The Cost of Commitment - KJ2

by Lynn Ames

  Garston raised the assistant commissioner on the walkie-talkie and explained what he wanted him to do. “And Monroe? Don’t take any questions or deviate from the script in any way, okay? Just say your piece and get out of there. Then report back.”

  Redfield tapped his fingers on the table. “I’d better call the governor and get another spokesman out here. It will have to be Breathwaite; he’s the only one familiar enough with everything to step right in.”

  Garston nodded grimly. “Should we wait to see what Kate’s status is first?”

  “No. Even if she’s fine, which I think we both know is a long shot at this point, it will take Breathwaite an hour or more to get here by plane.

  If she turns up in the meantime, we’ll just send him home.”

  “Okay. I’ll see where we are with the Times Square infiltration.”

  Garston left the room as his boss picked up the phone to dial the governor. He was glad he wasn’t the one having to make that call.

  The Cost of Commitment

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  eter sat in his home office studying laboratory reports on trace Psubstances found in a bomb that had exploded prematurely, killing two people. He had read the same paragraph at least three times.

  Shoving his chair back from his desk, he keyed the volume control on the television in the corner. It was 7:42 a.m.

  He had diligently watched each of Kate’s briefings live on CNN. So far, he gave her high marks for grace under fire. When 7:30 had come and gone without an update, he began to get restless. The reporter on the scene was filling air time, recapping what was already known and speculating on the reason for Kate’s tardiness.

  At 7:49, Peter watched in stunned disbelief as Assistant Commissioner Paul Monroe stepped up to the microphones. The man looked exceedingly uncomfortable in front of the media mob. He held up his hands for silence.

  “Katherine Kyle has been unavoidably detained. We hope to get you another update in the very near future. Please bear with us.”

  He walked away from the microphones as a cascade of shouted questions rained down on him.

  Peter thought he would be sick. Monroe’s appearance could mean only one thing: Kate was in some sort of trouble. Without a moment’s thought, he picked up the phone and called a private number at the airport.

  “I need a charter. No, not for this afternoon. I need it right now.”

  “Where are you going, sir?”

  “The town of Attica, New York, or as close as you can get me.”

  His next call was to Barbara. Without identifying himself he said,

  “Have you been watching the news?”

  “No, why?”

  Lynn Ames

  “It’s a long story, but suffice it to say there’s a situation going on at Attica, Kate is in the middle of it, and I have a horrible feeling that she’s in big trouble.”

  “What can I do?”

  “I need you to take Fred, for one thing.”

  “Done. What else?”

  “Kate hadn’t heard from Jay before she left. She asked me to pass along a message. Now I’ll ask you to do it if you hear from Jay.”

  “Let me guess, you’re going to be out of range yourself.”

  “Ah, you know me too well. My charter leaves in thirty-five minutes.”

  “Peter, what do you think is happening out there, really?”

  “My guess is Kate’s either been incapacitated in some way or she’s been taken hostage. I can’t fathom any other reason why she wouldn’t have done the update at 7:30 and why they would’ve put an inexperienced assistant commissioner in front of live television cameras.

  Still, Barbara, I don’t want to jump to conclusions until I get out there and see things for myself.”

  “Okay. If, and I sincerely hope you’re wrong, but if she’s been taken hostage, what are her chances of survival?”

  “It depends.”

  “On?”

  “On who has her, why, and for how long. If they just selected her at random because she happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time, that’s one thing. But if they were targeting her specifically, it means they’ve got a game plan. Whether she lives or dies depends on what their goal is and how fast the good guys can find and extricate her. The longer the situation drags on, the less likely it is that she’ll walk out of it alive.”

  He knew his words were less than comforting, but Barbara deserved to know the truth. As a doctor, she dealt with life-and-death situations every day. He understood that she didn’t want him to sugarcoat the facts.

  “Okay. Thanks for being straight with me. When they get her back, and I have to believe they will, she’ll need medical attention. Should I come with you?”

  He smiled briefly, appreciating her optimism. “I think it’s better for you to stay here. Jay is going to need someplace to call and someone to be there for her when she gets the news. I’ll try to keep you up to speed as best I can.”

  “All right, please do. Peter,” her voice faltered momentarily, “come home soon and bring Kate back with you.”

  “You know I’ll do everything in my power, Barbara. Everything.”

  “I know. I just feel so helpless.”

  The Cost of Commitment

  “Taking care of Jay is what Kate would want you to do. To her, nothing would be more important than that.”

  “You’re right. Good luck, Peter. I’ll be waiting by the phone.”

  No sooner had he hung up the receiver than the phone rang again.

  “Enright? Brian Sampson.”

  “Yes, Commissioner.” The title rolled off Peter’s tongue out of long habit. While it was true that the man had resigned in disgrace, that fact did not change who he was to his staff, or, in this case, former staff. Peter had always respected and admired him. Despite the circumstances of his ouster, that hadn’t changed.

  “Have you been watching?”

  “Of course. I have a charter leaving in less than half an hour.”

  “Good. I know you’re a friend of Kate’s and I figured you weren’t likely to sit idly by and wait to see what happens from afar.”

