“Yes sir! Of course, sir.” Responding hastily, her posture, and that of her men, straightened sharply as they came to full attention.
Looking, one-by-one, into the eyes of each member of the assault team, Jerome felt it worth the time to send a clear message. Having handpicked and trained so many agents and specialists over the course of the last decade, he felt responsible for their safety as well as their actions. Almost anyone could be trained in tactics, but these men and women had shown a talent for making split-second decisions when the situation called for it. These traits are invaluable to those in such a dangerous line of work, but he had learned to temper that enthusiasm from time to time. “There’s one target holding thirty-six civilians and two officers. They, and each of you, come out alive. Do you understand?” His tone was as caring as it was demanding.
“Yes sir!” the team responded in perfect unison.
Still wanting to make certain that nothing was left to interpretation, Jerome let his heavy gaze fall on Agent Kirkpatrick. “Once at the door, monitor my conversation with the officer on the inside. We proceed in three minutes, unless I say otherwise.” He glanced at his watch before nodding the go ahead. “That means now people. Get to it!” he barked.
Sergeant Stein gave a concerned look to Jerome as the agents, armed with sub-machine guns, followed one of his officers toward a service entrance at the rear of the library. A chill vibrated through his spine as the group disappeared around the building. “No offense, but she’s a little gung-ho for my blood.”
A grin curled to one corner of Jerome’s mouth. “None taken. It’s what I expect from a group of people willing to run toward a bomb,” he said, his lips completing the smile. “When they stick to their training, they’re simply the best at what they do.”
Crossing his arms, Stein looked more than a little wary. “And when they don’t?”
“They will, Sergeant,” he said, nodding reassuringly despite knowing that enthusiasm does occasionally override better judgment. “Call your sharpshooters off the rooftops and inform your officers that the rescue team is going in.” As he gave out his instructions, a familiar pre-operation pit began to form in Jerome’s stomach. “Just one more thing to do.” Activating the two-way radio, he tried to keep his voice quiet. “Officer Beck. I’m sending in the rescue team. Signal Officer Alexander to keep his head low and out of harm’s way. Over.” A slight waver in his voice betrayed his apprehension.
Responding immediately, Jack called back with urgency. “—ust a minute! Seth saw a detonator switch hanging inside the subject’s trench coat. If you order your people in now, they won’t get to him in time. Do you copy?” His voice was becoming hoarse from whispering into the two-way receiver.
Blood rushed from Jerome’s cheeks while visions of disaster flooded his thoughts. Squeezing the talk button tightly, the hard plastic creaked under the power of his grip. “RESCUE TEAM STAND DOWN! I say again, STAND DOWN!” Letting go of the button, but then pressing it again instantaneously, he didn’t want to take a chance that he wasn’t heard. “Kirkpatrick, do you copy?” he yelled urgently as streams of sweat began running down his face and neck.
Standing helplessly next to Sergeant Stein, Jerome waited anxiously for a response. After a few moments, loud static burst from the radio, indicating that the channel had been opened, but no response was heard. Jerome took a few sprinting steps in the direction of where the rescue team had gone when Agent Kirkpatrick’s voice finally broke the silence. “—escue team standing down. Over.” Her voice, dejected, was reminiscent of a child who just found out that Disney Land was closed for repairs.
Hearing her response, Jerome stopped abruptly, gravel scraping the asphalt under his shoes as he raised the radio to his mouth. “Message received, stand by for further orders.” Relieved, he turned and walked back to his original position at the rear of his vehicle.
“It looks like your boys are back in play.” Jerome let out a quick breath as he imagined the disappointment on Agent Kirkpatrick’s face. Holding back a force of nature took its toll on his nerves.
“I’m sure Jack will be happy to hear it, but I’m not so sure about Seth,” replied Stein.
“He doesn’t have to be happy about it, he just has to be ready,” said Jerome, holding the radio closer. “For everyone’s sake, let’s just pray he is.”
