Hawke's Prey

by Reavis Z. Wortham

  I’d trained with SWAT teams in the past, but had never cleared a room alone. With a team, each man has a specific assignment, and that’s where they concentrate, knowing the other guys are doing their jobs. Alone, I was like an owl, twisting my head in circles.

  A plastic folding table leaned against the crotch-high bar, made of lathe-turned spindles between the attorneys’ tables and the gallery seats. The guy who designed the building must have liked spindles as much as he liked trapdoors, because they were everywhere.

  Knees bent, heart thumping, and chest tight, I was ready to turn the folded table into a cheese grater if that’s what it took. No one was waiting to ambush me when I reached the see-through barrier. I stepped over the bar, keeping the weapon trained on the judge’s bench. The damn thing reminded me of a jack-in-the-box. If some clown jumped up, I was gonna slap him right back down. I dodged an empty table to find the elevated platform and nothing but a worn chair.

  A large barrister bookcase blocked what I figured was the door to the Judge’s chamber on the other side. It had been there for a long time, as evidenced by dust collected around the base. No one was coming through there any time soon. That left the double doors leading to the hall as the only way in or out.

  I sat in the chair for a second to calm my nerves. My heart was beating ninety to nothing, and in Texas lingo, that’s pretty damn fast.

  Well, hell.

  I’d sent a text telling Ethan where the hostages were, and now here I was, in that same courtroom that was as empty as my head. The battery was down to fifteen percent when I slipped the phone from my pocket. I thumbed another text and hit send.

  Wrong room. More to follow.

  The little indicator started to show something was happening, but it stalled. I waited, staring at the screen like a kid watching cartoons.

  I couldn’t hang around all day rewriting texts and waiting for the technology to cooperate. I didn’t have the time, knowledge, or inclination to root around in the phone’s mysterious nether regions to find out how to turn off that stinkin’ autocorrect, either. I made a mental note to have the kids show me a few things after this was all over.

  A red balloon popped up on the screen saying the text failed.

  Great.

  I put the phone back in my pocket. The double-stacked windows vibrated with a sudden blast of north wind and leaked icy air. A soft squeak from the conference room drove my blood pressure right back up.

  I slid out of the chair behind the bench. I’d become the clown in the jack-in-the-box. I knelt on one knee, waiting to see which one of my “dead” terrorists refused to stay down.

  The door opened with glacial speed. I cursed myself for not anchoring those two by cutting their throats. I tucked my cheek into the stock.

  Instead of a zombie in a ski mask peeking around the edge of the doorframe, Arturo came in wearing my hat. He slipped inside, walking toward the double doors leading into the hallway.

  I lowered the weapon. “I wouldn’t do that.”

  He jumped and saw me rise beside the bench. He offered a sheepish smile, matching the volume of my voice. “There was a lariat rope in that pile of dried-up harness. Besides, that dead guy on the cot farted, man. I couldn’t stay up there with that.”

  “I’m gonna strangle you, kid.”

  Chapter 51

  “I need to check on my kids, Ethan.”

  The soft voice full of concern cut through the steady buzz around him. The crush of people inside the CP quieted. Frustrated, Sheriff Armstrong tightened his jaw and snapped his head upward. “Everybody’s concerned about their kids.”

  He recognized the lined face of school superintendent Damon Cartwright. Beside Damon was Victor Hernandez, the principal of Big Bend High.

  Both men were covered in snow, and Ethan expected they’d walked to the Posada from the high school, where the administration offices were housed. Armstrong’s gaze slipped past them toward the crowded lobby.

  His face softened. “I’ve been expecting y’all. Come on in, guys. I wish I could tell you something, Damon, but all we know is they’re inside with Kelly Hawke.”

  The building principal loosened his tie. “No demands? No offer to trade hostages?”

  “Nothing like that yet, Victor.” Armstrong didn’t want to discuss the earlier phone call. “I know you’re getting beat up by those parents out there who want answers, but I can’t help you right now.”

