by Jen J. Danna
A shiver ran down Gemma’s spine, but she wasn’t sure if it was in reaction to his undesired closeness or his words. “They will. They’re not going to risk me just for you.”
He chuckled. “Are you trying to hurt my feelings, or do you just have a high opinion of yourself?”
She gave as much of a shrug as she could with the weight of his hand riding heavily on her shoulder. “Just telling it like it is. They’re not going to want to see me dead.”
“I’m counting on that.” Boyle tightened his grip on her shoulder, his fingers digging in brutally, as if he expected her to try to bolt as soon as they made it out of the building. “Here we go. Open the door and then go slowly.”
She pushed the door open and they stepped out into the fading light of early evening, the sunlight still bright, even under the elongated portico. With her head awkwardly tilted, Gemma kept her eyes downcast so she could see the steps as they came closer and closer.
She stopped at the top. There was no railing, and the image of Rob Greenfield toppling down the steps came to mind.
Slowly and carefully. You trip and he’ll think you’re making a break for it and will pull the trigger. Then all ESU will be able to do is scrape your brains off the steps.
The thought of the ESU had her peering down the walkway toward the southeast park entrance. But where there had previously been a team of ESU officers, there were now just empty footpaths and roads with an open view toward the Brooklyn Bridge, the near granite tower with its Gothic arches just visible in the distance. A quick scan of the park and then above at the rooftops assured her everyone was at the very least out of sight. But like Boyle, she knew her every move was being monitored, both by the news media with zoom lenses and by the snipers with their rifle sights.
Do you see me, Dad? I’m okay. Stay strong.
Boyle gave her a nudge forward, bringing her gaze back to the task of getting down to ground level.
“You’re going to have to back off a bit. You’re going to decapitate me if you want my head to stay up here and the rest of me to go down a step.”
“You’re a lively one, aren’t you?”
She couldn’t see his face, but could practically visualize his half-smile from his tone of voice. That was good—the more he reluctantly liked her, the more hesitation he might have in killing her.
Because surviving the day was still completely up in the air.
“I’d say it’s more practical than anything else,” she replied. “We’re both working toward the same goal, John. Getting away from here. Let’s make it happen.”
He didn’t say anything, but the pressure of the gun barrel eased slightly.
“Okay, I’m taking the first step down. I’ll go carefully, and if I angle slightly, you can step down with me.”
Slowly, one step at a time, they progressed. As she stepped down, he stayed with her, remaining close so she still mostly covered him. She counted the steps as they went down. Her tenth step down put them onto the raised, semicircular walkway fronting City Hall. She could feel Boyle twisting slowly from one side to the other while keeping his head close to hers as he scanned for shooters.
“Head for the northwest exit. Stay as close to City Hall as you can.” He accompanied his words with a push to her left shoulder to angle her toward the walkway running to her right, across the front of City Hall and out to Broadway.
She did as directed, staying in line with the bottom of the steps, but looked pointedly at the path across from them that led through the trees toward the intersection of Broadway and Park. “Wouldn’t it be better to follow the footpath? We could take shelter in the trees.”
“Aren’t you supposed to be working with the A-Team, not against them? Don’t they want me to stay out in the open?”
“I’m sure they do. But we’re in this together now. I don’t want to get shot. And from the distances they’re working with, all it takes is one of us to shift a fraction of an inch and that’s what’ll happen. You know very well that your best way to survive this is for me to also survive.”
Past the end of the steps, she stayed in the lee of City Hall as the northwest wing of the building rose in front of her. Then cutting left, she followed the line of the building to the corner. They edged around the corner cautiously, but, once again, there was no officer in sight.
“You’re using the building to shield any shot that might come from behind. And me for any shot that might come from the front,” she stated.
“That’s the plan. I’m expendable. You. . . not so much. At least I’m counting on that. Chief Capello has already lost his wife to a hostage taker. He’s not going to want to lose his daughter the same way.”