***
Pure torture imparted by the unforgiving marble floor took its toll on the veteran officer as Jack Beck struggled to simultaneously find a comfortable, and tactically sound, position. Keeping a clear line of sight with Officer Alexander, while remaining concealed from the would-be bomber below was proving difficult. The man could be heard ranting as he paced back and forth in front of his terrified captives. Although more than tired of hearing the anti-government rhetoric being repeated incessantly, the noise did create the cover he needed to continue his communication with those outside. Having heard the most recent exchange, and feeling relief that the rescue team had been momentarily called off, Jack found himself wondering what the next step would be. It did not take long to get an answer as the two-way radio received its next transmission.
“—ficer Beck, do you read? Over,” came the voice of Agent Perkins.
“Sure, but I prefer to just look at the pictures,” quipped Beck. Despite his calm demeanor, every nerve in his being was on high alert. “Yeah, I’m still here. Over.
“—ood to hear. We’re running out of options on this end. Our only play may be to take a shot from your position. Over.” It may have been the only obvious choice left, but Jerome’s inflection at the end sounded as if he was forcing himself to sound enthusiastic.
Fighting the urge to cuss loudly at the pain to his joints, Jack eased himself to a kneeling position and peered carefully over a short wall in front of him. A load-bearing pillar partially blocked his view of the deranged man. The man was pacing quickly back and forth, waving his arms with broad animation as he continued his verbal barrage on the reluctant audience. Huddled together, the children clung to their teachers who did their best to shield them. Unluckily, their location also happened to be in the direct line of fire from Jack’s current vantage point.
Grimacing as he crouched back down behind the wall, Jack quietly activated his radio’s transmitter. “That’s a negative on taking the shot from where I sit. It’s a forty-five-degree downward angle to a moving target in a direct line with the hostages. Over,” he whispered into the receiver.
“—on of a bit—” the partial broadcast ended, leaving static to crackle over the speaker. Jack thought he recognized Sergeant Stein’s familiar, exasperated voice.
Moving to the top of the stairwell, he could see Officer Alexander sitting on the floor with one leg stretched out in front of him. He was massaging the thigh and calf muscles, which had apparently fallen asleep. Though obscured by a large bookshelf, he was just a few meters away from where the disturbed man was pacing.
Looking closely at the long, curved staircase, Jack searched for a plan. The steps were wide and made of aging wood. Any attempt to crawl down them would likely be met with loud creaking, a blown cover, and a very messy library. He considered throwing his weapon to Seth, but the maneuver seemed far too risky given the distance and various light fixtures the toss would have to pass by. About to give up on any plan involving the rookie officer below, Jack placed his hand on top of the banister to steady himself. He could feel that the hand railing was wide and had a slight lip on either edge. Smiling devilishly to himself, Jack moved back behind the wall and activated the radio.
“Stand by. We’re going to try something in here. Over.” He waved down the stairs to get Officer Alexander’s attention.
“—ou think you could be more specific? Over,” requested Jerome.
“Negative. If I say it out loud, I’ll lose my nerve. Just be ready to send your team in, one way or another. Over,” said Jack, a little more ominously than he had intended.
“—erstood. Just do me a favor and leave yo
ur radio on transmit and turn the gain all the way to maximum. I need to hear what is happening in there. Good luck. Over.” The transmission went silent.
“Will do, Agent. Beers are on you when it’s done. Over.” Jack locked the transmit button in active mode. With prime focus upon remaining undetected, he placed the radio delicately on top of the flat-topped wall that faithfully concealed him throughout the ordeal thus far. With one task accomplished, he crawled toward the top of the stairs. “Hope you’re ready for this, kid,” he whispered under his breath as he arrived at his destination and waved to the unsuspecting officer down below.
***
After several hours of sitting silently on the cold tile floor, Seth began to lose patience with the numbness growing in his lower extremities. In a moment of unintentional mercy, the deranged man raised his voice to make a particularly impassioned point about how the government is tracking everyone with spy satellites, providing the opportunity to shift to a kneeling position without being heard. Circulation returned almost immediately to his legs as he massaged his calf muscles back to life.
