| If . . . In The End By Eirian |
| Chapter 3 How many times have we all promised ourselves that we will learn to listen to the little warning shivers that run along the length of our spine from time to time, or listen to the intuition that tells us not to do something – or to do something differently than normal. That Tuesday afternoon was one of those times. Frank dropped me in the city, to do a little shopping, before going to my agent and then, I thought, to meet my friends for the obligatory girl’s night out before the wedding. So smiling, I dismissed the thought that a woman I’d seen in one store was also in another, where I went to buy a small gift for my new husband to be. Nothing too ostentatious – actually a pen, engraved with his initials. We had been joking the night before about how much he hated paperwork. I thought if I gave him something like that it might help him to get through it more quickly, more positively, because he might think of me, and the fact that I’d given him the pen. I even dismissed as my warped imagination the car I saw several times, with blacked out windows. It looked like a fleet car and I’d noticed that since Frank and I had been together, I was spotting these things far more anyway. “Morning, Miss Farlain.” The security guard greeted me cheerfully as I entered the office building. It makes me cold all over to think that I must have been the last person, beside his murderer, to see him alive. “You have an appointment today, or is this just a social call?” “I have a meeting, Bernard.” I said as I signed in. I heard him chuckling as I walked to the elevator. To explain… My agent’s office was on the fourteenth floor of a high rise that held two other companies. They leased the space from one of the companies I think. So I rode up in the elevator, my mind not really on the meeting at all, but thinking about Frank – sitting at his desk in his office, (this was what he’d promised me he’d be doing for the next couple of days), filling out his much hated paperwork. I almost called him to make sure that was exactly what he was doing. I wish to god I had, or that I’d turned around, as the thought had crossed my mind before I walked into the building, and finally gone to find the place that his team called home. RESIDENCE CODY: 2.10am Monday (week 2) “Just a minute!” he yelled, pulling on a T-shirt to go with his pyjama pants, and then a robe over the whole ensemble. He got to the door and peered through the spy hole. “Alex?” he breathed in surprise as he pulled open the door. “Alex what are you doing here? Do you know what time it is?” “Cody, I need your help,” she murmured, her words slurring together a little. “Have you been drinking?” he took her arm to draw her inside the house. And then as she all but fell against him amended, “Are you drunk?” “Maybe a little,” she confessed as she grabbed the front of his robe. When she continued her voice was a little broken. “But I’m having trouble dealing with this… First Frank, now Jake…” Awkwardly, he put his arm around her shoulder and led her in the direction of the kitchen. She needed coffee. He needed her to have coffee… He sat her at the kitchen table and started to make it. “Alex, these thing happen,” he said softly when he turned to find her looking at him almost tearfully from where she’d laid her head on the table. “In our line of work.” ”But three of us inside of a year and two on one case, Cody that’s like…” her eyes glazed as she tried to work out the odds. Finally giving up she concluded, “More than bad luck.” “You’ll feel better after the funeral,” he said softly, setting the coffee down onto the table top and pulling out another chair to sit cradling his own cup. “This week has been hard on us – but we’ll have closure then.” “You might,” she snorted. “I got a letter today.” “Oh?” he asked, wondering if this was notification of her being placed on administrative leave. “I’m up before OPR for what I did to Bloom.” He sighed. He and Monica had heard about Alex’s outburst the day after the explosion at the Safe house. That she’d almost thrown his secretary through the wall when she tried to get her to leave. “It’ll be okay, Alex,” he said, watching her sip the coffee. “They’ll understand. Monica…” “Put me on administrative leave. How is her testimony going to help?” she interrupted. “You need the break,” he said. “You need the time, Alex. When did you get to grieve for John, hmm?” “I grieved,” she argued. “We all did.” “No,” he argued. “We dealt… we did not grieve.” “What do I do, Cody?” she asked after a very long silence. “This is my life – I don’t know anything else.” “Then you hang in there,” he said. “And you go home and get some rest.” “Not now, Jackie, I’m in a meeting,” my agent snapped into her intercom as it buzzed. I sat back in my chair and