by Lis Wiehl
“I figured I’d get caught eventually. Step number one was stopping Jim Fate from standing in the way of real reform that will clean up our food supply. But there’s always been a step number two.”
“And that is?”
“I now have access to millions of listeners. I’ll be able to get my message out, and you can be sure it will be broadcast again and again when they cover this story, and be reprinted in magazines and newspapers. And now that you’re here, I can use you to get it on TV as well.”
Before Cassidy could protest, Willow slapped a final piece of tape over her mouth. Even though her nose was clear, Cassidy immediately felt like she was suffocating.
“First I need to buy us some time,” Willow said, and Cassidy hoped it was a good sign that she’d said us.
Willow took the white pages of the phone book down from a shelf. Opening it at random, she stabbed a page with her finger, and then looked up at Cassidy and said, “Now watch me be . . . hmm.” Willow looked back down, squinted at a name. “Myra Crutchfield.”
Picking up the phone, she began to key in a string of numbers, pausing to grin up at Cassidy. “I have a card that lets me be anybody. Anybody at all, as long as I know their phone number. It can even alter my voice so that I sound like a man. Or if I wanted, I could call your old boyfriend right now and tell him that I want him back, and he would see your number on the caller ID and think it was really you. But right now, it’s going to be 911 that’s going to believe that Myra Crutchfield is watching a world of hurt.”
So Chris had been right, Cassidy thought—the voice on the phone hadn’t belonged to Congressman Glover. Instead Willow had framed him so effectively that he had been pushed into suicide.
Willow finished dialing the long string of numbers and then put the phone to her ear. “Yes,” she said in an old lady’s quavery voice, “this is Mrs. Crutchfield on Southwest Thirtieth. My neighbor’s house is on fire. I tried to go over there with a garden hose, but it’s too hot. Flames are shooting out of the roof. And I can hear little kids screaming. Oh no! One of them is trying to crawl out a second-story window!”
Without saying anything more, Willow hung up. Cassidy imagined the firefighters and police being dispatched to the neighborhood, hearts pumping, only to find—nothing. And Mrs. Crutchfield denying that she had been doing anything but watching TV or making dinner.
But Willow wasn’t finished. She selected another page in the phone book, and again her finger stabbed down, choosing a name. “Here’s one in Southeast Portland. Got to keep them busy.”
After dialing another long string of numbers, Willow whispered, “Help me! I’m hiding in the basement. There are four men here, and they are beating up my housemate and demanding money. And I think they shot my sister. I heard a gun go off, and I saw a lot of blood. We don’t have any idea who they are, and we don’t have any money, but they don’t believe us.” She let out a gasp. “Oh no, someone’s coming down the stairs!”
Willow disconnected the phone. Her eyes were alight with a strange glee.
“Let’s mix things up a little,” Willow said. “How about if I be Victoria, or at least Victoria’s cell phone?” This time when 911 answered, she said, “I’m at the Lloyd Center Mall, and there’s some guy, he’s on the upper balcony, and he just leaned over and started shooting. There are bodies everywhere! He’s by the Jamba Juice.”
She hung up and grinned at Cassidy, her eyes shining. “There. That should keep everyone busy for a while. I was always good at acting. How do you think I’ve been able to stand working with Jim, anyway?” She ripped the duct tape away from Cassidy’s face. It was more painful than any visit to the aesthetician.
Cassidy couldn’t wipe her mouth on her sleeve, so instead she spit the taste of glue into her lap. “The cops and firefighters will figure out you’re lying.”
“Sure, sooner or later. But in the short run, they have to take it seriously. It’s just one way of throwing a wrench in the works.” Her grin widened. “And now you’re going to help me throw another one. Tonight we are going to take back KNWS and give it to the people. Tonight we’re going to start waking up America.”
“What do you mean?” Cassidy wasn’t sure she wanted to know.
“I’m going to broadcast some cold, hard truths about the food supply. And you are going to help me.” Then Willow explained to Cassidy what she had to do.
