Darkside

by P. T. Deutermann

  “Yes?” Jim answered.

  “Sir, people going topside to the roof? They go out their windows on the fourth deck. Walk the ledge.”

  “Wonderful,” Jim said. Dozens of ways up. And down. Branner was talking on her cell phone.

  The elevator doors opened and Chief Bustamente got off along with four Yard officers in tactical gear, all carrying riot guns. Jim signaled him over.

  “Put one on the crossover bridge,” he said. “No access into the eighth wing on this deck except for law enforcement. Have him tape the stairways, too. Nobody goes above this deck. The other three will go with us up to the fourth deck.”

  While Branner was talking on her phone, Jim turned to the midshipmen. He knew there weren’t enough Yard cops available to set up a proper perimeter, so he’d use the mids. “Everybody’s down from the fourth deck, right?”

  “Yes, sir,” one said. “I checked it myself. Fire procedures.”

  “Good man. Go through on the crossover and set up a midshipman watch there-nobody goes across except law enforcement. Same deal down on the zero deck at all the exterior doors. Nobody comes into the eighth wing except law enforcement or the fire chief. Anyone who does come in comes here to the third deck. I want a CP set up right here in this company office, and I want all firsties running this thing.”

  “Got it, sir,” they said in unison. One headed for the crossover; the other trotted to the nearest stairwell and headed down.

  “Chief, check on that ladder truck and the air bag.” The chief got on his cell phone.

  The company officer came back. “That was the dant’s office. Wanted a sitrep. I told them you’re here and taking over.”

  Jim explained what he’d told the mids to do. The company officer listened and then left to supervise those arrangements. Bustamente, still talking on his cell phone, went into the company office and began moving chairs. Two more of the Yard police got off the elevator, and the chief motioned them into the office to give them instructions. Branner got off the phone.

  “I told Chang’s office what we think we have. They’re going to alert the SecNav’s office. We going topside?”

  “Right now,” Jim said. He motioned for the Yard cops to follow. “You guys come with us, please. One of you have a radio I can use?”

  One cop pulled his off his tactical belt and handed it to Jim, who called the chief and told him that they were going up to the top floor.

  “Do we know exactly where the hostage is being held?” Branner asked as they went up the final flight of stairs to the top floor of the eighth wing. The fourth floor was physically the fifth floor, as the ground floor was known as the zero deck.

  “All we had was that he was yelling at people down in the inner courtyard. But he could be anywhere. This wing is H -shaped, with the inner leg overlooking the rear mess hall entrance. Right about where Dell went down, actually. Shit, we need a key to that maintenance stairway.”

  He called the chief on the radio and asked him to locate the key. The highly polished fourth-deck hallway, with its rows of dorm rooms on either side, was silent when they got up there. Jim stationed the sergeant in a position from which he could oversee both the wing’s side leg and the cross corridor.

  “This guy’s reported to have a weapon,” he said. “If he comes down, he’ll probably climb down through a window and come out of one of these rooms. Don’t let him shoot you, but don’t shoot him-you duck for cover into a room, close the door, and report. He comes after you into that room, deadly force authorized, but only in self-defense. Got it?”

  “Yes, sir,” the sergeant said. He was in his forties and had several bars on his service pin. Jim didn’t need any more midshipmen killed, even in a hostage situation.

  Branner had gone into one of the dorm rooms, and now she stepped back out. “I can’t see any part of the roof of this segment,” she reported. “I can see the cross building, and a part of the other wing’s roof. But they could be anywhere.”

  “They said he’d been yelling at people going into the mess hall,” Jim said, starting to move down the corridor. “That’ll be over on the inner leg, if they’re still there.”

  “Or they could be holed up in one of these rooms already,” one of the cops pointed out. Everybody stopped.

  Of course they could, Jim thought. He kicked himself mentally for not thinking of that. He ordered the other cops to spread out and start checking rooms while he and Agent Branner made a quick check of the cross wing to see if they could spot anyone up on the roof. The chief called back to report that keys to the maintenance stairs were on the way, and that the city SWAT team had been made available. He also said that the Bureau people were inbound, and that one of their hostage negotiation teams had been activated from Quantico but couldn’t be on-site for another two hours. Jim asked if a perimeter had been established around the eighth wing, and the chief reported that it was in progress.