  “Not my style.”

  “I know. Governor Hyland called me after he heard from Redfield.”

  “What’s the situation?”

  When the ex-commissioner was done outlining the details, Peter whistled. “Sounds like a well-executed strike to me, not some random act.”

  “I thought the same thing. Do you mind if I tag along?”

  “Are you sure?”

  “I know I can’t have any official role, but the governor called me for a reason. He doesn’t know Bill that well, and he said he’d be more comfortable if I wasn’t that far away. He wanted to offer me his plane, but it’s apparently already out there, and his helicopter has been dispatched to ferry David Breathwaite to the scene to handle the press.”

  Peter’s eyes flashed angrily at the mention of Breathwaite’s name, and his gut started to gnaw at him. Aloud, he said, “Yes, the Albany team took the King Air out there at 0300. If you’re coming, we’d better get going. I’ll meet you at the Signature terminal in twenty minutes.”

  “I’ll be there.”

  From the air, Breathwaite looked down at the prison, the media across the street, the inmates in the yards, and the officers in their various posts.

  They resembled little more than dots on a canvas from this height.

  Everything was going exactly as planned. He expected that if the dyke bitch wasn’t already dead, she would be soon. He was very pleased.

  Garston had informed him while he was waiting for the helicopter that the officer in Times Square had been recovered and taken to the hospital. Also, they were operating on the assumption that Katherine Kyle was a hostage. They were working to confirm this by reviewing the Lynn Ames

  surveillance videotape from the Times Square cameras. The tape had been collected by the CERT team that penetrated the area once the tear gas had done its job. They would k
now more by the time he arrived on scene.

  At 8:56 a.m. Breathwaite stepped into the makeshift command center on B block. Commissioner Redfield, Deputy Commissioner Garston, the prison superintendent, a staff duty sergeant, and the five CERT team leaders were all hunched over a small TV, watching the videotape shot hours earlier. On it, Kate’s struggle with her captors was clearly visible.

  While the tape had no audio, none was really needed. When the eight inmates disappeared through the door to D block, dragging Kate along with them, Garston turned the tape off.

  Breathwaite cleared his throat to announce his presence. “I need to go out and say something to the newshounds, before they make up any more rubbish.”

  “Hello, David. Thanks for coming.” Redfield extended his hand, as if greeting someone he hadn’t seen a long time. “Have you been brought up to speed?”

  “I believe so. Do you want someone to brief me before I go out there?”

  “I’ll do it,” said Garston.

  “No, Randy. I want you to take these guys and the tape and concentrate on identifying the eight inmates and locating the hostage or hostages. I’ll fill David in myself.”

  After the rest of the room’s occupants had cleared out, Redfield said,

  “All right. Let’s get down to business. That looked like an orchestrated strike to me and, I’m sure, to everyone else in the room. I don’t suppose you know what happened there?”

  “I might.”

  “God damn it, Breathwaite, what the fuck are you playing at?”

  Redfield’s face was contorted with rage.

  “We needed to get her out. It wasn’t happening. I made it happen.”

  “You’ve lost your mind. You have lost your fucking mind! You arranged to have her kidnapped?”

  Breathwaite looked at his nails disinterestedly. “No, actually, it’s a little more permanent than that.”

  As his meaning sank in, Redfield stared openmouthed, an expression of horror on his face. “You realize that if she dies, you’re an accessory to murder.”

  “Tsk, tsk, Willy. First of all, that’s only if it could be proved that I had anything to do with it, which it can’t. Second of all, you’re in this just as deeply as I am.”

  “I most certainly am not.”

  The Cost of Commitment

  “Really? You think anyone will believe that when they put two and two together?”

  “You’ve gone too far. You’re out of control.”

  Breathwaite slammed his palms on the table. “I am in complete control, as it happens, and you are going to do exactly as I say.”

  “Why in the world would I do that?”

  “Because if you don’t go along with it, or if you try to double-cross me, I’ll take you down with me.”

  “You’re crazy.”

  “No, just ambitious like you. Now here’s what we’re going to do.”

  “Sorry, sirs, I forgot something.” Max Kingston, the head of the Albany CERT team, poked his head in the office. “I’ll just be a sec.” He reached under one of the chairs around the opposite side of the conference table and picked up a sheaf of papers. “Thank you, sirs.”

  When he had left, Breathwaite continued, “As I was saying, here’s what we’re going to do. When they pinpoint the dyke bitch’s exact location, you’re going to veto any plan they come up with to rescue her.”

  “On what grounds?”

  “On the grounds that it’s too risky and you don’t want to chance losing any more men or getting her killed.”

  “Is she already dead?”

  “If she’s not, she will be soon. I sent the message that the animals could have some playtime if they so chose.”

  “How did you get them to do your bidding?”

  “I showed them what a powerful man I am and assured them that I could see to it that they wouldn’t be punished for this.”

  “And you intend to make good on that exactly how?”

  “I have friends, Willy, in places you can’t conceive of. But who says I plan to make good on it?”

  “You hired inmates to murder her.”