“You’re also counting on the fact that news crews are catching this live while we’re out in the open, so my family is watching in real time. How did you know about my mother?”
“Anyone who knows Tony Capello knows how he lost his wife and nearly his daughter.”
“It was a gift from the Almighty to you, then, when I ended up being the voice on the end of the line.”
“It was something I could work with. The day hadn’t been going quite the way I’d planned. Though, in the end, it still worked out okay.” His tone took on a dark, cruel edge. “I intended for Rowland to die and was pissed when I realized he was out of the office unexpectedly. But now, he’ll have to live with the pain of losing someone irreplaceable, just like I do.”
Gemma stopped her shuffle and turned her head as far as the gun would allow to look back at Boyle. “I’m very sorry for the loss of your son,” she said quietly.
His face contorted into a pinched mixture of pain and rage. “I don’t need your pity.”
“You’re not getting it. But you and I both know the hazards of this job, and how life can change in an instant. I looked up Connor’s record. He was a good cop, and, from what I could see, a kind man. He is not only a loss to you, but to all of us at the NYPD. We need officers like him.”
The struggle to stay focused was clear on Boyle’s face. There it is, his Achilles’ heel. So she pushed a little bit more, intent on making a connection with him, willing to lay herself bare in the effort to save her own life. “I know what it’s like to lose someone who’s your whole world. It’s been twenty-five years since my mother died. I don’t think about her constantly like I used to, but still, at odd times, there’s an unrelated trigger that brings her back to me. And it still hurts. It’s too soon for you, I bet. For you, it always hurts.” Not wanting to press further, Gemma turned away, giving him time to pull himself together.
They came to the edge of City Hall, carefully descended the three steps from the raised walkway down to street level, and shuffled from there into the shade of the trees lining the small, reserved parking lot. They moved in silence now, their motions more in unison. Gemma knew how far she could move ahead without having him try to snap her back, grinding the back of her skull against his pistol barrel. Boyle had learned to anticipate her moves, staying tightly against her, keeping her angled out toward the parking lot so he was less of a target. As macabre dances went, they were just about ready for Dancing with the Stars.
He caught her off guard when he stopped dead, grasping her shoulder while in midstep and slamming her back against him, snapping her head back against the gun.
She couldn’t quite swallow the grunt of pain. “Change of plans?” she gasped. She tried to squirm forward just a fraction of an inch, so she wasn’t in contact with his full body, but he held her fast.
He turned her so she fully faced the parking lot, an open space between two cars in front of them. “We’re going to cut across here. We’re going to do it quickly, because we’re going to be exposed.”
Meaning you’re going to be exposed. I’ll be in front; nothing will be in back.
“And we’re going to stay close the whole time.” He leaned forward, pressing his cheek against hers. “Really close.”
Gemma fought back the urge to shudder at the force
d intimacy. She understood what he was doing. As they were exposed down the pathway, any bullet going through his head from a perpendicular shot would also go through hers, likely staying the hand of any sniper.
“Move,” he ordered.
She took small, quick steps, pushing between the parked cars and then out into the open space of the lot. This time, instead of leading, she was being pushed along by Boyle, fast enough that she nearly stumbled as they wound between two vehicles on the far side. She just managed to get both hands out against sun-warmed metal to stop her forward momentum.
“Keep going,” Boyle growled.
Then they were back under the leafy canopy of the park. Boyle’s body relaxed and he pulled back from her fractionally. She ignored the urge to wipe the back of her hand over her cheek to remove any damp traces of sweat. He might be trying to transmit confidence, but his body’s reaction gave him away. Those thirty seconds had been terrifying for him.
Gemma looked past the PLEASE KEEP OFF GRASS sign to the grove of dogwood trees beyond. “Go through there, staying under the trees?”
“That’s what they’re meant to think. But no. This way.” He turned her body to the left, pushing her forward.
