"I don't think you're bluffing, Captain."
"Good."
"I also don't think you realize the FBI has the ability to neutralize that trigger with radio waves. They're hardly amateurs, you know."
"Yeah, they've had so much time to prepare a welcome here and set up all their exotic equipment."
Ken steered the 737 toward the ramp in front of the metal passenger terminal as Bostich spoke again.
"Don't sell the FBI short. I work with the Bureau all the time, and they're extremely clever. They're also honest, and if you cut a deal with them, they'll keep their side of the bargain. I'm always losing prosecutions because of some deal they've arranged to get bigger fish."
Ken looked at Bostich and snorted. "In other words, I ought to be so- o-o worried about their catching me I'll just surrender in return for their promise to, what, think real hard about someday arresting Lumin?"
"Look, what I mean--"
"I know what you mean, Bostich. You mean to look for a chance to save your miserable hide, and you hope the FBI will give you the opening." He shook his head. "Fact is, they don't even suspect the frequency this switch uses, because it was custom built. And, they run a huge risk of trying to find out by trial and error, because any radio energy focused on us could trigger the firing mechanism in the bomb."
There was a flicker of fear on Bostich's face. "I think they probably know that," he said.
"Oh?" Ken shot back. "And how would they know that, since no one, including you, has been close enough to this transmitter to accurately describe even the external housing?"
The fuel truck was waiting in front of the terminal, which sat on the north side of the runway. A fueler was in the cab just as Ken had ordered. He taxied the 737 past to the east, then turned to point the nose of the Boeing back to the west, putting the fuel truck by the right wing where the fuel receptacle was mounted.
Bostich remained silent as Ken set the parking brake and surveyed the scene outside. The sheriff's car he'd spotted on final approach was pulling onto the ramp now on his left. It approached cautiously and stopped about a hundred feet off his left wing, the deputy remaining inside.
Obviously he's been told to keep some distance, Ken thought. If I can at least get them pumping gas, I've got a chance.
Aboard Gulfstream N5LL. 3:12 ?.M.
Kat had reached Clark Roberts, Assistant to the Deputy Director in Washington, only to be told to stand by. There was no time to stand by, so she disconnected and dialed information in Telluride, and then the emergency number of the sheriff's department to relay a quick explanation of what was going on.
The woman at the sheriff's office seemed perplexed. "We've already been talking to FBI headquarters in Washington, I believe, ma'am.
They told us pretty much the same thing."
"Did they tell you the deputies should remain out of sight?"
"Negative, but one of the deputies has said that."
"Okay, please tell them again." "How... do I know you're legit?" she asked.
"How did you know Washington was legit?" Kat shot back, regretting her tone immediately. "Look, I don't have time to either beg or prove myself, but I am an FBI agent and I need you RIGHT THIS SECOND to get on your radio and tell all your people who might be headed to the airport to kill their lights and sirens, stay back, stay away from the aircraft, stay away from the airport, and wait for instructions."
There was a telling hesitation on the other end. "Okay," the dispatcher said at last.
"Someone's already there, right?" Kat asked.
She heard the dispatcher calling one of her units in the background and heard his response. "This is Goodwin. What do you mean, remain out of sight? I'm already here."
Kat's heart sank.
"Dispatch, this is Agent Bronsky. Can you patch me through to that unit?"
There was a gentle hand on her shoulder and she looked up into the eyes of Bill North, who tipped his head toward the cockpit.
"They're getting ready to land, Kat. You want to take the extension up there again?"
She nodded and leapt to her feet as she handed him the receiver.
"Thanks, Bill."
Jeff was waiting for her with the Flitephone extension in his outstretched hand, and Kat pressed it to her ear as she knelt in time to hear the San Miguel dispatcher say, "Stand by, I'm patching."
"Deputy Goodwin here," a male voice said on the other end.
"Deputy, can you hear me?"
"Yes, ma'am. You're FBI?'
She passed her name and position, and asked if he could see the Gulfstream on approach.
"Yes I can, Agent Bronsky. You're across the valley, and I can see your landing gear coming out."
She explained what had happened in Grand Junction. "You've got to stay back and out of sight unless I need you in there."
"Well," he replied. "I'm right out here on the ramp about a hundred feet from the aircraft, but I'm still in my truck. What are you expecting from him?"
"Stay in your truck! He's going to release passengers and get fuel, and when he sees me land, he'll talk to me. Stay on this frequency and wait for instructions, okay? And please don't let any more police or deputies on the ramp. Whatever you do, do not get out or let anyone else get out carrying a rifle or looking like they're going to storm the plane, and do nothing that might be interpreted as trying to block the aircraft's exit route."
"Okay, you got it. The plan isn't to immobilize him, then. But if he can be seen, do you plan to take him out with a sharpshooter?"
"No! Absolutely not!" Kat explained the bomb and the dead man's trigger.