  “Chief, I need somebody to get up on the seventh wing across the way, top deck, to tell me if he can spot anyone on the eighth wing’s roof. We can’t see directly above us.”

  “Roger that. The Maryland staties have a helicopter if we need it.”

  “I’d like to see if we can get face-to-face with this guy, before it goes Hollywood on us. Make sure you get somebody from the Academy Public Affairs office spooled up.”

  He put the radio back on his belt. Branner was helping the yard cops go room to room, making sure they were all empty. Jim followed them, staying out in the center of the corridor, trying to think of what else he should be doing. There was no noise other than the opening and closing of doors as the cops and Branner checked rooms, closets, and showers. When they reached the inner leg, Jim’s radio squawked.

  “The midshipman officer of the watch reports from wing seven that there’s no one above you on the eighth wing’s roof as far as he can see. But there is one room with its window wide open, all the way down at the inboard end, mess hall side. He says it looks like a shade is flapping in that window.”

  “Copy that,” Jim said, speaking softly. “We’re in the interior leg now. Stand by one.” He signaled the others to stop, then pointed down at the last door on the right side. One of the cops lowered his shotgun in the direction of the door, while the other cop continued to check rooms, although he was much quieter about it now. Jim signaled to Branner to join him and stepped back around the corner into an empty room to use his radio.

  “Chief, we’re going to try to roust him out and talk him down. Don’t have a status on the Markham girl, but you should notify her father. He’s on faculty-in the bull department. What’s happening down there?”

  “We got more city cops coming to complete the perimeter. The ladder truck is down for maintenance, and the nearest air bag is in Baltimore. The commandant is apparently on his way up here to the CP.”

  “Keep him down there if at all possible,” Jim said. “How about the vultures?”

  “No media yet, but I’ve asked the MarDet to seal the gates. Can you confirm this guy has a gun?”

  “Haven’t seen him. But we don’t think he’s on the roof anymore.”

  “Make sure your helper bees are behind some cover when you approach that room,” the chief said. “Have them stand in nearby doorways. Don’t all three of you be out in the corridor.”

  “Hell, Chief, you’d think I never had any tactical urban warfare training in the Marnie Corpse.”

  “You remember any of it?”

  “He pops out with a gun, I probably will. But look, we’re all out of our depth here with a live hostage situation. I’m going to try to talk him down, but if it goes south, we wait for the pros, okay?”

  “We could always do that now,” the chief suggested. Branner shook her head forcefully.

  “I’d like to try once,” Jim said. “It’s not like we don’t know each other.”

  “Your call, boss. I’ll brief the dant. And we’re clearing everybody out of the back part of Bancroft.”

  “Goo
d idea.” He looked at Branner to see if she had anything to add, but she shook her head. “Okay, Chief, let’s see if he’s in there.”

  “Of course I’m in here, you dumb-fuck civilian,” a voice said over the circuit. Jim nearly dropped his radio.

  “What-you forget I listened to all your circuits down in the tunnels? You think I don’t have this one covered, too?”

  “Oka-a-y,” Jim said, trying to hide his surprise. “So you know you’re in a corner, Booth. What’s your program in there?”

  “I’m getting ready to solve my problem, that’s what, Lame-Man-Chu. I’ve got a package all wrapped up and ready to fly.”

  “A package?”

  “Don’t play stupid, Jim, ” Booth said, aping Branner’s voice with surprising accuracy. “This package has a big mouth. I’m about to fix that problem. Ask your spotter over in seven what he sees now.”

  Jim looked at Branner. “We need some secure comms,” he whispered. “See if there’s a telephone in one of these rooms. Anywhere. Call the chief, see what the guys over in wing seven can see.”

  Branner hurried back down the corridor, looking for a phone. Jim went back into the other leg of the corridor and signaled the cops to follow him. He briefed them on the situation, then told them to take up stations, one in the room catty-corner from where they thought Booth was, the other in the adjacent room. Then he retired to the corridor intersection, where he saw the chief and Branner hurrying toward him. The chief motioned him out of the corridor and into a nearby room.