At first, she was confused when she saw the structure before her: The three-sided permanent iron fencing was set up in an open rectangle. Another section of fence was removed, to lean against one of the other sides. The dual metal doors, easily each ten feet long and three feet wide, lay flush with the ground around it. There was an electrical panel attached to the iron fence, with twin metal loops that should have held a padlock. She couldn’t see the sign affixed to the mobile section of fence now, but she knew exactly what it said—CITY HALL.
It was the emergency exit to the historic City Hall subway station, open at the turn of the twentieth century and closed now for more than seventy years.
Shock short-circuited her coordination, nearly making her stumble as his plan became clear. Why he’d taken hostages—he had her as protection now, but he’d planned on using one of the hostages right from the start. He knew all along he didn’t have to get out of City Hall Park, even when she’d offered him a helicopter. He only needed to get clear of the building and about forty feet past it to be able to disappear into the bowels of the world below New York City. Because from there, he could get lost into the underground life teeming under the city streets and eventually escape nearly anywhere.
She’d been confident in her skills and intuition as a negotiator. She thought she’d succeeded in getting into his head and had figured him out. But the realization that he’d so handily one-upped her felt like he’d dumped a bucket of ice water over her head. Suddenly her control of the situation was slipping through her fingers.
Without a doubt, she was now completely on her own. She’d thought she might be able to depend on the ESU and the A-Team for backup support while they were in City Hall Park, but now they’d still be waiting for them to come through the treed section of the park.
By the time the A-Team realized they were missing and sent in officers on foot, they’d have vanished.
CHAPTER 20
Gemma had grown up hearing about the abandoned City Hall subway station and had seen pictures of its colorful vaulted and tiled ceilings, leaded glass, and brass chandeliers, but she’d never seen it for herself. She and Frankie had talked about going several times, but it was so popular, the handful of tours given annually by the New York Transit Museum sold out in minutes, and they’d never been lucky enough to score tickets.
“This is an emergency exit only,” she said. “That control panel should be inaccessible. How could you know it would be unlocked?”
He scoffed. “I’ve been planning this for nearly four months. They run tours down there. They’re running one tonight, in fact. A Transit Museum worker comes during the afternoon on tour day to make sure the site is safe—no flooding, no cracked or crumbling stairs, and to make sure the train platform and wooden bridge are in good shape. I got to the park ahead of time and waited for him to go in, expecting him around three o’clock. But he was early and he forced my hand.”
“That’s why you missed Rowland. He would have been back by three, but your timeline got moved up. You calculated the odds and decided to go for it. But you got Willan instead.”
Boyle gave her a push forward toward the doors and she gritted her teeth and leaned back against him. She only hoped trying to slow him down to give the A-Team time to catch up wouldn’t get her killed.
“Wait! How did you know the panel would still be unlocked?”
Boyle eased the pressure on her slightly. “Because the evacuation was called when I went in. The museum employee would have been forced to have a number six train stop for him because he couldn’t come back up. The panel stayed unlocked because he couldn’t come up to close the doors from outside. But since the park was deserted, the guy likely didn’t worry about anyone getting into the site. And certainly didn’t think the man causing all the chaos would view it as his escape route. The whole exercise nearly ran too long to make this work. Now we’re going to go join a tour in progress.”
When Gemma had accused Boyle of playing them for time, she hadn’t realized his plan was this structured. But it was, and he had timed his exit precisely to line up with a prescheduled tour. The entire stop-and-frisk policy change requirement had all been part of an elaborate scheme to buy several hours and nothing more.
“You seriously think they’ll be running a tour beneath City Hall when everything above it has been evacuated? Surely, it’ll be canceled.” Anger at being so convincingly fooled burned hot in her chest and played at the edges of her clipped words.
