"Stehen Sie auf!" The overweight bear stood, shielding his face from the fox, to the door on the side of the counter. He quickly entered the four-digit code, unlocking it. The well-armored door opened, allowing two of the fox bank robbers to enter. The second, carrying a Glock and a suitcase, headed straight for the vault. While the other four handled crowd control, the crook known to the terrified civilians as "Three" opened the large case, revealing a well-stocked supply of explosives.
"Zeit, Nummer zwei?" "One" asked. "Two" checked his watch.
"Ein hundert sechs Sekunden!" "Two" put both hands back on his FN-FAL.
"Three" stabbed the hinge of the vault with a stick of plastic explosives, then snapped a specially built steel case over the plastique, onto the hinge. He skewered the three charges with what looked like the male ends of headphone plugs, then ran the wire the sixty feet down the hall and into the lobby.
"Abdeckung!" "Three" shouted. For a few seconds, "One," "Two," "Four," and "Five" ignored the civilians and ducked for cover behind various marble-covered desks that were usually occupied by accountants.
"Three" punched the little red button on the end of the cord labeled "Bang."
Carmelita Montoya Fox was stressing over another robbery by a certain masked raccoon, when detective Paul Fleck, a wiry squirrel, flew through her office door, letting it slam noisily into a nearby bookshelf, denting the finish on the wood.
"Fox! We got shit happening! National Reserve Bank, 45th street! Weapons-fire reported, officers down!" Fox threw the file into her conveniently located safe and slammed the door shut.
"Let's go," was her terse reply. The two Parisian police officers scrambled down the narrow staircase, closely following the precinct's Special Weapons and Tactics element. They climbed into Carmelita's personal car, putting a suction-held temporary light upon the light yellow finish. She started the engine and slammed her foot on the gas.
"Three" and "One" entered the vault, over the now useless and quite horizontal vault door. One smiled, even though his face was concealed by a black Kevlar hood. Seven million dollars, already packed in fourteen navy-blue duffel bags were just waiting to be taken.
"Die ganze es! Jetzt! Gehen Sie! Fasten schnelle schnelle!" "Two" through "Five" rushed in, grabbing bags. The broad-shouldered, shotgun-wielding "Five" carried four duffel bags as if it was a single bag of feathers. Although the Euros were paper, they weighed in at thirty pounds a bag. "One" was left bagless, and he walked casually back into the lobby. Some of the civilians had begun to look about from their prone positions on the floor, with their hands on their heads. Some had even begun to run out of the bank. It was no longer a concern. "One" walked through the revolving glass door, into the midday sun. Two more squad cars had pulled up, and their occupying officers had their guns drawn and ready.
"Drop your weapons and put your hands in the-" the officers ducked as "One" opened fire with his 7.62mm assault rifle. The heavy-grain rounds tore right through the thin frames of the squad cars, wounding three of the four officers on-site. Sirens and flashers blared as reinforcements came in the form of the Special Weapons and Tactics team.
"Zeit, Nummer zwei?" "One" called back into the bank, where "Two" was just about to head into another door within the bank.
"Fünfzig Sekunden!" just as "Two" reported the time, a white BellJet broke the Paris skyline and streaked towards the bank. Its high-pitched engine whine was soon drowned out by the rushing air and pounding of the rotors. "One" stayed on the street, firing bursts of fire at anything that moved.
"Mary, Mother of God!" Fleck cried, balling up within the passenger seat of Fox's car as bullets flew all around them. Carmelita slammed on the brakes and fish-tailed the car in line with the growing wall of police vehicles. The two detectives rolled out of the car, drawing their pistols. They steadied their aim on a cruiser, and fired 9mm rounds at the gray-clad man. The rounds hit their mark, landing squarely in the middle of the man's chest. He staggered for a moment, then snatched his rifle back up to his shoulder.
"Damnit!" Fox shouted as she ducked behind the engine block of a car for cover from the burst of 7.67mm fire. She pulled her radio out of her pocket and pressed hard on the "talk" button.
"They're armored! Aim high!" the message was relayed to every cop on-scene. A white helicopter swooped in low and slowed over the top of the bank. Four black figures appeared on the roof. They unleashed a wave of automatic weapons-fire that rained down on the assembling police. It became a mad each-man-for-himself dash for cover as the accurate aim of the figures dropped one policeman after another. The gray-clad gunman who fired first casually jogged back into the bank.
"Ein, verwundeten Sie?" "Two" asked, pointing to the four bullet holes on various parts of "One's" armor.
"Nein! Lassen Sie uns hier verlassen!" "One" said with an authoritative wave of the hand.
Carmelita fired wildly at the roof of the bank. Ten other officers followed suit, peppering the gunmen with small-arms fire. Three burly policemen charged through the front door, in pursuit of the gunman at the front door. Submachineguns ready, they cleared the lobby, and entered the service stairwell to the east of the lobby. A few drops of blood were left on the stairs. From the roof, the helicopter's pilot increased the cyclic, and the three-ton aircraft climbed just a few feet, then tilted forward. From the street, the surviving officers could only watch the bad guys get away. There were too many wounded and dead policemen to worry about to enter a chase by air. Regardless, Carmelita called in for air support, knowing full and well that it would never get there in time. The white chopper was flying just inches above the rooftops of Paris, and was clear of any kind of radar. They could be anywhere in France within an hour.