by Anthology
Captain Tate approached, holding out a packet of sugar-free gum, offering Finn a piece. Finn declined.
Tate’s graying blond hair lifted in the breeze. He was trim for a man in his forties, his athletic build a testament to his workout addiction. If it weren’t for his bulbous nose and pockmarked face, he would’ve been an attractive man. He stuffed a piece of gum in his mouth and started chewing. “They want ten million and a helicopter by midnight.”
Finn let out a low whistle. That was a tall order. “There’s no way we can get that kind of money in three hours. Are they willing to release any of the hostages?” The most important goal in these situations was getting the people out alive.
“They said they’ll think about releasing the women and elderly but my gut says no. Do you have any insights?” He worked the gum, chomping harder. He was covering as the interim police chief. The last chief stood accused of public corruption after he had covered up attempts by a local businessman to kill Finn’s friends, David Quinn and Marie Wilson. Finn had played a role in the investigation, so had Detective Ramirez.
Finn shook his head. “No. How many captives have your spotters counted?”
“The building is a hundred years old. Back then, windows were expensive.” He pointed to the bank with its ornate stone columns.
Somehow it reminded Finn of the Alder Planetarium in Chicago. It didn’t have the dome roof and it wasn’t circular, but the granite façade coupled with the lack of windows did speak to a bygone era. There was a thin glass pane above the front door. He imagined the interior to be dark and oppressive with very little natural light. “So your snipers can’t see in?”
“No, and we need to know what’s going on.” If Tate was frustrated with the situation, it didn’t show. He was a professional who was focused on doing his job.
“I’m willing to call in FBI resources. What do you need?” Finn knew his superiors in Salt Lake City would be more than happy to help, considering this was a hostage situation with innocent lives at stake.
“We need technical help. I want to see and hear the bad guys. I need to know every move they make.”
“I can understand that.” If he were in the same situation, he would need accurate information so he could make informed decisions.
Tate massaged the back of his neck, working out the kinks. “I’m trained to respond to this in four different ways.” He held up one finger. “I could opt for a confrontational response.”
“You’ve done that,” Finn stated, looking at the Granite City-Elkhead County police officers amassed in front of the bank, each of them carrying considerable firepower, ready for an assault.
Tate held up a second finger, seemingly needing to discuss the scene and the choices at his disposal. “I usually prefer to use selective sniper fire.”
Finn didn’t mind. Sometimes it helped to talk through the variables. “I agree. A sniper is usually the best choice. That way we can take out the bad guys with no unnecessary casualties.” He glanced at the bank. It was more like a bunker than a place of business. “But that’s not an option in this case, is it?"
Captain Tate gave a curt nod. “I don’t want to use chemical agents either. We have no idea how many hostages they have, and we also don’t know the condition of their health. They said twenty, but who knows if they’re telling the truth.”
“That only leaves negotiation.” In Finn’s opinion, this was the most frustrating choice.
The captain spat out his gum. “I hate negotiating.”
“I thought you were a trained negotiator.” Finn ignored the chewed-up glob lying on the sidewalk.
“I am, but there are a lot of things that can go wrong. You never know what kind of psycho you’re dealing with. One misspoken word or nonverbal cue can derail the whole thing and make him kill everyone inside.”
Finn grabbed his phone from the pocket of his cargo pants. “Let me make a call and see what I can get to help.”
Special Agent Kennedy Morris picked up on the first ring. “Hi, boss.”
Finn didn’t bother with small talk. “I need you to call Salt Lake City. See what you can get in terms of infrared and listening equipment. This place is built like a bomb shelter. We can’t see or hear anything.”
“How many hostages?” Kennedy was incisive and intelligent. She might have been born with the proverbial silver spoon in her mouth, but as an ex-marine, she was more than capable of getting her hands dirty if required.
“They say twenty, including Ramirez.”
Her voice rose when she said, “Detective Ramirez?”
“Yes.” The perpetrators knew Ramirez was a cop. That meant one of two things. They were either beating the crap out of him in an attempt at revenge or they would leave him alone. It all depended on whether they planned to live and serve a sentence, or if they felt they had nothing to lose.
“I’ll make the calls now,” Kennedy said, understanding the implications without explanation. “We’re a long way from headquarters. It might take a while to get the equipment up here.”
“See what you can do. They’ve given us until midnight.” It was nearly nine o’clock now, which meant they had three hours.
Finn disconnected and addressed Tate. “You need to play for time.”
A young officer, who didn’t look old enough to shave, addressed them, “Sirs.” He almost bowed. “You should listen to this.”
Tate clenched his jaw, biting off a curse. “I don’t have time—”
“No, sir, this is important.” The patrolman wasn’t taking no for an answer.
Finn had to hand it to him. He had stones. There weren’t many cops who would talk to their superior with that tone.
“One of the captives is on the radio.” The kid reached into a nearby squad car and turned a dial, increasing the volume.