At night, KNWS normally broadcast shows that were national feeds. But not this night. Tonight it would be the Willow Klonsky show. And if Willow had her way, it would be broadcast on more than one venue.
After dialing the number Cassidy gave her for Channel 4’s station manager, Willow pressed the button for the speakerphone.
Cassidy tried to put as much urgency as she could into her voice. “Jerry, it’s Cassidy. You need to listen to me. I have been taken hostage.”
“What?” In the single syllable, she could hear his confusion and disbelief.
“I’m down here at KNWS. I came to interview Jim Fate’s intern, Willow Klonsky. Jerry, it turns out she’s the real killer.”
“Not Glover?”
“No. She killed Fate and then tried to make everyone think Glover did it. And now we’re in the control room of KNWS, and she is going to broadcast a manifesto about food safety.”
“Food safety?” His tone was dubious.
“And, Jerry, she says she will kill me unless you broadcast it live on Channel 4 as well.”
“A manifesto?” Jerry finally seemed to be following. Unfortunately, he was heading in another direction. “Cassidy, are you drunk? You haven’t been yourself lately.”
Willow shot her a smirk.
“No, I am not drunk, Jerry. I’m being held hostage.” Cassidy only hoped that as soon as they were off the phone, he would call 911. But would they even believe Jerry now that they had been sent on three wild goose chases? “And Willow will kill me unless Channel 4 simulcasts the same message.”
“Are you serious? With just the audio? No visuals at all, except maybe a big photo of you on the screen? Nobody is going to watch that.”
“Jerry, this is my life you’re talking about.”
“Could we run it on a tape delay this evening? After prime time?”
Cassidy couldn’t believe her ears. Had it come to this? That Jerry was willing to dicker for her life?
“Look,” Willow said leaning into the speaker, “if you want Cassidy Shaw to live, you will put her on, unedited. Now. And I have a TV in here, so I can see whether you do it or not. Her blood will be on your hands if you don’t obey.”
There was a long pause, long enough for Cassidy to imagine that Jerry was going to turn Willow down.
Finally he said, “Okay, okay, but it’s going to take at least twenty minutes.”
“I’ll give you fifteen. And if I don’t see it then, you’ll hear me execute your reporter. Live. On the radio.” Willow stabbed the button to disconnect the call.
CHAPTER 42
KNWS Radio
After learning that the board operator at KNWS had called 911, reporting a gun-toting hostage-taker, Allison drove as fast as she could to the radio station. She was torn between burning anger that Cassidy had gone behind her back and cold fear that her friend had now gotten herself in trouble so deep she would never get out. The car radio was tuned to KNWS, but so far it was only playing a national feed. For a second, the radio went silent, and in the quiet Allison could hear her heart beating in her ears. Then she heard a familiar voice.
“Hello. My name is Cassidy Shaw. You might know me from Channel 4 news, but I’m here tonight at the KNWS studio, where I am being held hostage.” Cassidy enunciated each word carefully.
So it was true, then. The police had already told Allison about the spate of false 911 calls. She had been hoping that this was just one more.
Cassidy continued, her voice slow and even. “I’ve been asked to introduce this important message about our nation’s food supply. I have been told that I will be s
hot if I do not comply. You may think that this is some kind of joke, but I can assure you, it is not.” Her voice dropped. “This is real.”
Unexpectedly, Allison found herself smiling. Even with a gun trained on her, Cassidy was still a professional, still using her tone, choice of words, and well-placed pauses to command attention.
Then another woman’s voice broke in, angry and strident. “Wake up, America! When you sit down to eat, when you give your children a hamburger or milk and cookies, how do you know it’s safe? How do you know there isn’t salmonella in your spinach, campylobacter in your peas, Listeria in your cheese, Shigella in your bean dip, E. coli in your hamburger?
“Well, you know what? You don’t know. Every forkful you put in your mouth is a gamble. Every day our food supply can and does kill someone. Our food is being contaminated by rats and cow manure, mold and dead birds, bacteria you can’t see, taste, or smell, but that can still kill you. It’s not just a matter of turning your stomach. It’s a matter of life and death.
