by J. S. Carol
He tried for a smile but it came out as a grimace.
Tara laughed. ‘Is that the best you can do?’
‘Sorry, that’s all I’ve got.’
Her face turned serious. ‘Remember, until this thing’s over, we own Aaron Walters. So, what have you got to lose?’
‘I guess you’re right.’
‘No guessing about it. That one’s gospel.’ She paused. ‘Look, I know what’s really eating you up here. You’re pissed because Caroline Bradley is currently getting all the glory.’
‘Am I really that petty and shallow?’
‘Sure you are. It’s one of the things I love about you. I don’t have to go digging too hard to discover your hidden depths, because you don’t have any.’
Rob laughed. ‘That’s harsh.’
‘Harsh but true. Basically, the way I see it, you’ve got two options. Either stand around moping, or go bang on that door and get Walters to give you an exclusive that’s going to knock Caroline Bradley off of her perch.’
‘Put like that, I guess I don’t have an option.’
‘Damn right you don’t.’
5
The light bulbs went on in JJ’s head one after the other. It was all starting to make sense. She’d wanted a trigger and now she had two. After dropping the bombshell about the tumour, the anchorwoman had gone on to talk about the hit-and-run driver who’d killed Marley’s wife.
That was the thing when you had all the pieces. Everything suddenly became crystal clear. Discovering he was dying had pushed Marley right to the brink. JJ guessed the only thing that had stopped him plunging over the edge was the fact that his wife had been there. When she’d died something inside him had finally snapped.
Marley closed the laptop lid and sat very still. JJ was watching him from the corner of her eye. Everyone was watching. She really didn’t like the way he was just sitting there. The lack of movement was almost as disturbing as the gun and the bomb. He was too calm. Too composed. If this had been a film, this would be the moment when the director called for a close-up. The screen would fill with a picture of the bad guy with his finger on the trigger. A calmness would wash over him as any doubts dissolved. And then he would detonate the bomb.
JJ searched deep inside for a single happy thought to carry her from this world to the next. The memory she came up with was a childhood one. She was seven, still young enough to believe in Santa Claus. That year she’d written to him to say she’d been a good girl and could she please have a new bike because her old one was too small.
On Christmas morning there had been a pink Schwinn wrapped up under the tree. It was the exact one she’d wanted, the very same model that was circled in the catalogue hidden under her bed. She couldn’t believe that Santa had got it so right. That morning she’d gone for a bike ride with her dad. They’d gone for miles, just the two of them. It was the best Christmas ever. Back then her parents had still loved each other, and they’d loved her, and life had been easy and uncomplicated. Good times.
Marley stood up and raised his hand. JJ expected it to stop at the explosive vest since that was the obvious place to have a trigger. It didn’t. Instead, it kept going, past the vest. He grabbed the bottom of the balaclava and pulled it over his head.
JJ wasn’t sure what she’d expected, but it wasn’t this. Aside from the scar, he looked so normal. If she had passed him on the street she wouldn’t have given him a second glance. At a rough guess she’d put him in his mid-fifties, but he could just as easily have been a hard-worn late forties. He had the deep tan of someone who worked outdoors, as opposed to someone who’d bought a tan because it fitted an image.
His salt-and-pepper hair was razor short, not quite cut back to the scalp, but not far off. It was a practical haircut. A military haircut. If she hadn’t heard the anchorwoman saying he was ex-army, the scar on his right cheek would have been the clincher. It had been sewn up quickly with big baseball stitches. This was battlefield surgery. No hospital in the US would produce work like that, not even the poorest ones.
JJ realised she was staring and looked away. Her palms were slick with sweat and her fingers kept twisting together like puzzle pieces, interlocking and unlocking. Judging by the muted sounds of movement coming from all around her, she wasn’t alone in her discomfort.
She stole another quick glance. Marley was studying the hostages, eyes moving from person to person and momentarily pausing on each one. JJ was able to properly see his grin for the first time. There was nothing out of the ordinary about it, nothing evil, which surprised her. Her imagination had turned it into something from a horror movie, a grotesque parody of a grin. It wasn’t. It was warm and friendly and filled with good humour.
‘I think this is a good time to put my cards on the table,’ he said. ‘I’m afraid I haven’t been entirely honest with you.’
6
‘The hit-and-run driver is dead.’
The black kid was on his feet, hiding his nerves by pretending to play it cool. Seth wasn’t fooled for a second. He wanted to shout “boo” just to see if he’d piss his pants.
‘Who, why, what, where, when?’ he snapped.
‘The hit-and-run driver went by the name of Alan Atkinson,’ the Asian kid put in. ‘He was murdered in his home some time yesterday morning. Atkinson lived in Dartford, a small town a couple of miles from Twin Falls. The killer strung him up by his feet in the garage then eviscerated him. His wife found him hanging there with his guts hanging out.’
‘Based on that I reckon I can work out the “why” for myself. The police have issued an arrest warrant for Marley, right?’
The Asian kid nodded.
‘And I’m also guessing that Alan Atkinson escaped a prison sentence on some sort of technicality, hence the reason he was at home rather than in prison.’
Another nod.
