The Ex

by Margaret Ferguson

  Arnold looked at his son. “AJ, it’s okay.” He motioned with his hand for the boy to come to him.

  Slowly, reluctantly, AJ complied, dropping the girl to the floor at his father’s feet like an offering, the grenade still gripped in his other hand.

  Arnold grabbed his son’s head and pulled it to his. “We need to take them to the bathroom. One at a time. Take the kid,” he nodded to Corbin. “Cut them loose. Let them pee, then re-cuff them. Stay with them until they’ve all gone.”

  “What about the men?” he asked, seemingly confused by his father’s calm demeanor.

  “I’ll worry about that in a minute. Now go on,” Arnold urged.

  AJ looked almost beaten when he grabbed the two closest female hostages, standing them up one at a time. He slid the grenade into his tactical vest with one hand, retrieving his revolver with his other. Then he motioned for the two women to head to the bathroom.

  Corbin’s eyes met mine, and I nodded toward AJ. His head dropped, and his shoulders slumped like a scolded child. But, he walked with AJ and the hostages to the ladies’ room, a handful of plastic handcuffs in his pocket.

  Arnold looked at me, pensive. “You were right.”

  I shrugged. “Lucky guess.” When he didn’t say anything else, I asked. “So, plan B is what?”

  “I call the television stations and the radio stations and whoever will listen and tell them what the VA is doing.”

  “I’m pretty sure that the line in and out of here is a dedicated line now.”

  “Then I’ll use my cell phone,” he insisted.

  “They’ll have blocked the signal,” I said.

  “They can’t,” one of the younger hostages piped up.

  “They can’t what?” I asked.

  “Block the cell signals.” The kid sat up. College-aged. African American, dressed in jeans and a patriotic t-shirt. “If they block the wireless signal in here, then they block their own out there, and they aren’t going to do anything that might disrupt their communications.”

  All heads turned when AJ hollered. “Stop, or I’ll shoot!” A moment later three female soldiers, presumably found hiding in the restroom, were paraded into the room, hands on their heads. Corbin, close behind, was immediately ordered to cuff the ladies.

  I turned back to Arnold as I slid my cell phone from my back pocket and pressed Emily’s number. It rang several times before going to voice mail. “He’s right. I’ve got service.” I stared at the phone, at Emily’s picture over her name. I hesitated for a moment. Then, with a press of a button, my screen darkened, and her image disappeared.

  The kid rolled to his side and then stood up. “And I wouldn’t waste your time on calling radio and TV stations trying to get someone to believe you’re the one running the show in here. First, they’re going to think you’re nuts.” Realizing his misstep, he quickly added, “Sorry.”

  I patted the kid on the shoulder. “It’s okay. Go on.”

  “But you can do Facebook Live and Instagram and broadcast to millions from right here, inside the restaurant, and they can’t do a thing to stop you.”

  Arnold looked between the kid and me. “I don’t know anything about the internet, or Facebook or any of that stuff.”

  “I do,” the kid replied. “So, does my girlfriend,” he pointed to her as she leaned back against the bar. “She’s a You Tuber and a blogger.”

  “Uh-uh, Leon. No way!” she snapped, shaking her head. “And I can’t believe you are even talking about helping them.”

  “If it gets us out of here, Marichaelle, you are darn right I’m going to help.”

  “So, Leon,” I furrowed my brow as I tried to wrap my head around what he was suggesting. “You’re saying that Arnold can broadcast his whole message from a phone? From right here? And they can’t do anything to stop him?”

  “Yup,” Leon announced, with a taste of pride. “It’s a little like making a movie.”

  Arnold was clearly overwhelmed and confused. “You can do this?” he clarified, still uncertain.

  The kid nodded. “It would be better if we had a laptop or some kind of tablet, but a phone will do.”

  A woman in blue jeans and an oversized sweater spoke up. “I have a laptop. It’s in my bag. I’ll give you the password if you let my daughter and me leave.”

  Arnold contemplated, then nodded. “After I send the message.”

  “No deal,” she argued. “Before.”

  Arnold turned to her. “Or I could shoot you and make your daughter give me the password.”

  “She doesn’t know it,” the woman replied flippantly.

