Nothing he didn’t already know. “Is there anything else you can tell me about why Roland came home just before he died? Your wife said his visit was unusual because it was during the week.”
“I can’t recall anything else. Something seemed to be bothering him, and he spent an awful lot of time in Josh’s room. I guess he was missing the boy, or maybe he was feeling guilty sending him to the deaf school so far away. He often said that he should have sent him to some private facility, but what a lot of people don’t know is that Roland was a gambler. And while he may have a pretty well-paying job, he had a hard time keeping money in the bank. He couldn’t afford a private facility.”
That was news. A gambler. Now he might be on to something.
Mr. Luck continued. “I had the impression that he was looking for something and couldn’t find it. I’m sorry I can’t be of more help.”
“No, no, I appreciate your time.” The approaching flashing lights caught Ethan’s attention. Several police cars whipped by. Then an ambulance. His pager went off. “Listen, Mr. Luck, if you think of anything else, will you give me a call back?”
“Sure thing, son.”
Ethan disconnected the call, then looked at the number on his pager. His boss. He pushed the speed dial button and waited.
Without preamble, the man demanded, “That you, Ethan?”
“Yep. What you got?”
“Another hostage situation, and I need you to make sure things turn out right. I’m sending Dallas as your secondary. I’m coming in, too, as commander.”
Dread crawled up him. “Can’t Mike Umburger handle it?”
“Nope, he’s on medical leave as of yesterday.”
Great. “Yes, sir, I’ll meet you there. Where?”
“The Palmetto Deaf School. Some lunatic’s taken a teacher and some students hostage.”
He did a one-eighty, praying he’d be there in time. Dread left him Sheer nauseating terror took its place.
Marianna hovered near her desk, signing for the students to stay calm, watching the intruder’s every move, desperately lighting her own escalating horror. Effortlessly, he’d yanked the door from her hand, stormed in and shoved her back against the whiteboard, bruising her shoulder in the process. He had pulled the door shut behind him.
Then locked it.
The ski mask covered his face. Intense blue eyes peered at her from the slits, his nose covered, his mouth a mere outline under the cloth. She watched the outline move. Shaking, she backed up.
Knowing her voice wobbled, she told him, “I know you’re saying something, but if I can’t see your mouth, I can’t read your lips.”
He made a motion with a gloved hand – the universal sign for
scissors. Marianna swung around and got a pair from her desk. What did he want to use them for? A weapon?
But he already had a gun.
Motioning for her to back up, he grabbed the mask, stuck the scissors in the material where his mouth was and started cutting, making an opening and snipping out a large portion that revealed the lower part of his face, which consisted of firm lips and a strong, freshly shaven jaw.
“Wh – what do you want?”
Still not speaking, he tucked the cutaway cloth into his back pocket and jammed the scissors into the potted plant soil behind him.
Oh, dear Lord, please help us.
Thus far, the man hadn’t said a word, at least not one that she’d heard or been able to read; he had merely gestured with the gun.
Absentmindedly, her senses took in the details. He was tall, at least a little over six feet. Broad shoulders indicated strength she wouldn’t want to test. And his scent tickled her nose. Chewing tobacco. It was the same smell she’d noticed the night she’d been attacked in the gym.
Along with the odor of cigarettes.
Cold certainty hit her. This was her attacker, the one who’d left the note in her hand telling her he’d be back. He’d picked her. Her classroom. Her school. He’d come here and put all these people in danger. She’d put them in danger. Feeling ill, she turned and looked at her beloved students. Fortunately, two of her students were absent today, so she had three regulars and two deaf student tutors.
Josh stared at the man, his features twisted in confusion. Victoria, one of the deaf students who’d come to help tutor, had fear and revulsion emanating from her as she cowered against the bookshelf behind her. But anger, too, glittered in her eyes. Marianna shot her a look that said, “Don’t do anything stupid.”
