The Cost of Commitment - KJ2

by Lynn Ames

  On her way to the airport, Kate took a quick detour to Peter’s house.

  He was, as she had expected, fully awake and dressed when she arrived at his door at 2:35 a.m. with Fred by her side.

  He greeted her by saying, “I’ve talked to some of my contacts. It looks serious.”

  “It is serious,” she answered.

  “Albany CERT going out with you?”

  “Yes.”

  He nodded. “Good men. I trained most of them myself.”

  She smiled thinly. “In that case, maybe I should be worried about my safety.”

  “Very funny, Spinmeister.” He looked at her hard. “All kidding aside, Kate, be careful out there. You might be walking right through the middle of everything on your way outside to hold press briefings, depending on where Redfield sets up shop. He tends to like to be near the action, so I suspect he’ll hole up in the sergeant’s office on B block just off Times Square. I don’t like it.”

  She didn’t like it either, but outwardly she made light of the situation.

  “You know what the sociology professors say, Technowiz. The inmates won’t harm the mouthpiece because that’s their only means of negotiation.”

  “We don’t negotiate with inmates,” he answered dryly.

  “I know,” she whispered confidentially, “but the inmates don’t know that, which is what keeps me useful and safe.”

  “So they tell you. Thank you, by the way, for wearing a pantsuit instead of a dress. Trust me, you’re the nicest thing those boys have seen Lynn Ames

  in a very long time. No point in tempting them more than they already will be.”

  “Aw, Peter, they’re only murderers, rapists, and robbers. Why would I worry about a silly thing like my safety?”

  He chuckled. “I can’t imagine.”

  She looked at her watch. “I’ve got to get going. Take good care of my boy.”

  “I always do. Fred and I sit around all day eating bonbons and having belching contests, you know.”

  “Sounds like fun. I’ll be so sorry to miss that.”

  “I bet. Have you heard from Jay?”

  “Not since” —her voice wavered minutely—“the argument about Christmas.”

  “Don’t worry, Kate. She’s probably just out of telephone reach. Some of those places on the reservation are pretty remote.”

  “I know, and I hope with all my heart that that’s all it is, but—”

  “Let it go, Kate. Jay loves you very much. She’ll probably already be here when you get back and you’ll have a terrific Christmas celebration on Friday.”

  “If she calls you while I’m out of reach...”

  “You have your beeper on, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’m sure she’d beep you if she couldn’t get you on the phone.”

  “Yes, but just in case she can’t get me and she calls you...” Kate hesitated. “Will you tell her I love her? And that I’ll be home just as soon as I can?”

  “Of course.”

  As Kate turned to go, something occurred to her. “Oh, I almost forgot. I’ve been meaning to give you this.” She reached into her briefcase and pulled out an accordion folder filled to bursting.

  “What’s this?”

  “It’s all the stuff I’ve accumulated on the Breathwaite thing. I figure it’s safer in your hands than it is in mine. The tapes from his conversation with Wendy Ashton of AP and any physical evidence is in there, along with all of the press clippings, our timeline of events, suspected incidents he might have engineered, and our hypotheses of what he’s been up to and why. Also, I’ve added my own personal notes based on my interactions with the media, the governor, and Commissioner Sampson.

  Finally, I’ve included a list of questions I still haven’t found answers to that might bring us closer to figuring out the endgame.”

  “Why are you giving this to me now?”

  She shrugged, trying for nonchalance. “Like I said, I’ve been meaning to give this to you for weeks, I just never got around to it.”

  The Cost of Commitment

  “And you happen to get around to it, as you say, as you’re on your way to the airport to fly into the middle of a riot? That’s convenient.”

  She shrugged again.

  “Kate, I know this is your first riot and you’re probably nervous. It’s okay. I’d have to have your head examined if you weren’t. You’re going to do great. Keep your head on your shoulders and don’t say more than you need to. You’ll be fine.”

  “It’s just that people’s lives—potential hostages—could depend on what I say to the media. One wrong word and—”

  “You’re too good for that, Katherine Kyle. I’ve seen you in action. I have complete faith in you. If I were a hostage, I’d be confident and comfortable with you out there in front of the microphones.”

  She kissed him on the cheek. “Thanks, friend. I needed that.”

  “No charge,” he smiled at her. “Now go kick ass, and don’t take any prisoners.”

  “Ha, ha,” she said drolly as she bent over to hug Fred one last time before walking out the door.

  At 3:00 a.m. on the dot Kate stood in the Signature Air Terminal at the Albany County Airport waiting to board the governor’s small plane that would take them out to Attica. As the group assembled and walked out to the tarmac, she took note of the men around her. The four CERT

  team members were dressed in full battle gear, CS tear gas canisters in holsters on their hips, silenced MP-5 submachine guns and shotguns in their hands, helmets and masks in their backpacks. Each of them, she knew, had been cross-trained in barricades and hostage rescue in addition to sharpshooting. They looked grim and determined.