smiled. They treated me more like family here, so it was a running joke that our meetings always got interrupted. “I really think you need to come out here.” There was a tone in Jackie’s voice that in all the years that I’d been coming to these offices I’d never heard before. Fear… dreadful, consuming fear. Madeleine evidently heard it too, because she got up from her chair and went toward the double doors to her office. Something made me reach for my cell. “Not a smart move!” A man that appeared at my side snatched it from my hands. “We’ll run this thing according to OUR timescale little lady.” I use words for a living, but I simply don’t know that the words exist to describe the absolute paralysing terror that rushes to replace ever ounce of sense you ever had when you find yourself looking down the barrel of a gun, as I did then. And I knew from the outset that this was something to do with me. “Why don’t you step outside into the hallway with the others?” he continued, giving Maddy and I a far less than gentle push. “We’re taking a little ride up a floor. There’s more space up there, and we want you to be comfortable. It’s going to be a long night.” Why did I tell him not to wait up? That was the first coherent thought that went through my head as we were all herded up the stairs to the corporate offices of Guilliam Markham Sales Inc. The next thought was that when law enforcement actually DID get hold of the news it was going to make no sense to them. I mean, who in their right mind holds a sales company to ransom? But then this wasn’t ABOUT the sales company – or anyone that worked in the building at all. This was about me… or more to the point, it was about Frank Donovan. Whoever it was, they were not run of the mill, opportunistic gangsters with a grudge. They were organised, well financed… If they were terrorists, then they must have been planning this, and had an agenda for a very long time. My worst fears were confirmed when they led me to a seat in front of a bank of screens, like security monitors and one of them said, “Why don’t you take a seat, Ms Farlain… or should that be Mrs Donovan?” The monitors showed my house – empty now – each room clearly shown… the bathroom, the kitchen, the lounge… and the bedroom – the sheets still rumpled from where Frank and I had celebrated the beginning of another new day together. I blushed bright scarlet. “Yes,” the man behind me whispered into my ear as he pushed me down into the seat. “It was quite a show you put on… Frank was a very lucky man.” I shuddered at the way he phrased his comment. ST MICHAELS CHURCH: 11.35am Monday Between the two of them they had been very well respected. Monica was surprised at the number of people that had attended both the church service for Frank and Jake, and Frank’s interment. They had both been given full honours as befit their station. She looked over at Alex. She looked dreadful – as though she’d not seen her bed in all the time since it happened. She had also been one of the few people actually crying through the service. Moving as casually as she could, she sidled up to Cody. “Did I miss anyone?” she asked, shifting the purse on her shoulder that contained the video camera. They would later view the film and run each and every face. “I don’t think so,” he answered. “Jesus, don’t look now,” She looked, and saw Paul Bloom coming toward them. He shook them both by the hand and offered the obligatory condolences for the loss their team members. Monica couldn’t explain why, but it made her feel, not angry, but pity. “I’m giving you both a week’s leave,” he said on the end of those condolences. “With respect, sir,” she said. “We have cases that are current. We can’t take that week.” “And without a team leader and UC agents, how exactly are you going to pursue those cases?” he smiled, but the smiled didn’t reach his eyes. “Take the week, agents. Next Monday I’ll be introducing you to their replacements.” Cody pulled a face and behind him, Monica poked him in the back. They both sighed, but accepted Blooms offer. “Are you the agents that worked with my brother-in-law?” Monica and Cody both turned to face the tall blonde woman with the boy tucked into her side. He looked to be about ten years old. “Max, Frank’s brother, was my husband.” Monica’s mind whirled… she’d known Max was married… why hadn’t she thought about the wife? “I’m sorry for you loss,” she said automatically. “Thank you. Frank was a great comfort to me when I lost Max, and almost like a father figure to Mark.” She blinked back tears and Monica clenched her jaw a little tighter. This touched and hurt so many people. “We shall miss him.” “He was an excellent agent too,” Cody said. Monica was sure that it was more for something to say, if he felt anywhere near as awkward as she did. “We’ll