The window rose a couple of inches, giving me room to slip my fingers into the crack and heave upward. It resisted at first, but gave enough to crawl headfirst into the room full of HVAC equipment with barely enough space for maintenance workers to maneuver.
I pulled the window back down, shutting out the flood of cold air. I was in out of the weather, above and behind the Grand Jury room, where the terrorists were holding my family and the other hostages. I flexed my fingers to get the blood flowing again. Feeling returned with pins and needles, then an ache that made me clamp my jaw.
I checked my weapons to be sure they were clear. The cell phone in my back pocket vibrated. My brother’s name appeared on the screen, but I didn’t have time to talk. I figured he was calling to check on how we were doing in the storm. After serving as sheriff in a little New Mexico town named Rio Vista, he was used to snowstorms and probably wanted to make fun of us whining about a little weather.
It irritated me that he could get through from out of state, but I couldn’t call across the street. I ignored the infernal thing and rested there on my knees until enough warmth seeped into my chilled body to clear my mind.
Chapter 34
While the blizzard raged in West Texas, the sky was overcast in Houston, six hundred miles away.
Marc Chavez sat at the granite bar dividing his gourmet kitchen from the spacious living room. Beside him, Lucille Banks, the woman of advanced age who’d worn diamonds to plan a terrorist attack, sipped Malbec from expensive crystal.
She placed the fragile Waterford glass onto the coaster to avoid chipping the delicate stem. “This doesn’t seem to be working as well as you’d hoped.”
Chavez pressed the earpiece of a wireless headset against his ear. He held up a finger and listened, concentrating hard not to reach out and move her glass to the exact middle of the round rest. He’d already moved the laptop on the bar half a dozen times, so that it rested square with the edge.
Adjusting the earphone and mouthpiece was an effort, heightened by the tension he felt about the takeover. The earpiece went in after three tries, but the mouthpiece was a problem from the outset. It didn’t seem to be in the proper place at all, and no matter how many times he tilted it up or down, close to his mouth or farther away, it didn’t feel right. He gave up and hurried into the bathroom to use the mirror. When he was satisfied with the microphone’s position, he padded back to the counter in sock feet and made a neat note on the pad beside the laptop.
DO NOT TOUCH THE COMMUNCATIONS GEAR!
The pad also contained several rows of complicated numbers and letters ending in one row highlighted with an asterisk.
DeVaca’s voice came through the earpiece. “There’s still no response. We have all four entrances covered, but at this time I see no impending assault. We’ll video the woman and email it to our friends in Washington within half an hour. They’ll burn a disk and drop it off.”
“Good. Let me know if anything changes.”
Chavez released the talk button and picked up their conversation. “Lucille, this isn’t television, and it sure isn’t scripted. We had a plan, but changes are inevitable. You just need to get that into your head, your head, head.”
“Well, I hoped it would go much smoother than I’ve seen.”
Chavez burst out laughing. “Good God, woman, I have no control over the weather! Don’t you remember the last time you were involved in forcing Change? Wasn’t that in Dallas somewhere around November 22, 1963? I bet things didn’t work out as your people planned.”
She dabbed at her lips with a crisp napkin. “That day went as designed. This looks like a mess.”
“You knew the risks two years ago. You can leave if you want.”
“I have no intention of backing down. We have the same beliefs and the same goal in mind. The country needs to be rebuilt, and this is the next step. Don’t underestimate me, Chavez, or I might not continue to do that thing you like so much.” She smiled at his shocked expression. “I didn’t say I wouldn’t, I said might not.”
He licked his lips, torn by the operation at hand, and the potential for momentary relief from the stresses of overthrowing an entire government.
Lucille stood. “I’m going to sit on the couch for a while. Would you care to join me?” Before he could answer, she strolled across the thick carpet in a skirt much too short for her age. She sat on the sofa, crossing her dancer’s legs that were the envy of women decades younger. She patted the seat with a hand that revealed her true age.
He corrected the position of her wineglass, walked to the sink, and prepared to wash his hands three times. After all, they’d touched that filthy keyboard.
* * *
After Lucille Banks retired to the house’s guest suite, Chavez dialed a number with a drop phone. The call was answered on the first ring.
“Yessir.”
“It’s a go.”
“Do they have her yet?”
“Yes. She’s separated from the group, somewhere within the building. They’ll contact me when they’re ready to broadcast the video. I need to make sure you’re ready to receive it immediately, immediately, imm—.” He bit it off.