"Okay. I understand. All other units, do not approach the aircraft, do not attempt to block him or intervene or even look threatening.
This is Goodwin."
"Since you're already there, Deputy Goodwin, tell me if you see anything happening."
"Nothing yet. I can see someone in the pilot's seat, and heads in the passenger windows, but no doors have opened. A ground service guy is by the right wing standing on a ladder and opening what may be a fuel panel or port."
She could see the 737 on the ramp ahead now in the distance as Dane and Jeff settled the Gulfstream in on final approach and floated in over the highway.
"Agent Bronsky, you still there?" Goodwin's voice crackled over the phone.
She pressed the handset to her ear again. "Yeah, sorry."
"You want to taxi up alongside my position when you get here so we can talk?"
"Will do. We're landing now and I'm going to disconnect. When we drop our steps, please come aboard immediately. I've got radio contact with Flight Ninety."
Telluride Regional Airport, Colorado. 3:15 a.M.
Ken looked toward the sound of a decelerating jet and saw the sleek gulfstream IV slowing along the runway. The fact that they'd figured it out so fast wasn't particularly surprising. Kat Bronsky was an interesting, tenacious, dangerous adversary, and he knew she'd be calling momentarily.
Ken pulled the PA. handset from its cradle as he shot a stern glance at Rudy Bostich. "Don't move a muscle?
"Folks, this is Captain Wolfe again. I told you a while ago, with regret, why I was doing what I'm doing. I also told you I did, in fact, have a large load of plastic explosives wired and primed in the baggage bin, and that I'm holding a trigger that will explode the bomb if I let go of it. All of that is still true. Don't anyone even think of touching a door without my approval. I have lights up here that will tell me instantly if any door or hatch, including the emergency exit hatches, are opened. I hate to say it, but I have no choice. If I see any one of those lights turn on, I'll let go of the trigger, and the end will be immediate and tragic for all of us.
Now, stay seated and don't even undo your seatbelts. I have some things to accomplish before I can decide when and how to let you off this airplane."
Ken replaced the PA. handset as a familiar voice came through his headset.
"Ken Wolfe, this is Kat Bronsky. Can you hear me?"
<
br /> He snorted and shook his head slightly as he punched the transmit button.
"What kept you, Kat?"
The answer was rapid. "Oh, a small matter of our wingman not telling us he was planning on leaving. Do you have built-in stairs on that seven-thirty-seven, Ken, or should we order some portable airstairs for you?"
"Why do we need stairs, Kat?" he asked with feigned innocence.
"You were going to let the people out of there in Grand Junction, Ken. Telluride's just as good, and steps seem like a better idea than making them jump."
"All in good time, Agent Bronsky. First, let's get this straight. Anyone who approaches this airplane from any angle kills everyone aboard. I see a door light go on, I'm releasing the button, and boom, it's all over. Every single hatch and door is wired. Try to shoot, touch, deflate, or monkey with the tires or landing gear, try to immobilize this aircraft, or stop the refueling, and it's all over."
"Ken, we understand."
"I don't know who 'we' is, Kat, but it better be everyone." Ken closed his eyes for a second, trying to decide whether the thought that had flitted across his consciousness should be spoken.
He opened his eyes then and pressed the transmit button, the decision made.
"Kat... triggering this bomb would create enough outrage to force a thorough investigation of every single aspect of my allegations, expose Bostich, and convict Lumin. Letting go of this trigger is another way to accomplish my goals, so please don't think I won't do it. Don't make that mistake. I'll die with it, but you, on the other hand, would have to live a lifetime with the miscalculation."
There was a lengthy silence before the Gulfstream's transmitter kicked back on.
"I understand, Ken. Believe me, I do understand."
"Okay, Kat. Tell that deputy sitting out here he'd better stay back. I parked here because I can see all of my airplane reflecting in the terminal windows. I can see anyone approaching, understand?"
"Ken, no one's going to approach you."
"One more thing. I'm sure you'll have some sharpshooter show up in a minute who'll have my head in his crosshairs, and yes, he could kill me with a single shot. But not even Bostich would be able to stop me from releasing the trigger, and detonation would occur instantly."
"No one else is going to approach from any angle, I promise you. The deputy is going to come aboard my airplane. I'll keep him strictly under control, okay?"
"Kat, I'd better hear real fast from you that Bradley Lumin's been apprehended and a grand jury's been convened."
Rudy Bostich shifted position uneomfortably in the copilot's seat and Ken's head jerked instantly to the right to see what he was doing.
The pause from the Gulfstream was too long, and Ken turned back to the left and pressed the transmit button.
"You're not really going to tell me he hasn't been arrested yet? Not after more than two hours?"
"Ken, Lumin is gone. We can't find him."
Ken inhaled sharply. He hadn't expected that. Obviously it was a clever ploy. Maybe they'd even told Lumin to run.