miss working with him.” “Thank you,” she said. Then she paused and looked up into Monica’s face. Monica gave her a querying look. “I don’t know why I’m doing this, but I think Frank would have wanted you to have this.” She reached inside her overcoat and brought out a small, folded piece of paper which she handed to Monica. “I’m sure you know, working with him as you did, that he was never a terribly sentimental man, but this poem was always a favourite of his. Perhaps you can use part of it when you have the headstone made? Excuse me.” She turned and started to walk away. “Don’t you dare open that piece of paper,” Cody hissed in a particular tone of voice that he’d used earlier in the day and she knew would be virtually undecipherable by any listening equipment. It was a very uncomfortable night and very long. The kept me sitting in front of those monitors the whole of the time. I watched him come home, going about the evening tasks that we usually did together. I watched him shower… and blushed again as I remembered some of the things that we’d done together in there, and wondered how long these people had been watching us. Then I watched him getting ready for bed… and climbing in without me. He lay with his eyes open staring at the ceiling for a long time. He looked as though he was thinking, then he turned over onto his side, his arm draped over the space where I would normally have been. I couldn’t help myself, I started crying at that. It was something about the way he was holding me even thought I wasn’t there. “Please…” I whispered as one of the people came past. “Let me go home.” He laughed in my face. I thought Frank was sleeping, but when, about an hour later he turned over, returning to lie on his back I realised I was wrong. His hand reached for the nightstand, for his watch, I knew. He always kept it there, and for a moment the light from his watch face lit up his concerned face, before he switched on the lamp and reached for the telephone. Even though I expected it, seconds later, when my cell phone started to ring I jumped. I wanted so badly to answer it, but my hands were bound around the chair with sticky tape. The captor beside me reached out and turned a switch, and suddenly there was sound as well as vision. “Come on, Saran… where are you?” his voice sounded taught with worry; as well it should at two am. I’d said I would be late, but there was late and there was overdue. When I didn’t answer, he hung up the phone and tossed it onto the bed, to run his fingers through his hair. At last he picked up the phone again, and I could hear the tones as clearly as if the phone was to my ear. “Okay, we’re go!” As the first man spoke, another man came to sit on my other side, by the computer that was there and started typing frantically. “This is where we give lover boy the run around.” “Tom? Donovan,” Frank’s voice drew my attention back to the scene in my bedroom. “What’s up, boss?” Thomas Callaghan’s voice sounded as clearly as if he were also in the room with Frank. I think that was when I realised just what kind of trouble I was in. These men weren’t hoodlums or terrorists with a score to settle. These guys were on the inside… they were government agents and they were playing him at his own game. Why couldn’t he have just tried a low tech method of finding out why I wasn’t home? Why didn’t he just call Rebecca? She would have told him I didn’t show up. UC CRIB: 8.45am Monday (week 3) “You know… why,” Cody leaned back in his chair and put his feet up on the table, “do I suddenly find myself experiencing a huge rush of déjà vu?” Monica threw him a sour look and sat heavily on the table top. “What?” he asked defensively, a little hurt. “I still want to know how they find these people, do they advertise or…” “Yes,” the voice was hard and cold. “The post was advertised internally.” He jumped up from his seat and both he and Monica spun round to find themselves face to face with their new boss. He was about the same height as Cody, blonde hair with hazel eyes that were as lifeless as the voice that had addressed them. But what they noticed more than anything, and what chilled Cody’s blood, was the fact that the man was wearing a dark blue, almost black Armani suit. “My name is Agent Donald Teague. You may call me, Mr Teague, Agent Teague, or Sir, but never Donald or just Teague,” he said sharply. “I shall be upstairs in my office. I’d like the current case files on my desk in twenty minutes and will be informed the moment my two UC agents arrive. Is that clear?” Cody and Monica gaped at the arrogant little man. “I asked if that was clear, Agents?” he said. “Oh believe me, sir,” Monica said after a moment or two. “We understand you completely.” ** RESIDENCE MONICA DAVIS: 10.45pm Wednesday “And how was he?” she asked as Cody returned