“I’m betting this is a situation where the left hand doesn’t know what the right hand is doing. The NYPD probably doesn’t know it’s even scheduled, and the transit cops are busy dealing with pissed-off commuters whose evenings have been disrupted. I’m counting on it being a detail that’s gotten away from them, if they knew about it in the first place. They’ll still be letting the six train go through the loop, or they’ll have to close down the entire line and several stations, as the cars won’t have anywhere to turn around. I’ve seen how these tours are prepped. There have been two guys that come to check out the site beforehand. One guy is a stickler. He always locks the control panel before he goes in so no one can sneak in behind him. But that’s extra work going in and coming out, locking and unlocking it again so he can close up in the end, and it takes him longer. The other guy never does that extra work. He goes in, leaves the panel open, checks out the station, comes out, closes the site, and then locks the panel. I didn’t know today would even be possible until I saw who came to the station. Once I saw it was the careless employee, I knew I was good to go. Because once things started to get out of hand up here, he was never going to admit he’d made an error and left the station open to external access. He’d lose his job.”
“He’ll lose his job now,” Gemma muttered.
“And because the transit museum is going to consider the site sealed with no access to the controls, thereby locking out the entire entrance, they’re going to consider it safe to run the tour as planned, as it’s completely separate from what’s going on above.” He leaned over and flipped the panel door open. “They’re going to be wrong.”
The open panel revealed a simple two-button switch labeled OPEN and CLOSED.
“You’re betting an awful lot on the fact that someone will consider this area to be totally detached and inaccessible from City Hall. And if there is a tour going on down there, you think they’re not going to hear the doors open?” Gemma asked.
“They’re actually really quiet. It’s an emergency exit, so they check it regularly to make sure it stays functional.” When Gemma craned her neck to look back at him silently, he continued, “I told you—I’ve been planning this for a while. Now, enough. If you think I don’t see you trying to buy time, you’re sadly mistaken. I’m going to open the doors, then we’ll tip
toe down those stairs—silently—and join the back of the tour. They won’t even notice us. On the chance there is no tour, we’re simply going to disappear into the subway system. It’ll work for me either way.”
He reached over and punched the OPEN button. Slowly, and with a surprisingly quiet whir, the doors lifted open, pushed by hydraulic hinges. With a last jab against the back of her neck, which had her stumbling off balance, he stepped back, taking the gun away.
Regaining her balance, she turned to face him. She’d been right about the jacket. He now wore a khaki military-style jacket with many pockets. He’d taken advantage of the seconds she’d taken to steady herself and turn around—he’d holstered his SIG Sauer P226 and was now holding a compact Glock 42 he must have pulled from a jacket pocket. She rubbed the aching back of her neck. “That’s why you kept shortening the timetable on us.”
“Sure. I literally have a train to catch. We’re just going to be a couple out for an evening tour. And because they’ve been on the tour, if the media is broadcasting our pictures, the tour participants won’t have seen them.” He raised the Glock so she couldn’t fail to see it. “This is going to be on you. More than that, it’s going to be on every person in that tour. Tell anyone what is going on, or make any move to escape, and you might survive, but they won’t.” He took a quick look at his watch. “It’s seven-fifty. Time to move. The tour is almost over.” He motioned with the Glock toward the stairs. “You go first. Be quiet and inconspicuous. If anyone figures out we’ve joined the tour partway, they die. You don’t want that on you.”
Gemma nodded and walked toward the open doorway. As they got closer, a flight of steps materialized from the darkness below, starting at street level and disappearing down into a dimly lit tunnel that curved to the left and out of sight. She paused for only a fraction of a second at the top, but it was apparently too long for Boyle, who nudged the small of her back. She threw him an irritated glance and took her first step into the tunnel. She went down a step at a time, Boyle staying only a tread or two behind her, taking care to keep her steps silent, grateful for the rubber-soled summer sneakers she wore to a family picnic. The flat-heeled boots she paired with the suits she wore for a regular shift—because you never knew when you might have to run after a perp—would never have been this quiet. Boyle ghosted along behind her on his rubber-soled military boots, reinforcing that this was part of his plan right from the start.
