“Just confirmed,” he stated, arms crossed. “What about hostages?”
“There were thirty-four, last count. But I think some more might have made it out when the electricity was turned off.”
“What about the explosion?” he asked. “You were cryptic on the phone. Anyone killed?”
“Just the two vics. The one missing the ring is missing a lot more than that.”
Foster shook his head, looking down. “That definitely changes things.” When he looked back up, he carefully considered me, waiting for me to continue.
“There’s one other victim,” I confided. “Shot by the kid early on. His way of letting us know they were serious, I guess. Did everyone we carried out make it?”
“All but one.”
I got up from the table angrily and walked back to the wall of windows.
“She’d lost too much blood. There was nothing we could do,” he continued. “Let’s get back on track here,” he redirected me. “We found evidence indicating they are probably very well armed.”
I nodded in frustration. I didn’t have time to be interrogated. I needed to get back into the building. Just as I knew they’d never let a television crew in there, I knew they’d never let me go back in, either. So, I’d have to find another way. But, I wasn’t going anywhere as long as I was cuffed.
“They are both armed with AR-15s and enough ammo to do a lot of damage to a lot of people. They both have at least a dozen grenades that could blow up a lot more than a bathroom. I saw some C-4, but I can’t say how much. You already saw the mine, I’m assuming. I’m guessing they rigged the doors from the outside as well.”
“Bomb squad’s been working on those,” he assured me.
“Yeah, well, I’d be extra careful. AJ rigged the exits from the inside with Claymores, too,” I stressed.
Foster snapped his fingers, and the petite, dark haired officer rushed from the room to alert the bomb squad of the critical new information.
“What else?”
“Other than the fact that they are both mentally unstable?” I asked.
I took a few minutes to fill him in on the different hostages and their conditions. I couldn’t give him any names other than Mary Beth’s, Priscilla’s mom, and Corbin’s, because I didn’t know any. I felt a little guilty for not having asked. But since the opportunity hadn’t presented itself, I could only give him physical descriptions to help them fill in the blanks, and hopefully, identify who was still inside.
“So,” I breathed out. “What happens now? We both know you’re not going to send in a TV crew, so what are you doing to get them out?”
“We’ll see if we can negotiate for a few more hostages,” he began.
“They’re not going to give you any.”
“No?” he queried, eyeing me in the same suspicious way he had at the beginning of the interview. “Do tell.”
“The dad is sick.”
“How sick?”
“He’s coughing up blood. AJ mentioned he has cancer due to Agent Orange.”
“So, who’s in charge?”
“Dad is,” I said. “But, if he gets any worse, AJ will take the lead, and that kid’s insane. He’s a ticking time bomb.”
“Do you think they plan to release the hostages, or kill them?”
I shook my head. “I think Benson will let them go, if he gets his way.”
“Gets his way?” Foster looked at me, curiously.
I had to think quick on my feet and backpedal. “He wants the world to know that the big bad government and the VA have denied Blue Water veterans Agent Orange benefits for four decades. He wants to show everyone what it’s done to him and his family.”
“Wow,” was all he could say.
“That’s why he wants a television crew. He wants them to broadcast his condition and the plight of veterans to the world.”
“And, he thinks that will change things?”
“Yeah,” I exhaled. “He thinks if enough people see the broadcast, everyone will be mad enough to do something about it.”
“Wow.” Foster repeated, re-crossing his arms. When I didn’t say anything else, he asked, “What’s his timetable?”
“No idea,” I shrugged. “He wants a TV crew. That’s what he’s holding out for.”
“That’s too bad,” he said, sitting there. “Anything else?”
I thought hard for a moment, then looked up at him and shook my head.
Foster stared at me, then raised his eyebrows impatiently, turned off the recorder, and made his way toward the door.
When I realized he was leaving the debriefing, I called after him. “Aren’t you forgetting something?” I asked, holding my arms up behind me.
“Oh, yeah.” Foster turned around, walked back to the table and picked up the file. “Thanks,” he added, tapping the folder to his forehead. Then he walked back to the door.
“Hey!” I yelled when he left without ever turning around. “Hey!” I hollered louder. Then I watched angrily through the glass as he continued walking away. I kicked over the chair and then the table, letting fly a barrage of obscenities that would make a sailor blush.
I walked to the window looking down on the scene and dropped my head to the glass, growling, feeling utterly helpless. I closed my eyes, remembering Mary Beth’s words. “It’s not up to you, or up to them.”
I looked upwards into the late afternoon sun. “This can’t be how it ends!” I cried out. “You can’t let it end like this.” I banged my head on the glass a couple of times, then looked back down at the gaping hole in the building. “Not like this,” I breathed out, shaking my head.
Not again…
Chapter 28
After a few minutes, one of the female officers returned carrying a bottle of chilled water. She glanced at the table, then the chair, then at me. I merely shrugged and looked down into the street. I heard her up-righting the aforementioned, and suddenly, I felt her releasing the restraints, so that my hands were free. I turned as she slid the cuffs into her pocket.