Catching movement in the corner of his eye, he could see that Officer Beck had moved to the top of the staircase. It appeared that Jack was attempting to get his attention. Though not exactly sign language, their basic training in the use of hand signals to communicate vital information when silence is necessary, proved useful. Over the past several hours, the two men had become fairly tuned in to one another’s use of nonverbal communication. This time though, Seth found himself doubting if he had understood Officer Beck correctly whatsoever.
Making sure he didn’t miss anything, Seth watched closely as Jack held out his sidearm and made a pushing motion downward and in his direction. It was clear that the intention was to get the weapon down to him, but he still couldn’t understand how this was going to happen with a flight of stairs and a lunatic between them. Even more disturbing to the inexperienced officer was the suggestion that he use the sidearm if he somehow managed to get it into his possession. His training was geared toward finding the best resolution for resolving conflict, not delivering final solutions.
As Jack lifted his weapon to the top of the banister, Seth suddenly understood the plan, if one could call it that. He didn’t know many of the officers on the force yet, but enjoyed talking with the veteran officer now and then. Seth found his stories and anecdotes amusing, but suspected that most of them were, at best, embellished. However, based on the plan for this situation, he wondered if the outlandish stories were true after all.
Realizing that timing was going to be everything if the strategy had any hope of working, Seth took a deep, quiet breath. Nodding once at Jack, he carefully pushed himself into a crouched, but standing position. Feeling the uncomfortable sensation of tiny pins poking at his still reawakening legs, Seth hoped they would fully cooperate when the time came to run.
With his free hand, Jack mimed the unmistakable pull of a trigger. Seth was unsure if this meant that the safety would be off or if it was encouragement to fire as soon as he could. Either way, the message was not one suggesting the possibility of a peaceful outcome.
Moving stealthily to the edge of the bookshelf, Seth was still at least ten meters from the bottom of the stairs leading up to Officer Beck. His eyes widened as Jack brought his vintage Browning Hi-Power 9mm handgun to the top of the banister and centered it neatly between the two raised edges of the handrail. As the hostage taker turned and paced away from the staircase, he released the weapon without hesitation.
Immediately, the heavy metal pistol began to increase in speed with gravity driving the descent. The sound of what could only be described as a ‘wobbly roller-skate’ suddenly echoed around the vaulted ceiling of the cavernous room. Seth pushed hard off his right foot and raced forward, grunting loudly from the exertion. The handgun-turned-bobsled nearly slipped from its track as it reached the gradual curve, but managed to right itself where the rail straightened out and neared the last few steps. He focused all of his attention on the weapon as it reached the end of the rail and slid gracefully off, into the air on a downward plane. Diving instinctively, he felt the cold steel of the weighty pistol come to rest in his outstretched hand.
Sliding on his stomach, he put his free hand to the floor, which made a short, high pitched screech like rubber soled shoes on a basketball court. He could feel the burn of friction and sensation of skin peeling from the base of his palm as he propelled himself into a kneeling position. Breathing like he had just run a marathon, Seth found himself facing the pacing man who had yet to determine which direction the echoes of commotion were coming from within the the vacuous room. Startled, the wild-eyed man held up his hands, staring in astonishment at the equally surprised officer kneeling before him.
As the surprised man reflexively turned toward him, Seth raised the handgun, pulled back the hammer, and took aim. Upon noticing one of the man's eyelids twitching uncontrollably he immediately wondered if a medication issue was to blame for the man’s erratic behavior. Seth tensed as he watched the stunned man rub one hand across top of his head in confusion, further disheveling his matted gray hair. Some of the children screamed while others covered their faces or grasped more tightly to their teachers.
Calling upon his assertiveness training, Seth took a deep, but understandably shaky breath. For the first time ever, he spoke to a human being from behind the barrel of a loaded gun. “Put your hands on your head and lie face down on the ground!” he ordered, his voice cracking from lack of recent use. Without taking his eyes off his target, he noticed that some of the younger children complied with his order, not understanding that it was meant for their captor.
