“Yes,” Jacobs said faintly, his head spinning.
“If I receive the money and escape from Yankee Green unharmed, then, when I am free and clear, I will interrupt the timer by remote control. No one will be hurt. If I am pursued, if I encounter any trouble at all, I will allow the timer to detonate the charges.
“I have called the police,” he continued. “They have thirty minutes to evacuate the rest of the mall and clear the parking lots of people. I am monitoring everything. Any attempt to take me, any approach by the police, and I will override the timer and detonate the charges manually. Remember, only I can stop the timer. That is all-important.
“The Green owes me, Jacobs. And I intend to collect. Haverill will bring me the money through the north doors when I say so. And, by the way, I took out some insurance. Susan Lyme is up here with me. You like her, don’t you?” Another giggle. “So do I. And I have the gun.” He chuckled perversely. “The money, Jacobs. Haverill puts it into a briefcase. Remember, I’ll be watching everything you people do. I can see everything from here.”
The radio went silent.
12
The loss of the escalators had trapped everyone on the main concourse. Jacobs ran through the hysterical crowd toward the elevators, reaching them quickly. He pushed the call button, but it was dead.
The injured cried out for help. Dust continued to settle. The rising heat indicated the air-conditioning had failed at the time of the explosion.
So much to do. So few qualified people to help him do it. He had placed most of his guards outside as a show of force. Others had been reassigned to deal with the protestors.
He sorted through his priorities, his training beginning to focus him. Return order. Establish communication with the crowd. He tried to think how many of his people were inside with him. A half dozen perhaps, though he had yet to see one of them. Four uniformed security guards continued to guard the Plexiglas case containing the lottery cash.
The cash had done this. The cash that Jacobs had opposed.
He spotted Civichek across the way. The man had been headed out of the pavilion when the explosions had occurred. An idea struck him immediately. It would mean eating some crow. Priorities, he thought, pushing his personal feelings aside. Return order. Establish communication.
He’d seen that charisma at work before. He pushed his way through the crowd and reached Civichek. “I need your help.”
“My help? Now you want my help? No way!”
Jacobs said, “You want to make people aware of the Flock, right? You want media attention, right? Here’s your chance. I need someone to go up on that podium and bring this crowd under control. We’ve been taken hostage, Civichek. We have very little time. We must get organized. We must keep them away from the exits. I’m short-handed. What do you say?”
Civichek crossed his arms defiantly. “So that’s how it is?”
“Yes.”
“You’ve got balls asking me to help you.”
Jacobs said nothing.
“Why should I?”
“Like I said: the press. The media.” Jacobs was thankful that none of the governors had shown. Knorpp’s attempt to use publicity to pressure them into attending had obviously backfired. “You’ll be a hero, Civichek. Pardon the expression, you have a captive audience.”
Civichek glared.
“I need you,” he said. “It’s that simple.” He felt as if he wasn’t getting anywhere. Civichek would be perfect for the microphone. He shifted his tack. “What’s the matter? You not sure you can do it? Not quite the same thing as talking to a bunch of bored housewives, is it?”
“Screw you!”
Jacobs knew he had him. “Try to encourage some teamwork among them, okay? You remember what teamwork is, don’t you? Get them working together. That’ll settle them down. First thing to do is call for any medically trained volunteers. Doctors and nurses. Keep the communication happening. Establish some order. You’ll be the focal point of everyone’s attention. For God’s sake keep your head.”
“Hostages?”
“He’s sealed the doors with our computer. He has complete control.” Jacobs tipped his hat back and found it in him to grin. “So, do we have an agreement?”
“Right.” Civichek pushed past him and shoved his way through the crowd.
***
Les Civichek jumped up on stage with an energetic bound—a gymnast ready for his routine, a comedian ready for the opening curtain. He blew into the microphone and shouted, “Okay, listen up.” He scanned the disheveled crowd as he reached into his pocket and withdrew his bright green neckerchief, tying it back around his neck. “Ladies and gentleman, may I have your attention, please? Ladies and gentlemen!”
The crowd ignored him.
“Hey! I’m talking to you!” he yelled, this time drawing the attention of a few. “Hey! Hold it down a minute!” he demanded, letting loose an ear-piercing whistle through the amplified system. Thousands of heads turned. “Settle down!” he demanded like an angry parent. Anxious people wedged at all three exits turned to listen. “I want you to all sit down,” he urged. “And I ain’t asking. I’m telling you. Sit down!” The people closest to the stage cowered and sat down. A wave moved through the pavilion as others followed.
Jacobs pulled his hat back down and hurried to find Haverill and Shleit.
They were running out of time.
13
Popolov approached Jacobs at a stiff and unfamiliar run. He caught up and said, “What’s wrong with the doors? The back exits don’t work either.”
Jacobs leaned into him. “We’ve been taken hostage, Mykos. He’s after the lottery money.”
Popolov’s shoulders sagged as the full weight of the news sank in. Then he rebounded. “We can use my store as a headquarters. I’ve got hot coffee going. We can block it off with tables and put my CLOSED sign out.” He added, “I’ve been in this kind of emergency before, Jacobs. I was buried alive in a cellar once with fifty people. We’d gone down there in an air raid. Believe me, you need an operational headquarters.” This was the same old Mykos Popolov, a man ready to do whatever had to be done, ready for personal sacrifice.
