Lack of Jurisdiction

by G. K. Parks

“I don’t know. Perhaps you’re suspected of doing something illegal.” I glanced at the gun. “Yeah, I’m gonna go with that.”

  He snorted. “I’m guessing you’re FBI. Probably undercover. That’s why you worked for PDN, why you supposedly took some gig to protect Eastman, and how you were authorized to burst through the lobby doors and make it look unplanned, even heroic. I didn’t realize they had female negotiators. Most tactical units are men, at least that’s what my personal security looked like. Is that why they picked you?”

  “Well, you were a congressman. Flip on any news station, there is always a sex scandal, so it makes sense why most female agents would want to avoid you.” This was wasting time, but I hoped he’d get tired of aiming at me so I could subdue him.

  “How much do they know about my business ventures and affiliates?” His voice went deadly. He was done playing, but I remained silent. “Answer me, or I’ll start killing hostages.” He picked up a radio from atop his desk and spoke a few words. The next thing I knew, Paul was dragged inside by the same goon from earlier. His shirt and hands were stained in blood, and I didn’t know if it was his or Jason’s. “Last chance.”

  “Please,” Paul begged, his breath coming in panicked gasps.

  Shit. “Don’t.” I couldn’t play chicken with someone else’s life. “They were tracking Frank Costan and any connection the two of you may have had. His body was discovered below the hotel.” I sidestepped, attempting to possibly shield Paul from any incoming projectile. “I bet you killed Costan and paid some people to help you dispose of the body.”

  “Very good.” He nodded to the goon, and Paul was dragged out of the room with much protest and pleading. “Now, I know you won’t do anything to jeopardize anyone else’s safety. So I want you to get me the hell out of here.”

  “I can’t do that. You took my radio. I have no means of communicating with the outside world. They will breach, and it will be bloody.”

  “You will get me out of here,” he repeated. No wasn’t an option. He stepped closer and pulled me to the desk. “Call them,” he insisted, pressing the speaker button on the phone. “And if you try anything, Oster’s the first person I kill, that is if he isn’t already dead. Then Eastman, and I’ll just continue down the line, but you’ll be the last.” I reached out to dial Jacobs, knowing he would transfer the call. “Don’t try anything.”

  “I wouldn’t think of it,” I mumbled.

  The phone rang four times before it was answered. I stepped closer to the window, wondering if I could see the tactical team below. But the makeshift tent blocked everyone from visual range. The power was out, and despite the dozens of news vans I could see hovering at the line, probably broadcasting this breaking news story, at least Wheeler and his pals were in the dark. Unfortunately, so was I.

  “Parker,” it sounded like Torre, but he didn’t identify himself and I didn’t ask, “what’s the situation?”

  “Multiple hostages,” I spoke, watching Wheeler. “I’m working on the demands. But safe passage is at the top of the list. We need transportation out of here.”

  “The same method you were told earlier,” Wheeler hissed, and I realized he must have been the voice in Oster’s earpiece.

  “A car, full tank of gas, no lowjack or GPS system,” I repeated. “Did you still want to make that trip to the bank?” I asked, loudly enough that my voice was heard over the speaker. I suspected Wheeler’s was too, but Torre was a professional and wouldn’t let it slip unless it served a tactical advantage.

  Wheeler cut the line and glared. “I told you not to try anything.” His face contorted. “I’ll have to prove to you I’m not playing.” He nodded to the man outside the open office door, and a single shot was fired inside the conference room.

  Oh god. I closed my eyes. “You son-of-a-bitch,” I eked out. “Just tell me what you fucking want.”

  “Tell them to leave the car parked two blocks away.” He gave me an address. “And have them pull back. No one within a hundred feet of the hotel.” He smirked. “I appreciate the planning and work that you put in which exploited the weakness of the subbasement and tunnels. I wouldn’t have discovered it otherwise.”

  I lunged, but he took a step back and fired, narrowly missing me. I froze. “You make a single move on me, and Sven will kill someone else. Do we understand one another?” At the sound of his name, the goon stepped inside the office. “Don’t be a hero.”

