Hawke's Prey

by Reavis Z. Wortham

  I don’t know what all this is.

  I flicked them closed, wasting precious time before stuffing the phone back in my pocket. I hoped it would have enough juice left for at least one more call if Ethan could get through again. In order to save the battery as long as possible, I wouldn’t be dialing out.

  I stopped when a stupid idea popped into my head.

  Nope. Not going to do it.

  It’s stupid.

  It won’t work.

  It’s straight out of television.

  But I couldn’t open the door and sashay into the courtroom without knowing how many people were guarding the hostages or where they were in the room. It would guarantee a firefight that I’d lose, and if by some miracle I didn’t get killed, the shooting would draw the rest of the bad guys like bees to an orange blossom.

  So, you’re going back up to the Grand Jury room, try not to get shot by Arturo this time, then get that rope he knotted to get down through the ceiling, tie it off, and go back outside in the storm to climb down to this floor and into the window behind them.

  I couldn’t think of anything else, until . . .

  What’s that noise?

  I’d been hearing a soft knocking that was part of the background sound of the growling generators, the constant moaning wind outside, and the noises coming from the rotunda floor.

  Someone was tapping on the other side of the wall.

  I put my ear against the cracked plaster beside an interior pecan-wood door. The noise was louder.

  The kids were inches away. I put my hand on the smooth plaster, feeling the slight vibration as something bumped the opposite side.

  This is the door behind Judge Dollins’s bench. When the judge is ready to call the court to order, he walks right through here and into the courtroom. My kids and Kelly are right there!

  They were all the turn of a knob away, if there wasn’t a bookcase in the way like upstairs.

  A violent shiver took over and I vibrated like I was having a rigor. Everything I’d been doing since the first shot was to get down and find my kids. After what seemed like hours, I’d arrived. The feeling was almost overwhelming.

  I checked my phone and saw the battery indicator hadn’t gone down after I cleared all the apps. I needed to let Ethan know what I’d found.

  I pushed the screen to text, recalling the kids saying that a text sometimes goes through when a phone call wouldn’t.

  Hostages in second floor courtroom.

  I mashed the send key and watched the little line on top move halfway across before stopping.

  Seconds ticked by while I chewed my lip, cussing technology, those who developed cell phones, and just to make myself feel better, everyone I’d gotten crossways with for the past five years.

  I cooled off and pushed the button to put the phone to sleep, hoping the text would go through at some point. Knowing I couldn’t stay there all day, I gave the knob a slight turn. It wasn’t locked.

  Now all I needed to do was get inside, without getting killed right off the bat, and take out an unknown number of terrorists.

  Right.

  Chapter 62

  Kelly gave up trying to keep her students quiet. They were kids, and no amount of shouting or begging was going to keep them silent once the initial shock had worn off.

  The terrorists understood the futility of threatening the class. The only recourse was to beat or kill them all, and the beheading seemed to have taken some of the fire out of them.

  They retreated as far as possible and sat with their backs against the rear wall under the tall windows. Now and then one would glance over, as if expecting the door to open.

  Kelly wondered if they were waiting for someone to relieve them, and she hoped that wasn’t the case. The next set of guards might not be so lenient about letting the kids talk, but then again, maybe the new guys wouldn’t leer at her like Stretch. His steady stare made her feel creepy.

  The terrorists had separated the adults from the kids when they brought them in, putting the office workers and patrons against the courtroom’s inside wall to the left of the judge’s bench.

  Still stunned by the brutal murder, they followed the rules and were silent, though one gray-haired woman had ooched across the floor until she was within arm’s reach of a female student. Smiling at the rest of them, she patted the girl’s back, more for human contact than anything else. The youngster didn’t seem to pay any attention to the strange interaction.

  Matt sprawled on the floor with his head in Kelly’s lap. Twisted like a pretzel, with one foot beside the tall baseboard, he tapped the edge of his shoe against the wall.