“And you know who is the most likely to die? Our most vulnerable. Your baby, your grandmother, your friend who is fighting cancer. And maybe when they die you’ll think it was the flu, or old age, or some kind of bug—but it was completely preventable. Thousands are dying each year who don’t need to.
“Now weigh that against the fate of a single man. A man who called people like me ‘Chicken Littles.’ Who mocked us as the food police and supporters of the nanny state, and falsely claimed that it was too expensive to really keep our food safe. You know what? Tell that to my dead sister. Tell her that it cost too much to keep bacteria out of her peanut butter. Tell the kids whose kidneys fail that safe food is too much of a hassle. Tell your grandmother that it’s too much of a burden to make sure her salad isn’t teeming with pathogens.
“Because that’s what Jim Fate did. He mocked those of us who cared. Millions of people listened to his lies. And as a result, Jim Fate had the blood of innocents on his hands.
“We must demand that the federal government take on the responsibility of policing our food. That inspections are frequent, and the consequences dire. When a company weighs whether to keep contaminated food off your table, they need to know that they might go out of business if they don’t.”
Despite Cassidy being held at gunpoint, despite Jim Fate’s murder, Allison found Willow’s words striking a chord with her. The girl’s approach was dead wrong—but were her ideas?
Up ahead she saw the flashing lights of emergency vehicles. It was like a nighttime replay of the day Jim Fate had died, minus the panicked crowd on the street.
It was a nightmare.
Thank goodness you’re here,” Nicole told Allison on the sidewalk outside KNWS. Leif nodded, and the three of them huddled close. They were surrounded by uniformed cops, guys in suits holding cell phones to their ears, and men in black commando outfits complete with helmets, bulletproof vests, and submachine guns. “We called Willow, and she actually answered. But she’ll only speak to you.”
“Me?” Allison echoed in surprise. “Why me?”
“She says she liked you from when you interviewed her.” Nicole’s smile was rueful. “I reminded her that I was there, too, but I guess you’re the one Willow liked. So you’re going to have to be our negotiator.”
It was suddenly hard for Allison to draw a breath. “But I don’t have any training.”
“I’ll be right here so I can guide you,” Leif said. “I’ll be able to listen in on an earpiece. There’s no other way to get Cassidy out, not if we don’t persuade Willow. She’s holding her in the station’s control room.” He pointed to the building’s entrance. “There are cameras on the front and back doors so that whoever works at night can buzz people in. Unfortunately, they feed into the control room. We can’t risk spooking her. We’re working on breaching the windows, but again, we can’t make any noise.”
“Is there a window into the control room?” Allison asked. “Could you use a sniper?”
Leif shook his head. “No exterior windows. The only good shot would be if we could get someone inside, get them into the main studio, and have them shoot through the glass that separates it from the control room. That’s if we could get them inside. Even then the board operator says the glass is four panes thick.”
“What about using tear gas or some other kind of gas?” It would be an ironic twist.
Nicole answered, “The second Willow realized there was something in the air, we believe she would shoot Cassidy.”
Leif held up a cell phone. “In a minute, I’ll dial this for you. Your goal is to connect with her, just the way you must have done in the interview. We need you to slow things down and take out some of the tension. We don’t need Willow to panic.”
Allison felt like the panicky one. Her knees were trembling. “I can’t do this!”
Nicole put an arm around her shoulders. “Look, Allison, it’s just like choosing a jury. You need to build a rapport with her. Don’t ask questions that can be answered with just a yes or a no. Get Willow talking. She must be tired of living a lie day after day. So give her the chance to vent. Repeat what she tells you so that she knows that you get it. But most of all, just keep her talking.”
Leif said, “We need to take the pressure off her. Speak slowly. Give her a chance to think this through. Ask her if she’s hungry, and if she is, ask her exactly what type of food she would like. Keep her focused on the details. That will help stretch things out and give us time to come up with a plan.”
