by Jen J. Danna
He paused before answering. “Several phones here have Internet access.”
Gemma noted he didn’t say he had a cell phone. Probably didn’t take one in with him. Wants to make sure we don’t have any way to track him.
“Give me fifteen minutes and I’ll get a camera crew in here. They’ll film the release of Greenfield live, and you’ll be able to see the whole thing and be assured no one will enter the building. Does that work for you?”
“Yeah.”
“Let me set it up, and I’ll call you when you can send Greenfield out. Is he ambulatory?”
“Ambulatory enough.” The coldness in the suspect’s voice made it clear he didn’t care what happened to his hostage. Once Greeenfield’s use as a bargaining chip was fulfilled, he no longer mattered. “Tell your men they can wait for him at the bottom of the steps. I don’t want them any closer.”
“I’ll set it up, then I’ll call you back.” Gemma motioned to McFarland to cut the connection and pushed her headset off as she locked gazes with Garcia. “Sanders?”
“Yeah, I’ll call him and set it up. Call ABC7. When I did that coffee run, I saw their truck only a block from here. They’ll get a crew here right away.”
Within ten minutes, the camera crew was setting up halfway between City Hall and the Jacob Wrey Mould Fountain, down a footpath with a clear line of sight to the main steps leading up to the front door. Two minutes later, Sanders, Logan, and another officer Gemma didn’t recognize were standing in the doorway to the vault.
“Are your men ready?” Garcia asked.
“Affirmative.” Sanders looked from one officer to the next. “Logan and Cummings will meet Greenfield at the bottom of the stairs and will escort him to the ambulance waiting outside on Murray. What are our guarantees your guy’s not standing at a window ready to pick off my men?”
“There aren’t any,” Garcia said. “But this guy isn’t stupid. If he can see us through a window, we can see him and then he’s an easy target. He also knows it will be over for him the moment he goes after one of us. He wants something we can give him, so that’s not the way to handle the situation I think this is going to be a fast in and out.” He looked over his shoulder at Gemma.
“Agreed.” Gemma met Logan’s eyes. “But stay alert. We don’t have a confirmed ID, but I suspect he’s a cop.”
Logan’s eyebrows rose in surprise, but he stayed silent, simply giving her a nod of acknowledgment.
“He’s going to know our protocols and general game plan,” she continued. “Play it clean.”
“We don’t do it any other way,” said Sanders. “Give us a few minutes to get into position.” He led his men toward the front door and then out of the bank.
“ABC7 is already broadcasting". McFarland waved his cell phone. “It’s streaming live.”
Everyone brought up the video feed. Gemma noted their location with satisfaction—close enough for a clear, zoomed view and far enough to avoid collateral damage if the exchange went to hell—and set up her phone so it faced her on an angle so she could keep an eye on it.
She slid her headset back on. “Okay, dial me in.” She waited until the hostage taker answered her call. “Patrick, we’re all set. Please ask someone to stream ABC7 for you. You’ll be able to watch Mr. Greenfield exit the building and meet the two officers we’ve sent in.”
“I don’t want them to even set foot on the steps. Nothing that looks like an incursion.”
“Incursion.” You can’t lose the cop lingo, can you?
“That’s fine,” she agreed. “We’ll make sure they know.” Out of the corner of her eye, Gemma caught Garcia passing the information along to Sanders. “You can send him out now. I’ll stay on the line with you while he goes out. Then you can talk to the council members right away.”
Gemma muted her headset and let silence fill the space between herself and the suspect as she focused on the action on her screen.
The elongated form of City Hall filled the screen, the camera’s gaze centered on the steps that led up to five identical sets of double doors. Two men dressed entirely in black entered the field of vision from the side and Gemma easily identified Logan from his height. Both men had their helmets and safety glasses on, wore their rifles strapped to their backs and handguns in holsters on their right hips, and made a point of keeping their empty hands clearly in sight. They walked toward City Hall, stopping just short of the steps rising to the semicircular walkway that fronted the building and held both an American flag and the tricolor New York City flag to frame the front steps. This kept the men approximately forty feet from the bottom of the staircase. They stood motionless, their eyes fixed on the doorways.