  “SWAT team’s here. This is one of their spread-spectrum multistation radiophones. Can’t be intercepted. They brought a base station into the CP so we can talk on this. It’s full duplex. Hit this button to talk. Everybody can hear you, and you can hear them. Lock it down, you go into broadcast mode. Listen, the TAC lieutenant recommends everybody back out, let them bring the hostage team in, and then wait for the Feebs.”

  The phone chirped. Jim switched it to talk. A voice from the CP relayed the fact that the spotter in the seventh wing was reporting something hanging partially out of the window, something white, looked like a mummy.

  Jim acknowledged, a cold feeling in his gut. Booth had probably wrapped Markham up in one or more sheets to immobilize her, and was prepared to drop her to her death on the concrete below. He’d put the other radio down on the midshipman’s desk. He heard Booth talking on it. “So, we gonna talk, Jim? You said you wanted to talk me down. Don’t you want to know what happened to little Brian Dell?”

  “Stand by, Dyle. We’re trying to outwit you. Admittedly, that takes time.” He turned to the others. “We can’t wait,” Jim told them. “I think he’s going to ice the girl and then himself. We need to engage him. Chief, see if you can figure out a way to get some assets onto the roof and snag that girl somehow.”

  The chief stared at him. “Like what, lasso her?”

  “Do something, Chief. Quietly, but do something. I’ll try to tie him up with talk. Get a bunch of mids together and pile every fucking mattress in the building under that window. If he drops her, maybe we can save her. But let’s get going.”

  The chief exhaled dramatically and left the room. Jim picked up the police radio and looked at Branner. “Any bright ideas?”

  “I can’t think of anything,” she said. “He’s fixating on you, so I think you’re right. Talk to him. Delay him somehow. See if you can get him out into the passageway. I’m going up on the roof and see if I can get into position, pop him if he moves to open that window.”

  “You just going to shoot him if you see him near the window?”

  “I’m going to hide and listen, but, yes, I will shoot him if it means saving Markham. This guy is whacked-out.”

  They could hear some sirens winding down outside, behind the building. Jim nodded and keyed the Yard police radio. “Booth?” he said. Branner slipped out the door and headed back toward the other side of the wing.

  “Yes, Jim?”

  Jim stepped out the door and started walking down toward the end room opposite where Booth was holed up. “I’m coming down the passageway. I’ll go into the room opposite the one you’re in, wedge the door open, and sit down so you can see me.”

  “Why the fuck would I want to see you, Jim?”

  “I’m curious, Booth. I want to see if you are who you say you are. Don’t worry-I don’t even have a gun.”

  “Sure you don’t. And I believe you. Of course I believe you. But I do have a gun, Jim. And I wouldn’t mind popping you. Wasn’t for you, I wouldn’t have to be doing this at all.”

  Jim locked the talk button down on the tactical squad’s radiophone and hooked it to his shirt as he passed the cop waiting behind the cracked door in the adjacent room. He kept talking as he walked. “I’ll put my hands on the desk so you can see them. And yes, I want to know what happened to Dell. The official word is he jumped on his own. Nothing to do with you.”

  “Well, you’d be half-right, Jim. He did jump on his own. Where are you, exactly?”

  Jim backed up to the door of the opposite room, pushed it open with his left foot, and tripped the doorstop. Holding the Yard police radio in one hand, he backed into the empty room, keeping an eye on the frosted-glass surface of the door on Booth’s side of the corridor. He pulled a chair over, twisted one of the desks sideways, making lots of noise but never taking his eye off that glass partition, and sat down. Then he laid the secure radiophone down behind a book on the desk. “I’m right across the passageway, Booth,” he called, using the unsecure radio. “Like I said I’d be. The door’s wide open. I’m sitting in a chair. No gun. No tricks. Just want to hear your story. Check it out.”