Allison touched the cross under her blouse. Dear God, she prayed, help me not to make any mistakes. Protect Cassidy and even Willow. Don’t let anyone get hurt.
Leif dialed the phone and handed it to her.
“Yeah.”
If Allison hadn’t known it was Willow, she didn’t think she would have recognized her voice.
“This is Allison Pierce. How are you doing, Willow?”
“How do you think I’m doing?”
Allison decided not to reinforce Willow’s panic by suggesting that she was panicked. Instead she said, “It’s dinnertime. You must be hungry.” She pitched her voice softer and lower than Willow’s, subtly sending a signal of calm. “Would you like us to get you some pizza or something?”
“Right, and have the deliveryman jump me? No thanks.”
So much for sending a signal of calm. “What would you like, then? You name it, and I’ll see if I can get it.”
Leif nodded and gave her a thumbs-up.
“What’s the point?” Willow asked. “I killed Jim Fate. And now I’m a kidnapper. I’ll be in jail until I’m old. I might as well be dead.”
“Willow, it won’t help anything if you die,” Allison said quickly, worried that Willow was on verge of making decisions that couldn’t be taken back. “It won’t help your cause.”
Except that maybe it actually could, she couldn’t help thinking. The media paid more attention to dead bodies than it did to standoffs that ended peacefully.
“Just tell me what you want, and we’ll figure out a way to get it to you.”
Willow’s voice strengthened. “Then bring me a car. With no tracking devices. And no one follows me. I’ll take Cassidy with me. Once I’m sure no one is following, I’ll let her go.”
Or tumble her out of the car with a bullet in her head, Allison thought.
“Focus on the details,” Leif whispered in her other ear. “Buy us some time.”
“What kind of car do you want? Four doors? Two? A hybrid?”
“I want your car.”
“What?” Allison sputtered.
Even Leif was struck silent.
“I want your car. The one you came here in. Drive it over the sidewalk and up to the front door so that it’s in full view of the camera. Back it up so that I can leave right away. Leave the keys in the ignition. And do it in the next three minutes, or I’ll know you are messing with me. And I want everyone back thirty feet with their weapons holstered, or lying on the groun
d with their hands empty. If I see a single gun pointed at me, I’ll shoot the hostage.”
The phone went dead.
“What should I do?” Allison begged. “What should I do?”
“It’s a very, very bad sign that she is referring to Cassidy as ‘the hostage,’” Nicole said, her voice grim. “She’s depersonalizing her. I think you’re going to have to do what she said. And you had better hurry.”
A minute later, Allison backed her Volvo onto the sidewalk until it nearly touched the front door. Then she got out and joined the wide ring that waited for the door to open and the two women to come out.
The front door finally edged open. Willow had her left arm looped around Cassidy’s neck, and her right hand held the gun pressed under her chin. The two of them were as close as conjoined twins, only with one dark and one fair head. Cassidy’s eyes were wide, her mouth opened as if she wanted to scream, but she didn’t make a sound.
One step. Two. Willow went to the passenger side door, opened it, and nudged Cassidy in with the barrel of her gun.
A grenade spun across the pavement and landed right at Willow’s feet. A second later there was a huge flash of blinding light and a thunderous BANG! The concussive force of the blast sent Allison stumbling backward.
Her ears were ringing, but Allison thought she heard the sounds of a gun firing and a woman screaming. But she was still blind from the flash.
CHAPTER 43
Papa Haydn
Thursday, February 23
Three days later, Allison sat in the semidarkness of Papa Haydn, listening to the clink of silverware on china. The menu featured halibut cheeks, bison au jus, and pasta with wild boar, but the restaurant’s real draw was the huge dessert case.
“Here you go,” the waitress said, setting down a plate. “One serving of our chocolate torte, and forks for everyone.” Four glorious layers of chocolate buttermilk cake separated by espresso ganache and glazed with milk chocolate ganache lay in front of them.