Team Five, three men Chavez had never laid eyes on, had been ready for weeks, but Chavez didn’t trust anything to chance. His compulsive personality had propelled him to success, but it also drove others crazy as he checked and rechecked the same details again and again.
The man with a distinctive Middle Eastern accent waited until he was sure Chavez was finished talking. “We’ll deliver a thumb drive to the congressman’s office as soon as possible, along with the phone number you gave us. I’m sure he’ll call after viewing the contents.”
“Why don’t you send it to him through email?”
“Despite what you see on television, those magic routers that change IP addresses can be traced by any tech-geek who knows what they’re doing, and believe me, there are many of those people out there. A clean thumb drive is untraceable.”
Chavez stared out the window at a live oak spreading outward, some limbs reaching the ground before climbing back toward the humid Houston sky.
“Fine.” Chavez hung up and tapped a key on his laptop. A razor-sharp image of a smiling young woman stared at him, her eyes a startling shade of green. He circled her face three times with the cursor. “Miss Bright, you’re not going to like what happens next.”
No matter what DeVaca or the donors thought, Chavez’s real target was U.S. Representative Donald Bright, Chairman of the Homeland Security Committee. The congressman was getting wayyy too close to Chavez’s drug pipeline across the Mexican/U.S. border. With him gone, no one else had the power to force a shutdown of the border.
With less emphasis on border control, Chavez’s men could wash over the Rio Grande with a tidal wave of cocaine that would bring millions of dollars, and he didn’t care if the Mexican gangs followed.
Chavez was a firm believer in the Chaos Theory, as long as it didn’t apply to him.
He pushed the disconnect button three times, though the icon disappeared at once. Even in this world of chaos, there were necessary protocols.
Chapter 35
Dorothy met DeVaca at the disabled elevator across from the County Extension office. Katie Bright was zip tied to a wooden chair in the back of the cubicle, her head covered with a cloth bag. She was panting as Dorothy double-checked the plastic ties binding Katie’s wrists and ankles tight to the chair.
When Dorothy was finished, she raised an eyebrow at DeVaca and waited. With his nod, she whipped the bag from their captive’s head and walked away.
The young woman blinked in the dimly lit enclosure and found DeVaca watching from a few feet away. She drew in several large breaths of fresh air before speaking. “Who are you? What’s this all about?”
“I am Wicked.” He angled his head in thought. “The what is politics, people, power. The usual. Mostly power.”
“I can’t help you with any of that.”
“Yes, you can.”
Dorothy returned, propped a newspaper in Katie’s lap so the headline and date were visible. She bent to retrieve a cell phone from a miniature tripod and moved in close.
Katie recoiled. “What’s this for?”
Dorothy checked the image on the screen. “Proof for your padre . . . daddy.”
“This won’t do any good. Dad can’t do anything. You know as well as I do that the government doesn’t negotiate with terrorists.”
DeVaca ignored her comment. “Young lady, we would like for you to ask your father for your life. You don’t have to say much. Tell him to do what we say. Once you do that, we’ll take you upstairs and you can wait with the others.”
“What do you want him to do?”
“Personally, I would have loved to see him blow his brains out on national television, but I was overruled. Instead, he will take the easy way out and follow the directions he received from my superior.”
“But what—”
DeVaca’s smile didn’t include his eyes. “It really doesn’t matter, does it? You are in no position to ask questions, only to do as I say.”
Katie licked her dry lips. “If this is about ransom, he doesn’t have much money.”
The smile disappeared. “This is not a common kidnapping.” He drew a razor-sharp knife from the sheath on his belt. “If you do not do as I say right now, I will remove one of your little fingers, then I will ask you again to make your plea.”
He used the knife as an indicator. “This has recorded everything we’ve said. He has heard your heroic attempt to stall, but now the time is over. Tell him now. Say, Daddy, they’re going to cut me to pieces if you don’t do as they say.”
“But—”
“I don’t argue. Your stubbornness just cost you an appendage.” DeVaca moved so his back was against the camera and knelt in front of Katie. He grabbed the little finger of her left hand, stretched it so hard it almost broke, and held the edge against the second knuckle, slicing just hard enough to break the skin.
Katie shrieked, not from the pain, but from the horror of losing a body part.
Standing just outside the open elevator, Dorothy stiffened and touched the bud in her ear. “We have a problem.”
DeVaca kept his head averted, so his face wouldn’t be recorded. “What’s that?”
“No one can raise Scarecrow.”
“What the hell is he doing up there?”
“I don’t know.”