Peter had his forehead touching his desk, his hands wrapped around his head, rocking slowly back and forth. Marianna moved toward him, wanting to offer comfort. The man swung the gun on her.
She gasped, backed up, holding her hands up in the universal gesture for surrender.
“What do you want?” she asked him.
Ignoring her, yet keeping the weapon trained on her and the class, he moved to the front of the room. Stepped behind her desk. In a smooth move, he swept the top clean. Marianna flinched. Her purse went sliding, items clattering across the floor.
Next, he pulled the drawers from her desk, rummaging through them then tossing them haphazardly. Still not saying a word.
Glancing around at her terrified students, she signed, “It’ll be okay. Just stay calm.”
The gun touched her cheek. She froze. Smelled the stale cigarettes again. Turned slowly to see his dark glare. Then he spoke the first words since he’d burst into her classroom. “Don’t sign. Understand?”
Marianna nodded, her eyes never leaving his. The eyes of a killer – with a hint of desperation lurking in their depths. She whispered, “Please tell me what you want and I’ll give it to you.
Anything.”
“Sit over there.” He gave her a rough shove toward one of the empty student desks. She stepped on an item from her purse, stumbled, grabbed the edge of the chair and sat. He held a hand to his head, looked back at Marianna. “Why is everyone here? No one was supposed to be here.”
“Make-up day. It snowed after Christmas so we had to come today.”
He kicked a desk and cursed. Then pulled something out of his pocket.
A small plastic bottle full of liquid with wires attaching it to a…cell phone?
Marianna flinched. A bomb of some sort. She’d never seen one before, but she had watched the news, read books, watched crime shows. She looked around, seeing the students’ fear, their horror at the turn their lives had just taken.
Victoria had her arms around Christopher, comforting, patting, her angry gaze never leaving the gunman. Marianna vowed to keep an eye on the hotheaded teen. She tried to communicate with her eyes for Victoria to be still, stay calm. The girl shifted, stuck a hand into her coat pocket. Met Marianna’s gaze.
Marianna lifted a brow in a silent question. Victoria pulled her hand back out of her pocket and put her arms back around Christopher, her hands strategically placed, with her right hand covering her left. Marianna caught the sign Victoria subtly sent her. If the man had been watching, he’d have thought Victoria was just shifting her hands, but Marianna knew better.
One word. Sidekick.
Oh help. The girl had her Sidekick and could use it practically blindfolded.
Did she dare give Victoria the go-ahead to text a message? But Marianna would have to sign the number to her and pray the girl could enter it in without looking at the screen. Or she could call 911. But she couldn’t text 911. Could she?
No, she’d call Ethan to be safe. She gave a small negative shake of her head. Victoria’s lips thinned. Under the desk, out of sight of the gunman, who was opening every drawer he could find and dumping the contents onto the floor, she signed, “Wait.”
The girl nodded, clearly unhappy at the delay, but at least she obeyed.
Marianna’s attention was drawn back to the man who suddenly turned and kicked another unoccupied desk, sending it crashing into the wall. She flinched; Victoria jerked and let out a squeal Marianna couldn’t hear but could see
escape the girl’s lips.
The masked intruder turned back to Marianna, gun waving wildly.
“Where is it?” He put the gun to poor Josh’s head. “Tell me where it is or I’ll blow his brains out.”
SIXTEEN
Ethan couldn’t get to the school fast enough, his brain snapping with the facts. He had to shove aside the terror he felt because in his gut he knew it was Marianna in danger. She and her students.
Someone had had the gall to enter a building on a busy Monday morning and take a class hostage. Chilled, he tried to analyze what that person must be thinking and feeling.
Someone with nothing to lose. And everything to gain by such a rash act. Desperation shouted. And desperation could lead to deadly action.
