After checking on the SWAT leader, whose name was Carl, Sam trotted to the SWAT truck. Inside, it seemed like a small internet farm. There were computers running data from end to end, and a phone was linked to a few pairs of headsets so that the negotiators could talk and research at the same time. The fluorescent lights were bright, and there were a few chairs set up by the counter.
Sam noted the single agent seated at the counter. He looked almost nervous. Now he was worried.
“What’s your name?” he asked.
“I’m Lyle,” he said in a voice that belonged to a teenager. “And yes, I’m new at this. But don’t worry, I’m certified. Passed the test and everything.”
Sam raised an eyebrow. That was why he was worried. He didn’t want some rookie taking care of a life and death situation involving his one true love. He prayed that this kid knew what he was doing. Or that an act of God occurred. The latter was probably more likely to happen.
A computer screen toward the front of the van sputtered and came to life.
“I’ve got feed!” said the twenty-something that sat at it. “Fiber-optic camera is up and running.”
Sam stood and made his way to that computer. Taking a shaky breath, he jumped out of the van and began calling for Nate.
Nate came running to see what the matter was, Sam could tell by his expression.
He caught his breath and put a hand on Nate’s shoulder. “You have to see this.”
Nate rolled his eyes. “So you can put your hand on my shoulder, but I can’t put my hand on yours?” he asked, referring to the situation from Thanksgiving. With a sigh, he jumped into the van with Sam.
Sam pointed to the screen, where an image was moving across the screen at funny angles.
Nate leaned closer and his jaw dropped. “Sam, is that…”
Sam nodded. “We have to figure out who he is.”
“You guys know who that is?” asked the technician.
“He’s a prime suspect in the case we’re working on. So far, we haven’t been able to gather any identification.” Sam ran a hand through his hair.
“Maybe Emily will let us know who he is,” Nate said hopefully. “Where is she sitting? I don’t see her on the feed.”
“She’s not at the right angle,” the technician said. “The camera can only pick up so much.”
Sam sank into a chair. “Nate, why didn’t we see the connection earlier?” he asked, pained. If only he could righteously blame someone other than himself. But, he knew that this was his fault.
EIGHTEEN
Emily had turned on the couch so that she could put her feet up. She was smart, and she knew that she wasn’t going anywhere for a while. Her quick eye caught movement by the door, and she spotted a fiber-optic camera. At least she knew that SWAT was here. She turned toward Troy, putting her feet back on the ground.
“Where have you been for all these years?” she asked, hoping to get some information out of him.
He smiled and sat on the edge of the wooden coffee table. “Dad sent me to Pennsylvania. But then I realized I needed to come back and see you.”
Emily inwardly shuddered. He was a creep, but she couldn’t remember if he’d always been that way, or if it was a new thing for him.
“Do you have a radio in here?” he asked. His eyes rapidly scanned the room.
She rolled her eyes and pointed to the table he was sitting on.
He seemed to notice the stationary CD player for the first time, and he flipped the radio on and tuned it to 97.5 FM.
She made a mental note of it.
“Why that station?” she asked.
He smiled. “It’s my favorite. I never listen to anything else.”
She nodded. “Well, we should catch up. What’s been happening with you?” She tried not to glance toward the door. She hoped that camera had audio.
“Oh, not much. I’ve pretty much stayed at home in Pennsylvania for the last couple of years. Until I came to see you, but you know that.”
The house phone, which Emily had set on the coffee table before Troy had arrived, began to ring.
He jumped and looked at it scathingly.
“It’s probably the police,” she said simply. “Why don’t you let me answer it?”
He nodded and handed her the phone.
She said a quick prayer and pressed the talk button. “Hello, this is Emily Baker.”
“Emily? This is Lyle, from SWAT. We’re going to get you out of there. May I speak with your captor?”
She heard a brief, “Oh, shut up and give me the phone,” in the background, and then a voice she recognized came onto the line.