  “Do you see tights or a cape?” Heroes didn’t let hostages get killed. They didn’t run into a situation and make dumbass mistakes, and they figured out who was to blame before the body count rose. My stomach lurched, but I swallowed the bile. There would be plenty of time for self-pity and guilt later, if there was a later. Seriously, why didn’t I call Martin this morning?

  “Pick up the phone,” Wheeler said, “and tell them what I want.”

  “Okay.” I did as he asked, avoiding giving answers to the questions Torre asked about everyone’s well-being or if we needed any supplies or food inside the building. It was standard negotiation, but I was frazzled and couldn’t think to form an appropriate response to tip them off without clueing in Wheeler.

  “We’ll call back as soon as the car arrives. Stay near the phone,” Torre said.

  Wheeler hit the disconnect, smiling. “See, that wasn’t so hard, was it?”

  “Why Oster?” I asked, contemplating what the tactical unit inside the building was instructed to do now that the moronic woman pretending to be a negotiator got captured. “Why was he doing your bidding? What did you promise him?”

  “My loyal head of security.” Wheeler shrugged. “It seems fitting that he would be the perfect fall guy. He had access, know-how, and the drills that were conducted to advance security during the conference were coordinated through him.” He seemed pleased to speak about his brilliance to someone, and I identified that as the boastful politician. “Not to speak ill of the dead, but he was too smart for his own good.”

  “He was on to you?” I asked, not wanting to admit that Oster wasn’t the only one, but until now, there was no evidence.

  “Apparently he and his little friend decided to rig their own surveillance. And he overheard something he shouldn’t have.” He narrowed his eyes. “You’re not planning to make it out of this building alive, are you?”

  “You tell me.” I wouldn’t show fear, nor would I go down without a fight.

  “Obviously, I would be an idiot to confess to you and then let you live. So tell me, how badly do you want to know the truth?”

  “He blackmailed you,” I said, not bothering to answer the question.

  “He tried. Many have tried. But you can’t bullshit a bullshitter. He tried to use it as leverage to guarantee his girlfriend would remain unharmed. Pity, she was too in love with her ex-husband to ever really care about him. And he died for her. That just goes to show, the only person you should look out for is yourself.” He smirked. “That’s a lesson you should have taken to heart before running inside this hellhole.”

  “Too late now.” The phone interrupted our conversation, and he nodded that I answer. Instead of putting it on speaker, I picked up the receiver. “Is the car ready?”

  “We’re working on it. It will take some time. How is everyone holding up? Can I speak to Jason?” Torre asked, still reading from the manual.

  “No,” my voice shook, and Wheeler hit the speaker button before I could say anything else.

  “Are you okay? Is everything okay?”

  It was now or never. “Two hostiles, Oster’s dead, one hostage injured,” I rattled quickly before Wheeler could disconnect.

  “You bitch,” he pressed his gun to my forehead, contemplating pulling the trigger. “That’s it. You’re gonna personally make sure I make it out alive.” He twisted my arm behind my back and dragged me into the hallway. “Sven, plan B.”

  The man left the conference room and headed for the stairwell. Opening the doors, he went down the steps. Wheeler followed, hunker
ing behind me so I could be a human shield. We only made it down a few steps before gunfire reverberated in the enclosed, cinderblock stairwell. My last communication had been enough to trigger an immediate breach. Bullets were flying, and anything that moved would be taken down.

  “Fuck,” Wheeler cursed, yanking my hair hard and pulling me backward up the steps, so he could still hide behind me like the coward he was. “Back in the office.”

  He made it to Russell’s office and shut the door. He flipped the lock and forced me toward the window. The ledge wasn’t a feasible alternative escape route, but he was desperate enough to consider giving it a try. As he struggled to keep the gun pointed at me while attempting to open the large, sealed window, I spotted the HRT sniper in the adjacent building. Distract him, Parker.

  “Senator,” I said, surprising him with the sudden formality, “the roof would make more sense.” He looked suspicious. “It’s your only chance.” He released the window frame and turned to face me.

  “Why should I believe you?”

  “Because if you don’t, we’ll both die.” I stepped forward, angling slightly in the hopes of having him turn further away from the window as the red laser sight bounced closer.