  Kelly rubbed his forehead with her fingertips. “Honey, you don’t need to do that.”

  He didn’t stop tapping. “I’m hungry. I want pizza. Cheese pizza.”

  “We’ll get something later.”

  He tapped harder.

  Jerry caught her eye. Her son tilted his head toward the terrorists and raised an eyebrow. Kelly knew what he meant. The guards were whispering together, paying little attention to their hostages, and he wanted to do something.

  Jerry shared a look with one of the larger boys in the room. Stephen Haskins was a big kid, a lineman on the varsity team. His eyes flicked toward the guards, then back to Jerry.

  She read her son’s lips. You ready?

  She saw the shift in their body tension. Horrified to realize they were going to charge the armed men, she coughed loud and long to get their attention.

  Shorty and Stretch glanced up, and the boys froze. The other kids caught the change in the room and their low buzz ceased. Kelly drew more attention to herself by shifting her position. Jerry and Stephen found something interesting to study in their laps.

  The tension bled off. Matt’s rhythmic tapping against the wall continued, and the kids resumed their murmuring.

  The guards went back to whispering. Kelly caught Jerry’s eye and put on her mom face. At a soft knock, Stretch rose from where he squatted, cracked one of the double doors, and spoke to someone in the hallway. The room fell silent as the hostages watched the exchange.

  Matt rose to his knees to see what was happening. He spoke in a normal tone. “Can we go now?”

  “Shhh, honey. Inside voices so we don’t make those guys mad.”

  “I need to use the ba’room.” His pronunciation was blurred, but clear to those who knew him.

  Kelly pulled him back down and whispered in his ear. “I’ll see what I can do. But please use your quiet voice.”

  Stretch closed the door and relayed a message to his partner. They whispered together, casting glances at the hostages. The silence seemed to agitate Matt, who struggled to find a comfortable position. “I wand my daddy.”

  “I know you do.”

  “And Mama, too.”

  “Right, right.” Kelly spoke to Sheriff Ethan Armstrong’s daughter, Gillian, in the softest voice imaginable. “Honey, I want y’all to keep talking just like you were—low, very low.”

  “Why.”

  “Because the noise helps Matt. Isn’t that right, baby?”

  “I’m tired of being quiet.”

  “I know. That’s why we’re going to use our inside voices, but very, very low.”

  She hoped her husband hadn’t been killed in the takeover and was trying to find a way to rescue them all.

  Matt tapped again, with the wrong shoe on his right foot.

  Chapter 63

  I turned the knob on the door leading from the judge’s chambers. Unlike the courtroom directly above, this one was still in use, and there wasn’t a bookcase blocking the way. The voices stalled and I tensed, thinking that slight movement had been noticed. Something else was going on, and Matt’s voice came through loud and clear.

  Good boy. Give ’em hell.

  But why are the guards letting ’em talk?

  It came to me. The terrorists had learned what teachers had been battling for generations.

  I lay on the floor, drew t
he Colt from my holster, and used one finger to pull the door open a fraction of an inch, hoping that even if the guards were watching it, they wouldn’t notice the movement. The hinges didn’t make a sound, thanks to the building’s maintenance man.

  I vowed to kiss the guy on the lips if I ever met him.

  When I peeked through the crack, I found myself looking into the familiar blue eye of a young girl lying on her side less than six inches away.

  “Shhhhh. Angie. It’s me. Sonny Hawke.” My whisper to Evangelina Nakai was nothing more than mouth noises.

  I don’t know if she was numb, terrified, or savvy beyond words, but Angie didn’t move a muscle.

  “Take it easy, sweetheart. How many guards?”

  She mouthed two and I wanted to reach through and hug her neck.

  “Close or far?”

  She lipped, far.

  “Are they close to the main door?”

  A very slight nod.

  “Together?”

  She raised an eyebrow. The expression revealed more than a long conversation.