  Without missing a beat, Arnold said, “Fine, then I’ll shoot her first.”

  The woman stopped negotiating. “I’ll give you the password,” came the meek reply.

  Then he looked at me. “Help her find the laptop,” he ordered. Like I was suddenly on his team.

  And I wasn’t the only one that noticed. When I glanced among the hostages, some of their eyes immediately betrayed their suspicions.

  I helped the woman stand, then, because my hands were free, I walked beside her through an obstacle course of tables and chairs, holding her steady by her arm. She directed me until we arrived at where she and her daughter had been sitting before the truck interrupted their meal. I dug through the rubble until I found a large leather briefcase. Though it was covered in dust and food, inside, there was an Acer Chromebook in pristine condition. As we navigated the maze back to where we started, she stopped suddenly, looking up at me.

  “Eddie, right?”

  I nodded.

  “Elizabeth,” she said, with a small smile. “Are we going to get out of here, Eddie?” she asked, her eyes welling with tears.

  I drew in a deep breath and looked around. “Yes,” I breathed out. “I believe we will, Elizabeth. You just have to have faith.”

  A tear slid down her cheek as she nodded and sniffed. I retook her arm, guided her back, and gently set her down beside her daughter.

  AJ and Corbin continued their bathroom run as I set the computer on the bar. The first thing I checked was battery power. Ninety percent. Good girl, Elizabeth. I glanced at Arnold and Leon and gave them a thumbs up.

  Leon turned without any prodding from anyone, waiting for Arnold to slice the handcuffs from his wrists. He immediately massaged them, set the laptop on the bar like he was setting up a work station and began tapping keys. A moment later, he asked for the password.

  Elizabeth softly spoke the combination of numbers and letters as Leon wrote them down.

  The young man tapped the keys quickly. Proficiently. Then suddenly, he stopped. “Uh-oh,” he said. “It’s asking me for a wi-fi password.” He looked around, his eyes stopping on each employee. “What’s the wi-fi password?” Leon asked.

  The employees just looked at one another, unsure of what to do.

  “I have one more get-out-of-jail-free card for the first one who answers,” Arnold offered.

  Instantly all the employees blurted out the password, with one young blonde woman beating them by seconds.

  “And the winner is.” Arnold pointed to the anxious young girl.

  AJ returned for the last of the female hostages. He looked down at Marichaelle. “Your turn.”

  “Uh-uh. No way I’m going with a guy. I’ll pee myself first,” she blurted out.

  I looked up to find Mary Beth walking our direction, her shirt covered in dirt and blood. “Can you please go with her to the restroom?”

  Mary Beth nodded. A more-willing Marichaelle then stood and trailed Mary Beth to the bathroom, followed by Corbin and AJ, while Leon continued to tap away at the keys.

  “So,” Leon began. “What do we call our title page?”

  Arnold looked at him, confused.

  “Something direct, but catchy.”

  “Do you mean, like, ‘VA Waits Forty-five Years to Compensate Blue Water Veterans?” Arnold asked.

  “Nah,” Leon dismissed. “People don’t care about tha
t.”

  “But that’s what this is about.”

  “I know,” Leon tried to explain. “We have to get people to open the page. Make it so that they can’t look away.”

  Arnold looked stupefied.

  “What about this?” Leon began. “Hostages’ Lives Hang in the Balance Because of VA Negligence?”

  Arnold thought about it for a moment, then slowly nodded. “Okay,” he agreed.

  I watched as Leon created the page, then searched for links to attach to it, his fingers moving faster than my eyes could keep up. He glanced over his shoulder. “This won’t take long, so I suggest you make sure you know what you want to say. Maybe write it down, or something.”

  Arnold looked down, retrieved the envelope from his pocket again, and then suddenly…

  something blew up.

  Chapter 24

  The room instantly filled with smoke, as Marichaelle and Mary Beth burst from the hallway, coughing and struggling to breathe. Terrified, painful screams ensued from behind them, followed by two of the other soldiers I’d seen hiding earlier. They fell to the ground, coughing up smoke. Howls of agonizing torment continued, enveloping us all, chilling me to the bone. It was the sound of fear—of someone in excruciating pain. It was the sound of someone dying.