  He pushed me back, cocking the gun and aiming at my head. “The roof, huh? Good call. But you’re gonna die either way.”

  A red laser dot appeared on the side of his head, and I shut my eyes. Would HRT take the shot before Wheeler did? Either way, I didn’t want to see it. The crack of gunfire ripped through the silence. It was fierce, and before I could move an inch, the office door was bashed in and a metal canister hit the ground. Diving underneath the desk, I curled into the fetal position, covering my ears and squeezing my eyes closed.

  Thank god, it wasn’t a grenade or tear gas. The deafening sound and blinding light of the flashbang was disorienting, and I did my best to shield myself from the effects. I still wasn’t certain that Wheeler’s bullet didn’t rip through me. I remained curled under the desk; my breathing was erratic as minutes or hours passed. Noises sounded distant and muffled, and then something tapped against my shin.

  “Clear,” the ESU guy said, offering his hand. I took it, and he pulled me up.

  “Wheeler?” Squinting and trying to think, I wondered what happened to Sven. Replaying the events of the last two hours, I knew there must be a third man. A sleeper. Someone inside the conference room keeping the hostages at bay. But who? “Do you have a back-up?” I asked. The officer nodded, and without asking for elaboration, unhooked the gun from his thigh and handed it to me. “How many did you get? There are at least three.”

  “Two. One in the stairwell and him.” He jerked his chin at Wheeler’s body, slumped half in the office chair, his head and neck at a horrible angle. The nausea hit hard, but I pushed it away, scrambling toward the conference room.

  “Alex,” Paul called, crouching on the floor next to Jason’s body, “it was Gordon Russell. That’s what I wanted to tell you before.” His words weren’t making sense, but Russell was no longer in the conference room. Two other hotel employees were huddled in the corner while Paul pressed his palms against Oster’s stomach and chest, and ESU secured the rest of the floor for the paramedics to arrive. “I think he’s still breathing. I’m not sure,” Paul rambled. He was in shock, and he might not be the only one.

  “Where’d Russell go?” I asked, not willing to let a single piece of slime escape.

  “I don’t know,” he replied. Three members of ESU returned to the room, and one kept a watch on the alleged hostages while the other two checked Oster’s vitals.

  Not waiting for permission, I ran from the room and down the hallway. They were clearing from the bottom up, and HRT was in the adjacent building, monitoring suspicious movement. There wasn’t a chance in hell Gordon Russell would escape. I still didn’t know how he figured into any of this. Nor did I truly believe Jason Oster or Paul Eastman were entirely innocent. At this particular moment, I saw every single one of them as the enemy, and they might be.

  “Parker,” the ESU guy who lent me his side arm took lead, “stay behind me. Do you know what this guy looks like?”

  “Yep,” I said, ready to make heads roll. Being held at gunpoint with my life flashing before my eyes for the past hour wasn’t conducive to a positive recovery. But considering the fact I still didn’t know what the hell was going on, it would be beneficial to keep as many persons of interest breathing as possible. We went up another level, clearing the rooms. A few more members of the team joined the party, signifying that the EMTs and regular police officers were dealing with the remaining situation.

  On the penthouse level, the door to Wheeler’s suite was open, and Russell was on the floor, searching through the drawers. Everything in the room was tossed, and he was frantic to find whatever he was looking for.

  “Hands in the air,” one of the men ordered, and Russell complied immediately.

  “It has to be here. Just,” he looked at them beseechingly, “give me a minute. He had millions stashed somewhere. We can all be rich. When we find the money, you can have it all, if you just let me go.”

  “Do you honestly believe you can bribe these upstanding law enforcement officers?” I asked, stepping into the room.

  “We can all be millionaires. I didn’t kill anyone. I didn’t do anything. It will be fine. We’ll be rich. All of us. No one has to know anything.” He continued the gibberish, even as the cuffs clinked into place.

  We scanned the rest of the room, the outer balcony, and every nook and cranny on the top floor. “Clear,” I called, shutting the final closet door. A couple of the other men checked the roof, but no one else was in the building. Everyone was either apprehended, taken into custody for questioning, at the hospital, or awaiting transport to the ME’s office.