“Emily, this is Nate. Do you know his name?”
“No,” she lied. She had a feeling that if she started talking about him, this conversation would end quickly.
“Do you know anything about him? Are you ok?”
“Yeah, yeah. My temperature’s normal. 97 point 5 F. My favorite temperature to be at.”
“Good,” he said, obviously a bit puzzled. “Does he have a weapon?”
She ran her eyes over him for a moment, noting a lump in the back of his waistband.
“Yes,” she said.
“Ok. That’s what we thought. We’re taking this slow. Negotiating. We’re getting you out, ok?”
Troy gave her a wrap-it-up signal.
“Ok. As William Penn said, ‘there’s always tomorrow’.” She hung up, praying that Nate got the message. As far as she knew, William Penn had never said that, but she hoped he caught the connection to Pennsylvania and began to look.
Troy began to pace again, and she winced when his eyes went to the door. In a flash of rage, he raced to the door and stomped on the camera.
She felt bad for the people that had to pay for that expensive piece of equipment.
“Why didn’t you tell me they were watching us?” he asked frantically. “Now they know what my face looks like. Oh, this isn’t good. We need to get out of here.”
Emily bit her tongue, refusing to tell him that they had known what he looked like since Rachel had told her. This guy was about to completely flip out. She had never wanted Sam and Nate to hurry this much in her life.
Sam saw Nate hang up the phone and scribble something onto a piece of paper. He looked thoroughly confused and highly agitated.
“Something wrong with her?” Sam asked, very much concerned.
Nate shook his head. “No. She sounded fine. It’s just what she said. It doesn’t quite make sense.”
Sam scooted his chair over to Nate. “What’d she say?”
Nate laid the paper on the desk and chewed on the pen cap.
“Let’s start with this one,” he said, pointing. “She said her temperature’s normal. 97 point 5 F, her favorite temp to be at.” He bit his lip. “That’s not normal body temp, is it?”
Sam shook his head. “Normal body temp is 98.6, and Emily knows that. So why 97.5, and why is it her favorite?”
Nate made a note. “We’ll find out. Next, her final statement before she hung up. She said, 'as William Penn says'. Who’s William Penn?”
Sam narrowed his eyes. “Well, the only William Penn I can think of is the one that founded Pennsylvania. Emily isn’t exactly a history buff, so why the quote? What was the quote?”
“There’s always tomorrow,” Nate reiterated.
“Pretty sure that William Penn never said that. Or, if he did, it wasn't necessarily recorded in a history book.” Sam stared at the paper for a while, wondering what she could have meant. She was probably trying to get a message across to them, but what?
“Maybe this guy has some connection to Pennsylvania,” he finally said out loud, realizing that he sounded stupid.
Nate shrugged. “It’s worth a shot. I’ll give the info to the police lab, since our lab technician happens to be in that house. Maybe they’ll come up with something.” He jumped out of the van and raced to the SUV, handing a slip of paper to the driver.
Sam laid his head ba
ck and began to pray. It seemed that was all he was able to do at that moment. He watched in silence as Lyle, the negotiator, picked up the phone and called the house again.
God, he prayed, please give this guy brains, even if it’s humanly impossible. I need a little help down here.
NINETEEN
Emily jumped when the phone rang and Troy grabbed it up. He threw her an uncertain glance.
“Hello?” he asked.
Emily stiffened, knowing that the person on the other end was a negotiator.
“No, I don’t want to come out,” Troy insisted. “Just because she’s beautiful doesn’t mean that I’m a psycho!” He listened for another minute, then simply hung up.
Emily glanced around for a weapon, but she couldn’t see anything. For once, she wished she hadn’t cleaned her house that morning. What had possessed her? She never cleaned the house before she went to work. She hardly cleaned the house after work. So why had she chosen this day, of all days, to clean the house.
She knew why. She had been processing and had needed something to do. She had finished all her work-at-home lab work, so she had reverted to cleaning. Not that she enjoyed it; she had just needed something to do. Now she regretted it.