  Victor Hernandez unbuttoned his overcoat. “I’ll go in for the kids. Tell them they can have me in exchange.”

  Damon raised his hand as if asking permission to speak. “It’d be better if it was me.”

  “It don’t make any difference at this point, guys. I’m not kidding. The terrorists aren’t answering the phone. They’ll talk when they’re ready, and that’s been once.”

  “I thought you said you hadn’t heard from them.”

  Sheriff Armstrong stared at the floor plan without seeing it. “It wasn’t much of a call.”

  “You’re sure they’re terrorists? Maybe it’s just one or two crazy people.”

  “It’s more than a lone-wolf takeover. Those people in there are trained and organized. Guys, hang close, but give me some room. What I need from y’all is to keep those parents out there as calm as you can while we work. They’re my biggest distraction right now, and I’m half-afraid one of ’em’ll do something stupid.”

  “That wouldn’t surprise me none,” Hernandez said.

  A shrill voice cut across the lobby. A gaggle of snow-covered women came through the plaza door and rushed toward the command center. The same men who’d been in earlier fell in behind.

  A blonde with East Texas teeth led the way. She slammed the French doors open, pushing Herman out of the way. “They’re going to tell me something right now! Sheriff Armstrong! We want our children out of there this minute! What are you doing waiting in here and talking—”

  Ethan saw red. “That is enough! Y’all stop right there and listen! We’re doing all we can with what we have to work with, but I can’t do a goddamned thing about it when I’m standing here listening to you yell!” He jabbed a thumb at the superintendent and principal. “You talk to them, but do it out there or so help me God I’m fixin’ to cuff the next loudmouth and stuff ’em in a bathroom.”

  The woman’s charge was broken, but she wouldn’t quit. “We want something done.”

  “So do I!”

  Ethan saw half a dozen people holding their phones aloft, filming the chaotic scene. He ignored the angry woman, who wilted and spread her hands. “I’m just scared.”

  “So is everyone else. Now get out of my sight.”

  Superintendent Cartwright took the woman’s arm. “Mrs. Stevens, y’all come outside with us.”

  Hernandez spread his arms wide and waved the others back toward the lobby. “Please, let’s see what we can do, together.”

  On his last nerve, Ethan took Deputy Malone’s arm and leaned in. “The whole world’s a news crew now. They’re recording everything going on in here. It won’t be long before they have this whole cluster posted on the Internet. We can’t take their phones away, but don’t let ’em in close where they can hear us.”

  A black-haired woman of medium build caught his eye. Kathryn Boswell was the editor of The Ballard News. She listened to a man bending her ear and took notes on a stenographer’s pad.

  “Frank, tell Kathryn we’ll let her in here to get the whole story as long as she stays quiet, don’t get in our way, and holds up on tweets and web reports until we get to the end of this. If she does that, we’ll give her exclusive information.”

  “Is that a good idea?”

  “Hell-if-I-know, but if we give her the truth, she might override whatever nonsense those people are peddling.”

  Ethan noted the heavy sag in the pockets of Herman’s and Gabe’s ranch coat pockets that suggested they were carrying extra ammo. “Herman, close those doors, but stay in here. I’m damned tired of people running in a
nd out. Gabe can stay, too. Come over here.”

  Sheriff Armstrong returned to his map. “If it’s so bad out there on the roads, how are all these people getting here?”

  Herman followed. “Walking, for the most part, those who live close enough. I heard some drove as far as they could, then got out and hoofed it the rest of the way.”

  The retired Ranger studied the hand-drawn plan. “Ever’body’s scared, Ethan. The roads are a mess. Your boys pulled a bunch of cars across the streets to block the courthouse, and when folks came up against ’em, they just got out and walked. It’s gridlocked all around us now.”

  Gabe spoke for the first time. “I hear the highways are the same, with people in ditches everywhere. The padres . . . parents with kids are either here or over at the school, but there’s more drifting in ever’ time I look up.”

