Exit Strategy

by Jen J. Danna

  “—not made any request for ransom money. In fact, we do not believe money is the incentive. His request lies in another arena entirely.”

  “One you can contribute to?”

  “One I am helping to facilitate, yes.” He picked another reporter out of the crowd.

  “You’ve referred to a single male suspect,” a woman asked. “Is he working alone, or is there anyone else?”

  “At this time, we understand it to be an individual male.”

  He started to scan the crowd, but the woman spoke up again. “A follow-up question, if I may. You said there are eight hostages. Do you know exactly who those hostages are?”

  “We do, but I’m sure you understand that’s not information we can share at this time. I will leave that information to the discretion of the NYPD to release when they feel they can. Yes, you in the blue.”

  A man just visible at the edge of the screen put down his hand. “Has the NYPD stepped back and they’re just letting the suspect get what he wants? This guy sounds like a terrorist. What happened to not negotiating with terrorists?”

  Gemma locked gazes with Garcia and she saw the same foreboding that clenched her gut.

  “Let me assure you, we know exactly what this man is and what his motives are. We’re willing to make some moves toward compromise, but that certainly isn’t the whole game.”

  “So you intend a show of strength.”

  “That would be my preference, yes. The NYPD has the option of going in to retrieve the hostages. And, frankly, it’s the method I’d prefer. I want my people out now. I’ve been assured it can be done safely.”

  Garcia’s muttered response was unintelligible, but Gemma knew he was furious at Rowland for conveying the exact opposite of their clearly stated position.

  “So, why the hesitation?”

  Rowland stiffened at the term “hesitation.” As she watched the feed, Gemma’s breath caught. He’ll perceive that as a slight. An implication of his own weakness as the leader of the city.

  “Because the Hostage Negotiation Team wants to try.” There was a thread of acid curling through Rowland’s voice now. “But if this takes too long, let me assure you, I’ll take it to the commissioner if I have to, and stronger wills will prevail. But we’ll get our people out, one way or another. We’re in charge of this, not him, and will show him that through force if need be. Thank you for your attention. We’ll be happy to update you as more information becomes available.”

  One of the cops in the HNT headquarters whistled up at Garcia, who looked like he wanted to say something, but then simply threw up his hands and walked back into the vault.

  Gemma followed him to stand in the doorway, tracking him as he paced back and forth. From the table, McFarland and Taylor watched with matching worried expressions.

  “What happened?” McFarland asked Gemma.

  She waited until Garcia passed her to cross his path and sink down onto her chair. “Rowland took it upon himself to run a press conference. He probably wanted to make himself look like he’s in charge.”

  “He’s not,” Garcia muttered, turning to retrace his steps.

  “No, but he wants them to think that. So, after he contradicted himself about how it’s going so far, he made a power play. Insisted that we were in charge of the situation, not the hostage taker, and that we’d do whatever it took to get the hostages out. That he’d go over our heads to end this, if needed.”

  “That sounds like Sanders talking,” Taylor said.

  “Doesn’t it?” Garcia threw out both hands as he stopped pacing. “That has to be who’s behind this. Sanders probably got to him and told him to send a message to the city. Remind the citizens who’s in charge. And Rowland is such a bone-deep politician, he forgot he’s holding Willan’s life in his hands and went right into campaign mode, like he’s already looking toward his next election and needs a decisive win.”

  “Also, send a message?” McFarland looked from Garcia to Gemma. “Have they forgotten the hostage taker has access to outside media feeds? That’s going to send a message all right, but not to the right audience.”

  Gemma shrugged. “He shouldn’t have forgotten, but Rowland’s so desperate to get Willan out of there that he’s missing a lot of the nuances of this situation. Whatever the reason, he just tried to come off as the man in charge, and it’s going to blow up in our faces because our suspect wants to think he’s in charge. We won’t know what damage he’s done until we make contact again.”

  Garcia dropped resignedly into his chair. “No time like the present. Let’s find out if the mayor has just spoiled hours of work.”

