Born to Run js-7

by James Grippando

  Andie read the handwritten message from Guy Schwartz in front of her: He’s losing it.

  Andie worried that her supervisor might be right.

  “Demetri, I know it’s late, and you must be getting tired. Maybe even a little punchy. But this is no time to lose focus. This isn’t a game. Don’t act as if it is.”

  “Are you lecturing me?”

  “I just want us to keep working together, Demetri.”

  “You keep saying that. Is that the only line they teach you at hostage negotiation school? And stop saying my name over and over again, like we’re a couple of old drinking buddies. Do they teach you to do that, too?”

  Andie checked the text message on the computer screen in front of her. It was from the SWAT unit leader.

  Team in position, it read.

  Andie spoke into her headset. “Isn’t it about time to hear from another hostage, Demetri?”

  “I told you to stop saying my name!”

  “I need to hear from another hostage,” she said as she typed out a response to SWAT: Hold your position.

  Demetri said, “I’m not giving you another hostage.”

  “That’s not smart,” said Andie. “We had a deal.”

  “No,” he said. “A deal is where I give you something, and you give me something in return. I already let you hear from the anchorwoman. Now get me back on the air.”

  She checked another computer message, this time from the technical unit, which was working to restore the Action News transmission.

  Need ten minutes, it read.

  “Demetri, I need more time to get you back on the air,” said Andie.

  “You’ve got four minutes, by my clock.”

  “Give me ten, and I’ll send in food.”

  “Not hungry.”

  “You must be.”

  “I said not hungry.”

  “Demetri, be reasonable.”

  “Three minutes and counting down,” he said.

  Another message from SWAT: Condition yellow. Green would be next, which was the breach.

  Hold, she typed back to SWAT.

  “False deadlines are a bad idea, Demetri.”

  “This one isn’t false. I’m putting the gun to your boyfriend’s pretty head right now.”

  That made her throat tighten. A SWAT breach now would be a disaster, but she put that out of her head and forced herself to negotiate.

  “Deal with me, Demetri.”

  “Make me another offer,” he said.

  “I won’t bid against myself. Take the food, give me ten minutes.”

  “You need to do better than food.”

  “How much better?”

  “I want to talk to the president.”

  “What?”

  SWAT messaged her again: Thirty seconds to green.

  Demetri said, “I saw Air Force One on TV. I know he’s at the airport. I want to talk to him.”

  “That’s not going to happen,” she said.

  Fifteen seconds, SWAT wrote.

  “Tic-toc,” said Demetri.

  “Give me ten more minutes, Demetri. Just say yes.”

  Green in ten.

  The television screen flickered in the command center, and Andie typed a quick message to SWAT: HOLD!

  “What’s happening?” said Demetri.

  Green in five-

  The television screen brightened, and the Action News broadcast from the news set was back on the air.

  Abort breach, Andie typed to SWAT.

  “Are we back?” said Demetri.

  Roger, was the response from SWAT.

  “Yes,” Andie told him, breathing out. “Thank God.”

  “Nice work,” said Demetri. “Two minutes to spare.”

  More like two seconds, thought Andie. “We aim to please,” she said.

  “Then get me President Keyes on the line.”

  “I can’t promise you that will happen,” said Andie.

  “You don’t have to,” said Demetri. “I have every confidence that he heard what I said. And this time, he knows I mean it.”

  The line clicked in her earpiece.

  Chapter 54

  Jack could see himself on the television screen. The Action News camera hadn’t moved since the transmission outage, and it was still aimed at him and Shannon. Same image, with one major difference: Jack looked scared to death.

  “You’re a lucky boy,” said Demetri as he pulled the gun away from Jack’s scalp.

  Jack breathed out. He’d heard of mock executions, terrorists putting a gun to the back of a prisoner’s head and pulling the trigger with the chamber empty. Jack hadn’t been pushed to that point, but he’d been close enough to understand how it made people crack.

  Demetri turned his back to the hostages and stepped toward the camera. Jack’s gaze followed him, and then he glanced over to the TV screen. The cameraman was still on the floor beside Jack, but he wasn’t in the television shot. Lucky for Demetri. If Andie saw that bloody face on television, SWAT would be busting down the door.

  “I want to welcome our television viewers back to the show,” said Demetri, “but I don’t think we’ll be having these technical difficulties again. The bad news is that our most compelling episode so far happened while we were off the air. But there’s some good news. We will be offering the entire block of missing footage as a bonus feature on the DVD edition of Action News Standoff, the first and only season, to be released this spring.”

  “He’s snapped,” Shannon whispered. “You have got to get us out of here.”

  Jack clenched the nail file and picked furiously at the knot behind his back. It was hard to tell, but he felt as though he might be making progress. He worked the file around to another angle, then accidentally jabbed himself in the wrist, and he had to bite his lip to keep from crying out in pain.

  Demetri turned his back to the camera and faced the hostages.

  “What was that face for, Swyteck?”

  Jack felt hot blood trickling down from his puncture wound to his fingertips. It hurt like hell.

  “I didn’t make a face.”