A long minute ticked by, followed by a second.
This is taking too long.
Gemma exchanged doubtful glances with her colleagues, and was just about to unmute her headset and ask the suspect if there was a delay, when the middle door at the top of the stairs opened. The cameraman had seen it as well and zoomed in on the figure stumbling through the gap.
Rob Greenfield staggered as he cleared the doorway, almost going down to his knees as he reeled. At the bottom of the short flight of steps, Cummings took a step forward, but Logan locked a hand on his arm to hold him back.
Respect the space and the rules. Good.
He looked quietly watchful, but Gemma recognized Logan’s stance from months of training with him. He was coiled, ready to spring at the slightest provocation.
Greenfield stopped for a moment with one hand on one of the tall Ionic columns, his head hanging low. The camera zoomed in, magnifying the dark red matted in his hair and the crimson rivulets streaking down his cheek.
“Look at that injury.” Gemma glanced up to see Taylor nodding at his phone. “He got hit hard. And see how he’s moving?”
“He’s really unsteady,” Taylor said. “He’s likely concussed.”
“He’s not going to make it down those stairs.” Garcia’s gaze stayed fixed on the screen. “He can’t walk a straight line out the door, forget about down a dozen steps.”
“We need to get those officers up to him,” McFarland stated.
“I agree.” Gemma unmuted her mic. “Patrick, we need to get the officers up the steps to Greenfield. He’s not well enough to make it down on his own.”
“No.” The word was a quiet snarl. “They stay where they are.”
“But all they’ll do is—”
“No.”
Gemma forced herself to stop talking. The man wasn’t budging and all she would do was put the remaining hostages at risk.
The team held their collective breaths as Greenfield staggered toward the stairs. He took a shaky step down onto the first tread and wobbled. But then he gathered strength, forcing himself upright and taking a second, steadier step.
Hope filled Gemma. Come on, Rob, one step at a time. You can do this.
A third step, then a fourth.
But Greenfield’s step landed badly, and his left knee collapsed under him. Then he pitched headfirst down the steps, bumping and rolling, his skull striking solid stone again and again.
As her gasp of shock slipped free, Gemma remembered she hadn’t muted the line again. But that was the least of her worries because Logan was on the move. He’d seen the fall telegraphed ahead of time and was sprinting across the walkway before Greenfield had collapsed. But the distance was too great and he couldn’t get to Greenfield until he had come to rest at the bottom of the stairs.
In her headset, Patrick was screaming at her to get the officer out of there. She didn’t even have time to respond as Logan lifted Greenfield, bent to drape him over his shoulders in a fireman’s carry, and then jogged off across the walkway and down the steps. Cummings fell into step with him and they disappeared from view in seconds.
Gemma realized she’d come to her feet at some point in the last minute, but now she sank back down into her chair, her attention returning to the harsh breathing coming through the line. She in
haled to steady herself before addressing an armed man she knew was infuriated. “Thank you, Patrick, for allowing Mr. Greenfield his freedom. Now we’ll be able to get him the medical help he needs.”
“I told you no officers near the steps. The words were sharp and short bitten.
“That was our plan, but as you witnessed yourself, Mr. Greenfield was in no shape to help himself.” She turned to the two council members, who stared at her with wide eyes. “Now Ms. Baker and Mr. Robinson would like to talk to you about your request.”
She pointed at Majority Leader Baker and leaned back in her chair as the two council members discussed the legislative process and how to fast-track a bill.
One hostage out, eight more to go.
CHAPTER 11
As a first foray into municipal politics, it hadn’t gone badly. Still, Gemma couldn’t help but feel this attempt wasn’t enough, and couldn’t solve the problem fast enough to suit a man who threatened a life to get his own way.
What are we missing?