to her lounge, holding up two fingers and pointing carefully at both the lamp and the telephone. “I think “pissed” about covers it,” he answered, turning on the television to MTV and cranking the volume as though he were grooving to the sounds. “But what can he do?” Understanding, Monica came to groove with him, even draping an arm over his shoulder. He stiffened uncomfortably for moment then draped his arms over her hips. “I told you you’d used too much,” she said. He shrugged sheepishly. “The new look suits him,” he grinned, then leaning forward he whispered, “You’ll be pleased to know they didn’t bug your bedroom. Everywhere else, but not there.” “Guess they don’t trust us to have dropped the case like we said, huh?” Monica answered, moving closer. He swallowed hard. “Well guess what, Cody…” “What?” he squeaked. “You and I just realised our undying love.” Before he could voice the now hold on a minute that was poised in the back of his throat, she wound her fingers into his hair and kissed him hard on the mouth. Then she pushed him down on the couch, to straddle him and begin unfastening his shirt. “I said the bedroom wasn’t bugged,” he hissed in her ear as she bit softly on the side of his neck. This wasn’t right. He was Tech-ops not UC… especially when they still weren’t sure who they were UC against. “Gotta make it look convincing,” she grabbed his hands and pressed them against her front. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” he moaned, swallowing hard at where his hands had come to rest. “Shut up and kiss me,” she answered. ** “So tell me more about Jake,” she said, lying back beside him on the bed. “Was he really badly hurt?” “Scorched,” he said. “He took the full force of the blast.” “His new life?” “May be working out,” he answered, rolling onto his side to look at her. “Anton Kale is getting himself quite a rep, in just the right circles. We didn’t get much time to talk, the game started.” “So what now?” she asked. “Hey this was your idea, boss,” he squeaked. “Don’t go asking me that question.” She flung her arm over her face. Starting on Cody had been a bad idea. The case was frustrating the hell out of her… especially as they had to do it in their spare time in his loft. They needed something else. They needed a break – they were running out of time. “What about Farlain?” she asked. He shook his head and pulled a face. “If I were to suggest a place to start looking for the break you need to figure this one out, she’s it,” he said. “Tight lipped as ever and now Uncle Josh said she’s getting twitchy.” “Twitchy?” she asked. “Yeah, like she wants to be somewhere,” he answered. “Shit.” Monica suddenly leaped off the bed and started toward her closet. They stepped things up another notch just before dawn, calling a local radio station with a coded warning of a bomb that would be detonated downtown unless their immediate demands were met for two million US dollars in used, non consecutive twenty dollar bills. They gave the government one hour to get back to them. Start small they said… well it sounded like a pretty big demand to me, but then what did I know? An hour after dawn, with the government still arguing over whether the threat was real, they detonated the explosives. I’ve never been so close to anything like that before, so when the device went off two floors up from where we were being held, blowing out windows and setting alarm bells ringing through the whole complex – I like everyone else screamed until I was sick. Inside of ten minutes the entire neighbourhood was awash with sirens, fire trucks and helicopters. ”Oh the drama,” the woman that had been following me through the shopping malls turned my chair away from the trash bucket that was luckily right beside me and into which I had vomited. She turned me back to the screens in time to see Frank arriving back at the house, walking through, calling out for me. “You think we should call him in yet, or see how long it takes the Feds to call him anyway?” “I think that if they do, you’re history,” I spat. I don’t know where the momentary bravery came from, but she wiped it away with the back of her hand across my face. ”How?” she asked harshly. “When we hold all the cards? When we know everything there is to know about him… and about you – even things you haven’t told him yet.” I was so afraid that I didn’t make the connections right then, it didn’t register just what she’d meant, only that it confirmed that this wasn’t about Money – the demands were never about money – this had something to do with Frank investigating the death of his brother and that he must have touched a nerve for them to go to these lengths to get him to call off the dogs. “If you let me go… and let these people go,” I licked my lips, testing my theory… how foolish I was… “I’ll