“Eventually someone’s going to come looking for these.” She gave me a wry smile.
I rubbed my wrists, walked to the table and opened the bottle. “Thank you.” I held it up to her before taking a sip.
“You’re welcome,” she said. “Sorry that you’ve had to go through this today.”
“Yeah,” I scoffed. “Me too.” After guzzling half of it, I gasped, glancing past her through the glass separating all the window offices on the floor. Assorted law enforcement was everywhere, all busy working on whatever their task was, all with essential roles to play in securing the release of the hostages.
“So, what’s been going on since I got in here?” I asked curiously.
“Well, we have thirty minutes until the next deadline.”
“Has there been any contact with the perps?” I inquired.
“I can’t discuss that with you.” She handed me my wallet and my cell phone. “But I’m betting you already knew that.” Then she gave me a small spiral and a pen. “Chief Foster asked if you would please write your statement and then you can go.”
I looked at her, a little dazed. “My statement? I just gave him my statement.”
“Yeah, well, he has a bad memory and no batteries in his recorder. So, we’ll need you to write it down.”
Before she turned to leave, I glanced at her name placard. “Thanks for the water, Lieutenant Thrash.”
“Alice,” she replied.
I grinned and nodded. “Thanks, Alice.”
Then she left me there, closing the door behind her, heading down the corridor between partitions separating cubicles. They were trying to stall me, keeping me here on purpose. I looked around in frustration, then sat down and pretended to write. I spent more time people watching and studying the room, the comings and goings of everyone. Within five minutes, I knew where the command center was, the phone banks and the coffee and donut table.
When I was pretty sure that no one was watching me, I set down the p
en and walked to the door. It was unlocked. I casually strode right up to the food table, picked up a box of donuts, poured two cups of coffee and made my way to the bank of elevators. When I stepped through the doors onto the ground floor, I walked straight up to the two cops that were playing sentry at the front entrance to the building and handed them each a cup of coffee and the box of donuts.
“Compliments of Chief Foster,” I said, with a big smile. They both looked at me, confused, but very grateful. “By the way, you’re doing a great job. Thank you,” I added, before simply walking out of the building.
Immediately I made my way to the right, where I had seen a half-dozen ambulances staged from the office upstairs, where I’d been interrogated. The medic station was just around the corner at the end of the block. As I neared it, I recognized several people that had been inside the restaurant but had somehow made it out. Some were still being treated or were resting on makeshift cots, others being interviewed, much as I had been, only they weren’t in handcuffs.
I walked to the walled medical canopy. A nursing volunteer looked up at me and instantly pegged me as one of the hostages, because of how beat up I looked. She motioned me over to her table.
“Name?” she asked.
“Brandon Edwards,” I replied.
“You poor dear.” She opened her medical kit., took out an assortment of items, and carefully began to clean the cuts and scratches on my hands and my face. When the cold alcohol wipes touched them, it stung more than the wound itself.
“I feel so bad for you,” she sympathized. “It must have been such a terrifying ordeal.”
I looked around curiously as she continued to chatter, oblivious to my lack of attention.
“I hear there are about three dozen people still in there,” she said, shaking her head.
So much for keeping things close to the vest, Foster.
“That first woman they brought out by stretcher, bless her heart, she didn’t make it.”
I watched where law enforcement congregated. There were at least two dozen, out of view of the gaping hole in the front of the building. They were all standing around, waiting for their orders.
“Poor people,” she commiserated. “I hope they all get out of there alive.”
I turned at her remark. “Why wouldn’t they?”
She leaned forward as though she was preparing to tell me a secret. I leaned in to match her motions. “I hear they are probably going to have to go in, if they can’t talk the hostage-takers out. I heard one of the officers say that there could be collateral damage,” she whispered. “And I don’t think they were talking about the building.”
I sat up a little straighter, listening to her intently. They were going to go in. What the hell were they thinking? The wheels were turning now. I had to do something. I couldn’t let them breach and take a chance that Mary Beth or Corbin or the others might not make it. I simply couldn’t. Especially since AJ was such a wild card that he’d probably blow the building, rather than let anyone come in, or anyone else leave. He’d rather die a martyr like those idiot suicide bombers than allow himself to be taken.
“I heard they called in a lot more ambulances, just in case.”
Unable to listen to her any more, I stood and walked away, without even thanking her for her help. My mind was already on other things. As I looked around, I noticed everyone in authority wore a badge. Though the name tags were very prominent, wearing them somehow made them—invisible. That would be my first task. Especially if I were to stick around, I needed to look like I belonged. Blend in.
I asked the first volunteer I met where I might get something to eat, and he pointed over his shoulder. So, I continued deeper into the tent, past cots and blankets and cases of water, finally landing at a table filled with boxes of snacks, medical supplies, stress balls, and—bingo—Red Cross volunteer shirts and hats. Casually, I began checking labels, finding a 2X and a larger baseball cap. That would work, temporarily. I stuffed them under my chef coat; then I strode confidently from the tent carrying two cases of water, heading straight for the command center.