  CHAPTER 12

  Gemma had a bad feeling from the moment they called in and the phone rang and rang. And then went to voice mail.

  She glanced up at McFarland.

  He shrugged, but the way his shoulders rode up close to his ears belied his tension. “Maybe he didn’t see the press conference?”

  “Not a chance,” Garcia said. “He watched Greenfield’s exit on someone’s cell phone. Every local network and likely at least half of the national ones would have carried the press conference. CNN lives for this kind of breaking news.” Jaw clenched, he shook his head. “He saw it.”

  Gemma pointed at the phone. “Dial it again. We—” She broke off as a ring was interrupted by the phone connecting. “Patrick?”

  “I’m here.”

  The voice was calm and without the fury Gemma was afraid she’d hear. Still, it was a little too stilted and Gemma knew instinctively they’d lost this round. Time to meet it head-on. “Did you see the press conference?”

  “I did. Is the mayor there?”

  “No.”

  “I’d like to speak to him.”

  “I’d be happy to talk to you about the press conference.”

  “No. I have . . . questions. For the mayor directly. Call me back when you have him on the line.” He hung up.

  “I’ll get Rowland.” Garcia pushed back from the table and stood. “I’d like to have a word with him anyway, and it’s better if I do that a little more privately than this.” He stalked out of the room without another word.

  Gemma pulled her headset down to hang around her neck. “He’s not as angry as I anticipated.”

  “Which is nothing short of a miracle,” Taylor said. He took a long swallow of what had to be ice-cold coffee by this point. “What on earth was the mayor thinking?”

  “You mean what was Sanders thinking.” Gemma tipped her coffee cup toward her, swirled the dregs in the bottom of the cup, noting how the cream separated out of the rest of the liquid, and pushed it away untasted. “When Rowland first came in here, he was all bluster and ‘get my people out of there.’ We managed to beat that down somewhat, so he could have a calm conversation with the man holding lives in his hands. Or, rather, holding Charles Willan’s life in his hands, as it was pretty clear he was the only one who really mattered to him.”

  “Which is crap, because every hostage in there is a citizen of this city and that’s all that should matter to the mayor.” McFarland kicked back in his chair, but looked anything but relaxed. “Yet he’s focused on Willan.”

  “He can’t move past the fact they’re friends. And that played right into Sanders’s hands. Granted, I was worried Rowland’s bravado might get all the hostages killed, but the suspect is calm.” Gemma’s eyes narrowed as she stared down at nothing. “Too calm for my liking, actually.”

  “If he’s calm, we may be able to reason with him,” McFarland said. “Strike a deal with him.”

  “For what? The only thing he’s asked for, both the mayor and the media have made clear he can’t have.”

  “His freedom then,” McFarland suggested.

  The laugh that escaped Gemma carried a harsh edge. “He’s a cop. He knows there won’t be any freedom if any of us catch him. And he knows we’re not going to just let him walk out of there.”

  “But he’s not aware we suspect he’s a cop,” Taylor said.
“He thinks he holds the advantage. He ...” His voice trailed off as voices abruptly rose in the outer room.

  Gemma swiveled in her chair to find Rowland and Garcia striding toward the vault. The magnanimous politician of the press conference was gone; now Rowland looked like a thundercloud. Garcia appeared just as forbidding. Gemma realized why when she looked past the two men to see Sanders marching behind them.

  With a warning sideways glance at Gemma, McFarland rose to his feet, Taylor following his lead.

  Gemma stood as well. “Sir.”

  “Mayor Rowland is back to make contact with the suspect.” Garcia’s voice was nearly a growl. “He says he’s willing to work with the suspect to free the hostages.”

  “That’s always been my first preference. But there may come a time when—”

  “Sir!” Garcia’s open palm landed with a slap on the surface of the table, rattling equipment and sending pens rolling. “As I said, I agree with you that there has to be a final option, but it’s not one we’re looking at now. Right now, we need to focus on getting them out alive. If we go in with guns blazing”—his gaze cut to Sanders, standing in the doorway—“we will have casualties. And I don’t mean the suspect. He won’t talk to us, only to you, so I need you to work on hostage extraction with us. We don’t know how much time we have with them.”

