The Cost of Commitment - KJ2

by Lynn Ames

Kate had no concept of time or how much of it had passed since she’d been taken hostage. She stared at the shattered watch that hung loosely on her broken wrist. It didn’t matter in the end, she supposed. Whatever day it was, it was close to the holiday. If she were murdered during this siege, every Christmas for the rest of Jay’s life would be as painful as Kate’s had been after her parents had died.

  It was an ache that neither died nor diminished over time. It was a scar that could never heal, because Kate could never change what had happened—could never reverse the clock and make it all turn out differently—could never bring her parents back. Just as Jay would never be able to change the tenor of their heated conversation and would likely blame and punish herself for it for the rest of her time on Earth.

  Lynn Ames

  Despairing, Kate ran her good hand through her hair. It came away covered in sticky, drying blood. She looked at it for a long moment, turning it over in the dull light from the barred window across the gallery. She would not die here. She could not let Jay carry such a burden with her. She would live to tell Jay how much she loved her and that nothing else mattered. She would find a way out, with or without help.

  The Cost of Commitment

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  The Tech Services boys snaked the minuscule cable through the heat ducts, around corners, and through grates. The process was slow, painstaking, and repetitive. Finally, twenty-three minutes and twelve cells after they had begun, they spotted their first target. Using the shutter, they snapped off several photographs, moving the cable at various angles to be sure they had as much of the environment as they could get without being detected.

  When they were satisfied that they had gotten everything they could, they carefully removed the cable.

  “Three down, one to go.”

  “Convenient of them to leave all three officers in one cell, don’t you think?”

  “Yeah, except that, by our calculation, this one is twenty cells away from the go-round.”

  “Fantastic.”

  “You didn’t think they were going to make it easy for us, did you?”

  “It would’ve been nice, just this once.”

  “Let’s go find the other target.”

  Another seventeen minutes later they were done and on their way back to the command center.

  “What we have here are two insertion points: one in cell one and another in cell eleven.” Max Kingston pointed to the enlarged images in the center of the conference table. “The three officers are, fortunately for us, grouped together. The bad news is that they are at the end of the tier farthest from the go-round.”

  “Gotta give the inmates credit for some brains after all, I guess.”

  Lynn Ames

  “Ms. Kyle, according to our calculations, is located in cell eleven, right in the middle of the tier. She appears to be by herself.”

  “Can we get any idea of injuries or conditions on any of the four?”

  “Unfortunately, the quality of the pictures is somewhat grainy and we were unable to ascertain anything other than location.”

  “Commissioner,” Randy Garston interjected, “we can mount an exercise using the CS gas—”

  “No,” Redfield interrupted. “It would be too risky.”

  “But, sir—”

  “No. I want to see what we can do through diplomacy before we rush in there.” Noting the stunned faces around the room, he quickly added,

  “The last thing we want is another 1971 on our hands. I want all the CERT teams standing by on alert. I’ll let you know if the situation warrants action once I’ve exhausted my other possibilities.”

  Redfield shifted uncomfortably as Randy Garston continued to stare at him in shock.

  “Bill—”

  “Randy,” Redfield snapped. “This is my show, and I’m going to run it my way. Live with it.”

  “Yes, sir,” Garston ground out through gritted teeth as he pivoted and strode from the room, nearly running over Breathwaite on his way out the door.

  “Your boy Randy’s not happy with your decisions.”

  Redfield felt a little sick to his stomach. “Neither am I, David.

  Where’s your contact man?”

  “He’s ready.”

  “How are we supposed to send him in with the message?”

  “I have an officer who will deliver him.”

  “We’re going to put another officer in jeopardy?”

  “No, he’s been acting as a go-between for weeks.”

  “Very clever.”

  “Thank you, Willy,” Breathwaite said smugly. “Not only that, but he’ll escort the journalists as well. That way we can be sure there won’t be any stupid heroics.”

  “Just take care of it. I won’t be able to hold the CERT teams off forever.” He turned his back, effectively dismissing Breathwaite.

  Breathwaite approached the large gathering of reporters, many of whom had been milling around or talking amiably.

  “The inmates have agreed to release the three officers they hold hostage in exchange for a televised opportunity to express their demands.

  The Cost of Commitment

  They have also consented to letting us film the remaining hostage so that we may determine that she is alive.”

  There was a chorus of voices. “I’ll go in.”

  “Send us.”

  “No, we should be the ones.”

  “Quiet. We’ll do this my way. Ashton, you’re the one.”

  “I’m not a television journalist.”

  “That’s obvious,” he hissed. “You’re going, and you’re taking the CNN videographer with you.”

  There was an uproar of outrage from the journalists who would be left standing on the outside. This was the assignment of a lifetime—the kind that careers were made of.

  “Come with me.”

  “Now?”

  “Yes, now, Ashton. Time is wasting and lives are at stake.”

  Breathwaite resisted the urge to smile. It made him giddy to see the fear in the reporter’s eyes. While it might be the opportunity that could make a future, it could just as easily end a life. He wished he could accomplish that, too. It would have been nice to take out a second dyke bitch in the process. Alas, he would have to satisfy himself with Kyle’s death and using Ashton and the cameraman as the vehicle to cause further pain to Kyle’s girlfriend.

