The Ex

by Margaret Ferguson

  “He played us,” Foster snapped. “He knew all along what they were planning. He had to have.”

  “To what end?” she asked, rushing to catch up with him.

  He stopped to pull on his jacket and grab a walkie-talkie. “If we’d known what they were planning, we could have gotten ahead of them, and maybe stopped them.” Foster turned to Special Agent Ryan. “Get Benson on the phone now,” he ordered.

  “I can’t, sir. We lost connection when you turned off the electricity.”

  “Then call his damned cell phone!”

  “We’ve tried, sir. We’re trying all the phones of the people we think are still in there, but they are all going to voice mail.”

  Foster drew in a deep breath and paced in a circle, casually adjusting his waistline. “Then I’ll tell you what,” he said, in a suddenly passive voice. “Why don’t you have someone trot on over there and give him a Sat phone?”

  Special Agent Ryan listened with trepidation, knowing that the calmer Foster sounded, the madder he was.

  “Well?” Foster added, sarcasm in his eyes.

  “Yes, sir.” Ryan hurriedly turned to make the call.

  “Do you think anyone’s really paying attention?” Alice asked.

  The chief pointed with the walkie to the television. The networks were already picking up the live feed, so as not to be outdone by one another. “We have to shut them down. I don’t care how, but we have to stop them. Now!”

  “But, sir?”

  “Do you remember David Koresh and the Branch Davidians? He wanted his day to say his piece on-air, with the promise to let everyone go. I’m sure you remember how that went down,” he retorted. Foster started walking again, and Thrash hurried to keep up. “It’s not going to happen again on my watch.”

  “Yes, sir,” she agreed.

  “Find Roarck. Find him now.”

  “What good would that do, sir?” she questioned.

  He stopped again, turning to her. “If he concealed that little piece of information, how do we know there’s something else he’s not telling us?”

  “Good point,” she agreed. “So, do we arrest him?”

  “Yes, arrest him for obstruction. And if he runs, they have my permission to shoot him. Just don’t kill him,” he said flippantly. “Because, when they are done with him, I’m going to kill him myself!”

  Chapter 30

  Once Foster realized that the perps had figured a way to get around the media crew demand, he went ballistic, as I knew he would. And, I didn’t want to be anywhere around when he put two and two together. So, when he stormed off in one direction, I decided to make myself scarce and went the other. Of course, since everyone’s attention was on the computer screens, I hijacked a full box of donuts and a couple of waters. Hey, I hadn’t eaten since breakfast, and I was famished.

  When I spied the exit sign, I decided to see where it would take me. A moment later, I found myself on the second story of the parking garage. I was surprised to find it full of vehicles until I realized that it was where all the first responders had parked their POVs. I knew that there was at least a two-block perimeter around the incident zone thanks to my lovely bird’s eye view when cuffed a short distance from where I stood. Though it wasn’t where I had hoped to be, it allowed me to study the scene, making me privy to pretty much how everything was staged. Which now actually worked to my advantage as I strategized how I was going to get back in. Only, how the hell was I going to do that?

  I ate at least four glazed donuts as I slowly walked the first row of vehicles, peering in every window to see if there was anything I could use to get me closer. A uniform or vest. A badge. Though, I was pretty sure no first responder would leave their car unlocked I had to try. I didn’t tug on too many doors, for fear of setting off an alarm. Just as I tried the last one, I heard the tweeting of a car being unlocked. Nearby. Quickly, I dropped to the ground and followed the sound of someone walking to the row behind me. I could tell by the light footsteps that it was a woman. Carefully, I crawled nearer. When she turned, and her back was to me, I jumped up, grabbing her from behind.

  I immediately snatched her key so that she couldn’t press the alarm, placing my other hand over her mouth, insisting that she not scream. She struggled only for a moment, but she was no match for my stature and strength.

  “I’m not going to hurt you,” I insisted.

  Carefully, I removed her sidearm and slid it in the back of my pants. When I peered over her shoulder, I realized who it was.