‘Okay, I want to know everything there is to know about Atkinson. And I want an interview with the wife. There’s nothing like a grieving widow to give those heartstrings a tug.’ Seth clapped his hands, making everyone jump. ‘Come on people. What are you waiting for? The news does not make itself.’
‘Yeah, remember who makes the news,’ the white lesbian muttered under her breath.
Seth fixed her with his hardest stare. ‘Got something to add, sweetheart?’
‘I said, “will do”.’
‘Sure you did. And I’m a complete idiot, so I believe you.’ Seth shook out a Marlboro and lit it. His eyes were fixed on his assistants. He paused for effect and took a drag. ‘Okay, folks. Back to work. And don’t you dare forget who makes the goddamn news here.’
7
JJ had waited for Marley to expand on his comment about not being honest. She was still waiting. He’d done his grand unveiling, made his grand proclamation, then he’d walked over to the laptop. He was standing there now, watching them. The restaurant phone was pressed hard against his ear.
‘Louise, it is so wonderful to hear your sweet voice again. Any luck with my question? You know the one I’m talking about. The big question. The one that’s got you all running around out there like headless chickens. What do I want?’
Marley looked directly at JJ when he said this. There was no room for misinterpretation. No maybes, no doubts. The way he was staring it was like he was expecting an answer. But how would she know why he was doing this? She’d never met him before today. If she had, she would have remembered that scar. He was a war hero from some small town in Idaho that nobody had heard of. She was a Hollywood PR consultant. This wasn’t a case of different worlds, it was a case of different universes. JJ was suddenly fascinated by the patterns on the floor again. She stared at them like she was studying a Picasso. The sound of her thoughts was deafening her to the point of distraction. None of them were happy thoughts.
‘Are you telling me that you still don’t have an answer, Lou? You know, I’ve got to tell you I’m disappointed. I mean, there you all are with your fancy degrees from Harvard or Yale or whiche
ver Ivy League college you attended, and you can’t even answer a simple question.’
Marley paused. ‘Tell you what. You make sure those listening devices are pointed in my direction because I’m just about to make things real simple for you.’
He killed the call and placed the phone carefully on the table. For a moment he just stood there, lost in thought. Then he turned and looked straight at JJ.
‘On your feet, Jody.’ He nodded to the chair she’d been sitting in earlier. ‘Come and take a seat.’
JJ was trembling so much she didn’t think she’d make it. Getting to her feet was hard enough, but walking those few short steps to the chair was even harder. She sank into it. All she could see was the upturned chair that Dan Stone had been sitting on, and the smear of his blood on the parquet. She tried not to look at his corpse, but couldn’t help herself. The agent’s eyes were wide open and staring blank accusations at her. Like she needed to be guilted out by a corpse. She knew she was the reason he was dead. She didn’t need any reminders.
‘Look at me’.
Marley’s voice was calm and rational. For a split second, JJ almost believed that here was someone she could do business with. The illusion was shattered when she glanced up and saw the explosive vest and the pulsing red heart on his watch.
‘You have no idea what this is all about, do you, Jody?’
JJ shook her head. Marley was shaking his, too.
‘And you have no idea how sad that makes me.’
8
In the end, Rob took the easy way out. Instead of knocking on the door of the Mobile Command Unit, he called Aaron Walters on his cell. He could sense Tara hovering at his shoulder, listening in. The phone was on speaker so they could both hear.
‘Mr Taylor, to what do I owe the pleasure?’
‘I want everything you’ve got on Ted Marley.’
‘And little boys who want, rarely get.’
‘I’m serious.’
‘So am I.’ Walters sighed. ‘Just for a second look at this from my point of view. Your rivals are saying I’m playing favourites, and they’re right. I’m really getting it in the neck here. The next hostage comes out, you’ll cover the story. When this is all over and everyone discovers that it was you who came up with the plan to get Alex King out, you’re going to be a hero. I can’t give you any more. This well has run dry. I’ve already gone above and beyond. Whatever debt I’ve got with Seth Allen, it’s paid in full.’
‘The fact that you’re under pressure is your problem, not mine.’
‘No, Mr Taylor, it is very much your problem.’
Rob considered asking for an off-the-record interview, and dismissed the idea almost as quickly as it occurred. First, it would take the boys and girls over at Fox and CNN all of two seconds to work out where TRN had got the information from. Secondly, and more importantly, this wasn’t about getting information, it was about getting face-time. Unless he was standing in front of Walters holding a microphone, Jonah would take any information he got and have Caroline Bradley deliver it.
‘Okay,’ Rob said. ‘I’m hearing plenty about what you can’t do. How about you tell me what you can do?’
Walters sighed then went quiet, like he was thinking this over. ‘I can arrange another press conference. And you can have the first question.’
The way he said this made it sound like he was doing him a huge favour, but there was something in his tone that rang a false note. Rob replayed the last thirty seconds and the reason became obvious.
‘Come on, Aaron, do you take me for a complete idiot? You’ve already agreed to do the press conference to get the other networks off your back.’
Silence on the other end of the phone.
‘I’ll definitely get the first question?’