  It meant she wasn’t sure.

  “Where’s Kelly?”

  She rolled her eyes upward, my left.

  I thought long and hard about my next statement. “Pass the word for everyone to stay on the floor, no matter what. Stay low. Five minutes.”

  A slight nod was all I needed. I pushed the door back against the latch without engaging the mechanism, and stood, thinking hard. A wooden cane made of what looked like mesquite hung on the coat rack and caught my attention. I had an idea.

  I dug the Old Timer lockback knife out of my pocket and went to work with the razor-sharp blade, shaping the seasoned wood into a rough point. When I was finished, I had something like a thick spear.

  A spear. Jeez.

  Moving as quiet as possible before I could change my mind, I slipped back into the hallway. The noise continued below as I sidled against the wall to the courtroom’s double doors.

  Chapter 64

  Congressman Don Bright’s outer office was full of people—paramedics, local police, the FBI. Though he didn’t wear a big hat like Sheriff Ethan Armstrong, FBI Special Agent Landon McDowell commanded everyone’s attention and wouldn’t let anyone into the bathroom.

  A paramedic squared off with him. “We need to get in there to make sure he’s not still alive.”

  McDowell favored the paramedic with expressionless eyes. “The back of his head’s gone.”

  “Still, we have—”

  “I’m in charge of this scene until my supervisor arrives. This is a special case. We’re going to go as slow as possible to make sure no one makes a mistake.”

  His longtime friend FBI Agent Nathan Witherspoon leaned in close. “I think you’ve already made one. This isn’t how we handle suicides. What’s going on?”

  McDowell’s phone saved him from answering.

  “Quiet, people.” He swiped the screen. “McDowell.”

  He listened without speaking. “I’ll check it out.” McDowell ended the call and punched another icon on his cell phone.

  After examining the screen, he spoke to everyone within hearing distance. “I want to know who got in there and tweeted a photo of Congressman Bright’s body, and I want that person right now! No one will leave this room until I get some answers.”

  He hid his relief. The congressman’s plan was working. Now all he had to do was wait for his superior so he could pass off the responsibility for this weird event. He met Agent Witherspoon’s gaze and wondered how he’d earn a living, starting tomorrow.

  * * *

  McDowell played the scene like a pro.

  Still in the bathroom, Bright heard the comment and built a wry grin. His hair was stiff and his skin pulled against dried ketchup. He touched the borrowed phone in his coat pocket.

  Told you it would work.

  He made a mental note to clear Daniella Gibson’s name once things settled down. At worst the intern would have to find a new job. He hoped he could do the same for the poor FBI agent holding everyone up in the other room.

  It was a real suicide. I’ve killed my career. It’s all my fault. All of it. I’m too far away to save my baby, and I had to do something, anything, to make it right.

  Chapter 65

  Marc Chavez pumped a fist in the air, three times of course. “I don’t believe it!”

  Lucille crossed her legs and rested an elbow on one knee, being careful not to spill wine onto her white skirt. “What is it?” She’d never seen Chavez so animated.

  “Bright didn’t announce he was stepping down. He panicked and shot himself.” He pumped three more times. “He shot himself. He shot himself. He shot himself. That’s beautiful! I never thought he’d do anything so drastic and permanent. He shot himself. He shot himself. He shot himself!”

  “How can you be sure?” Lucille swirled the wine and watched the legs run downward inside the crystal glass. She thought about switching to gin. She needed something to fortify herself.

  Chavez snatched the RF television remote off the bar and cranked up the volume. The female host of the current newscast read from the teleprompter.

  “We have breaking news that a tweet identified as coming from an intern in the office of Congressman Don Bright, Chairman of the Homeland Security Committee, moments ago broke the news that the congressman has taken his own life this afternoon in a bathroom off his office suite.” A snapshot of the tweet appeared over the woman’s shoulder.