  Many hostages began yelling for help as the cries of death beyond our reach covered us like a shroud. Mary Beth fell against me, shaking and sobbing. She coughed out smoke as tears of soot streamed down her face. I held her tightly to me, as I maneuvered us away from the fog that engulfed us.

  “It’s okay,” I assured her. “It’s going to be okay,” I promised.

  The phone began to ring behind us.

  I momentarily thought of whisking her to safety, only, when I turned, Arnold stood at the ready, his rifle in his arms, his back against the bar. Gently, I set her down and leaned her against the wall before rushing to move other hostages from the smoke billowing from the room beyond.

  I heard Arnold yell at the two soldiers crawling across the floor, helplessly still on their knees. Gagging. “Hands on your heads. Now!” The two men coughed painfully but soon complied. AJ staggered, then stumbled and fell onto his hands and knees a few feet away. “AJ!” Arnold cried out; without moving from his position over his newest prisoners. “AJ! Are you okay?” Only, the boy couldn’t stop choking and gasping.

  Arnold immediately handed each soldier a zip tie, making them cuff one another before testing the restraints himself, pulling them tighter then hurrying to his son’s side. Now, he alone was playing sentry, serving double duty, watching the outside to assure that no one attempted a breach through the confusion while watching the frightened hostages, to make sure none would try to escape. He had become, in that instant, more vulnerable. I could hear the fear in his voice, see it in his face, as everything began to unravel around him.

  Loud voices neared the building, coming closer than they had come before. And though we couldn’t see anyone because of the smoke, Arnold shot into the front wall as a warning, assuring that no one would attempt to enter.

  “You,” he called to Mary Beth. “See to him, now,” he ordered, his eyes darting between the exterior, the hostages, and his son.

  I opened my mouth to stop her, but Mary Beth slowly crawled to render aid to AJ.

  “What happened?” Arnold asked aloud.

  “It’s not my fault,” AJ gasped. “It’s not my fault,” he coughed.

  Mary Beth tried calming AJ while slowly manipulating him so that he was sitting down. I watched as she tenderly checked his eyes and then his face and body, finding only small cuts and burns. She looked up at Arnold. “There was someone in the bathroom. He grabbed the grenade, and—” Mary Beth looked down, her lip trembling.

  He turned to me and immediately motioned toward the phone. I felt my shoulders droop as I crossed the three feet to the counter. I wasn’t looking forward to this call. I pressed the speaker button.

  “Arnold?”

  “Eddie.”

  “What’s going on in there?

  I contemplated before responding, then put it in short, concise terms. “We blew up a bathroom.”

  “Is everyone all right?” Ryan asked with sincere concern.

  I glanced at Arnold, only, this time, it was I who shook my head. When he didn’t say anything, I responded. “No.”

  “Injured?”

  I hesitated a moment too long. “No.”

  There was a long silence on the line. “Arnold, can you hear me?”

  I glanced at Arnold. “Yeah, he can hear you.”

  “Arnold, we need to come in now and treat the wounded.”

  “No,” Arnold hollered. “No one comes in until I get my camera crew.”

  “Arnold, we have your TV crew, but before I send them in, we need to make sure everyone is okay.” When neither of us responded, he continued. “If we are going to send in a media crew I’m going to need something from you.”

  Arnold held my gaze.

  “I’m guessing you have some additional injuries in there. And, I know that even with the medical supplies we sent you, if anyone is seriously injured, they should probably be seen by a professional.”

  Arnold didn’t respond.

  “Benson, please. I know you don’t want to see anyone die today. Neither do we. But if they do, you know that it changes things.”

  I continued to hold Arnold’s stare. “He knows,” I replied.

  Arnold looked around the room at the wounded. He had served, so certainly he had triaged before on the field. He had to know that the more prolonged the blood loss or the shock or the injury went untreated, the better the chance of infection, or sepsis, or even death. I watched him ponder all these things, and I’m sure, much, much more.

  “We’ll send out the wounded,” Arnold said solemnly.

  “What was that?” the negotiator asked.

