by Jen J. Danna
“When do you want to make contact again?” Taylor asked.
“Now. This has been long enough. I don’t want him to forget we’re out here.” Garcia slid his headset back into place. “Everyone ready?” Affirmatives came from around the table. “Let’s get him back on the line.”
McFarland dialed the phone, and they sat through it ringing again and again. After six rings and the click over to voice mail, he cut the connection, waited to a count of ten, and tried again. He was unsuccessful for a second time.
They were just about to try again, but Kalani stopped short in the doorway. Her whole stance radiated restrained intensity at needing to speak, but not wanting to interrupt a call.
Garcia gave her a go-ahead wave. “Sergeant?”
“We made contact with someone inside, but it’s not one of the hostages. He’s on line three. He was in the mayor’s office and was on his way out with the fire alarm when the armed suspect came in. He hid in one of the back rooms, listening as the suspect rounded up all the hostages, but the guy doesn’t know he’s there. He called 911 and they patched him through to us.”
“Getting him out without being captured or worse will be tricky.” Garcia pointed at McFarland, who punched the lit button for line three. “This is Lieutenant Tomás Garcia of the NYPD. Who is this?”
“Rob Greenfield.” The name was just a wisp of sound Gemma had to strain to hear. She quickly jotted down his name and the time of contact.
“Where are you?”
“Under the mail table in the photocopy room.”
“Can you see the suspect from where you are?”
“No. He’s in the library and conference room next to me.”
Garcia pulled the blueprints toward him, picked up a pen, then circled the conference room down the hall from the mayor’s office in blue ink. He put an X in the room next door. “He can’t see you either, then. Good. Rob, I’ve got a copy of the building blueprints. That places you near the end of a hallway in a closed room. Is that accurate? Or is there a window or door you could use to get out of the building?”
Gemma leaned over the table to study the blueprints. Completed in 1812, the building was over two hundred years old and a designated historical landmark. There was no chance a new door had been put in recently and wasn’t on the blueprints. Still, it was a question Garcia had to ask, just in case.
“No. That’s why I’m calling. I don’t know what to do. The only way out takes me right past the conference room door.”
“You’re the first person in communication on-scene, Rob. Can you tell me how many people there are holding the hostages?”
“I think it’s just the one guy. He’s the only one I’ve seen, the only one I’ve heard.”
“Okay, let me talk to my tactical team. Now we know you’re there, it’s a new ball game. If you can’t move out unseen, then I’m going to have to ask you to hole up where you are for now. You’re safer if the suspect doesn’t know you’re there. And in the meantime, we’ll work on a plan to get you free. Maybe we can get the hostages moved, or can create a distraction just long enough for you to get out of there.”
“Thank God.” Greenfield’s voice wobbled with relief.
“Hang in there, Rob. Give me your phone number in case we get disconnected.” Garcia jotted down the number. “Do you want someone to stay on the line with you?”
“Could you?”
“Not me, I’m going to work with a team to get you out, but I’m going to give you to Detective Gemma Capello. She’ll stay with you.” Garcia made a hand motion to Gemma, indicating for her to go out into the main room to get on the line until they could get another phone set up in the vault for a direct line to Greenfield.
Gemma nodded and rose, starting to slip the headphones off, when Greenfield suddenly cried out.
“No! Get off me!”
There was an earsplitting clatter Gemma guessed was the phone being thrown to the floor.
Gemma froze, half out of her chair, her heart rate spiking and her horrified gaze locked on Garcia, who was on his feet as if he could leap through the phone to join the fray.
Helpless, they listened to the sound of a struggle as furniture crashed and the combatants grunted and strained. Finally there was a cry of pain, followed by a dull, muffled thump.
Now, in the background, there was nothing but a low moan. The HNT officers exchanged fatalistic glances. They’d seen situations like this before.
A series of indistinct noises came through the phone; then “Who’s this?”
It was the voice they hoped not to hear.