  The flight was mostly a quiet affair after the brief strategy session, the passengers either lost in thought or dozing in anticipation of the long stretch of sleeplessness that would surely ensue. Kate studied her surroundings. The governor’s plane was a small King Air turboprop with a custom blue and gold interior. Twelve seats faced each other, six on each side in the aft section of the plane, with two comfortable captain’s chairs up front.

  Kate looked at the four men who would, if necessary, put their lives on the line at Attica that day. They were mostly young, all clean shaven, with strong physiques and rugged-looking faces. She thought about the type of mindset it must take to willingly put oneself in extreme danger in the course of doing a job. With a start, she realized that very soon, she would be doing the same thing.

  She had instructed the superintendent to have the media cordoned off across the street from the front gate, off prison property and out of Lynn Ames

  harm’s way, with state police officers supervising to ensure that none of the reporters gained access to the facility’s grounds. At last report, the number of journalists had tripled, with correspondents from the major networks and CNN being flown in to report live. It would be Kate’s job, every half hour, to walk from the sergeant’s office in B block that would serve as the command post, through the main cell block intersection at Times Square, down the long A block corridor, through the administration building, out the front gate, and across the street to brief the media. There would be at least one period of time during that trip when she could potentially come into contact with inmates.

  Kate blinked. She couldn’t worry about that at the moment. She had a job to do, and people’s lives, both civilian and inmate, were on the line.

  The inmates, many of whom had radios and access to televisions, would be watching, listening, and evaluating her every word.

  She wished again that she had been able to contact Jay before getting on the plane. She felt so alone and out of sorts. She wanted to know that her lover was okay and to have a chance to talk to her about their argument. She couldn’t stand the idea of Jay being mad or disappointed in her.

  On impulse, she pulled a pad of paper and a pen out of her briefcase.

  Dear Jay,

  I know it’s silly to be writing this dow
n, since I’ll probably talk to you before this could reach you, but it will make me feel better, so here goes:

  First of all, I want to apologize. I’m sorry if I said some things I shouldn’t have; I’m sorry for raising my voice in my exasperation; I’m sorry if my words hurt you in any way. I love you so much, and I ache at the thought of causing you pain.

  We both made assumptions, and that was wrong. What we really needed to do was to sit down and discuss, together, what we wanted to do about the holiday. I wish I had it to do over again, baby, because I would be far more forthcoming about what I had in mind. I wanted to surprise you, but I see now that I went about that the wrong way.

  At the end of the day, the only thing that matters is how much we love and respect each other, and our willingness to work through rough spots like this one. I believe we will be made stronger by the experience and the knowledge we take away from it.

  I love you, Jamison Parker, and I will do whatever you want on December 25th, as long as I can be with you.

  The Cost of Commitment

  Kate

  She reread the note, then folded it and put it in her pants pocket. On a clean sheet of paper she wrote:

  Jay,

  I wish with all my heart I could have talked to you before coming to Attica. I needed to hear your voice, to feel the reassurance of your love, to know that you would be there when I got back, and to tell you how much you mean to me.

  Unfortunately, I had no way to reach you, so this will have to do.

  Before you came into my life, my existence was sterile and emotionless. You brought joy, happiness, and love into my world and made me whole. I find myself trying to remember, from time to time, what I did before you came along, stealing my heart and soul as you did with little apparent effort. Each time I reach the same conclusion: whatever I might have valued before pales in comparison to what I have now.

  Thank you, Jay, for being my light and my life. No matter what else happens, knowing I have you by my side will be enough to carry me through.

  Every time I close my eyes and see your face in my mind, I know I have come home.

  I love you, sweetheart, with every fiber of my being, and I will until the end of time and beyond.

  Kate

  She folded the second note and put it together with the first. After a long moment, she closed her eyes, trying to rest and enjoy the peace and quiet for what she figured would be the last time for at least the next few hours.

  Jay stepped out of the medicine woman’s truck and brushed the road dust from her khakis. She was tired, having spent the last few days bumping along back roads to remote locations. She had watched, with great interest, parts of ancient rituals and healing ceremonies and spoken with tribal elders and the next generation of leaders. She had gathered almost all the information and done the interviews she needed to write her story, but when the singer had invited her to watch the harvesting of the raw materials for a sand painting, she could hardly turn that down.

  After all, it could make a great sidebar to her piece, and it would only delay her return to Albany by one more day.

  Lynn Ames

  Jay felt a pang of guilt and longing. Over the past several days she’d had plenty of time to think and reflect. She missed Kate so much it was like a physical ache deep in her bones. Her anger over their Christmas discussion had long since dissipated. They would work out the Christmas thing together, as a couple, as it should have been all along. They both bore responsibility for the misunderstanding and would have to work harder at communicating. Jay was committed to making that happen.

  Being out of synch with Kate left her feeling out of sorts and incomplete.

  Spending time in the presence of the Navajo, a spiritually centered people, had taught her a thing or two about the importance of staying in harmony with her soul. There was no question in her mind that Kate was the very center of her soul, the other half of her heart.