  He made sure the radiophone was showing a red transmit light; then he hunched forward in the chair, watching that frosted-glass panel. Booth could just make a judgment about where Jim was sitting and try a shot, but Jim didn’t think so. He was pretty sure Booth knew he was trapped and had made some decisions. What he’d want now was an audience. Someone to listen to him. What Jim had to do was occupy Booth while the Annapolis TAC guys, who could listen in on whatever dialogue he got going, tried to recover Julie from the window.

  The room was hot and stuffy, and Jim fingered his collar. Nothing moved visibly behind that frosted-glass pane across the corridor. No shadows and no noises. He had to speak loudly enough that Branner and the cop across the hall could hear. He was trying to think of something to say, when the frosted pane across the hall exploded with the boom of a large-caliber pistol, blowing fragments of glass all over the corridor. Jim ducked instinctively, then looked back over the edge of the desk. Booth was finally visible through the shattered panel, sitting at a desk that had been turned sideways to face the door, just like Jim had done. What looked like a. 45 auto rested on the desk, pointing casually in his direction. Behind Booth, the window was closed and the tan roller shade was pulled down all the way to the floor. Something bulged the bottom of the shade.

  Jim straightened up and nudged the secure radiophone closer so the others could hear him. “Well, Mr. Booth,” he said as casually as he could. “That was a dramatic way of opening the door. Guess you do have a gun. What is that, a government forty-five?”

  Booth bared a mouthful of large square teeth at him, teeth that Jim remembered from the first night’s encounter with the vampire in the tunnel. Booth’s face was gray with fatigue, and there were dark pouches under his eyes. His head was entirely shaved, making him look bald and almost too old to be a midshipman. For a moment, Jim thought he saw the bottom of the shade move.

  “So, you’re here to talk me down, Mr. Security Officer?” Booth asked. His voice was raspy, and pitched higher than Jim had expected. He was wearing Marine camo trousers, highly polished combat boots, and a green T-shirt.

  “Here to find out what you’re so pissed off about, Mr. Booth. Here it is, almost graduation day, and you’re flooding out the utility tunnels, taking people hostage, doing God knows what to plebes. Regular one-man wrecking crew. Think of w
hat you’re doing to the Academy’s image.”

  “ Fuck the Academy’s fucking image!” Booth shouted. “You think I give a rat’s ass about the Academy’s image? Didn’t give a shit about me. All these years, winning N-stars in swimming, hundred and ten percent on the PFTs, perfect conduct record since plebe year, top ten percent of my class in math and engineering, and half my fucking class crosses the street when I come down the line?”

  “Maybe they know something, Mr. Booth. Or maybe they just feel something. I don’t know. That you in the vampire getup, knocking heads out in Crabtown?”

  “Fucking A. Got behind you, too, didn’t I?”

  Jim thought he heard something moving along the ledge outside his window. No noise, he prayed. Not a sound. “Yeah, you did. Have to admit, you’ve got vampire makeup down cold. So what was up with all that? You pissed off at civilians in general, or just townies?”

  “Practicing for the Corps, man. Plus entertaining my pussy posse.”

  “Oh, yeah, the Goths; I’ve seen them. Coyote-ugly, most of them. Tell me you’re not into all that bullshit, are you? Drinking blood? Worshiping at the altar of Death? Somehow, I can’t quite feature you and Marilyn Manson on a date.”

  Booth laughed. “Fuck no, the only part of the Goths I was into was between their legs. They’re professionally bored, so I had to play the part to get it on with them. You know, here’s an Academy dude, only he’s back in black. Had my pick, man. Had my pick.”

  “It was me, I’d have to be a little drunk, do one of those weirdos. I mean, like that whiteface shit? They always look like they’re about to puke right through their nose rings.”

  Booth grinned, showing all those teeth again for just a second longer than necessary. It was obviously a move he’d perfected. Jim could just imagine what that would be like underwater. Then he heard another sound, above his head. He was sure of it this time. The TAC squad must be moving, trying to get a line on Julie Markham before Fuck Face there opened the window and let her drop. He wondered where Branner was, and whether or not the listeners on the radio circuit could hear Booth. He had to keep Booth’s attention. “That shit in the tunnels-that was pretty impressive. How long have you been running?”