Hands braced on the edge of the table, Garcia hung his head. “Tomás Garcia.”
“Garcia.” The word came out on a hiss. “Plotting behind my back, were you? Is this one of your guys? Were you thinking you could catch me off guard?” His laugh was dark and joyless. “Well, you failed. He’s a lousy cop. I could hear him whispering from outside the door.”
“He’s not NYPD. He’s a staffer who got trapped when you took hostages in the office. He was just trying to do the right thing and get help.”
“‘The right thing’?” The man’s voice rose to a dangerous pitch. “How could he know ‘the right thing,’ when he doesn’t know why I’m here or what I’m fighting for? I’m on the side of the angels.”
“He doesn’t know that. If you send him out, we’ll guarantee you won’t be charged for his mistreatment. He wasn’t one of your original hostages. You don’t need him. And it sounds like he needs medical treatment.”
“Not happening. Now he’s here, he gets to join the group. Whether I keep him remains to be seen. An extra hostage could be considered disposable.” His words dripped acid. “Hopefully, he won’t bleed out on the carpet while I decide what to do with him.” With a click, he was gone.
Garcia ripped off his headset with a vicious curse, then slammed it down on the table hard enough to rattle the equipment.
Unbelievably, the situation had gone from bad to worse.
CHAPTER 6
Garcia gave the team thirty seconds to react to the situation, and then held up a hand for quiet. “Everyone take a breath.” He took a long sip of coffee and then set the cup down with enough force that it rocked a little before steadying.
The hand he lifted from the cup vibrated slightly, and Gemma realized Garcia, too, had been thrown off balance by Greenfield’s attack. To give her lieutenant a moment to steady himself, she took the lead. “McFarland, can you find anything on Rob Greenfield? We don’t know who he is, so we don’t know if this will exert extra personal pressure on the mayor.”
“Sure,” McFarland said. “Give me a few minutes to run some searches.”
Taylor sat back in his chair, adjusting his tie to loosen it slightly. “There’s additional pressure simply because of the increased hostage count, but the less personal pressure applied to the mayor, the better.”
“From a first-response perspective, we don’t know what happened just now, or how injured Mr. Greenfield might be.” Gemma turned to Garcia. “Sir, what would you like to do next?”
“We have to reestablish communication, which is going to be harder now. And we have to do it fast. We bought time saying the mayor was out of touch, but letting him know the mayor has resurfaced may be our only way now to get him to talk. He’s holding all the cards. We could have been satisfied with letting the situation drag out, letting him start to feel the walls closing in with no food or fresh air. But now there’s an injury that may or may not be life-threatening. Hopefully, he’s letting the other hostages help Greenfield, so he’s not bleeding out. If we’re lucky, we’ve got at least one person in the group who is willing to stand up and take the lead.”
Take the lead. Garcia’s words jerked Gemma back to the day that changed her life.
Cold marble under her legs as she sat on the bank floor. The stark white rotunda surrounded by towering columns overhead. Huddling beneath the faces of gods, pressing against her mother. Wanting to cry, but not
daring to call attention to herself.
Until her mother took all the attention.
“It’s unfortunate we lost a witness who could have assisted with suspect identification.” Taylor’s voice jolted Gemma back to the present. “It’s exponentially harder to make progress in a negotiation when you don’t know who you’re negotiating with.”
“Or what buttons to push,” McFarland interjected.
“As I see it, we’ve only got one button,” Gemma said. “The mayor. But even if we got him back, you might not be able to convince him to talk to the guy.”
McFarland stopped his search and looked up. “Or worse, what if he insists on going in?”
“Prior to that,” said Taylor, “we need the hostage taker to answer our calls. We can’t offer a conversation if we can’t get through to him.”
“I’ll go stand under the mayor’s window with a bullhorn if he won’t pick up,” said Garcia. “But I think we can get there without jumping through hoops.”