Which meant he might never get to tell Marianna he was sorry for asking that stupid question about a cochlear implant; he might not get to hold her in his arms. Never kiss her again. Please, God…
Unable to form even the simplest prayer, he just let the Holy Spirit intercede on his behalf. God knew. And God was listening. Shocked, Ethan realized he’d wondered ever since Ashley’ s death if God really did listen. He’d never had the conscious thought that God was ignoring him, but a smack in the face of self-realization had him newly aware that he’d subconsciously stopped thinking of God as One who hears.
Now, he wanted to know God was listening, that God heard his frantic prayers for Marianna and the other innocents who were being threatened by this madman.
Please, God…
But better than anyone, Ethan knew that sometimes bad things happened. God allowed innocent people to be hurt. Please, let this outcome be different.
Then he was turning back into the school parking lot, his alarm blaring, the lights swirling on the dash. The campus was on lockdown, the entrances barricaded. The main security guard had been replaced by a local police officer, who let Ethan in the minute she saw him heading toward her.
Ethan whipped past the small building; the vast emptiness of the campus and the unnatural stillness during a normally active school day hit him hard. Lord, it’s not right. There should be kids running around here. Please, please protect them.
Pulling around to Marianna’s building, he swung in behind the authorities already there. Along with campus security. He looked around for the person in charge, the one who would be acting as field commander. The police chief had also just arrived and was barking orders into his phone. When he saw Ethan, he motioned him over.
“What do we got?” He tried to stay professional, refusing to let his fear for Marianna and the kids show through.
“The school’s on lockdown. Everyone’s got their classrooms shut up. He’s confined to one room, so unless the guy starts blazing bullets down the hall and into doors, all but the ones in the room with him should be all right for now. We’ve got guys working their way into the building. They’ ll try to set up a surveillance system. I want to keep this contained. We’ve got the outer perimeter established. Now I want the inside done.”
“What room is he in?” He already knew the answer, but couldn’t quite help the wave of nausea that swept him when the man pointed to Marianna’s window. “That one. We’ve got a sniper on the roof of the building over there.” He gestured behind him. “Guy can see right in, but the teacher’s in the way. He’s got her sitting in a seat in front of the window. Unfortunately, he’s smart.”
“Let’s pray we’re smarter. Has contact been established?”
“Nope. There’s no phone in the room. We’ve got a throw phone but nowhere to throw it.” Often when a phone wasn’t available in a situation like this, one of the SWAT members would toss a phone to the hostage taker. “I got the teacher’s cell number, but she’s deaf and hasn’t answered it. No answer to my texts either.”
But she was alive. He could see her sitting there in plain view, her back to him. Next to her was a male student, probably one of her tutors who came in to help first thing in the morning. The guy may be smart, but he wasn’t thinking. He hadn’t pulled the blinds yet. “How many in the classroom?”
This wasn’t a planned situation. Which meant the guy was trying to think as he went.
“She’s got two absent. There are four males and one female student. And the teacher. Marianna Santino.”
“All right. We need contact. Also get me the blueprints for this building. I want a microphone and camera in there somehow.”
“The boys are working on it. Here’s your mic – it’s rigged and ready. You say the word and the boys will storm the door. You’re the boss here, Ethan. This is what you’ve been trained for.” The man clapped him on the back. “You’ll be fine.”
So, he hadn’t done a very good job of hiding his nerves. Now wasn’t the time to think about failure. Failure meant someone would die. And if that happened, they might as well go ahead and dig his grave as well.
Marianna had thrown herself at Josh, wrapping her arms around the boy, who didn’t really have a clue he was in danger, and defiantly stared down the man with the gun. She could only pray he couldn’t see the sick fear that had her trembling.
His anger was escalating. Not finding what he wanted, he was losing control. But he wouldn’t tell her what he was looking for. Every drawer had been pulled out and overturned. Finally, he’d snorted in disgust and moved the gun from Josh.
He was now working on the shelves, pulling stuff off, opening every container, every educational game; he missed nothing. And each time he didn’t find what he wanted, he destroyed something else.