  Ethan smoothed his mustache. “Well, by God, we’ll have bodies froze all over this county if they don’t quit it.”

  Deputy Malone came back into the command center, followed by the newspaper editor. She took up a position as far away as possible and placed an electronic recorder on the table.

  Ethan ignored her, squinting at the static-filled picture on television. The crawl bar on the bottom of the screen showed the temperature was deep into the twenties and looked to stay there for the next few days. “Frank, do we have people out there freezing to death while they watch the courthouse?”

  “Nope, just had a change to pull them out for coffee and a warm-up.”

  “Who’d you send to replace ’em?”

  “Some of the vets.” Malone held up a hand. “It won’t be but for a few minutes, and I didn’t do a complete shift change. They’re out there in two-man teams, each with an officer. We’ll switch ’em as soon as the boys defrost a little.”

  Ethan tilted his hat back. “Herman, this could fall apart any second now.”

  “I know.” Sonny’s dad mimicked Ethan and smoothed his own mustache. “They have people at all the entrances?”

  “Yep.” Ethan pointed at the rough map. “We’re sure there’re people here and here, at the north and south doors. We’ve taken fire from both, including me.” He stabbed a finger at the east entrance. “We’ve seen men here through the storm. I don’t have eyewitness reports, but I ’magine the west entrance is covered, too. There’s no way in.”

  The exchange helped them sort their thoughts while at the same time giving the editor the information she needed. Despite the recorder, she scribbled in her notepad.

  “You’re not thinking of trying to go in right now?”

  Ethan massaged his aching neck. “I don’t plan to. This isn’t an active shooting scenario, so we have some breathing room. No one can get here. Homeland Security, the FBI, and your Rangers are all telling me to dig in and wait, so that’s what I’m doing. But if something happens to change this stalemate, I want to be ready. They’re all gonna ask for what we’re pulling together here anyway.”

  Herman tapped his fingers on the table in thought. “I believe you’re right. I don’t think we need to do anything right this minute. They’re hunkered down for a while.” He picked up a yellow pencil and drew a series of lines and dashes on the paper. “But if you do have to go in. Here’s what I think.” He was outlining his thoughts when the lights flickered and winked out.

  Beeps came from a variety of electronics deprived of power, and everyone stopped talking.

  The moaning wind filled the void until the high, thin voice of Andy Clark, the owner of the Posada, carried over the lobby with crystal clarity. “The generator should kick on in a second . . . and ever’thing.”

  It stayed dark, and the wind shrieked.

  Gabe summed up what everyone was thinking. “Well, butt . . . ass.”

  Chapter 52

  Tugging Arturo against the wall, I put a finger to my lips. “Shhh.”

  “What are we doing in here?”

  Keeping my voice low, I spoke into his ear. “We’re being quiet, for one thing.” The boy was shivering again. “I told you to wait.”

  “You held your palm up to me.”

  “Yeah, that meant wait.”

  “Oh. I get it now. You want your hat back?”

  “Naw, hang on to it for a while. Tell me what happened up there.”

  The kid told me what led to the terrorist’s fall through the ceiling. He pointed upward. “I seen a loop of rope up there beside that harness, so I doubled it up and put some knots in it like we have in gym class. I tied it to a rafter, and came down. That’s a lot easier than going up.”

  “That’s using your noggin.” I felt a grudging admiration for the little knothead. “How’d you hold on? That would have cut my hands to pieces.”

  He reached into the pockets of my coat and held out the leather work gloves. “You left these.”

  “I could have used those outside a little while ago.”

  “You were outside?”

  “It’s a long story we don’t have time for right now. Can you climb back up?”

  “I don’t think so, and besides, I’m afraid to stay up there. That guy got in as easy as pie.”

  “There ain’t nowhere that’s safe. Get back in the conference room and hide.”

  “Uh uh. Not with these dead guys.”

  “I can drag them out.” The kid looked like he might puke. “All right. Come with me. Maybe you can slip back up to the lantern room and stay there while I go downstairs.”