  “Alice,” I said calmly. “You know who this is?”

  She nodded.

  “Are they looking for me?”

  She nodded once more.

  I thought for a moment and sighed. “I’m going to go out on a limb here and trust you.” Then, I added resolvedly. “I’m going back in there, and I’m going to get the rest of the hostages out. Or die trying. Do you believe me?”

  She hesitated; then she nodded.

  “Can I trust you not to scream?” I asked.

  When I felt her nod again, I slowly let go of her.

  She turned around and immediately punched me in the face. Hard.

  “I guess I deserved that.”

  “Yeah, you did,” she snapped furiously, shaking her injured hand. “What were you thinking? Assaulting a police officer. I should arrest you now.”

  I waited for her to calm down. When she did, she continued. “Besides, you can’t go back in there. They’ll shoot you before they let you back in.”

  I tilted my head. “Foster’s orders?”

  “Yup.” She held out her hand until I gave her back her key. “You knew what they were going to do, didn’t you?”

  Now, it was I who nodded.

  “What, you thought if they were able to get their message out that they’d free the hostages?”

  “That’s what Benson said.”

  “And you believed him?” she asked, doubtfully.

  “Yeah, I did.” She held out her hand again, and I slowly removed her gun from my waistband, hesitating before handing it to her.

  “Except, it’s been ten minutes since he began talking and he hasn’t freed a single hostage.”

  I wasn’t sure how to respond, so I didn’t.

  “You know, we have orders to arrest you on sight.” She pointed her gun at me.

  I slowly held up my hands. “I’m the only one who can get them out of there.”

  Alice chuckled. “That’s a pretty brazen statement.”

  “Anyone else walks through that door, and AJ is going to start killing hostages. I know it. He’s just looking for a reason to.”

  “And what makes you think the old man isn’t going to do the same?”

  “I can’t answer that, except to say that I know he wouldn’t. I know it in my gut.”

  She narrowed her eyes, contemplating whether to believe me. And, she knew, at that moment, I was at her mercy. “How pray tell, do you intend on getting Benson to agree to release them?”

  “Because, when I kill AJ, he will crumble.”

  Slowly, Alice lowered her gun. “You’re gonna kill the kid?”

  “If I don’t, you guys are going to have to, and when I overheard Foster talking earlier, they said they didn’t have a clear shot.”

  “How did you—?” she began. “How could you possibly know—?” she stammered. Then she looked at the Red Cross shirt and suddenly understood.

  “So, will you help me?” I asked.

  “Me? What could I do?” she laughed. “No, wait. I could lose my job over this.” She began pacing, then she stopped and looked up at me. “What am I saying? I could lose my job for merely talking to you now, while you aren’t in cuffs.”

  I looked at her, then I turned and walked back to my box of donuts, picked it up and started walking toward the exit ramp. Thirty seconds later, she started her car, squealing her tires as she pulled out of her space, then drove up beside me.

  “Where are you going?” she called after me.
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  “I have no idea,” I replied, honestly. “I just know I need to get back inside and time is running out.”

  Alice continued to keep up with me, and when I looked over at her, she reached into her passenger seat and handed me a jacket and a baseball cap. “It’s my husband’s,” she explained. “Don’t go getting any bullet holes in it.

  I grinned at her. “I’ll try.” Just as she was driving away, I called out to her. “Lieutenant!”

  She stopped and looked back.

  “You have a pretty mean right hook.”

  It was now she who smiled as she pulled away. Before she turned out of the parking garage, she leaned out the window and shouted to me. “Hey, Roarck! Shift change! Ten minutes!” Then she drove away.

  With the last donut dangling from my mouth, I slid on the jacket—which by the way, fit like a glove—pulled the hat low over my eyes, then promptly turned and trotted down the ramp, a little more urgency in my gait than thirty seconds before.