  Garcia and Rowland locked gazes for a long moment, but it was Rowland who finally looked away. “All right. For now.”

  “Thank you.” Garcia stepped back and let Rowland pass him to take his chair once again. He turned back to Sanders. “We’ll let you know if the call doesn’t go as we planned and we need backup support.”

  “I’d rather listen in to see how it goes.”

  Gemma looked up from getting Rowland settled and reconnected, and for a moment, she thought Garcia was going to outright refuse.

  “If you want to listen in, do it from out in the main room.” He motioned to the woman standing behind Sanders and following the conversation. “Kalani can set you up. We need the mayor to be able to concentrate and not feel surrounded. I’m sure you understand.” He turned his back on the A-Team officer as Kalani escorted Sanders out of sight.

  Garcia took his chair again. “Are we ready?”

  “Yes, sir.” Gemma faced Rowland. “Are you ready, Mr. Mayor?”

  “Yes.”

  “Let me start the conversation so he knows I’m on the line with you.” She nodded at McFarland, who put the call through.

  “Is he there?” the suspect asked instead of a greeting.

  “Yes, he is. Mr. Mayor?”

  “I’m here,” said Rowland.

  “I saw your press conference.”

  “As you can see, I’m in your corner, Patrick, and I’m here to—”

  “Really?” The calm voice rose, the single word crescendoing in pitch and volume. “Is that really how you—”

  The line went dead.

  Gemma clapped both hands over her headphones, pressing them tighter against her ears, trying to catch any whisper of sound.

  Nothing.

  Her head jerked up to stare at McFarland, but she didn’t even need to ask him. The shock on his face told her something was wrong.

  Garcia was out of his chair. “What the hell are you playing at, McFarland? Get him back!”

  McFarland was frantically jabbing buttons, shaking his head in disbelief. “I’m trying. There’s no line. It’s dead.”

  “What do you mean ‘it’s dead’?” Tossing down his equipment, Garcia circled the table. Leaning over, he tried the connection himself, disconnected, and tried again.

  “Lieutenant!” Sergeant Kalani came into the vault with a cell phone in her hand, Sanders right behind her. “The technicians isolating the mayoral office phone line called in. Something went wrong and they cut it by accident. They’re working on reconnecting the line, but say it’s going to be about twenty minutes.”

  With a vicious curse, Garcia threw down the headset and strode to Kalani, who extended the phone to him.

  “Who is this?” he snarled into the phone. “I don’t care what happened, just fix it. I’ve got a pissed-off hostage taker with lives in his hands, and every minute that goes by with no communication could be another life lost. I lose anyone because of this, it’s on your head. Get it done! Now!” He thrust the phone into Kalani’s hands and raked his own through his hair.

  “Sir?” Gemma raised her voice to cut through the raging scream that had to be ricocheting around Garcia’s skull. “What do you want for the next steps?”

  Taylor laid his own headset on the table by his notepad. “I’m not sure we can afford twenty minutes. Sir, why don’t I find a bullhorn and go to the front foyer. I could get close to the office without entering, and we could communicate the old-fashioned way.”

  “Or as you said before, right under his window,” McFarland suggested. “We could at least let him know we’re having technical difficulties.”

  “That’s a negative.” Sanders pushed his way into the room, passing Kalani on her way out. He sidled in between the mayor and Gemma, and bent over the blueprints, studying the layout of the first floor. The first floor rose a half story above the ground, with multiple wide, paned, arching windows lining every side. “He may be inside and out of the line of sight, but if he’s smart, he’ll be monitoring news coverage on the hostages’ phones. My men are on the lookout, but they’re busy and are spending their time watching City Hall. We can’t be sure a news crew hasn’t snuck onto a roof somewhere to film this. If he sees anyone approaching through their feed, anyone he doesn’t anticipate, he’ll shoot first and ask questions later. It’s bad enough hostages’ lives are at risk, we’re not risking NYPD officers. How long has it been?”