Gemma watched the two council members leave the vault, hurrying toward the exit on their way to convene an emergency council session off-site of City Hall, an ESU officer in their wake to keep the negotiation team up to date as to their progress. “This isn’t going to work. We’re banking everything on a bunch of politicians agreeing to repeal a good and reasonable law protecting the rights of citizens.” She sank down into her chair. “And we know we can’t set a precedent like this, or people will know they can use violence to get what they want, so we’re playing along to buy time. But it’s not going to happen and this is going to blow up in our faces.”
“But, in the meantime, we appear proactive,” Taylor said. “And that’s keeping the hostage taker in check.”
“Maybe. I think finding out who the suspect is might help a lot.” She turned to Garcia. “As I see it, we’re in a holding pattern for now.”
Her lieutenant nodded his agreement. “We need to let the council do its thing. And I think some downtime for the suspect would be good. The longer we can stretch him without food or water, the easier he’ll be to deal with as he starts to feel the pinch of his captivity.”
“I don’t know.” Gemma shrugged when Garcia pinned her with a critical look. “That works for most hostage takers, but this guy isn’t most. He’s going to be prepared for a long siege. A few hours won’t make a difference. A few days might, but there’s no way the brass is going to want this to go on that long. This is a high-profile media circus that’s closed down some of our busiest streets on a weekday. The brass and the A-Team are going to be under immense pressure from a public currently going through commuter hell and who will be pushing for a quick resolution to open up Lower Manhattan.”
McFarland came through the vault doorway. “I have a preliminary report on Rob Greenfield. He’s over at NewYork-Presbyterian with a grade-three concussion and doctors are concerned about an intracranial hematoma. They’re working on him now. But getting him out of there when we did probably saved his life.”
“It made the mayor unhappy, but it was the correct call,” Taylor said.
“He certainly wasn’t happy,” Gemma agreed. “He’s only thinking of Willan, but, for now, Willan is safe. I do think he should be our next extraction though. The suspect seems focused on him and that puts him at greater risk than Clara Sutton in my mind. I think her injuries will wait a little while. The suspect doesn’t need her to make a point. The question is—does he only need Willan to put pressure on Rowland, or is there some other motive? Maybe he’s trying to pressure Willan specifically?”
“It’s not clear yet,” Garcia said. “But you’re right, the suspect does seem fixated on Willan.”
“I’m going to do some research. We have a little time right now while the only current forward movement in this incident is out of our control. I want to see if we can find out more about this man. It might be the key to cracking this open.” She pulled one of the laptops closer.
“I can give you a hand with that,” McFarland offered. “What do you have in mind?”
“I think he’s a cop. Specifically, an NYPD cop, or he’d be in another city taking a different group of staffers hostage. We need to create a list of potential suspects that include anyone who’s been vocal about the end of stop-and-frisk or anyone who has been involved in a serious incident after the practice was abolished where stop-and-frisk might have increased their safety margin.” At Taylor’s frown, she clarified. “I agree with ending the practice. It was a huge breach of personal privacy and was clearly driven by a racial bias. But even you have to admit there is the odd incident where it might have increased an officer’s safety to search a suspect.”
“While obliterating the civilian’s personal rights,” Taylor muttered.
“Yes. As I said, I think it’s a bad practice and I’m glad it’s gone,” Gemma agreed. “The de-escalation training we’ve all had has gone further to keeping the peace than stop-and-frisk ever did.” She swung back to face McFarland. “Do those search terms make sense?”
“Yes. I think we should limit the time frame on a first search. This isn’t someone who had an incident five years ago, and has been simmering over it since then. A recent event triggered this.”
“I agree. Let’s start off keeping the search to the past year. We can expand from there if nothing pops.”