And the TV played on above Marianna, creating normalcy where none existed. She wondered if the authorities would soon cut the power. Until then, a commercial depicting Pampers ended and a shot of the two political candidates debating issues flashed. Campaign headquarters celebrated victories. Normal life.
God, please get us back to normal. Safe and normal. But Marianna knew she’d never be the same again.
She shot a glance at Victoria. The girl had sneaked her hand back in her pocket, just waiting for the signal. Marianna gave it to her.
While the gunman’s back faced her, she quickly signed the first three digits of Ethan’s phone number. Victoria moved only a fraction.
Marianna blinked – no wonder she’d never caught the girl texting in class. Watching the man move to the next shelf, she waited as he whirled, looked at her, the other students acting like statues, then he went back to his search.
The next four numbers flew from her fingers and Victoria nodded The number was in. Now for the message:
ONE MAN. MASK. ONE GUN. 9 MM. ONE BOMB. VERY MAD. LOOKING FOR SOMETHING. HE CAN ‘T FIND IT. HELP PLEASE.
Again, Victoria moved almost imperceptibly, her features paling at the word bomb, but didn’t stop typing with one hand.
All of a sudden, the man turned toward the window. Victoria froze. He stomped to the window and shoved it open a fraction and listened; then Marianna saw him swear. He turned to her and held out his hand. “Cell phone.”
She watched his lips move, but it took a moment for the two words to process. Grabbing her by the arm, he yanked her up, shoving his face closer to hers. “Give. Me. Your. Cell. Phone.”
She pulled away. “It…fell on the floor, under my desk when you…” She made the sweeping motion he’d done earlier.
“Get it.”
Bending down, she spotted the device – and her can of Mace sitting right beside it.
Ethan held the department cell phone and let Marianna’s phone ring, not letting himself think about what he would do if the man refused to talk. Each incident had a personality all its own. There were no absolutes in crisis negotiation. Help me, God.
He felt a hand on his shoulder and turned to find Dallas Montgomery standing there. Relief shuddered through him. Backup.
Another trained hostage negotiator who could be his secondary, help him out if he needed it.
The phone still rang. Soon it would trip to voice mail. Then he saw Marianna pulled away from the
window. His heart nearly stopped when she disappeared from view. Part of him waited for the sound of the gunshot. He was almost surprised when a voice barked in his ear.
“What?”
Ethan’s personal cell buzzed on his hip. He ignored it. “Hey, man.
My name’s Ethan and I’m with the police force here. I’ve been called in to help with this situation, to see that we can resolve it without anyone getting hurt. Can you help me out?”
Establish contact, offer assistance. The basics of crisis negotiation training.
The phone clicked off.
Ethan growled in frustration. If the man wouldn’t talk, Ethan couldn’t do his job. And the tactical team made up of SWAT members would have to move in. Which meant Marianna and everyone in the building would be in extreme danger.
One thing Ethan knew he had on his side was time. As long as no one was getting hurt, things could end peacefully.
“Call him back.” Dallas started setting up behind him. He’d keep track of the conversation – assuming one happened – and any details he could pick up, offering advice to Ethan as he handled the man.
Dialing the number, Ethan prayed for the man to pick up again. It kept ringing. Then Marianna appeared back in the window, seated once again.
The phone finally clicked. “I’m not talking. Don’t call back.”
“Wait!”
A sigh. “I’m rather busy. Not in the mood for a chat. Ciao.”
Click.
Restraining the desire to hurl the phone to the asphalt below, Ethan gripped it until his knuckles turned white.
Dallas shook his head. The big Texan had worry stamped all over his features. “Nothing you can do if he won’t talk, Ethan.”
Think, think, Ethan.
“He’s educated. Cultured.”
Dallas nodded. “Ciao?”
Ethan’s personal phone vibrated that he had a message. Rubbing his forehead, he paced. At the next vibration he snapped the phone out of its case and almost tossed it. Instead, something made him click to see who the message was from.
A Silent Terror Page 16