“And you say you’re a hostage?” The smooth voice of the announcer came through loud and clear.
“Y-y-yes.” A woman’s weepy voice filled the air.
“What’s your name?”
“Elena.”
“Hi Elena, tell us about yourself.”
“I’m a mom. I-I…” She sobbed, her cries heartbreaking in their intensity. Then she sniffled, regaining her composure. “I want to tell my son, Jacob, I love him.”
“How old is Jacob?” The radio host had softened his tone.
“Two.” Another sob.
“I’ll make sure he gets the message. You’re in my thoughts and prayers as are the other hostages.”
“I have to give the police a message.” Her voice cracked on the last word.
“Will the men who are holding you talk to me?”
There was silence for a moment followed by a muffled sound in the background. “N-no.”
“Okay, what’s the message,” the host continued.
“The police have until midnight to get the money and the helicopter. After that, they’re going to start shooting,” she wailed.
The line went dead.
Finn turned to Tate. “Shit.”
Tate thumped the roof of the car. “Those bastards are planning to kill everyone. I’d bet my next pay check.”
“Why do you think that?” Finn was horrified by the possibility that the captain could be right.
“In a hostage negotiation, you take small steps. You try to establish trust. You give them something they want in return for a concession. The best exchanges result in the release of captives. These guys have demanded money and a helicopter, but that’s all it is—demands. They’re not communicating. I could send in food, offer to go in there myself—there’s a whole book’s worth of different options. But these guys are laying on the pressure without actually negotiating.”
“They might give you instructions closer to the time.” Finn didn’t like how this was playing out.
Tate cracked his knuckles as he stared at the besieged bank. “Maybe, but they’ve made my job ten times harder because now I have to deal with a media shitshow. I’m surprised the mayor ha
sn’t called.”
The captain’s cell phone vibrated in his pocket. He took it out and looked at the screen. “There’s the mayor, right on cue. Perhaps that’s their plan, to put me under so much pressure I’ll fold and let them fly out of here in a helicopter with the hostages and money.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
Mateo found the booming and crashing noises that came from the vault area of the bank somewhat comforting. It meant the robbers hadn’t finished. Two of them were working in the back while the third, Baby, acted as sentry. He paced in a circle around the small entrance, ignoring the hostages. Occasionally, he would glance at his phone, making Mateo wonder if they had access to street-cams or had placed some kind of surveillance camera outside.
The phone on the reception desk kept ringing, but the gang ignored it. Mateo knew his superiors in law enforcement would try to negotiate their release, but that didn’t seem to be Old Woman’s goal. Mateo couldn’t see a clock from his position in front of the teller’s window, but estimated it had been at least two hours since he’d talked to Captain Tate, which would make it about ten o’clock.
He stared at the ground in an attempt to block out all distractions and concentrate. He had to work out what was going on before the robbery was complete. Old Woman had given Tate until midnight, which meant he had two hours to come up with a plan. That was only true if Old Woman kept his word about the deadline, but Mateo had his doubts about the sincerity of Old Woman’s promises. Once the dirt bags were done, they would no longer need their prisoners. That would leave them with two choices. They could release the captives or kill them. He had no idea how they would respond.
The receptionist had been forced to make the call to the radio station, which was interesting. It put a very sympathetic face on the situation and would place a burden on the police to resolve the problem quickly. He could see why they’d used the young woman, Elena. Even now when everything was relatively calm, he could hear her sobbing over the sound of the robbers plundering the bank. Her long dark hair hung over her face, and her eyes were puffy and inflamed.
Old Woman wanted someone who would tug at the public’s heartstrings, and who better than a frightened mother? Everyone would want Elena to live, as they should. But there was something calculated about it. Mateo felt like he was watching a drama unfold rather than seeing an instinctive response. He got the impression they had prepared for every possibility, which meant they had probably observed the staff, done thorough background checks, and rehearsed in order to execute the perfect crime.
“What do you think they have planned?” Sophia asked, as if reading his mind.
“I don’t know, but the hardest part of any robbery is getting away with the money. Think of the weight and volume. They have to carry whatever is in the safety deposit boxes, plus the cash from the safe. I assume there’s enough of a haul for it to be heavy and cumbersome. He nodded at the bank manager, trying to attract his attention. But the pale, portly man turned his head and looked the other way.
“Damn.” All he wanted was information. He wasn’t going to ask an out-of-shape civilian to take on an armed gunman.
“He’s not going to help you,” Sophia said, “And you’d understand why if you could see your face.”
He flexed his jaw, feeling the swelling around his right eye, cheek, and lip. That bad, huh?”
She scrunched her face and then said, “You’ve looked better.”
He almost laughed. “That’s the most diplomatic thing you’ve ever said to me.”
“Are you saying I’m blunt?”
“Yes, but not mean. You just say what’s on your mind.”
She sighed. “I save all my diplomacy for judges. I don’t have any left for the people in my life.”
