerk.
Oh, well, look who's talking about selfish jerks, Brockner. Whatever. There was no time for ironies about himself.