  “Don’t you go getting holier-than-thou on me, Willy boy. You’re in this up to your neck. The plan was to get you installed as commissioner, just like you always wanted, then you were supposed to get rid of Kyle.

  You weren’t able to accomplish that on deadline, and that forced me to take action. If you had just done what you were supposed to do, this whole thing wouldn’t have happened.”

  “You orchestrated the entire riot?”

  “Merely a distraction for the main event. The boys will call it off when the goal has been accomplished.”

  “You’ve gone over the line, Breathwaite. Not only have you made us accessories to murder, you’ve put every staff member’s safety on the line. What makes you think your boys are going to have enough control over the situation to put an end to it?”

  Lynn Ames

  “Stop your whining. It will all work out according to plan. Oh, and if by chance we eventually have to kill those eight inmates, that would be fine, too.”

  “You’re sick.”

  “No, Willy, I’m efficient, and my plans work, unlike yours. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got a show to put on for the media.”

  “What are you going to tell them?”

  “Why, the truth, of course, Willy.” Breathwaite laughed on his way out the door.

  From his own command post in a motel room several miles down the road from the prison, Peter could hear the discussion between Breathwaite and Redfield with surprising clarity. His recording equipment picked up both voices with ease.

  When he had landed, he had placed a discreet call to a pager number.

  His call had been returned almost immediately. Max Kingston, head of the Albany CERT team, had not even questioned the order. He had simply carried it out. After all, he owed his position and his life to Peter Enright.

  Breathwaite shouted to be heard over the onslaught of questions.

  “Where is Katherine Kyle?”

  “Has something happened to her?”

  “Are there hostages?”

  “We’re hearing rumors that the violence has escalated. Is that true?”

  “Quiet, and I’ll give you the latest update. If you continue to yell questions, I’m out of here and you’ll get nothing.”

  Two of the more seasoned reporters grumbled, one of them saying under his breath, “I sure didn’t miss having to deal with you, asshole.”

  “I know what you mean,” whispered the other. “At least Kyle was aboveboard and fair. This guy never gave us jack and acted like he was doing us a favor.”

  “This is the situation at the moment.” Breathwaite rocked back and forth on his heels. It was good to be home; this was where he belonged.

  “Several inmates in D yard banded together, overpowering five correction officers on the roof of Times Square, which is the juncture for four of the five blocks. They then breached Times Square itself, knocking an officer unconscious and taking one hostage.”

  An excited buzz rippled through the crowd. “Is that Kate?”

  “One of our specialized teams went in and resecured Times Square.”

  “Is there only one hostage, and is it Kate?”

  The Cost of Commitment

  Breathwaite continued to ignore the questions. “A videotape of the Times Square incursion was recovered. It clearly shows Katherine Kyle being taken against her will by a group of inmates.” He took great glee in breaking one of the cardinal rules of engagement: a spokesperson never, ever gave out the name of a hostage before loved ones had been notified.

  He thought, I hope you’re watching this, Parker. And I hope you suffer.

  Aloud he intoned, “Her whereabouts at this time are unknown. It is unclear if there are any other hostages. We are continuing to check with every duty station to account for all personnel.”

  “Can we have a copy of the videotape?”

  “No.”
<
br />   “Why not?”

  “Because I said so. Are there any intelligent questions?”

  “Where do you think they’ve taken her?”

  “I believe I already stated that we don’t know that yet.”

  “Did it appear from the tape that she was injured?”

  “She was taken against her will.”

  “Did she know her captors?”

  “How should I know?”

  “Have you identified the inmates involved?”

  “We’re working on it.”

  “Have the inmates made any demands?”

  “No comment.”

  “Do you know if she’s alive?”

  “If we don’t know her whereabouts, how on earth would we know if she is alive? We are assuming that she is, and we are doing everything in our power to rescue her.”

  Jay was basking in the early morning rays of the desert sun, absorbed in watching the process of natural materials being turned into the vibrant colors that would be used to create a sand painting. Several men and women were working in small groups, harvesting gypsum, yellow ochre, charcoal, and red sandstone. Cornmeal, crushed flower petals, and pollen were also collected in a practice as ancient as the tribe itself to increase the variety of possible color combinations. She had never seen anything like it.

  She was just about to ask the singer a question about the significance of certain colors and their placement in the painting when she was overcome by a sharp, stabbing pain in her temple. It was so strong that it nearly knocked her to her knees. She swayed slightly, and the singer put out a hand to steady her.

  “Are you all right, my child? You don’t seem well.”

  Lynn Ames

  “No. I—I’m sure it was nothing. Just a bit of a headache.”

  The healer studied Jay for a moment. “No, I think it is more than that.

  This is the second time I’ve seen you suffering today. You know, there are pains that we own ourselves and there are pains that belong to those that are important to us. I have watched you struggle over the past few days with a hurt that comes both from within and from without. You have been troubled by disharmony with one you love. I don’t need to be a strong medicine woman to see that. I sense that the discomfort you are feeling right now is something stronger, though, and comes from one who shares your soul. Do you understand what I am saying?”