“Do you have many people in your life?” He should probably concentrate on their captors, but somehow finding out about her world seemed just as important. He hadn’t thought to ask her if she had anyone special. She was too straightforward to be duplicitous. He was pretty sure if she had a partner, last night would never have happened.
She was right; they were all chemistry and no substance. They didn’t know each other because he had wasted years being a blind fool.
“A few. Jane, my receptionist, is my closest friend. You must’ve seen her yesterday.” She blushed, probably remembering their encounter.
“Yes, she told me to go right in and then grabbed her purse. Did you tell her about us?”
“Of course, I told her what a rat-bastard jerk you are. What about you? Do you have any family?” She’d changed the subject. He would’ve liked to question his role as the rat-bastard jerk, but he deserved the title so there was no point.
“My parents are retired and live in Butte. My brother’s married. He’s a carpenter who works building film sets in LA. I haven’t seen him in ages.” He missed his brother. It had been way too long since they’d spoken. Mateo knew the lack of contact with his family was his fault. He gave everything he had to the job and didn’t make time for family and friends. That was why Andrea-the-bitch had cheated on him and then divorced him. Although, in his defense, working had been better than going home and listening to her complain about the size of his salary. “If I get out of here, I’m going to take a trip to California and see him.”
“You mean when not if.”
It had been a poor choice of words and not a reflection of his mindset, but he liked how she wouldn’t let him get away with anything.
She turned her gaze toward the vault area. The constant hammering continued to reverberate through the bank. “Whatever they’re doing back there is labor-intensive.” She studied him for a moment. “You said earlier the hardest part of a bank robbery is getting away. Do you think they have a plan to escape?”
“Definitely. I would love to know how. It would be standard operating procedure for the police to have the bank surrounded. They would also have the SWAT team on standby. Maybe our masked men are counting on that helicopter, but I don’t think so. That means they’re either going to use the hostages as a human shield or they’ve tunneled under the bank. My money would be on the hostages.”
“Why not the tunnel?”
“Because you would need specialized equipment, and building a tunnel is a lot more complicated than you’d think. They would have to blast through rock, and the ground might not be stable. It’s just not a viable option.”
Her brow crinkled. “Not necessarily.”
“What do you mean?”
“About a hundred years ago, the town burned down. The residents decided it was too risky to rebuild wood houses in a place where there were no firefighters, so they built their residences and businesses underground.”
“Are you trying to tell me there’s a business network under Granite City that no one knows about? That’s ridiculous.”
“There was one, but it’s not there anymore. The tunnels fell into disrepair. Eventually, they were closed up and the entrances were sealed. I only know about them because I did a local history course when I was at university. The town of Harve has similar tunnels, and there are three miles of underground streams running under Billings. And some say Missoula—”
“I get it. These guys could’ve accessed the tunnels and then what? Made a hole from the tunnel into the bank? That’s still a lot of work.” He hoped she was right, even though the idea seemed far-fetched. He would love for them to disappear without harming anyone.
Sophia rocked back and forth as she stared at the ground, thinking. It was a small movement, probably a self-soothing mechanism. “Do you think they’ll get their ten million ransom?”
“Not a chance.” He didn’t hesitate. There wasn’t enough time for the police to get hold of that much money. The unreasonable demand made him uneasy. It was as though an alarm was blaring at the back of his mind, warning him. But he didn’t know how he should react or what he could do to protect the hostages.
“And why did they say there were twenty of us?” Sophia turned to stare a
t the people sitting on the floor. After hours of terror, sitting bound on the hardwood floor, with no bathroom breaks, every one of them looked worn-out, pale, and traumatized.
“I have no idea. With enough time, the department will get their hands on some infrared equipment. They’re going to know exactly how many people are in here and what they’re doing.” The security cameras were high up on the ceiling. He couldn’t tell if they were turned on or not. “I noticed our criminals haven’t covered the surveillance equipment.”
She stopped rocking and looked up. “What does that mean?”
“Nothing really. They probably used a Wi-Fi connection. You block the link, and you’re all set. Everything’s blank.”
She shook her head. “I bet they have an old-fashioned feed to a recording device and they’re still on, but the police can’t access them.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Because they wouldn’t be wearing masks if they weren’t worried about being seen.” She rolled her neck from side to side, trying to relieve some of the tension. He understood how she felt.
Stabbing pain shot through the muscles of his shoulders, neck, back, and arms. And no matter how much he wiggled his fingers, they still tingled from lack of circulation. “Good point. I hope it means they plan to release us, and they don’t want anyone to be able to identify them.”
She rocked back and forth again. “Do you think they’ll use the tunnels?”
“I don’t know. I didn’t even know they existed until you mentioned them. For the record, I hope you’re right. I hope they escape through the tunnels and leave the rest of us behind.” A tension headache began to form behind his eyes. He inhaled deeply and then exhaled, forcing himself to relax.