  “I’m afraid to be alone.”

  “You can’t stay with me.”

  “You done said there was no place safe.”

  “All right. Curl up like a dog under the Judge’s bench. I don’t care. I still have to move, and I can’t do it with you hanging onto my back pockets.”

  Arturo set his jaw. “You got two of them with my help, and the other guy, too, if you’ll admit it.”

  The kid was exasperating. “It wasn’t planned. None of this is planned. All I’m doing is reacting, and my luck’s gonna run out sooner or later. Right now, I have to get down to the next floor where I think they’re keeping your class . . .”

  And my kids.

  “. . . and you can’t tag along. Now that’s it!”

  “Fine. I’ll stay here.” He pulled up. “Can I have a gun?” He flicked his eyes toward the conference room. “We have plenty now.”

  “Hell no. You’ll shoot yourself, or me.”

  “You can’t carry ’em all.”

  “I’ll take and carry what I need, now, get over there in that hidey-hole like I told you.”

  “Fine.”

  “Fine.”

  Here I was in a fight for our lives and playing mind games with a high schooler moving at teenage speed just to get my goat. My stomach tightened once again at the thought of going through those doors to find Kelly and the kids.

  That’s when the power failed.

  I wouldn’t have known it, because the overhead lights weren’t on. The HVAC’s sudden silence made me realize what had happened. It’s strange how we get used to noise. The blowers had been a constant, unnoticed backdrop.

  Three pops sounded like gunfire.

  The hair rose on my neck, and I started to charge into the rotunda.

  Arturo surprised the hell out of me when he dropped to the floor.

  “What are you doing?”

  He shushed me with a finger to his lips. He sat up. “They’re right below us.”

  “The kids? You can hear ’em?”

  “Yeah, they screamed and some guy’s bitching at ’em now.”

  His hearing was a helluva lot better’n mine. I remembered Kelly telling me that some of the kids used a ringtone called the Mosquito that was so high only young people can register the tone. They used it in class without her knowing it until somebody spilled the beans and she shut ’em down.

  Icy wind moaned under the eaves.

  “All right. You still need to get over there and hide.”

  An engine rattled to life somewhere i
n the building. A dim glow filled the gap below the courtroom’s double doors. “Fine then. I can’t hear anything else over that máquina anyway.” He rose and slouched behind the judge’s bench. Like a scolded dog sent outside, he found something else to do before he stopped. “Hey, it’s even darker outside than before. I think the power’s out all over town.”

  I hurried to one of the tall windows. He was right, from what I could tell through the thick snow. The houses across the street were dark as well, and when I glanced up, the glow from the turret lights was gone.

  “I don’t know if that’s good or bad.” I waved a hand. “Now, stay there.” I gave the knob a gentle turn and peeked through the crack.

  A man with a Spanish accent barked orders over the steady clatter of a generator. I was glad they bought cheap, instead of a quieter Honda. I eased out and blended into the shadows.

  Our floor was empty. I stepped light on the wooden boards, staying well away from the circular banister and skulking along the edge of the wall past the glowing rotunda. The generators running the lights down there made me think of a construction site.

  They were already accustomed to the bright lights, and anyone looking up would be unable to see me in the shadows above. I had a vague plan to work my way along the northeast quadrant of the long, rectangular building, clearing each floor.

  I was as nervous as a cat in a doghouse. The first door was unlocked. Twisting the brass knob, I pushed it open just enough to squeeze through, and entered a dim office that had long been empty. Gun to my shoulder, I passed the muzzle over every corner and possible hiding place as I swept the room.

  No frightened secretaries jumped up asking to be saved, but no terrorists popped up, either. I took a few deep breaths and stepped back into the open, sliding along the wall like a rat. The janitor’s closet was empty, the door shattered inward.

  Tension was one big knot in my neck. I clamped my jaw and cleared the empty tower office on the corner. Back in the open hall, I paused to listen. Something new was happening.