  By all rights he should use a dummy camera; giving the inmates a real live audience would make his life hell later on. But the idea of Parker having to watch her girlfriend’s battered face and body on television was too enticing to pass up. He’d deal with the damn consequences later.

  Jay’s limousine pulled up to the tiny motel just as the governor and Peter were leaving. Spotting them from a distance, she jumped out even before the vehicle had come to a complete stop.

  “Peter,” she yelled.

  He took three strides forward, catching her as she fell into his outstretched arms.

  “Shh, it’s okay, Jay. It’s all going to be okay.” She looked terrible.

  Her eyes were hollow and swollen from crying, her clothes wrinkled and disheveled.

  “Where is she? Is she free yet? Is she hurt?”

  “Whoa,” he held up a hand to slow her down. “Honey, she’s still a hostage, and we don’t know her condition.”

  “You’ve got to do something. Get her out.”

  “I’m going to do everything in my power, sweetheart, you know that.”

  Lynn Ames

  “Me too,” the governor added.

  Jay straightened up as she remembered that she and Peter weren’t alone. “I’m so sorry, sir. Governor Hyland.” She grasped his hand as if in desperation. “I can’t tell you how much it means to me that you went to all the trouble you did to help me get here. I don’t know how I’ll ever repay you.”

  “No need, Jay. You know how I feel about Kate. That extends to you as well. I give you my word that we will take whatever steps are necessary to bring her home t
o you.”

  “Thank you, sir. I know that you will.”

  “To that end, I’ve hired your friend Peter here to head the rescue operation. He and I were just on our way to the jail to get started.”

  “I’m coming with you.”

  “No, Jay,” Peter said gently. “You need to stay here.”

  “No way. I have to be as close to Kate as I can get.”

  “Jay, Peter is right,” the governor interceded. “If you go to the jail you’ll be mobbed by the media outside and it will be a horror show for you. I promise you that we will keep you up to date as soon as we have anything.”

  Brian Sampson, who had emerged from the motel room at the sound of the commotion, stepped forward. “Hi, Jamison. We’ve met before. I’m Brian Sampson.”

  “Yes, I know. Hello.” She looked at him quizzically.

  “The governor has asked me to be here in case I can be of any service.”

  “I’m glad.”

  “Why don’t you come in here with me and make yourself at home?

  Peter’s taken the liberty of getting you a room. I’ll get you some water and something to eat and we can hold vigil together, okay?”

  Jay looked at Peter beseechingly.

  “That would be best, honey.” He gave her a last hug, saying in her ear, “You know nothing will stand between me and Kate’s freedom. I give you my word, Jay, that I will bring her back to you.”

  “Please, I need her so much. Don’t let anything more happen to her.”

  “I’m going to do my best. See you in a bit.”

  She stood watching as the governor’s car disappeared in a cloud of dust, all of her hopes and dreams for a future riding along with it.

  The door to Kate’s cell slid open and a couple of inmates appeared in the doorway.

  “Get up.”

  She did not respond.

  The Cost of Commitment

  The two inmates stepped forward and grabbed her under the arms, yanking her unceremoniously to her feet.

  “You can walk, or we can carry you.”

  “Where are we going?” She smelled their fear as it mingled with her own.

  “Seems you’re going on a field trip.”

  “Where?”

  “To see some of your media scum friends.”

  Kate breathed a sigh of relief. “I’ll walk.” Perhaps wherever they were headed would afford her an opportunity to escape.

  She exited the cell flanked by the two inmates, both of them carrying batons. Her hands were handcuffed roughly in front of her, the movement and the scrape of metal against her misshapen wrist sending bolts of fire through her arm and down her torso. As they started down the tier they were joined by Kumar.

  “When we arrive at the door to Times Square, everyone must put their masks on.” He handed each of the inmates a black ski mask.

  “Antoine, you and Zack will accompany me inside. The rest of you will wait just on the D block side of the door. If anything goes wrong, you will take the guards back to their cell. I will do all the talking.”

  For the first time, Kate became aware that there were three other hostages. She turned her head slightly, the motion causing a renewed wave of nausea. Walking ten steps behind her were three correction officers, each accompanied by a gargantuan inmate. Behind them were two more inmates, each carrying a shotgun. All three of the hostages wore flexicuffs.

  “What’s going on?” Kate asked.

  “We have a date with a television camera.”

  Kate was beyond shocked. It was against every rule and regulation—

  not to mention common sense—to give these men a forum to address the public. Rewarding them for taking hostages and wreaking havoc sent the message to every other miscreant that all he needed to do in order to get attention was to act out. How did this serve Breathwaite’s purpose? She was completely baffled.

  She measured her position and their location. There really wasn’t anywhere for her to go. She focused on Kumar again.

  “Am I supposed to say anything?”

  “I will allow you to tell the reporter that you are fine and have been treated humanely.”

  “Have I? I hadn’t noticed that.”