  She couldn’t wait to apologize and to share with her lover the valuable lessons she had learned on this trip. She considered picking up the phone, now that she was back where there was phone service. She wanted desperately to talk to Kate but didn’t want to wake her. It was late in New Mexico, and two hours later still in Albany. The next day, when they were both awake and fresh, would be better. On a Sunday morning Kate would most likely be lazing around, reading the newspaper and doing the New York Times crossword puzzle. The vision made Jay smile.

  The first thing Kate noticed was the increased number of officers in the wall towers that overlooked each area of the massive facility. The towers were the only places in the prison where correction officers regularly carried guns. She could clearly see the weapons glinting in the moonlight as the officers kept vigil.

  The newly arrived group dispersed upon entering the front gate. The members of the CERT team went into the administration building to be briefed by the CERT teams already on-site. The commissioner and the members of his executive team headed for the sergeant’s office on B

  block near Times Square, where Redfield had said he wanted to set up a temporary command center. The prison superintendent was waiting for them.

  “Commissioner, glad you’re here.”

  “Edgar.” Redfield nodded at the paunchy, ruddy-faced man. His hair, what little of it there was, stuck straight up in all directions. He hardly resembled the picture of a prison warden.

  “Mr. Garston, Ms. Kyle.” The superintendent acknowledged the deputy commissioner for operations, who was his direct boss, and Kate.

  “What’s the situation, Edgar?”

  “Here’s where we are right now.” He motioned them to chairs around a small makeshift conference table on which he had spread out a The Cost of Commitment

  schematic of the prison. “There are still 457 inmates in the yards; the numbers on the color-coded tags indicate how many inmates are in each yard. They have burned pretty much everything there is to burn at this point and destroyed all of the officers’ stations. They’re still trying to climb the outside of the blocks, breaking windows and attempting to pass weight bars in through the windows. So far, they haven’t succeeded, but they’re getting closer.”

  “What’s happening in Times Square?”

  “Nothing at the moment. Earlier they were trying to gain access by busting the window frames, but they seem to have given up on that for now. We still have a sergeant and two officers on the roof of Times Square, along with two CERT team members from the Collins Correctional Facility.”

  “Good.” Redfield nodded. “Have all of the towers been reinforced?”

  “Yes, sir. CERT team members from each of the four teams have been assigned to specific towers. They are already in place.”

  “All right. How are we doing on the blocks? Everyone back in their cells?”

  “The keep-lock inmates, who of course haven’t been out of their cells, are getting rambunctious, breaking lights and such. They can hear what’s going on, and the other inmates who are coming back onto the tiers from outside are filling them in. There are some fires in isolated pockets on some of the galleries, but we’ve been able to contain those so far.”

  “Have you met with the Inmate Liaison Committee yet?”

  “Yes, sir. Three inmate representatives from each of the yards met with me an hour ago.”

  “What do they say?”

  “They’re convinced that we killed an inmate last night. One of the keep-lock inmates died of natural causes—had a seizure episode and help arrived too late. But they don’t see it that way. They want us to take responsibility for the murder, as they call it, and, of course, they want better living conditions. You know, the usual stuff. More pay for their jobs with reduced hours, better health care, more edible food...”

  “What did you tell them?”

  “I offered to show them the preliminary autopsy report as soon as it becomes available and told them if they want anything else, they need to get their people under control and back in their cells. If th
ey could do that, we could talk about the other items on their list.”

  “What was their response?”

  “Go to hell, or something a bit more colorful.”

  “I bet. Kate?”

  “Yes, sir?” Kate stepped forward.

  Lynn Ames

  “Time for the first update. I want you to go out there and tell the media as much of the truth as you need to without delving into causes or demands, understand?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Keep them from speculating wildly and making this worse than it already is, all right?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Get moving.”

  Kate pivoted on her heel and headed for Times Square and a date with a pack of crazed reporters. Maybe facing the inmates wouldn’t be so bad after all, she mused silently.

  At 5:12 a.m. she strode into the rotundalike area that was Times Square, with its putty-colored cement block walls, four steel doors—one leading to each of the cell blocks A through D—and highly polished floor. The surface was littered with broken glass, and through the barred windows, she could see a number of inmates in the yards milling around burning fires, which shot angry fingers of orange and yellow into the sky.

  She could hear the pounding of weights against the iron bars that protected the windows and their frames.

  She tried to shut out the noise and kept walking, head held high, stride purposeful, nodding to the officer posted inside Times Square who unlocked the door to the A block corridor for her. She made her way down the long corridor to the administration building and knocked on the door. Another officer on the other side of the door viewed her credentials and let her in. He escorted her through the administration building and outside. Along the way, she passed the memorial to the eleven correction officers slain in the 1971 riot and continued across the street to the waiting throng of journalists. The entire trip took less than five minutes, but to Kate it seemed like hours.

  “Kate, how bad is it?”

  “Kate, is it true that there are hostages?”

  “Kate, has anyone been killed yet?”