  “We’re sending out the wounded,” I replied, continuing to watch our captor. “Have your people ready,” I instructed. When Arnold didn’t acknowledge me, I hung up, cutting off Ryan as he began to say something else.

  A small fire continued to blaze in the hallway. “Fire extinguishers!” I yelled to Corbin, who immediately raced into the kitchen, while I hurriedly pulled tables and chairs out of our path to the fire. Not to mention anything else the fire could eat. Hostages began coughing and wheezing, rolling and moving away from the smoke that billowed from the recesses of the destruction. Mary Beth moved from AJ to Marichaelle and the other young woman who had been within the blast radius, tending to small burns and cuts from the debris.

  When I saw AJ still just sitting on the floor, I hollered at him. “AJ! Help me!”

  He looked up at his father, who immediately nodded toward me. I saw the anger in his son’s eyes when he managed to stand. Something caught my eye, and I looked to my left. Through the smoke, I could see several sets of boots, some with desert camo pants tucked in, racing through the dark smoke toward the broken window and ultimately—freedom. Uncertain if Arnold had seen them, I quickly drew his attention, yelling for Mary Beth to help move the hostages away from the hallway. Sadly, our only option to keep them away from the smoke and fire was to move them farther from the only viable exit.

  Corbin arrived, carrying three fire extinguishers and two wet towels. I grabbed one of the towels, quickly wrapping it around my mouth and nose, then tying it behind my head. Hurriedly, I prepared all three extinguishers, and then drew in a deep breath before making my way down the hallway with two of them.

  The smoke was dark and thick and burned my eyes, but I was able to see the fire, and immediately sprayed in its general direction. Corbin joined me moments later, spattering the pressurized nitrogen- and carbon dioxide-powered chemicals wherever he saw a flicker of a flame. The smoke thinned quickly, becoming gray, indicating that what we were doing was working. When the container was empty, I tossed it aside and immediately grabbed the third canister. When most of the fire was extinguished, I covered every smal
l hint of a red ember that I could see with the foam. Then both of us dropped the empty canisters and rushed back to the dining room, pulling off our towel masks and gasping for fresh air.

  When I was finally able to open my eyes, AJ was standing guard over the hostages, all of whom had migrated toward the other end of the bar, closer to the kitchen. When he caught my eye, I glared at him angrily until he looked away. Arnold still stood nearer to the phone, where he had a better view of those inside and out, while Mary Beth busied herself dressing the women’s burned arms, before moving to the newly-bound soldiers to tend to their wounds.

  I rubbed my eyes and then looked harder, noting that her own hands were red and burned, her own face cut and bleeding. She had spent the entire time taking care of others’ injuries, not paying any attention to her own. Immediately, I walked to her. I took her fingers from attending to the soldier, turning her hands over in mine.

  “I’m all right,” she insisted, pulling them away.

  “No, you are not.” I knelt and rooted through the medical kit until I found more gauze and the moist burn pads I’d used many times myself. I glanced at her as she looked down at her own injuries. Just the thought that she could have been killed in the blast shook me to my core. I took her hand, carefully applying the pads to the second-degree burns on her forearms. She gasped from the coolness, then looked up at me. At first, I refused to meet her gaze, pursing my lips stoically. I didn’t dare let her see the pain in my heart at this very moment.

  “Thank you,” she said softly.

  I drew in a deep breath and finally looked down. Mary Beth’s eyes met mine as I began wrapping her arms with the gauze. “You good?” I asked. She nodded. “Okay, then,” I breathed out. Quickly I stood and walked to the bar, grabbed a towel, wet it in the sink, and then walked back down the hallway.

  Though there was hardly any smoke, it was still difficult to breathe. I held the towel over my mouth and nose as I stepped into the bathroom—or rather, what was left of it. I tentatively looked around. I spied the charred remains of at least one person in a corner, and the remains of another, pretty much… everywhere throughout the room. The blast had utterly destroyed the men’s restroom. Pieces of broken and burned porcelain lay strewn all over. The explosion had also blown out the wall into the ladies’ room, killing at least one bathroom stall. Charred wood mixed with burned paper and décor floated in water running from what used to be toilets and sinks, thankfully, assuring that everything remained damp to prevent a flash fire since there was no wet sprinkler system to be found.