“Okay, Mykos, your place it is. It’ll be a few minutes.” He patted the man on the shoulder and thanked the old Greek. They headed off in separate directions.
If there was one lesson Jacobs had learned from Haverill, it was that fifty people working together as a team can outperform any group of fifty people working as individuals.
He had no intention of making this a one-man show. He would draw on any and all resources he had and make the most of every one.
Reaching the edge of the stage he received a preliminary report from the emergency medical technicians: miraculously, no deaths; fifty-two injured, sixteen in serious condition, two critical, one of whom was still trapped beneath a fallen escalator. The EMT said, “Some old guy is over there getting everyone organized. He says we can get the man out.”
Jacobs hurried toward the fallen escalator. He spotted Rappaport immediately. “I thought you were in the hospital,” he said.
“Couldn’t stand the food,” Rappaport joked. “Sent my Jessi home when I saw the crowds, thank goodness. That’s a blessing. Got us a little problem here,” he said, motioning toward the fallen escalator.
“So I see. Can you handle it?”
“I’ll need some manpower. Tell that boy up on stage to send me some volunteers. This guy’s in bad shape.”
Jacobs could see the pool of blood. “Will do.” He hurried off.
***
A few minutes later, Jacobs met with Haverill and Shleit inside the empty Greek Deli. Earl Coleman helped Mrs. Popolov prepare a tray of coffee for the men.
“Here’s where we stand,” Jacobs said, reviewing. “Steuhl claims to have the pavilion wired with charges. He has the charges on a timer. If Marv delivers the two hundred thousand and Steuhl gets away, he says he’ll disarm the charges by remote control.”
“And
we’re supposed to believe him?” Haverill questioned.
“What choice do we have?” Shleit removed his hat and wiped his brow, clearly upset.
“He has at least three hostages in Dispatch with him,” Jacobs continued. “The timer is set for four o’clock.” Checking his watch, he added, “That gives us one hour and twenty-eight minutes.
“All the exists have been locked by the computer system. He blew the escalators to keep us from getting out through the opening at Spanner’s Drugs.” He paused. “One thing’s in our favor. He needs the computer running. If he sabotages the computer, the default settings will allow the doors to be opened. He must know that.”
“Can we sabotage it?” Shleit wondered.
“Not without being inside Dispatch.”
“Can’t we cut the power or something?”
“Too many backup systems. Any attempt to mess with the backups sounds an alarm in Dispatch. He’d blow us up. There’s no way around it. We installed all the backups to prevent anyone from sabotaging our computer from outside of Dispatch. The only way to get the doors open is to get inside Dispatch and take over the computer.”
“Perfect,” Shleit mocked.
“So much for technology,” quipped Haverill.
“Can we bust down the exit doors?” Shleit thought aloud.
“It takes over six thousand pounds of force to open even one door. He’s watching everything on our monitors. If we organized something strong enough to do the trick, which is doubtful—”
“I follow. He’d blow us up.”
“So he claims.” Jacobs addressed both of them. “Put simply, he has us trapped. He knows our system’s strengths and weaknesses, and he’s taking advantage of them.”
“Damn technology,” repeated Haverill.
“So we give him the money,” said Shleit. “Big deal. That seems simple enough.”
Haverill whispered coldly, “I should have never okayed the opening.”
“That’s behind us,” reminded Shleit.
“Let’s get him the money and get this over with. Agreed?” suggested Jacobs.
Both other men nodded, but Shleit said, “That’s step one. Step two is that we set up contingency plans.”
“Meaning?”
Haverill listened as the two men discussed the situation.
“If our information is right, Steuhl holds the Yankee Green responsible for his father’s death. He may claim to want the money when in fact he wants much more. He may not intend to let us go at all. We have to consider that possibility and plan for it.”
“Meaning?”
“As long as we have the money, we have at least part of what he wants. Once he has the money, what’s to stop him from leaving and letting the timer run out? Nothing, as far as I can see.” Shleit looked up to the ceiling in thought. “The minute he has the money, the minute he’s out of Dispatch, we need another way out of here. You follow me?”
Popolov, delivering coffee and overhearing their conversation, said, “I may be able to help there. One time during the war when I was trapped in a bomb shelter—”
“Oh, Christ. A friggin’ war story!” Shleit said. “Not now.”
“Let him finish,” insisted Jacobs.
“We were trapped in a cellar,” said a determined Popolov. “The building took a direct hit, sealing us in. No one knew we were down there. There was no one to dig us out. The stairway to the outside was caved in. We only had so much air, so much time. What we did,” he said, raising his stump arm to keep Shleit from interrupting, “was we made a bomb from what we could find in that cellar, and we blew our way out.”
“You did what?” Shleit asked, noticeably more interested.
“We made a bomb and blew our way out.”
Shleit said, “I don’t see how that helps us.”