  He regarded her intently. “No one has laid a finger on you since you were taken.”

  Lynn Ames

  “No, that is true. But I haven’t received medical attention, food, or water, either.”

  “Why would you need those things?”

  “Oh, that’s right. I’m supposed to be dead, aren’t I?”

  “Your fate is not your concern.”

  “That’s rich.”

  “What is meant to be, will be.”

  “How very fatalistic of you.”

  Kumar ignored his captive and replayed his conversation with the ex-con named Basher.

  “You gotta turn over the three pigs or the deal’s off.”

  “How do you expect us to do that and save face?”

  “Make it look like a swap. Give up the pigs for da right to say somethin’ on national TV.”

  “We don’t have anything to say. We made a deal.”

  “Yup. An’ if you want da man ta follow through on da deal, you gotsa do dis his way.”

  Kumar didn’t like it. “What does he want?”

  “You hafta make it look legit. Make some demands, carry on a bit, then give over the pigs.”

  “Just like that?”

  “One more thing. You gotsa show the bitch so’s they know she’s alive. She is still alive so far, right? You boys havin’ fun?” Basher elbowed Kumar in the side knowingly.

  “Why would we want to show her?”

  “You wouldn’t. But if this were real, they’d want somethin’ like that as part of the deal.”

  Kumar shook his head. “I do not understand. They are already getting the three guards.”

  “S’not enough. They wanna see the broad, too, before you take her back home.”

  “And he will see to it that we all go free and clear, and that each of us gets out after our first parole hearing?”

  “Yup.”

  “So be it.”

  They arrived at the door leading from D block to Times Square, and stopped. Kumar called back behind him, “Keep the guards back about five feet. When I give you the sign, you will show them in the window of the door, then take them back to the original position. When I am satisfied and we have had our say, we will turn those three over to their colleagues.”

  The Cost of Commitment

  “We should keep ’em.”

  “No, we do not change the terms of the agreement at this stage. It would jeopardize our position.”

  Ah, thought Kate, that answers another question. The other three hostages weren’t part of the deal. Breathwaite needed to find a way to take them out of the equation. He must have Redfield by the balls if he’s agreeing to that.

  “We will wait until I can see that they have kept their end of the bargain.” Several moments later he announced, “Ski masks on, everyone.

  It is showtime.”

  Wendy Ashton and Keith Riley, the videographer for CNN, followed the correction officer through the front gate, into the administration building, down the long A block corridor, and into Times Square. There was a faint metallic smell in the air, and something made them squint.

  “Sorry, folks, we’ve fumigated as best we could, but there are trace amounts of CS gas still hanging around. You get used to it after a while.”

  “What’s CS gas?”

  “Tear gas.”

  “Oh.” Wendy looked around. Despite obvious efforts to clean up, broken window glass littered the floor in several places, and jagged edges were visible in those panes that were still intact.

  Keith began taping, panning the camera around to capture the entire scene. The sound of small bands of inmates shouting in the yards beyond the Times Square walls was barely audible.

  As if in answer to the unasked question, their escort offered, “Most of the inmates
have gone back inside voluntarily. The yards are under control.” Then he realized that he was talking to a reporter and immediately shut his mouth.

  “Is the riot over, then?”

  “I’m sorry, I’m really not at liberty to say anything at all, and I hope you won’t use what I’ve told you.” He thought about what Breathwaite would do to him if he found out he’d offered any information to a reporter.

  “I promise not to use your name, okay?”

  “I’d really feel more comfortable, ma’am, if you wouldn’t use the information at all.”

  Before Wendy could ask him anything further, the door to the D

  block corridor was unlocked from the outside. A slight, ski-masked inmate stepped into the space. Directly behind him were two more masked inmates the size of small houses, Kate slumped between them.

  Keith’s camera was trained on all of them.

  Lynn Ames

  Wendy gasped. Kate looked worse than any beating victim she had ever seen. Her face was swollen and covered in dried blood, her hair was unkempt and blood-soaked as well. Her left wrist seemed at an odd angle, and her eyes were dull. The suit she wore was ripped in places and smudged with dirt and grime.

  When Kate spied her, she tried to muster a smile. It appeared more like a grimace. Wendy tried to give her what she hoped was a look of encouragement.

  “We have asked you here,” a muffled voice belonging to the shortest man announced, “to talk about the appalling conditions in this hellhole and to let you know that we are not monsters.”

  “If that’s true,” Wendy found her voice, “then why have you beaten this woman within an inch of her life?”

  “She resisted. It was not our wish to cause her harm.”

  “Then why not let her go?”

  “We cannot.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “We do not expect you to. Day in and day out we are treated like animals in this place—barely provided the food and water necessary to live and kept in conditions not fit for most beasts. Then you expect to release most of us back into society and have us behave like fine, upstanding citizens—with little job training, no respect, and less assistance.”

  “You think rioting, acting violently, and taking hostages will get you what? More respect?”

  “We think that nothing short of this type of behavior has gotten anyone’s attention, and that is unfortunate. We have been forced into this type of action. We have tried other avenues.”