He jammed the transmit button down in anger. "Jesus Christ, you think I'm an idiot? That trick's not about to work, Kat. Tell the fools in D.C. this equation is as simple as it gets: No arrest, no indictment, no trial, then no passengers. That's the bottom line. Why don't you tell these nice folks they don't mean enough to their government to rescue with a simple arrest?"
"Ken, it's not a trick! Honest. Officers were dispatched to Lumin's trailer, just as you asked, but there was no one there."
"Bullshit! I was going to let these people go. I wanted to let them out, but now I can't, until that animal is in custody and you stop trying to manipulate me with lies."
Her tone was pleading. "Ken, I'd be an idiot to lie to you at this point. I'm telling you the gospel truth. They went, he wasn't there, and they searched the area. Don't hold those people hostage to something we can't control. Please?
The Gulfstream was coming to a halt on his left side, right behind the deputy's vehicle. Ken sighed and shook his head as he muttered to himself, "I don't believe this." He rubbed his temple for a second, keeping an eye on Bostich in his peripheral vision before pressing the transmit button again.
"You people are crazy! How many agents back in D.C. did it take to think that one up? Here I sit with the ability to kill us all in a microsecond and the goddamned FBI and Justice Department refuse to arrest a murderer. You've tipped your hand, Kat."
Dane shut down the Gulfstream's engines and quietly ran through the checklist with the copilot as Kat fingered the microphone and tried to find the right words.
"Ken, you've got this all wrong. Let me tell you the details."
She described the trailer and the distance from Ft. Collins as Frank had relayed it. "Ken, we wouldn't know all that unless someone had been out there."
"Yeah, right," he shot back. "So they sent someone out with a notepad.
Did they search his pigsty trailer?"
"They didn't have probable cause, ah..." her eyes widened in horror.
Oh, No! Damn, damn, damn! Wrong thing to say! Kat kept the button depressed and tried to recover.
"... which is to say, Ken, that they hadn't received the warrant yet to go inside, but while they waited for it, they were able to look in the windows and there wasn't anything amiss."
The response from the cockpit of the 737 was all too rapid, the voice even more suspicious and sarcastic.
"Oh, of course, they must have left the warrant in their other pants.
Jesus Christ! They went out there without a warrant? Obviously, then, no one had the slightest intention of arresting Lumin. On top of that, what the hell do you mean, 'there wasn't anything amiss?' What were they doing, checking on his damned welfare?"
She sighed as she pressed the button once more, keeping her voice even and steady, making certain not to betray the seismic emotions roiling her stomach.
"Ken, wait just a second, will you? Let's stay calm here. Let me explain precisely what went on. First, while they were waiting for the warrant, they went out to place him under surveillance to make sure he didn't slip away, and that's when they found he'd left. His car wasn't there, there was no sign of him in the trailer, and no indication of where he'd gone." She released the button with her heart fluttering.
How had she gotten herself into a corner so fast?
The frequency was quiet for several long, agonizing seconds before Ken's voice filled the speaker.
"Remember I told you over an hour ago, Kat, that I was your worst nightmare because I knew all your tricks? Okay. Lesson number one for hostage negotiators is learning to delay the game and wear the guy down. Kat, get it through your skull that isn't going to work with me.
Take a look at your watch. Mark where the big hand is. Add thirty minutes to that. That's your deadline. If Lumin isn't in custody by then, we're out of here, one way or another."
"Ken, if you know the procedures that well, you also know we're not allowed to lie to the perpetrator. They did precisely what I told you, and now we're tearing around Colorado trying to find Lumin, but God only knows whether it's been a day, a week, or a month since he left." She released the button and was shocked at the rapid reply.
"No more than ten hours."
Kat hesitated. "What?"
"Ten hours, maximum, Kat. He couldn't have been gone more than that."
"How... how do you know that?" she asked, truly puzzled. If Lumin had been kidnapped, could Wolfe somehow be behind it? "I just know."
"But how, Ken? That isn't good enough. Did you call him this morning on the phone? If so, you need to realize that he could have forwarded his line to somewhere else."
"Trust me, Kat. Lurnin was there at midnight. He couldn't have gone far. His car was missing a tire."
Kat felt a strange blush of recognition engulf her, as an obvious connection she should have seen earlier finally coalesced. There were tracks outside, Frank had said, along with footprints and an unused bullet
, as though someone had been stalking Lumin.
And it was the second anniversary of Melinda Wolfe's murder.
She closed her eyes briefly and shook her head in disgust that she hadn't connected it right away.
Kat pressed the microphone button with her mind racing.
"Ken," she began, slowly, "around midnight last night, out there in the cold with that rifle, what made you change your mind?"
In the cockpit of AirBridge 90, Ken Wolfe let his head loll forward as he closed his eyes, the entire agony replaying in his head.
John J Nance - The Last Hostage Page 23