get him to stop, to leave it alone.” “Leaving it alone isn’t enough any more,” she hissed in my ear. “He has to understand WHY he has to do that.” “Max was his brother,” I answered. “You have to understand why he’s been investigating this in the first place. He LOVED his brother.” “Trouble with the Donovans,” she replied “They always get so sickeningly self righteous.” A spray of gunfire interrupted our conversation. Downstairs they’d finally sent an officer to investigate, and he’d been welcomed with automatic weapon’s fire. They let him get almost back to the safety of the car before they cut him down. “Here we go,” she said and pushed me back around to watch the monitors that were now showing my house and the view from downstairs. NORTHWEST MEMORIAL HOSPITAL: 2.15pm Thursday Choking… Something hard and obstructive, pressing inside his throat. He tried to take in a breath and gagged and coughed. He panicked and alarms started sounding. Seconds later, someone’s warm hand pressed against his shoulder, and two more hands tilted his head back. The obstruction was gone, and he took a huge, painful gasping breath, flinging out an arm. “All right,” a voice soothed…a woman’s voice. “Gently now… it’s okay.” He started shivering, the movement hurt – he hurt all over. Christ sake, get a grip! “C-cold,” he breathed. “Okay, we’ll get you a blanket,” the answer came softly. “Can you tell me your name? You know where you are?” A slightly floral scent came closer as she leaned down to hear what he was saying as he whispered his name, and made a guess that he was in hospital. “Okay, can you open your eyes for me, honey?” the voice continued, he grimaced. He hated that. Always had… he fought to comply, but his eyelids were so heavy. The room spun and blurred above him as he finally managed to pry the lids open. She shone a light into his eyes and flashed it away again. ** CLUB FARGO: 8.40pm Thursday Who the hell were these people? Bungling amateurs. Kale grabbed his associate’s arm and shook his head. “Not tonight Billy boy,” he said in the soft whisper he had adopted as part of his persona. You solve rate just fell through the floor, Bloom. He pointed to the man and woman standing in line to enter club. The woman was fingering her ear, and the man pressing his hand against a button on his jacket. “What you talking about, Kale?” The short haired youth spat into the gutter. “Feds,” he answered. “Keep walking.” As they walked past the two UC agents yeah right he laughed inside. He peered at the guy’s button and mouthed “What the fuck…?” Then chuckled as he knew Cody would be having an apoplectic fit in the van that would no doubt be nearby. “Neat button,” he said aloud and then turned away before either agent could get a proper look at his face. To Billy he said, “Let’s go home.” ** RESIDENCE CODY – LOFT: 9.20pm Friday “Okay, you want me to do what?” he turned round to face where Monica was pacing up and down his loft. “I wish you wouldn’t do that.” “I think better when I’m pacing,” she said. “I want you to compare the handwriting on that note, with the handwriting on this one,” she pointed at the two notes, “and then run it again everything handwritten from the file.” “Monica, that will take forever,” he said. “Well then you’d better get on with it because we don’t have forever,” she snapped. “I need something concrete, and I need it like now.” He caught the look on her face and asked, “When?” “Yesterday afternoon,” she answered softly. “If you’re planning on convincing him to stay put by showing him notes that undoubtedly broke his heart then…” “I’m not showing him anything,” she said. “Unless you get your finger out and do as I asked.” She started pacing again. “Man is he not going to be happy,” Cody sighed as he turned back to the computer and dropped the note into the scanner. “You know, as “dear Johns,” go…” “You’ve had better,” Monica quipped unkindly. “Ouch,” he replied, two-tone. “What I was going to say is that it’s not very eloquent considering who she is.” “She was stressed out Cody,” Monica answered. “She’d just been held hostage for a day and a half and she…” “Oh boy,” he said, bile leaping up to grab his throat. “She may have been stressed out – but she didn’t write him this note.” They sent the next set of demands down out of the fifteenth storey window attached to a hostage. Within minutes all the phones on the floor were ringing. They made one of us pick up the phone. “They want to talk to you.” One of the office juniors held out the receiver to our captors and the computer guy typed away at the computer again. “We can all hear you,” the leading guy said. He was reasonably tall, with a slightly Germanic look about him in the way his blonde hair framed his face containing not blue but hazel eyes. It was the eyes that destroyed the