  @Danni84ABC OMG, authorities

  investigating the suicide of Congressman Don

  Bright. Grieving. #suicide #congress

  “This trending tweet is shocking the world, along with an accompanying graphic photograph that we won’t be showing here. It appears that the congressman was overwhelmed by the thought that his daughter, Katie Bright, is in the hands of the terrorists who have the town of Ballard, Texas, hostage.”

  Chavez lowered the volume and took his phone off the charger. He thumbed the screen. “Here it is. Check this out. He shot himself in the head.” He held the cell phone out so she could see.

  Lucille peered through her trifocal glasses. “How do you know it’s real?”

  “This is something that the authorities won’t fake. You can’t do something like this and send it throughout the world. It would ruin careers. He’s opened the gates for us.”

  “I’m not sure.”

  He grinned like a kid at Christmas. “I am.” He hurried to the communications unit and pressed a button. “Wicked!”

  The answer came back faster than Chavez expected. “Go ahead.”

  “Bright is dead.”

  “Did you say dead?”

  “Yes. He killed himself.”

  “But the video hasn’t been delivered.”

  “No matter. He took my phone call to heart and killed himself to save his child.” Chavez marveled at the action of a man who loved his daughter enough to take his own life, even without guarantees. “Your work there is finished.”

  “Not quite. I think we need to stay. This is the perfect opportunity to put the screws to them.”

  “Do you see any evidence of a response?”

  “Nothing. The fools are waiting for us to contact them for negotiations. They’re doing everything by the book. We’ve been lucky because the blizzard has shut the town down.”

  “You need to leave while you can. I’m calling the sheriff now for the last time with the demands. That’ll keep them busy while you escape. Those left behind should make it as bloody as possible.”

  Chavez quit talking when the newscaster reported from a snowy street devoid of automobiles. She was so bundled up that she looked to be in a deep freeze. He pressed the volume button again.

  “The terrorist takeover of the Ballard courthouse couldn’t have come at a worse time for authorities. The heavy snow here in El Paso has grounded all aircraft, and the response vehicles can’t use the highways. Now . . .” She put one hand to her ear in the hood, listening.
“This just in, we’ve just received confirmation that the tweet reporting the suicide of Congressman Don Bright is true. Congressman Bright, the father of one of the Ballard hostages, is dead of an apparent suicide. Before taking his own life, Congressman Bright issued a statement saying that he had taken bribes to fund his push for border security, while at the same time diverting funds that would have sent hundreds of personnel to the Texas/Mexico border to stop this kind of terrorist attack. In the statement, he admitted the linked terrorist takeover in Ballard is his fault. At this time, we can’t confirm the condition of his daughter or the hostages or if they’ll soon be released.”

  Chavez hurried to his laptop and keyed in a long series of letters and numbers. At the prompt, he tapped in more numbers and a password. A page opened with his account number at the top. He clicked on an icon to find another page of columns to find a new seven-figure deposit.

  Ecstatic, Chavez clicked out of the report and raised a fist toward the ceiling. “Yes, yes, yes!”

  Lucille watched him approach the couch, glad she’d been drinking.

  Chapter 66

  Kelly sat upright with her eyes closed and her head against the wall. She was still rubbing Matt’s brow when she noticed a shift in the room. The kids’ soft noise level dropped off and bodies shuffled.

  She cracked her lids and watched Angie put her lips to Gillian Armstrong’s ear. Gillian listened, checked to make sure their captors weren’t watching, then leaned over and whispered into Chuck Marshall’s ear. He repeated the process. Their version of the telephone game ran its course, passing a message through the class.

  Olivia O’Neal was sitting beside Kelly when Maddy Rogers heard the message. She leaned in and spoke in a voice almost too low to hear. “Miss Hawke. Someone’s coming in. Stay on the floor.”

  A chill skittered down Kelly’s spine. She wondered how the kids knew if it were true or if it was one of those rumors that often swept through a school like wildfire.