  “Don’t lie to me. I saw you on the television screen, right behind me. You better not be trying to throw signals at someone.”

  Jack was about to deny it, then reconsidered. He didn’t know what the punishment would be for throwing signals, but it had to be a lesser offense than trying to pick himself free with a nail file.

  “Sorry. It won’t happen again.”

  “Make sure of it,” said Demetri.

  The television screen flickered, and Jack thought for a moment that they might be going off the air again. Action News was simply resuming its split screen broadcast. This time, however, it was a different reporter with a live update from just outside the traffic-control perimeter.

  “This is Haley Vacaro, Action News. I’m standing about a mile from the Action News studio, which is now as close as police will allow traffic to approach on Frontage Road. Police have actually set up a second perimeter of traffic control here to prevent the crowd around the studio from swelling to an unmanageable level. With me is a close friend of Jack Swyteck, one of the three hostages. Sir, if you could step right over here, please, and give us your name one more time.”

  “Theo Knight.”

  Jack’s jaw dropped, but that was definitely the one and only Theo Knight on television, wearing a T-shirt that read BRINGBACKPORN.COM.

  “Mr. Knight, how is it that you know Jack Swyteck?”

  “Jack’s a dude, man. He was my lawyer when I was on death row, and we been hangin’ ever since. No pun intended.”

  The reporter stepped away. “Well, obviously this is someone’s idea of a joke, and I apologize to our viewers for-”

  “It’s true,” said Theo as he stepped back into the picture. “Look at this,” he said, holding up a key.

  “What is that?”

  “A key to a 1968 Mustang GT-390 Fastback. That’s the green car that crashed through the front door to your studio
. I was with Jack when he bought it, and I kept the extra key.”

  You kept my damn key? thought Jack. He’d been looking for the spare.

  The reporter put a finger to her earpiece to receive a message. Whatever her producer was telling her, it seemed to satisfy her.

  “All right, Mr. Knight. What can you tell us about this hostage standoff? Any idea what it might be all about?”

  “I really couldn’t tell you, but I have someone with me who definitely knows the story. Her name is Sofia, and she used to be married to that dude with the gun inside the studio.”

  The reporter’s eyes lit up, as she’d just hit the jackpot.

  Demetri screamed at the top of his lungs, “Nooooo!”

  Jack understood the Greek’s reaction immediately, but he also realized that Theo had no idea how much danger he was putting Sofia in.

  Demetri moved faster than Jack had ever seen him move as he cut across the set, grabbed the phone, and punched star-69 to get the FBI command center. He shouted his demand in a voice that was more than loud enough for Jack to hear.

  “Henning, get Sofia protection, or all bets are off! Do you hear what I’m saying? The same thugs that want me dead also want her dead. You get her some protection right now!”

  Agent Frank Madera was in a conference room inside the Action News complex. The business-office wing was a new two-story building that ran perpendicular to the studio, and at Madera’s suggestion, Sergeant Figueroa had moved the Miami-Dade SWAT unit there from the coffee shop. It would serve as their staging platform into the newsroom-partly for logistical reasons, but mostly because it was on the opposite side of the building from the FBI SWAT staging area.

  The tactical team was suited up in black gear and ready to deploy, eight contemplative men leaning against the wall in silence. A ceiling-mounted television in the corner was tuned to Action News, keeping them apprised in real time. Madera stood at the head of the conference table, an architect’s blueprint of the newsroom spread out before him. At his side was Officer Sam Reed, MDPD’s top-rated sniper.

  “You’ll move in through the main air-conditioning duct,” said Madera, pointing to the blueprint. “There’s a large intake vent here, which provides access to the catwalk over the newsroom.”

  “I wouldn’t be surprised if the perp has already sealed off the A-C vents,” said Reed.

  “You’ll need to be careful,” said Figueroa. “He did say in his first communication that he had a surprise for anyone who tried to come in through the A-C ducts.”

  “If it’s impassable, radio us,” said Madera. “Sergeant Figueroa will have to waive off the sniper shot and breach with his tactical team.”

  “Got it,” said Reed.

  Figueroa said, “What’s the likelihood of success on a shot from up there?”

  Reed processed it aloud, his mind a human calculator of angles, percentages, and timing. “Subject on an open news set. Distance about a hundred feet. Possible obstructions-lighting fixtures, hanging cameras, other equipment. Elevated shooting platform should have only minimal adverse impact on bullet trajectory. No wind or other elements to worry about. If that vent isn’t blocked, I’d say we’re looking above the ninety-ninth percentile.”

  “For a kill shot?” said Madera.

  “T-zone,” said Reed.

  A shot to the T-zone-the imaginary area that covered a person’s eyes and nose-was exactly what Madera wanted. It shut a man down like the flip of a light switch, no reaction.

  Madera said, “SWAT will breach at the crack of sniper fire. If for some unknown reason the head shot doesn’t take him out, the team does.”

  “Roger,” said Figueroa.

  Madera turned to address the tactical team as a group.