appearance. “Though you have our demands so I don’t see the reason for our talking.” “We need to know down here that the hostages are all right,” the voice said. “All but one,” Blondie answered. “And it seems that she can’t fly.” “All right, point taken,” the man on the other end of the phone sounded shocked. “Those are pretty extensive demands. It will take us a whil…” “Oh no, my friend,” he interrupted. “I’ve heard this one before and if it “takes a while” as you say, then I shall see if another of my hostages can fly. Am I understood?” “You’re understood,” the police negotiator answered. “I’ll see what I can do. I’d like to call you back if I may?” “Do as you wish,” Blondie answered. “So long as you meet my demands within the time limit.” He made a cutting motion with his hand and Computer guy hit a button to terminate the contact. I could tell by the way he looked around at the people gathered in the room that he was looking for his next victim. Something made me look back at the screen showing my home. Frank was tearing around the place, as though he was looking for something… finally looking for my friend’s number perhaps. His cell phone rang, and he snatched it up. “Donovan,” he answered. “Frank, it’s Tom,” “No,” he answered. “Whatever it is, I have a problem right now, and I can’t…” “Donovan, turn on CNN.” Something in the way Tom instructed him to do so made Frank reach for the remote control. The television – which I could clearly see through the camera they’d hidden in my lounge – showed the outside of the building I was in. “When did this happen?” Frank snapped into the phone which he brought back to his ear. “CCLB received a coded warning this morning,” “Coded?” He repeated. “Who’s the negotiator?” “Frank, hold on…” “Who is the negotiator Tom?” He snapped. “Frank there’s something you should know…” Tom said instead. “Go,” Frank instructed. “I ran that trace again…” I willed Thomas to be quiet… I knew what was coming and exactly the response it would elicit from Frank. “Now it might be nothing, she might just have left it behind…” He didn’t even have to finish the sentence. “I’m on my way down there…” “Frank, it’s not our juris…” “Then get it MADE ours!” he snapped, grabbing his jacket he made toward the door. “And whoever the current negotiator is – do NOT let him go right to the wire and ask for more time, he won’t get it… you hear me?” “Frank…” “Thomas!” Frank growled in frustration. “I’ll be there in fifteen.” NORTH RIVERSIDE PLAZA: 10.15pm Sunday He heard nothing, he saw nothing, but in the next moment both his arms were grabbed and he felt the sting of a needle, before all the strength drained out of him. He tried to voice his denial. This would normally be the point at which the doors of a nearby van would burst open and the team would pour out to the rescue. No such luck… ** UNSPECIFIED LOCATION: 10.30pm Sunday He came around slowly. His head aching like he’d been on a two day bender and his arm, where the needle had punctured, felt sore and enflamed. He moaned. “I was beginning to think that maybe we’d given you too much Mr Kale.” A refined voice, with just the hint of a southern drawl, well hidden, addressed him from behind. He tried to screw his neck round to see the speaker, but his eyes were drawn to the side, where he saw something, or more to the point, someone that he would rather not have seen and put him in very real fear for his life and that of his friends. “Yeah, well,” he whispered, trying not to panic and to keep the persona he’d made for himself. “You wanted to see me; you could have sent an RSVP.” ”Very droll Mr Kale,” the voice behind him said. “So…” Jake whispered. “Since it’s obviously not a social call, it must be business.” ”Been watching you, Mr Kale…” “Call me Anton,” he whispered. “So you have my number, huh? Is that what you think?” His heart was racing, his mouth was dry. He was terrified that the next words out of the man’s mouth were going to be his own real name. He heard the footsteps that came closer, and then the man came into view, and he found himself face to face with Mr Iain Reeves-Masterton. The man had a knife, and Jake fought not to struggle against the tape that bound him to the chair in which he had been confined. “I know you could be good for business, if that’s what you mean,” Reeves-Masterton said. “So I have a proposal for you,” Proposal, not proposition. He let out the breath he’d been holding and nodded to his arms. “I do business much better when I can reach out and shake the hand of the man who’s to be my partner,” he whispered softly. Reeves-Masterton cut him free. “Didn’t say anything about partners, Mr Kale…” “Then you’ll excuse me… but I’ve had my fill of mere business associates.” He answered in as bold a whisper as he could manage as she stood up. He nodded towards