“He said something that’s bothering me.” Gemma looked down at her notes and then across at Taylor’s. It was the last line he’d written as well. “He said he’s ‘on the side of the angels.’ Meaning he’s on the moral side of right? Am I reading him correctly?”
“That’s how I took it,” said Garcia. “And it’s the first sign of what’s really driving him. This isn’t likely going to be ‘I’m annoyed by three hundred unpaid parking tickets,’ but more likely something in the neighborhood of ‘the homeless are dying because of a lack of social services.’ It’s going to be something personal, even possibly something not having anything to do with Rowland’s official role as mayor. We definitely need to make contact again. I also want to know what’s going on with the other hostages. Up to the time of Greenfield’s arrival, there was only one hostage who rated a mention, and that was Willan. He considers Greenfield disposable. But what about the other hostages? We need to find out.”
It took them three rounds to finally contact the hostage taker.
“Calling to find out how the new guy is doing?”
Gemma was pleased to hear an underpinning of stress in the man’s voice. The calm wasn’t quite as pronounced this time around.
“Yes,” Garcia replied. “I’d also like to know how everyone else is doing.”
“And why would I tell you?”
“Because that’s how this works. I scratch your back, and then you scratch mine. Tell me what you want? I’m listening.”
A heavy exhalation came across the line. “I want the mayor.”
“You can’t have the mayor.”
“Why don’t you let him make that call.”
“Because, for once, he’s not in charge, I am, and I don’t like giving him to you. If that’s what you need, I want something significant in exchange.”
Silence ticked by for a few seconds. “Like?”
“I want proof of life of the hostages. And I want to know the status of Rob Greenfield.”
“You don’t ask for much, do you?” The voice was practically a growl.
“You give me something, I give you something.” Garcia’s voice took on a note of steel. “In that order.” He looked over at Gemma and held her gaze. He was pushing it, but they were at a stalemate and something had to shift.
“Fine.”
Gemma hadn’t realized how tight she’d been holding herself until her muscles relaxed. She gave Garcia a thumbs-up and met McFarland’s grin across the table.
“Define ‘proof of life,’ ” the suspect said.
“Each person saying their name clearly so I can hear it, and reporting if they’re okay. Then the last hostage reporting on Greenfield as well, if he’s unable to speak for himself.”
“Hang on, I’m putting you on speaker.”
Garcia pointed first at Gemma, and then at Taylor. His message was implicit: Even though the conversation was being recorded, he wanted notes that captured everything, duplicated in case the information came too fast, or was garbled.
The names came one after another, each voice faint and distant, but loud enough to be understood:
“Clara Sutton.”
“Angelo Carboni.”
“Janina Lee.”
“Elizabeth Sharp.”
“Charles Willan.”
“Jamal Bowen.”
“Andy McLaughlin.”
“Carlos Rodriguez.”
Everyone was physically well; though to Gemma’s ear, most of them sounded terrified. Willan’s voice, in particular, had a tremor that telegraphed he’d been in the room when the hostage taker had predicted his oncoming death.
They needed to get him out of there, but were torn because of the injured in the room.
“What about Greenfield?” Garcia asked. “Mr. Rodriguez, can you tell me about Mr. Greenfield?”
“He’s unconscious. He has a head wound that bled a lot, but is slowing down now.”
“Is that his only injury?”
“Yes. He was hit—”
“That’s enough for now.” The suspect’s voice cut off Rodriguez’s response. “Now it’s time for you to do something for me. Don’t screw me over, Garcia.”
“We’re negotiating in good faith. I’ll get back to you when I’ve talked to the mayor.” Garcia ended the call and took off his headset. “Finally some progress, though I’m sure you all noticed he didn’t want us finding out the extent of Greenfield’s injuries. Now we need to get the mayor back here. We have no choice but to get them talking.”
“You aren’t actually thinking of sending him in, are you?” Gemma asked.