With a beleaguered sigh, the man smiled strangely as he stretched his arms out to his side. As if studying an abstract painting, he stared intensely at the young man who seemed to materialize from out of nowhere. “Looks like The Man has sent a boy to come collect me,” he said sarcastically, his head tilting to one side, seemingly more curious than intimidated. His long, tattered, gray overcoat opened slightly to reveal a tangle of multicolored wires attached to what appeared to be homemade plastic explosives and a pipe bomb strapped to his midsection.
Realizing just how big of an explosion it would be should the bomb be detonated, Seth’s body tensed. No one in the building would survive. Always searching for a peaceful outcome, he interpreted the man’s body language as defiant, but not immediately hostile. “If you comply with my orders, I can assure that no harm will come to you.” Crisis training flooded his thoughts as he searched frantically for a peaceful end. “Is there anyone I can call for you? If you forgot to take your medication we can bring it to you.”
Pale blue eyes darted frantically as the man studied the inexperienced lines of Seth’s face. “You think I’m stupid enough to believe that?” he snarled menacingly, still holding his arms out to his sides. Continuing to gaze at the young officer as if looking through him, he appeared to be attempting to read his thoughts. “Perhaps you are yet untainted by the political demons who have taken control of our lives, but there ain’t a damn thing you can do to protect me from them.” The man’s voice was ragged from hours of incessant oration. “God shall be my only judge, not Satan’s minions who have claimed creation as their own!” he shouted triumphantly.
Seeing that the man’s outstretched arms were beginning to tire under the weight of his trench coat, Seth focused his eyes to scan the background without appearing to shift his gaze. Most of the children had gathered around their teachers, huddling in fear. Most far too dehydrated to cry, they quietly whimpered as the nightmare played on. Tall bookshelves behind them made escape impossible without moving directly into the line of fire.
Hoping for any sign that reason could win the day, Seth made an appeal to the man’s own twisted sense of logic. “Listen to me. At least let the hostages go. They aren’t demons, so harming them won’t please God. I bet it’d make that ‘judgement’ you were talking about a bit awkward when the time
comes.”
Bloodshot eyes widened in response to the plea, but not because of any perceptible change of heart. “Hostages? These fortunate souls aren’t my prisoners!” he cackled loudly. “Nay, I am here to rescue them before their spirits are corrupted and forever barred from everlasting salvation. I’ve simply been preparing their souls for the journey.” His stare turned icy as a thin smile crossed his lips. His intentions becoming clear, one of the teachers whispered for her students to cover their eyes.
In that moment, Seth understood that the man’s arms were not outstretched in defiance, but rather in a martyr’s pose. This had never been a negotiable situation, and the fledgling negotiator was the last to know it.
Steadying his weapon, sweat instantly soaked through Seth’s shirt. “Put your hands on your head now!” he yelled forcefully, despite an arid and tightening throat. As if finally giving into the inevitability of gravity, the man’s arms lowered to his side as he reached for the detonator switch.
Diplomacy, the solitary skill that defined Seth’s primary role in law enforcement, had failed him in the ultimate way. He could have ended the threat within seconds of gaining a tactical advantage, but every fiber of his being told him that there was another solution, a way out for all involved. At his very core, he was wrong.
Without further hesitation, he let out a short breath and squeezed the trigger firmly. The rocketing bullet struck the man in the right eye, sending a spray of crimson into the air behind him. His lifeless body went limp, crumpling as it came to rest in an awkward sitting position. His left eye remained open, appearing to be focused in disbelief on the young man who had finally ended his tortured journey.
The shot still rang in Seth’s ears as white smoke slithered up from the barrel of the pistol. Gunpowder’s unmistakable scent wafted through the air around him, assailing his nostrils. He could see but not hear the crying school children that were being ushered past by pale and emotionally exhausted teachers. It felt as though his consciousness had leaped from his body, becoming nothing more than a disembodied observer of shockingly grim events.
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