  “Gentlemen, I want to thank each of you for your willingness to serve in this crucial matter of national security. You heard the gunman’s latest demand to speak to the president of the United States. While I cannot go into details, I can assure you that this latest demand is not just another delusional request from a crazy man. This subject has already shot and killed a security guard. He has nothing to lose by killing again, and he has no intention of releasing these hostages alive. Most important, he has put himself on television for the sole purpose of compromising this country’s vital national security interests. We’ve done everything we can to avoid loss of life, even literally pulling the plug on his television broadcast. The gunman’s response was to guarantee the execution of a hostage if he did not get back on the air. Our only option was to resume broadcasting, but that concession cannot stand. Again, on behalf of the president, I thank you. I don’t have to tell you what needs to be done. Each of you is a trained professional. You know the assignment.”

  “We do,” said Figueroa.

  “Good,” said Madera. “Then let’s get it done.”

  Madera checked the television for a quick update. It was a split screen, and an Action News reporter was interviewing a big, muscular black guy dressed in civilian clothes. Madera wasn’t really focused on the interview, but even with divided attention he was able to pick up the important part.

  “…but I have someone with me who definitely knows the story. Her name is Sofia, and she used to be married to that dude with the gun inside the studio.”

  Madera nearly choked, and the scream he heard from Demetri over the television-“Noooooo”-was his sentiment exactly. His cell rang almost immediately, and he checked the number. It was not a call he could ignore.

  “Team, hold your position,” said Madera. He stepped out of the conference room and closed the door, making sure he was alone in the hallway. Joseph Dinitalia was on the line.

  “You heard?”

  “I’m on it,” said Madera.

  “We need them both out.”

  “I said I’m on it.”

  “You need help?”

  “No. The Greek is all lined up.”

  “What about Sofia? Do I have to send someone?”

  “You mean like the idiots last night with the machine gun who shot up everything but the Greek? Thanks, but no thanks.”

  “Then who’s got the old lady?”

  Madera drew a breath. “You know what they say: If you want something done right…”

  “You got this one?”

  “Send a couple men to help me look for her. But when we find her, then yeah,” he said, “I got it.”

  Chapter 55

  “Where the hell did she go?” said Theo.

  A crowd of onlookers, some of them press, had gathered around the camera and lighting crew. The Action News reporter appeared on the verge of losing her patience.

  “Mr. Knight, we are still on the air.”

  Theo looked out beyond the crowd, up and down the dimly lit parkway. A couple of stray dogs ran loose, and a homeless guy was pushing a shopping cart toward the overpass. Theo was in a neighborhood of two-bedroom ranch-style houses, each with five or six beat-up cars parked in the front yard-a family of four, as far as the U.S. Census Bureau was concerned; more like twelve or fifteen, if everyone had been accounted for. At four o’clock on a Sunday morning, many of them were either coming from or heading to a second or third job, which explained the crowd’s steadily growing numbers.

  Sofia was nowhere to be seen.

  “She was standing right here a minute ago,” Theo said into the microphone.

  “I’m sure she was,” said the reporter.

  A squad car passed on the street.

  “The cops must have spooked her,” said Theo.

  “This is live television, so perhaps you could tell us what she would say, if she were still here.”

  Theo ignored her. He was getting concerned.

  “Mr. Knight, can you please-”

  “Sofia!” he shouted, as he sprinted away. A woman was standing at the street corner a block away. She turned, saw him, and ran.

  Definitely her.

  Theo gave chase for about fifty yards, then thought better of it. He’d already seen on
e MDPD car cruise the area, and a former death row inmate chasing an elderly white woman down the street definitely wasn’t cool. He walked briskly and kept an eye on her, confident that she would soon tire.

  His cell rang. It was Andie.

  “Finally, you return my call,” he said.

  “I’ve been a little busy. How was I to know you have the gunman’s ex-wife with you?”

  “You mean ‘had,’” said Theo.

  “Don’t tell me she’s gone.”

  He rose up on his toes and looked ahead. He spotted Sofia cutting across the parking lot in front of a convenience store. Her gait was short, as if the run had already given her a side stitch.

  “Not gone,” he said into his phone. “I got a bead on her right now.”

  “Where? I’ll send a squad car to pick her up.”

  “Don’t. She doesn’t want to talk to the cops. I think that’s why she snuck away from me in the first place.”

  “I need to get her under police protection. That’s what Demetri wants.”

  “I’ll call you when I catch up with her, all right? We’ll go from there.”

  “I don’t have time to waste.”

  “Let me handle this,” said Theo. “Five minutes ago she was willing to go on television and ask Demetri to let the hostages go free. I’m not exactly sure why she doesn’t want to go to the cops, but she doesn’t. If you send a bunch of squad cars into the area, you can kiss her help good-bye.”

  “You don’t understand,” she said. “There are mob connections here. She wasn’t running from the police. She’s running for her life.”

  “I understand plenty,” said Theo. “I’ll call you in two minutes. Tops.”

  He closed his flip phone and started after Sofia, gaining ground quickly. Sofia was tiring. As Theo cut across the street, she checked over her shoulder, and their eyes met from a distance. He expected her to run, but she’d already blown through her second wind. She sat on the curb outside the entrance to the convenience store, and Theo caught up with her there.