Popolov finished pouring the coffee and added softly, “I would guess I could find everything I need to make an explosive, right here in this pavilion. If we could hide my work, I could possibly rig a bomb in one of the walls that leads to the outside. It might give us the way out you were talking about, Detective.”
Silence.
“Why not?” Jacobs finally said.
“You were the one who pointed out that if Steuhl sees us up to something, he’ll blow us up,” Shleit reminded.
“The point is, Lieutenant,” Jacobs clarified formally, “you’re right about needing an alternate way out of here. Mykos might have something.”
Shleit huffed and picked his teeth nervously with a corner of a Greek Deli matchbook. To Popolov he said, “Okay. Look into it. Get back to us as soon as you know if it’s possible.”
Jacobs didn’t think anyone else noticed, but Mhykloteus Popolov raised his half arm toward his head and saluted, a huge smile showing his crooked teeth and bright pink gums. “Take care of them, Mother,” he said as he trundled off through the stacked tables that formed a barrier at the front of the store. “Earl, you’re with me. We have things to do.” Mrs. Popolov nodded to Coleman, who followed the old Greek at a quick pace. Her face tightened with worry.
“So what’s next?” said an anxious Haverill.
In the background, Jacobs heard Civichek organizing the crowd.
Shleit said, “I see three possibilities. The first is that Haverill delivers the money and Steuhl gets away safely and stops the timer. The second is that he gets the money, gets away, and lets the timer blow the charges. The third is that once he’s gone we either get control of the computer and get the doors opened, or the Greek blows a hole in the wall and we evacuate.
“Either way,” Shleit continued, “we need to get the money to him. Either way, we need to have someone in place to get control of the computer. Those two things are the only absolutes I can see. And we’re running out of time. What do you suppose is keeping him?”
“He’s probably waiting for the other pavilions to clear. He said that was a prerequisite.”
Haverill finally spoke up. “How can we get someone to Dispatch if we’re locked in here? He’s in Pavilion C. It’s hopeless, isn’t it?”
“Is that right?” said Shleit.
“There might be a way,” said Jacobs.
“You designed the security system, Toby. Is there or isn’t there a way to beat it?” Haverill’s annoyance was obvious.
Both men looked to Jacobs for an answer.
14
“You, you, and you,” Laura Haff said, pointing into the crowd, her teacher instincts predominant, “will help me take care of the children.” She glanced over her shoulder at the volunteers surrounding the escalator that had pinned Sam and tried her best to push it from her mind. What could she do? It was out of her hands. It was in His hands, now. Thy will be done. “I need some sitters over here. That’s good. You too, please…. No, bring her with you. Good. Okay. We’ll form a circle and sing some songs and play some games. We must soften this for the children however we can. They can certainly sense our fear. Let’s get as many children as we can—children of all ages—to participate. You, please…. That’s right. You too. Over here. Come on. Hi, sweetheart, you sit in with the other children. That’s it. Okay, mothers, you can take turns helping with the children or tending to the injured. You heard the man on the stage; if you’ve had any kind of first aid training, they need you to volunteer.” As she spoke, she turned again to look at Sam. Her stomach twisted in unforgiving pain.
Rappaport and an emergency medical technician named George Pepper ascertained that Sam’s legs, though trapped and severely broken, had been saved by the fact that the cement bird cage pedestal had taken the brunt of the machine’s weight as the escalator had fallen.
“He’s losing blood badly,” George Pepper told Rappaport in a whisper. “We’ve got to get him out of there. But quick. What if we try to roll it?”
“No, no,” said Rappaport, himself in pain. “Look at the way its balanced there. If you try to roll it it’s going to go that way, and it’ll crush him. We’d kill him. How long do we have?”
“Not long.”
“Okay. Wait here a minute.” Spotting Carmine DeAngelo, Rappaport went over and brought him back to the accident. The two walked the perimeter of the fallen escalator, talking. “Can you think of anything?”
DeAngelo said, “Give me a boom crane, I’d have it off him in ten minutes.”
“Right,” Rappaport said.
They continued to the top end of the escalator, which was sitting on a chunk of concrete. As they watched, the escalator settled half an inch. Sam Shole came to with a cry of pain and then passed out again. “Oh, hell,” Rappaport gasped, reaching out and picking up a handful of the concrete. It crumbled in his fist. DeAngelo did the same thing. The two men looked at each other.
“You thinking what I’m thinking?” DeAngelo wondered.
As they watched, the concrete settled yet another quarter of an inch. “The angle?” Rappaport asked.
“Yup. If this settles much further, the thing’ll slip that way and crush him. It won’t be just his legs either.”
“Could we jack it up?” Rappaport asked.
“If we could find a jack that strong, and if it wasn’t leaning so far toward him, we might be able to. But without something holding it back we might kill him trying.”
“A crane, you said?”
“Right. Got a crane on you?”
Rappaport pointed overhead to the steel I beams of the roller coaster. “That’s over a hundred feet high. Chain-driven, wouldn’t you think? That means there’s over two hundred feet of drive chain. If we could open that chain at the key link and use the extra hundred feet, positioning it over an I beam as a fulcrum, we might just have your crane. What about that?” he asked.
Hidden Charges Page 32