  Chapter 31

  I stood at the southeast corner of the street, a few steps from the medical tent, watching those in full tactical gear and Kevlar helmets as they slowly transitioned from active duty to a well-deserved break. I knew that some of the men and women on-site wouldn’t want to leave, while others couldn’t get away fast enough. Active shooter and hostage situations are stressful for those inside. Most don’t realize that it’s just as tense for those first responders—knowing that the very lives of the hostages were, in many cases, in their hands.

  I watched as the transition became fluid. That moment when those who are about to go off shift, let their guard down. The one when those coming on are mentally preparing for what is to come. And, it was that moment that I planned to exploit.

  I never found a stinkin’ badge, but I had something better. I was wearing a Killeen Fire Department jacket and hat.

  A block and a half behind me, two high-ranking uniformed officers stepped behind a microphone, where they prepared to dole out juicy tidbits of their version of what was transpiring inside. Painting a hopeful picture as the growing crowd of reporters listened intently. After refusing to name the perpetrators, they alluded to injuries, without commenting on the extent of those injuries. With people still unaccounted for, they assured the public that they were doing everything they could to end the standoff peaceably.

  I looked up into the sky. There wasn’t much daylight left. Maybe two hours. With the press conference drawing attention on one side of the street and the shift slowly transitioning on the other end, I zipped up the jacket, pulled the cap lower and started walking down the sidewalk opposite the gaping hole in the front of the building.

  There were responders to the left and right of the kill zone, but none directly in front, for obvious reasons. So, I determined, that’s where I would go in. I would simply walk straight across the street, and before anyone realized what was happening, I’d be inside.

  I encountered a sentry just as I rounded the corner. He watched me curiously, but when I flashed him a small smile and nodded upwards, he merely met my motion, as though I belonged. Then he looked away.

  When I reached the center of the sidewalk, I glanced left and cringed as I saw Foster coming out of the building. Immediately I turned right, stepping off the curb and began counting my steps as I walked hurriedly across the street, hoping he hadn’t seen me.

  “Where do you think you’re going?” he called, from a few paces behind me.

  I cringed. “Back in there,” I replied, without missing a beat.

  Foster jobbed until he arrived by my side. “You know I can’t let you do that.” He grabbed my arm, holding me in place.

  I exhaled in frustration, turning to find several first responders behind him on the sidewalk, watching us curiously. “Fine. You tell me what the plan is, and I’ll stay out here and help you end this thing.” I glared defiantly into his eyes.

  “You know I can’t do that either. You’re a civilian,” he continued. “Just a civilian. What kind of professional would I be if I just let anyone walk in there?” he added in that smug tone that made me want to punch his lights out.

  “I’m not just anyone.”

  “I know what you are, Roarck. But that doesn’t change anything.”

  “It changes everything,” I said, before turning and continuing to walk away. I heard the sound of several weapons being drawn from their holsters, and I stopped immediately, dropping my head. When I looked back up, I was only ten yards from the entrance.

  “I’ll have you arrested,” he threatened from behind.

  “For what?” I scoffed, turning.

  Foster moved closer to me. “Interfering with an active crime scene, interfering in an ongoing public crisis—” When I didn’t say anything, he added, “Jaywalking. Or maybe I’ll just arrest you for stupidity.” He smiled that damned smarmy smile again.

  When I took a step toward him, everyone else took a step toward us. Then he held up his hand, looking over his shoulder. “It’s okay fellas. I got this. Step back.” They hesitated for a moment until he turned completely around. “Stand down,” he reiterated in a firm tone. One by one, they lowered their weapons and tentatively walked backwards.

  This time when he turned around, strode right to me, and got right in my face. Being as tall as me, we were nose to nose. “You know, Eddie, if I let you go back in there, I’m just giving him one more hostage. One more bargaining chip.”

  “You need someone on the inside that knows what has to be done.”

  “And you think you’re that man?”

  “You know I am,” I insisted, my eyes on his.

  He laughed out loud. “You’re so arrogant; I think I’ll save them the trouble and shoot you myself.”

  I tilted my head. “Yeah? Well, when I’m finished taking care of them,” I nodded towards the restaurant, “I’m going to come back out here and knock that damned smug smile off your face.”