  Gemma glanced at the clock. “I marked the time as soon as they gave us the repair duration. Two minutes.”

  “If this doesn’t resolve soon, I’m going to recommend moving in.” Before Garcia could disagree, Sanders tapped two fingers to his earpiece. “All teams, report in.” He kept his laserlike gaze pinned on Garcia as voices must have been responding to his command. After a full minute, he said, “Stay sharp. We’ve lost communications temporarily. We may need to move in. Sanders out.”

  “Are they picking up on anything?” Gemma asked.

  “No. Several of the guys have eyes through the windows and there’s no sign of movement. My sound tech is using a parabolic mic, and says he doesn’t hear any sound of gunfire. You might get lucky after all, Garcia.”

  “I won’t be if they can’t get the fucking phone line fixed. It’s going to complicate matters if he thinks we’re trying to pull a fast one. He was about to lose it in there.”

  Gemma glanced sideways at Rowland—who sat frozen in his chair—and shrugged. The mayor was going to find out their opinion sooner or later. “When he first picked up, he seemed calm. But it quickly struck me that he was too calm. He had everything tamped down and was just holding on. But the moment Mayor Rowland came on, he lost it.”

  “Or would have, if the line hadn’t been cut. How much more time have we got?”

  “If they’re on time, we have another fourteen minutes.”

  It felt like the longest fourteen minutes ever for all of them.

  Sanders checked in with his sound tech twice. Silence still reported.

  Gemma reviewed her notes four times before flicking her pen away and sitting back in her chair.

  McFarland checked the phone line approximately every sixty seconds.

  Taylor steepled his hands in front of his face, tipping his mouth against them, and closed his eyes. Anyone unfamiliar with Taylor might have thought he had checked out, but Gemma knew he was reviewing every word of their communication over and over, looking for any clue that might give them a leg up.

  Garcia simply paced.

  “Wait. Wait!” McFarland slammed one fist on the table. “It’s back.”

  Gemma grabbed her headset and slid it into place. She pointed at McFarland.
“Dial.” She turned to Rowland. “Stay quiet unless I tell you to talk. You’re a trigger point for him now and we need to keep him calm.”

  The suspect picked up halfway through the first ring. “What the fuck are you playing at?”

  Gemma winced at the rage in his voice. “I’m sorry, Patrick.” She kept her voice serene. “We’re not playing games with you. We’re having technical difficulties on our end that resulted in us losing you for a few minutes. As I said, I’m sorry—”

  “Save your ‘sorry,’” he snapped. “Is the mayor there?”

  “Yes.”

  “Put him on.” There was no mistaking the venom in the man’s tone.

  Gemma pointed at Rowland; but for the first time, he was speechless and just simply stared up at her, the color draining from his face. Her own temper slipping slightly, she tapped the mayor’s forearm sharply. She pointed at the phone and mouthed, “Talk.”

  “This... this is Kevin Rowland.”

  “Mayor Rowland.”

  Some of the acid had mellowed in the suspect’s tone, but instead of giving Gemma any comfort, it made the hair on the back of her neck stand up in alarm. Her gaze flicked up to Garcia, but his narrowed eyes were locked on Rowland, his face set in stone.

  “I saw your press conference,” the man continued. “It sounds like you’re not leaving me any choice. I know who’s in charge.”

  Rowland’s frame relaxed slightly at the words. “I’m sure you understand. We’ve been dealing fairly with you, but you have to deal fairly with us as well.”

  “ ‘Fairly’? Of course.”

  Gemma’s reaction to the calm in the suspect’s voice was the opposite of Rowland’s, and she found herself growing more and more tense.

  “Would you like to speak to your first deputy mayor? I know you want to assure his safety.”

  “Yes, thank you, I would.”

  There was a moment of silence and then Willan’s voice came over the line. “Kevin, it’s me.” His words were slightly distant with the echo of being on speaker.