“Why do they think I’m insane?” Troy asked, pacing the floor again.
Emily wished he would stop, he was making her nervous.
“I’m not insane,” he said adamantly. “I didn’t do anything wrong, why are they here?”
Suddenly, a chill ran up Emily’s spine. Maybe, just maybe, he really was insane. She pushed the thought away. If he was insane, then she was in intense danger. Right now, the only thing keeping her calm was the fact that he might have some inkling of sanity in his body. She had to hold onto that hope.
Troy ran a hand through his hair. He was near tears, she realized, and she took a deep breath to steady herself. That wasn’t working as well as a few minutes ago, so she tried meditating on scripture.
If my God is for me, who can be against me?
He sets a table before me in the midst of my enemies.
What time I am afraid, I will put my trust in You, O God.
She breathed a little easier. What time she was afraid, she would put her trust in God. He would take care of her. God had her back, and she was good with that. Because if God was for her, no one could stand against her. She was going to get out of this alive.
Sam was starting to get irritated with this negotiator. He was truly a rookie, and Sam did not need a rookie right now. He needed a professional.
As Lyle dialed the house number once again, a light knock sounded at the door.
Sam pushed the door open and sighed with relief when he saw Jasmine Danforth standing there, a weak smile on her face.
“Oh, please come in,” Sam begged.
Jasmine worked for the Bureau and was one of Sam’s favorite agents. She often worked as a negotiator, since she was such a persuasive person. She had been abducted as a child, but had talked her way into getting released. She always kept a cool head.
“Heard you were a little stressed,” she said quietly, since Lyle was talking with the guy in the house again.
Sam nodded, glancing in Lyle’s direction. “Nate send you my way?”
She nodded. “You know me. Comforter extraordinaire. Don’t worry, we’re getting Emily out.” She fell silent, listening to Lyle’s conversation. After a moment of silence, she hit a button that sent the feed from the phone into the speakers mounted in the van.
“I told you, stop calling me!” the stranger yelled. “I don’t need anything.”
“Sir, whatever you want, we can get it to you, but you’re going to have to release the hostage.”
A loud chuckle came over the speakers.
“The hostage is what he wants, you idiot!” Jasmine hissed right before the man hung up. Her arms flew akimbo. “Just…get out. Get out now.” She pointed to the door and shook her head.
Lyle headed for the door.
“I am frankly surprised that they let you graduate your negotiation classes!” she yelled after him as she sat in the chair he had just vacated. “You need to retake them!” She turned to the back door again.
“Marshall!” she yelled. “Marshall, get in here!”
Marshall Torrey was Jasmine’s partner and fellow negotiator. He had a tendency to get shot, but only because he was so committed to protecting people. That was why he had come to work in the Bureau.
Marshall entered the truck moments later, his arm in a sling.
Sam furrowed his brow. “Get shot again?”
Marshall shook his head sheepishly.
Jasmine rolled her eyes and sighed. “He was playing soccer and he dislocated his shoulder. Don’t ask me how he does it. I don’t know.” She slid the headset on and patted the seat next to her. “We’re taking over the negotiation, Marshall.”
He sat, his head positioned near the speakers and computer screens.
“Do they have research equipment in here?” he asked.
Sam nodded. “All their software is loaded onto these computers. Do all the research you want.”
With as little as three clicks of the mouse, Marshall had research software up and running.
“We’re set,” he told Jasmine.
She pressed redial and waited while the phone rang.
Sam held his breath, knowing that the negotiation was about to take a turn, either for the better or worse. Hopefully for the better.
“I told you to stop calling me!” the stranger answered the phone.
“Yeah, I know you don’t want to talk to that last guy. He was a complete dolt. I’m taking his place. My name is Jasmine, by the way. Do you mind if I know your name?”
He sighed. “I’m Troy. Nice to meet you.”