  Foster leaned back, giving me a bigger grin. “Why wait?” he asked, holding out his arms. “It’s just you and me. Take your best shot.”

  Was he really challenging me? Now? Here in the middle of the street?

  “Go ahead, son,” he egged me on. “Hit me.”

  I looked over his shoulder at the men ten yards behind him on the sidewalk.

  “Don’t look at them. Look at me,” he demanded as my eyes returned to him. “The only way you’re ever getting in there is through me,” he repeated in a very telling way.

  I furrowed my brow, contemplating him a moment longer.

  “This is your only shot, Eddie, so you’d better make it count,” he persisted. Baiting me. When I didn’t respond, he added, “By the way, I lied before.”

  I looked at him, confused.

  “The kid—Priscilla? She made it after all.” Then, as if on purpose, he shot me that damned smug smile again.

  So, I hit him—square in the jaw. And then I turned and ran.

  Eight yards.

  Toward the restaurant. Toward the window. Toward Mary Beth.

  Five yards.

  Only I could hear them behind me. “Stop or I’ll shoot,” someone yelled.

  Three.

  And then someone hit me from behind, tackling me. I rolled and kicked, crawling towards the metal frame and the jagged glass.

  Five feet.

  Then another one grabbed me. And I hollered, and I punched, and I kicked, and I cursed, inching my way to the only entrance, the only exit.

  Two feet.

  I dragged myself, and the two men holding onto me to the window, one of them holding tightly to the jacket. I promptly unzipped it, and it slid right off of me. Only, they turned me over, and one tried dragging me away by my leg. So, I kicked him in the face, knocking him over, causing him to release me.

  At that moment, with all the strength I had left, I dragged myself to the metal window frame, grabbing it. Suddenly, gunfire erupted from inside, causing those focused on me outside to duck and find cover. I pulled myself
up and over the window frame, slicing my hand in the process, my heart racing. I collapsed, exhausted from the struggle.

  I looked around. God, here I was again, mere moments after striking several police officers and kicking another. Pretty darn hard, I might add. But I wasn’t concerned about the prosecutorial charges that I could potentially be facing. I was more focused on the task at hand. Staying alive.

  I began crawling over the glass and debris, dodging bullets along the way. My hand hurt like hell, and I left a blood trail like the wake of a slug, marking my path. “You’ve got this,” I murmured, drawing in a deep breath for strength. Now inside, I managed to position myself behind overturned tables and chairs, trying to be less visible as a target. Only, somehow, he had marked me and hit every wooden object I hid behind, splintering them all around me.

  “AJ,” I hollered. “It’s Eddie. Stop shooting. I’m unarmed.”

  I crawled another yard, and when he didn’t fire again, I maneuvered to my knees. I stumbled a few more feet before gingerly navigating, more like staggering, through the debris toward the bar, my hands in the air. I grabbed for a dirty bar towel from the counter to wrap my bleeding hand. Suddenly, he fired at me again, and I dropped to the floor, as flat as I could.

  “Why are you here?” he called out.

  “I need to speak to Arnold.”

  “He doesn’t want to talk to you,” he insisted. “So, leave.” Then, he threw in the word “coward” for good measure.

  The glow from the computer lit up the southwest corner of the room, so I crawled that direction.

  “Arnold!” I called out. “It’s Eddie.”

  “You’ve got ten seconds to leave, or I’ll kill her!” AJ hollered.

  “Arnold!” I yelled at the top of my lungs. “It’s Eddie.”

  “Five,” AJ screamed.

  “Arnold!” I pleaded one last time.

  “Eddie?” Benson called out. “Is that you?” Then he added, “let him through.”

  I didn’t need to see AJ’s face to know he had to be seething at this point. Slowly, hesitantly, I stood, hands raised and cautiously walked around the right corner toward the entire group. Because it was late afternoon, the sun was on the east back wall, so the afternoon shadows were getting long inside.