“Not a chance in hell. He’d never make it out alive. The suspect said he wanted the mayor. So that’s what he’s going to get, but we’re controlling how he’s getting him. It’s already bad enough we’re going to have to hand the phone to someone with no training and a frayed temper. And all we’ll be able to do is sit back and pray he doesn’t get all the hostages killed.”
CHAPTER 7
The mayor returned in a whirlwind of sound and fury, followed by two scurrying aides. He made eye contact with Garcia as soon as he strode into the building and held it as he stalked toward the vault.
“Uh-oh,” McFarland muttered sotto voce. “He’s pissed.”
“Because that’s just what we need,” Garcia murmured. He pushed back his chair and stood respectfully to face Rowland. “Mr. Mayor.”
“I’m not used to being summoned like a schoolboy, Garcia.” Rowland’s voice whipped like a lash. “I was trying to help my staff get a head count on who’s missing.”
“We have that information.” Garcia pushed his pad of paper across the table toward the mayor. “Right now, you can help us more here.”
Rowland picked up the pad of paper and scanned the list. His face darkened as his eyes traveled down the names. “I don’t know who Sharp and Rodriguez are, but the rest are definitely mine or Charles’s staff.”
“Let’s confirm who those two are,” Gemma said.
“On it.” McFarland bent over his keyboard again, his fingers flying.
“What do you need me for?” Rowland demanded.
“The hostage taker wants to talk to you.”
Rowland lost some of his ruddy color. “To me? Is this part of your theory that he wants me to suffer?”
“Possibly.”
“I thought you were trying to convince him you couldn’t find me.”
“That was before he found Mr. Greenfield hiding in your photocopy room and attacked him. We’re not sure how badly he’s hurt, but we do know he has a head injury. And we don’t want to cross the line of losing the first hostage.”
“Of course, we don’t want anyone to die.” Rowland’s tone carried the sting of insult that someone would even consider he might think otherwise.
“True. However, in hostage negotiations, there is a clear line of demarcation before and after the first loss of life,” Garcia explained. “Before that happens, the suspect is often more careful, more circumspect, b
ecause he has less to lose. He hasn’t done anything that serious yet. After a hostage dies, the risk to the other hostages greatly increases, as the suspect knows a long jail sentence awaits him. Or he often feels he personally is an even greater target, so he has nothing to lose in taking other hostages with him. If Greenfield dies, we’ll have a very different situation on our hands, so we want to do everything in our power to keep that from happening.”
“What do you want me to do?”
“The suspect himself must have something he wants from you or something he feels you need to atone for. First and foremost, you need to focus on listening to him rather than talking yourself. He’s fixated on you for some reason, and we need to know why. We also need to know if you can identify him. In most hostage situations, we either know who the suspect is or we know right off the bat what they want. This man is a black box. Any information you can provide us or can coax out of him is valuable.”
Rowland pushed past Garcia and stepped toward the table, his hand outstretched, reaching for a headset.
Garcia grabbed his arm, and then pulled back quickly at the mayor’s venomous glare. “Sir, slow down. If we rush into this, we’ll do irreparable damage. A few more minutes won’t make a difference.”
“What else do I need? We’re wasting time and my staff must be terrified in there. More so, now that they know this guy won’t hesitate to hurt them.”
“We may only have one shot at this, so I just need to make sure you’re going in with the right mind-set. If you project an attitude of control and power, his response will be to push back to show he’s in charge, likely to the detriment of the hostages. You need to step back from the persona of mayor for this call. You have to let him think he’s in charge, even if he’s not. You need to listen to what he needs and show him you understand. That builds a connection and will give you influence over him, though he won’t realize it. Be genuine with him, and, most important, no matter what he says, you need to keep your temper under control.”
“What do I do if he wants something?”
“The only way he gets something is by giving something in return. From our perspective, we want to discuss releasing the first hostage. And because of his injury, it needs to be Greenfield. If he does that in good faith, then we’ll agree to give him something within reason in return.”