“Hey, that’s a great name,” she said cheerily. “Where do you hail from, Troy?”
“Pennsylvania,” he mumbled.
Sam took a sharp breath and pulled his phone out of his pocket. Silently, he dialed Nate’s number and stepped out into the cold air.
“Yeah, what you got?” Nate asked.
Sam sighed. “He’s from Pennsylvania,” he said quickly.
Nate nearly screeched with joy. “We figured out the riddle! Wow, Emily’s good at riddles. The police lab is on it, and they promised to not work on anything else until they have this guy’s info. They’ll get back to us soon.”
“How soon is soon?” asked Sam.
“They said probably within the next hour. How’s Emily doing?”
“Jasmine and Marshall are on it. She’ll be ok.”
Nate chuckled. “Yeah. That’s why I sent you Jasmine. She’s the best, right?”
“Right,” Sam agreed. “I’ll check in later.”
“Ok. Goodbye.” Nate hung up.
Sam pressed the “end call” button and pressed the cold phone to his forehead. He wanted this to be over. He wanted someone to come and tell him that it had all been a horrible dream. But he knew they wouldn’t, because this was real. Emily was really in that house, she really had a stalker, and he was really helpless to help her.
“Sam,” Marshall called from the doorway of the truck. “We’ve got something.”
Sam raced back and stared at the computer screen as Marshall pulled up a file of information.
Sam quickly read through the file. There wasn’t much, but what was there was very disturbing.
Name: Troy Herman. Occupation: Unknown. Age: twenty-nine. Parents: Lester Herman and Patricia Logan; divorced for 18 years.
That wasn’t what worried him, however. What worried him was the next paragraph.
Troy Herman lives just outside Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. There is currently a BOLO (Be On the Lookout) for him issued by the Pennsylvania State Police. It states that he is a wanted man after escaping from Sunny Acres Sanitarium. The sanitarium will not release confidential records without a court order. We do not know what he is being treated for. Threat to human lives: High.
Sam s
ucked in a deep breath. “So he is literally an insane person.”
Marshall nodded solemnly. “At least, his father seemed to think so. Lester Herman is the man who put him in the loony bin in the first place.”
“Yeah, like he had the right to judge. He was insane himself. Do me a favor?”
Marshall nodded. “Anything.”
“Find me a chronological list of all the girls that were murdered during this investigation.”
Marshall began to type away at the keys. “I’ll have it in a little bit. You can stick around or stretch your legs. Maybe go have a talk with Nate.” He raised an eyebrow, hinting that it was a strong suggestion.
Sam stood, patted Marshall on the back, and exited the truck.
Emily tried to keep her eyes from shutting. There was no way that she would sleep while in this man’s presence, but for some reason she was crazily tired. She glanced to heaven and stifled a yawn.
Troy was still on the phone with the negotiator, which was a good sign. A little bit ago, he had laughed and hung up. She wondered what had changed. She also hoped that Sam and Nate had figured out the Pennsylvania connection. There was no way she was going to let this guy know what she knew until she knew more about him. At the moment, all she knew was that he was creepy, tall, and didn’t like to talk about himself.
He momentarily turned his back on her, and she took the opportunity to snatch her phone off the table. Slowly, she slid it into her pocket. It could come in handy later.
Finally feeling somewhat safe, she began to listen in on his conversation.
“Yeah, I know. Pennsylvania was never home for me. Sure. Yeah, I love it here.”
She shook her head. The negotiator was making small talk to get information about this guy, and he didn’t have a clue.
Finally, he swiped a hand across his nose and hardened his jaw.
“Alright,” he said loudly, “enough yammering. I’m going to give you my list of demands. I want them met in an hour.” There was a pause while he listened. “Ok. I want a car, a fast one. And I want complete assurance that no one will follow me. Oh, and I need a full tank of gas, plus a couple extra cans in the trunk of the car. Got it? Ok. I’m hanging up now.” And he did.
Eminent Danger Page 14