  “Parker,” Jacobs appeared on the top floor as I returned my borrowed handgun to the ESU guy, “this was some mess.”

  “Tell me about it.” I barely managed to make it down the stairs, feeling nauseous and dizzy from what occurred.

  Jacobs wanted a statement and facts. Apparently he received a few phone calls from Jablonsky and O’Connell, and some headway was made when they questioned Rachel Romanski again. But I couldn’t concentrate. At the moment, I really just wanted to sit down and put my head between my knees.

  As soon as we exited the lobby doors, Agent Walton approached. “You nearly got everyone killed. You almost sabotaged a rescue attempt. You thwarted my investigation, and now there are multiple casualties.” He pulled out his handcuffs. “Alexis Parker, you’re under arrest for interfering in a federal investigation.” The metal clicked into place, and he dragged me to his SUV. On the bright side, there was a good chance I was going to be sick, and he’d have to clean it up.

  Forty-one

  “Did you check her for a concussion?” I heard Mark ask as the door to interrogation opened. “It’s protocol when someone vomits in the back of your car.”

  “She’s fine,” Walton insisted.

  “Is that right, Alex?” Mark asked, and I lifted my head off my arms, pulling back so the fact that I was still cuffed would be apparent. “Jesus.” Mark rolled his eyes and immediately dug out his handcuff key to set me free. “Are you okay?” he asked quietly.

  “I am now.” I rubbed my wrists, hating restraints for more reasons than I cared to count.

  “Good.” He put a can of cola on the table in front of me. “What the hell is the matter with you?”

  “I’d like to know the answer to that question as well,” Director Kendall said, stepping into the room. He was in charge of the FBI field office and OIO, and he was the man I had turned in a resignation letter to on multiple occasions, refusing his offers to return to work until the last time when I failed to be reinstated. “You’re the only person I know who continually gets arrested or nearly arrested because you still behave like you’re on the job, even though you clearly aren’t.”

  “Sir,” I said, opening the soda and taking
a sip to settle my nerves and stomach, “what can I say? It happens.”

  “It only happens to you,” Kendall growled. He shifted his focus to SAC Walton. “Chris, take a walk. This has no bearing on you or your investigation.” Walton looked ready to protest but was too much of an ass-kisser to speak out against the big boss. After the door closed, Kendall pulled out the chair in front of me and sat down. “We can’t keep meeting like this.”

  “No, sir,” I replied.

  “Strangely enough, the police lieutenant has come to your rescue this time. Not me. Moretti called and said you were helping his detective on something, and you likely became a bit too overzealous in your consulting. While that doesn’t mean we still can’t bring you up on charges, I suspect you won’t be as willing to cooperate and answer our questions if you fear you’ll be implicating yourself.”

  “That could happen,” I said, wondering where this conversation was going.

  “Here,” he placed a form on the table in front of me, “full immunity, signed by the AG and DA.” He pulled a pen from his breast pocket and put it on top of the papers. “Be thankful you still have friends here. Two of them are in this room.”

  “Thank you, Director.” I let out a sigh, relieved to no longer be cuffed or under arrest. “I owe you more than I can ever repay.”

  “When this is cleared up and you finish with the PD, make an appointment to see me. There’s something imperative we need to discuss. Agreed?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Get some rest. You look pretty wrecked.” He went to the door. “And thanks for showing some initiative today, but in the future, you need to learn to follow orders. Understood?”

  “I’ll work on it.” I signed the papers, indemnifying myself, and leaned back. Kendall left the room, and Mark took the seat he vacated.

  “Here’s what’s about to happen,” Mark said, glancing at the door. “Walton’s been cleared of any involvement. His investigation is clean, and so is he. So be nice. He’s coming back inside to interview you. Tell him everything that happened and everything you know. Transcripts will be sent to the police department, and hopefully, you won’t have to repeat this process again. Don’t ask questions. I’ll catch you up to speed tomorrow before you show up at the police station. They’re expecting you to consult pro bono, at least that’s what Moretti agreed to after I cashed in a few favors on your behalf.” He stood up. “The good news is you were never identified by any of the news sources, and after being arrested, I’m sure no one will think you have any actual involvement with law enforcement.”