Garcia stood. “While you two do that, I’m going to make contact with Sanders and the rest of the command team to find out the overall progress and soothe any nervous fears. I don’t want anyone getting twitchy while we’re waiting. If Patrick is happy to wait, we should be too. Taylor, I’d like you to confirm our connection with the officer they sent to the council meeting, so we can keep tabs on what’s happening. Make sure he understands we’re going to need regular updates so we can keep the hostage taker calm if it starts to take too long for him.”
“Yes, sir.” Taylor rose and left the vault.
For nearly a full thirty minutes, the only sound in the vault was the tapping of keys, the scratch of pen on paper, and the odd mumbled comment. When Taylor returned to the vault, he gave McFarland a hand with his research. Garcia wandered in and out of the vault restlessly. Gemma understood his distraction—at this point in a hostage situation, a negotiator had to be patient and let the situation play out. Often, less was more and there was nothing to be gained in smothering a suspect with attention. In fact, there was a lot to lose.
She leaned back in her chair and looked at her notes. She had three potential leads, all of them plausible, though one was stronger than the others. It wouldn’t take long to confirm the details of the one incident—
Kalani appeared in the doorway. “Lieutenant, you need to come out here and see this.”
Garcia pushed back his chair and followed her out into the front room. Gemma had already turned back to her laptop when Garcia’s vicious, guttural curse filtered back into the vault. She looked up sharply and exchanged glances with McFarland.
“Get out there.” McFarland cranked a thumb in the direction of the vault doorway. “We’ll monitor from here. Fill us in when you get back.”
Gemma jumped to her feet and jogged out of the vault. And stopped almost immediately at the sight of a group of officers, including Kalani and Garcia, gathered around a laptop monitor. As she came closer, she caught a glimpse of the scene displayed.
Rowland stood at the top of a flight of steps, a gaggle of reporters and cameramen below him, cell phones and microphones all held up to catch his every word. Gemma instantly recognized the wide steps, the row of four-story-tall Corinthian columns, and the massive wrought iron lanterns as the Thurgood Marshall Courthouse, conveniently located just outside the evacuated area, but still close to City Hall, the site of the action.
“He’s giving a press conference?” The appalled question slipped out from Gemma before she could stop it.
“Sure looks like it,” Garcia growled. “Who put him up to it? We never recommended anything of the sort.
”
“He never asked us about it. But if we wanted him to do this, it would have been a very carefully controlled message.”
On screen, Rowland was holding both hands out to quiet the group around him. “Thank you for joining me today. I know there has been a lot of concern over the situation at City Hall and I wanted to reassure the people of New York City that the men and women of the NYPD are working to quickly and peacefully resolve the situation.
“We currently have a hostage situation involving a number of City Hall staffers. Earlier this afternoon, a man entered my offices and took hostages. The NYPD, including the Emergency Services Unit and the Hostage Negotiation Team, are involved, and their hostage negotiators have made contact with the suspect. At this point, the suspect has made demands and we are working toward meeting those demands or at least finding a compromise situation. I have the utmost confidence in the NYPD to end a difficult situation peacefully and without loss of life. But until then, the existing street and mass transit closures must be maintained, and I am grateful to the citizens of New York City for understanding and upholding these security considerations.” He looked out over the mass of people. “I have time to take a few questions now and I’ll do my best to answer them. Please understand this is an ongoing situation so I will not be able to share some information, but we will update on the negotiations going forward as we can.” There was an unintelligible burst of questions from the reporters and Rowland held his hands up for silence. “One at a time, please.” He pointed at someone in the crowd. “Yes, Chris.”
“Do we know how many hostages there are, sir?”
“Eight, currently. One has been released and has been taken to NewYork-Presbyterian in Lower Manhattan.”
“Goddamn it,” Garcia snapped. He jabbed a finger at one of the officers standing nearby. “Contact Fisher. Tell him Rowland just leaked Greenfield’s location. Reporters will be on their way there now. We need to make sure he’s cordoned off.” He turned back to the screen. “He also just said he wanted us to resolve the situation peacefully and then contradicted himself by saying someone’s been sent to the hospital.” He went silent as Rowland started talking again.