the woman he’d seen in the shadows. “She your partner?” “Not at all,” The other man said. “Just an associate.” ”But you do have a partner.” Jake risked pushing. “So what would I be? Just another associate?” “You ask a lot of questions Mr Kale.” He found himself on the receiving end of a viper like smile. He returned it as strongly as he could. “What you have to understand about me,” he said in the trademark whisper that was getting him quite a name on the streets. “It’s only by asking questions in the way that I do, and choosing my business very carefully that I’ve got where I am today.” “I like the way you think, Anton,” Reeves-Masterton reached out as though to pat Jake on his cheek. Quicker than even he thought possible, he raised his hand to intercept and slap the contact away. He heard the click of a weapon from the shadows and tensed, but Reeves-Masterton held up his hand. ”I don’t like to be touched,” Jake whispered. “So… business partners – not associates. If you have to clear it with your partner, please do, but don’t waste my time.” He started toward the door of the motel room and then in a stage whisper said, “And call off your dogs!” “Okay fifteen minutes, get me a line in,” I watched. It was as if Frank had predicted exactly what would happen, but what was more worrying, was that these guys had eyes everywhere, even inside the ops van. “Don’t do it.” I heard his voice before I saw him. “Who the hell is this guy,” the negotiator snapped. “Get him out of here.” “You make that call, you condemn another hostage to die,” he refused to be moved. “I said, get him out of here,” the cop started to pick up the phone, but Frank’s hand came down over his wrist. “By this time, if you had any intention of even part way meeting their demands there would be a team in the stairwell to escort the courier up there… or the kidnappers and their hostages down. They know you don’t mean it… MAKE them believe you…” he said urgently but quietly. “Get a team in there.” “Don’t you just hate people that don’t do their job?” the blonde man asked me. “What do you say we give him a little wake up call?” He nodded at the Computer Guy who dialled up the number. I wanted to just put my head in my hands, or my hands over my ears or something. I didn’t want to hear or see what I knew was coming. “Hey,” Blondie said. “I see no movement Mr Police Negotiator. What’s going on?” “We, erm…” the police man glanced up at Frank. “Don’t,” he said softly, barely audible. “There’s been a delay.” Frank sighed forcefully and moved away running his fingers through his hair. “You’ve had two hours, how long does it TAKE to count a hundred thousand twenties and to drive across town?” Blondie asked. “Why even bother driving. I can see at least thirty cars all parked around. Where’s the delay? You didn’t even need to get some fat cat banker out of his bed.” “There’s procedure to follow,” the answer was firm, but with a hint of uncertainty. Behind me, one of the women in the office started screaming and from the corner of my eye, I saw her being carried struggling toward a broken window. “I’m waiting on word from…” Our captors tossed the terrified woman out of the window. With the most desperate of screams, that I heard in stereo, and which ended suddenly, she fell the fifteen floors “She just bought you another thirty minutes,” Blondie snapped and severed the contact. Turning to me with a wide grin he said, “Now let’s see how long it takes.” “You don’t need to PLAY these games,” I said desperately. “He’s there… he…” The slap cut me off and made me bite my lip. “You will speak when I tell you to speak, understand?” Mutely, I nodded, fighting the tears as I turned my attention back to the monitors in time to see the police negotiator rip off the headset and cover his face with his hands as Frank turned back to face the unfortunate man. “What are you standing orders in a situation like this?” he asked in a tone that left no doubt as to the other man’s competence. He pointed up, presumably in the direction of the tower, “That man, up there, is playing with you and you are letting him. I told you this would happen and now you have two dead hostages instead of just one.” The police negotiator leaped up from his seat and rounded on Frank. “Temper, temper!” the man beside me chuckled. I ignored him as best I could and watched on. “Look! I don’t know who the hell you think you are, but I didn’t ask you for your advice.” “No you didn’t,” Frank answered confidently. “But I gave it, and you NEED it. Two million in used notes, right? This isn’t about money. It was never about money – he just used that as an opening gambit, to test you. Right now he’s sitting up there choosing another hostage to throw out of the window when you fail again.” “I know what I’m doing,” the police negotiator growled. I