‘So long as your hand’s up first, I don’t have a problem with that.’
Rob hung up.
‘A press conference works,’ Tara said. ‘Jonah will have to air it, so that brings the story back to us. And it sure as hell beats standing around watching Caroline Bradley on our cell phones.’
‘I would have preferred a one-on-one with Walters.’
Tara laughed. ‘But little boys who want, rarely get.’
9
‘Relax,’ Marley said. ‘This will all be over soon. That’s a promise.’
A shiver shot through JJ. What was that supposed to mean? Over soon. She wanted to believe that he’d let her go, but she’d made a career from facing the facts, and the facts right now were not encouraging. There was an air of resignation in the way he spoke that scared her. This was a man on a ledge who’d finally made the decision to jump.
Or maybe he was planning to let them go.
No, that last thought wasn’t even worth entertaining. Marley was done letting people go. They were heading into the final act. This was the endgame. The hostages that were left were either destined to die here, or they would be rescued. Right now, the prospect of rescue seemed increasingly unlikely. If there was a plan to get them out, why hadn’t it been implemented?
The answer was as obvious as it was disturbing. There was no viable plan. If there had been, she wouldn’t be here now. The cops were listening in with their scanners, so they would know that people were dying. That was a game changer. They would be looking at every angle, trading off the numbers of potential survivors against collateral damage. The fact they’d done nothing meant the numbers weren’t adding up. Too much collateral damage, not enough survivors. Until the cops and the FBI came up with a plan that tipped the scales the other way, they were stuck here. Unfortunately, as Marley had demonstrated, even doing nothing had consequences.
‘Ed, get on your feet,’ Marley called out.
Ed Richards stood slowly. His skin was bleached white and his hair was a mess. The bright red letters on his forehead were smeared from where he’d been rubbing at them. He was staring at the floor, hollowed out and broken. It was hard to equate this version of Ed Richards with the version who appeared on cinema screens across the globe. Even when he was made up to look like he’d been to hell and back, he still looked good. The difference here was that this was real. No pretence, no artifice, no make-up and no acting.
Marley picked up the chair Dan Stone had died on and positioned it so it was facing the other hostages. He motioned Richards over. The actor shuffled across the room like every step might be his last. He sat down heavily, the chair creaking under his weight.
‘Jody, why don’t you turn around and face the rest of these good folks, too?’
JJ got up and repositioned the chair, then sat back down.
‘Okay, here’s a question for the both of you. What’s the value of a life?’
10
Caroline Bradley looked deep into the camera and said, ‘I am now joined by Professor Eric Bartholomew, a leading neurosurgeon based at Cedars-Sinai Medical Center here in LA.’
Bartholomew was sat facing the camera. His legs were crossed and he looked relaxed. Everything about him was precise and tidy. His suit, his dark hair, the way he moved. Seth had the distinct impression that this was someone who was always thinking a dozen moves ahead. Caroline turned to the professor.
‘Thank you for joining us, Professor Bartholomew.’
‘My pleasure.’
Caroline glanced down at her clipboard of non-existent questions. Her expression contained just the right amount of serious. ‘Professor, can a brain tumour affect personality?’
Bartholomew considered this. ‘In a word, yes. However, this is dependent on where the growth is situated in the brain. What you have to understand is that the brain is a highly complex organ. Different parts control different things. For example, the cerebellum controls complex motor functions such as walking, balance and posture.’
Up in Mission Control, Seth groaned. What was it with experts and plain speaking? Why were the two things mutually exclusive? ‘In English,’ he whispered into his mike. ‘And quickly or I’m cutting to one of Rob’s MOTS.’
‘And what about personality? Which part of the brain controls that?’ The question was delivered as smoothly as ever, but Seth could tell that his anchorwoman was rattled.
‘The frontal lobe.’
‘English,’ Seth hissed.
‘How extreme can the personality change be?’
‘It can be massive. For example, a normally placid person can suddenly turn violent. This can be terrifying for loved ones and carers.’
‘Is it possible for a war hero to turn into a psychopath?’
‘Good girl,’ Seth whispered, and he could have sworn that the tiniest shimmer of a smile appeared on Caroline’s face. It was there and gone in a flash.
‘Hypothetically speaking, yes. Obviously, there are a number of factors that need to be taken into consideration. For example, the size of the tumour and the position it occupies in the brain. A predilection toward violent behaviour would also have an influence. It’s worth pointing out that not everyone who gets a brain tumour automatically becomes a psychopath. This is an incredibly rare occurrence. It’s the result of a unique series of factors.’
‘Wind this up before I die of boredom,’ Seth whispered. He moved the mike from his mouth, rocked back in his chair and lit another cigarette. On the big screen, Caroline was thanking Bartholomew for joining them in the studio.
‘Rob’s on the line,’ the Asian kid called up.
Seth blew out a plume of smoke, then repositioned his mike. ‘Please tell me you’ve got some more hostages coming out.’
‘Sorry, no hostages. Aaron Walters is organising another press conference, though.’
Seth sighed.
‘I get the first question,’ Rob added quickly.
‘Well, I guess that’s better than nothing. When is it happening?’