Thankfully the two guys I’d given breakfast to were still there. They greeted me, grateful for my earlier gesture. I offered them a water which they each took advantage of before one of them walked me to the elevator to order my car. Once I was inside, I rode it to the top floor to give me time to shed myself of the chef jacket and pull on my new Red Cross Volunteer t-shirt. Then I slipped on the baseball cap, pushed two, picked up the waters and waited.
The floor was bustling as before. I immediately stepped to the food table, which was just outside the command center. I stood there with my back to the door, intent on eavesdropping as I slowly unloaded the two cases of water, one bottle at a time. If someone walked by and happened to look at me, I’d merely smile and offer them one. I moved an empty donut box, sticking the chef coat discreetly into it before stuffing them both into the trash. Then I brushed crumbs from the table, as though cleaning up.
I glanced inside the large glassed room. Multiple computer screens were set up on two long conference tables, with wires running every which direction. Alice and another female officer were discussing something in a file, while another sat patiently over the dedicated phone system, headphones on, listening. For what, I had no clue, since they had cut the power.
Two men dressed in full tactical gear stopped beside me and made themselves coffee. I scooted over to give them room, smiling at one when he looked up at me. He nodded in acknowledgement, then turned and waited with his friend at the doorway to the conference room. A moment later, I heard Foster’s unmistakable voice behind me. Directly behind me.
“What can you tell me?” he asked.
“We now have eyes and ears inside from the shop next door. The hostages are all together that we can see. In the southwest corner of the building,” he added.
“Can we see the perps?” Foster asked.
“Unfortunately, they have positioned themselves so that we cannot get a clear shot. And the kid is holding one of the women pretty close, so we’re going to have to draw him out, somehow.”
“Can we breach?”
Neither one of them spoke for several moments, then one did. “We could, but I’d say because of where they are, it will be difficult. And, they’d probably take out several, if not all, of the hostages before we could reach them.”
“Damn it,” the chief growled. “Can you give me any good news?”
“Yeah,” we’ve disarmed the Claymores in the back. But if your intel was correct, and those mines go off inside, it’s all over.”
“Hand me one of those, would you?”
Suddenly, I saw a hand beside me and realized he was talking to me. So, I did.
“Thank you,” he offered.
“No problem,” I said, trying to disguise my voice.
“So, what do you suggest?” Foster asked.
“We have a team on the roof, working on that angle. It seems there’s a good amount of crawl space above their drop ceiling. We just aren’t certain yet how sturdy it is.”
“How long do you need?” the chief asked.
“Forty-five minutes, maybe an hour. Can you get us that?”
“I guess I don’t have a choice now, do I?”
Suddenly, there was distinct chatter over one of the men’s wireless headsets. “Wait a minute,” he interrupted. I side-glanced them as I slowly moved to the end of the table, throwing some trash away, trying to appear busy.
“Something’s happening. Check your phone,” I heard him say.
Immediately, Alice rushed into the room. “Chief, you need to see this.”
I watched as the three men rushed into the command center and stood before the four-by-two computer screens.
When I saw the feed, a small smile crept up on the side of my lips. “Leon, you son of a gun,” I exhaled. “You actually did it.”
Chapter 29
You could have heard a pin drop in the command center as Arnold
spoke. It was obviously something he’d written himself that he hadn’t taken much time to edit or make sure it made sense, but everyone listening got the gist of it. Now the world knew all about a hostage situation going on in Texas. Not from the local or national news outlets, but through the internet.
Leon had managed to tap into several platforms, starting with Facebook and Instagram. He had managed to turn a hostage situation into a live, interactive politically charged debate in front of anyone who dared tune in.
“Shut him down, now!” Foster hollered.
“We can’t,” his communications officer replied, nervously. “We can’t jam their wireless signal without killing our communications.”
“You mean, with all this technology, we can’t turn him off?”
“Not unless you find us a different way to talk to each other,” the communications officer added.
“How could he know that? How could he possibly know that?!” he yelled, at no one in particular. Foster swiped his hand across the desk, scattering papers onto the floor in every direction. “He’s a friggin’ country bumpkin that only graduated high school, and you’re telling me he outwitted us?”
The chief paced angrily. Then, just as suddenly, he stopped and turned. Immediately, he walked toward the room two doors down where Roarck had been contained less than a half-hour ago. Thrash followed, close on his heels.
“Where did he go?” he barked, walking into the empty room.
“I don’t know,” she replied, honestly. “You said once he wrote his statement, he could leave.”
Foster looked down at the table where a piece of paper sat. He walked up to it and turned the paper over. He wadded it up as he cursed and then threw it like a baseball into the wall before storming from the room. Thrash picked up the paper at her feet, where it had landed, and un-wadded it.
“Obstacles are put in your way to see if what you really want is worth fighting for.”
“Thrash!” he yelled over his shoulder. “Find him! Now!”
Alice hurried from the room behind him, trying to keep up. “I don’t understand.”
The Ex Page 17