could tell by his face that he knew Frank was right and didn’t like it. Frank shook his head at the man’s comment. “You’re not in control of this. He is,” he said. “And as long as he is, it might as well be you up there throwing out those hostages.” “Just who the HELL do you think you are?” he poked a finger in the centre of Frank’s chest. The door opened beside him and Thomas Callaghan entered the ops van. He nodded to Frank. “I’m the man who’s going to get those people out of there,” he said, cocking his head at the police negotiator until he removed his finger from where it was still pointing at his chest. He stared at the man for a moment longer and then slipped off his jacket to hang it over the back of the seat the negotiator had vacated. “Alright people, listen.” He held up his ID and turned it round so that each person had a chance to see it. “It doesn’t matter that we don’t know each other we’re not going to be sleeping together. My name is Donovan and from now on, you need to sneeze, you clear it with me.” He pointed to person after person in the van, giving each of them a job to do. “You… I want air bags around the entire perimeter of that building. You… why can’t I see or hear anything? I want eyes and ears in that building – go. You… I want two teams of SWAT, one on the ground, one on the roof of the building and sharp shooters in the building opposite. You… the keys to a fleet car and two million in unmarked, non consecutive bills in a case at my feet in five.” He stopped speaking and looked round at the sea of astonished faces. “Why are you all still standing there? Every second you stand there someone takes one step closer to an open window.” As the others began moving about there assigned tasks he leaned down to speak more quietly to the man sitting in front of a bank of computers. “You…isolate communications in that building. Ours will be the only line in or…” “Mr Donovan?” A young officer interrupted from behind. “Mr Donovan was my father. What is it?” he asked without turning around. “What about heat and light, sir?” “No.” he said unequivocally. “Cut off the power and you punish the hostages. They’re already going to be afraid and uncomfortable. Our job is to make thing better for them, not worse.” “Sorry sir, I just thought…” “You’ve been watching too much television,” he turned his head to glance at the youngster. Then he fished in his pocket for his keys and tossed them in the young officer’s direction, confident they would be caught. When he next spoke he had once again assumed his brisk tone. “You want to make yourself useful go get me my vest from the back of my car. Someone get me a headset please. Do we have com?” “Yes, sir,” the computer operator turned the monitor in Frank’s direction. Frank took the headset that was passed to him and fixed it into place as he was plugged into the I/O socket. “Just so you all know,” Frank addressed the team still in the van. “I have one rule. When I’m speaking with our mark, I want silence, you understand? No one makes a sound.” After a moment he glanced at the tech-op and nodded. I jumped as the telephone sounded. After what sounded like an eternity of ringing the man I’d named as Blondie picked up the phone, and pretending he didn’t know about the change in personnel asked, “You come to your sense yet?” “Listen very carefully to what I’m going to tell you,” Frank’s clear firm voice rang out over the monitor and in tinny stereo from the telephone receiver. “My name is Frank Donovan. I’m with the FBI’s CNU. I think you know what that means. I care only about the lives and well being of the people you’re holding hostage, so the way I see it, you’ve already killed two of my people. I can’t accept that.” He paused for the briefest of moments to let that sink in. “I have your two million, but we both know this was never about the money and after what you’ve done to my people, I’m not very much inclined to talk right now. When you’re ready to release the hostages pick up the phone and call me back, and don’t even think about hurting anyone else. You’ll only make this end badly for you.” He nodded and the tech-op disconnected the line. The ousted police negotiator came to his feet and grabbed Frank’s arm. “What the hell…?” he spluttered. “You just gave him and open invitation to start…” “No,” Frank shook off the contact and pushed the man away with an open hand. The fingers spread, spider like over the man’s chest. “This was about regaining ground that you lost with you indecisive and inept handling of the situation. Now sit down and keep out of my way, or get out of my ops van.” The man behind me chuckled and leaned down to whisper suggestively, “I’ll bet he’s good in bed too.” ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ If . . . In The End - Chapter 3 continued |