“He did get the jammer in place, didn’t he?” The device was an essential part of the plan, relying on the latest technology to block calls as far away as a quarter of a mile. He realized that the beeping desk phones had become merely unnoticed background noises.
She waved the cell phone. “No. I have full bars.”
“That means cell phones are working near this building also. Do we have anyone else who can operate the jammer?”
“I can.”
“Good. Scarecrow failed us. Kill him.” DeVaca stared at the knife in his hand. He bit his lip, thinking. “This might present a problem.”
DeVaca stood and backed out of the camera’s view to think.
Katie wept, staring at the little finger she’d almost lost.
Chapter 36
I needed to see what was outside of my HVAC room. Still above the main roof, the way out was through another floor hatch inset like something out of a tree house.
I gave the knob a turn. To my relief, the mechanism was smooth as silk and the door lifted without a sound. I peeked through a thin crack.
Nothing but a gust of warm air rushed into my face. I shivered at the delicious sensation. Listening through the thin crack, I choked down the fear that threatened to overwhelm me. I’m not sure what I expected. Shouting? Cries? Bad guys talking about their plan so it would make things easier to figure out?
I raised the door to reveal a spiral staircase leading into a claustrophobic storage room half filled with boxes and files. I tiptoed down the skinny steps behind the MP5’s muzzle, finding it easy to maneuver the ugly little machine pistol. I understood why those guys carried them.
A wide gap under the door leading to the conference room caught my attention. Dropping to the floor, I squinted underneath and saw nothing. I cracked the door and took a peek, hoping I wouldn’t interrupt any invaders sitting around the table and having lunch. The office contained a sturdy conference table, two chairs, and a desk phone.
Letting out a long-held breath, I relaxed my tight shoulders. Half a dozen steps later, I was at still another door that led into the courtroom.
That’s where I figured the hostages were. I decided I’d better text Ethan an update.
Chapter 37
Warm yellow light cut the gloom and stretched across the Posada hotel’s rear patio. Dozens of footprints in the snow were startling against the deep, smooth accumulation on the metal outdoor table tops and chairs.
Herman had to park half a block from the Spanish arches leading into the Posada’s wide plaza. He and Gabe hurried past the tall three-tiered fountain freezing into an ice sculpture. Snowflakes swirled in the protected area before piling up on every surface.
Herman yanked at the brass handle, and Gabe followed him into the warm, damp air of the noisy hotel lobby. Dozens of people huddled in groups under the heads of longhorn cattle, buffalo, and elk. Most were townspeople.
Scanning the room, Herman stomped his feet to dislodge the loose snow on his boots, noticing dirty puddles on the polished Mexican tile. That was unusual. Andy Clark, the owner of the hotel, always had his maintenance man nearby with a mop and bucket.
A gaggle of women in thick coats and bright red hats caught sight of the ranchers and one pointed. “Oh. More cowboys.”
“Probably Texas Rangers. That’s who they need right now.”
A stout woman under a hat full of feathers pressed her pearls and spoke in a Boston accent. “Does everyone in this town wear cowboy hats?”
Her friend patted a stray strand of hair back into place. “Most of ’em, if they were born and raised here.”
A pure Texas voice answered. “Well, I swanny, those two aren’t Rangers. Look at those boots and the cow mess on their jeans.”
Hearing the conversation and knowing the ice would melt off his boots and jeans before long, filling the air with the smell of fresh cow manure, Herman thought about joining the women just so they could get a good whiff. His fun dissolved when he saw the concerned faces of the law-enforcement officers gathered in the banquet room.
They weren’t there because of a snowstorm.
He stopped at the desk to catch Andy’s attention and saw a Judge revolver on the counter. Herman smoothed his gray brush-pile mustache and studied on the pistol’s implications.
The frazzled owner cradled the telephone receiver between his shoulder and his ear. He jerked his chin upward in acknowledgment and answered a question into the receiver. “No, I can’t get anyone to talk with you right now. We’re taking numbers and somebody’ll call you back when they get the chance. Who? Bailey? CNN? What’s that number?”
He jotted it down and hung up. The phone rang again, but he ignored it. “Herman. Y’all come to help?”
“We stopped to get a room ’cause the snow’s so deep I won’t make it to the house tonight.” He nodded toward the pistol. “What’n hell is going on? What do you need help for?”
“You don’t know?”
“No, I reckon that’s the reason I’m asking. We just got to town.”
“Well, you being a retired Ranger and all, I figured they needed you, and ever’thing.”
“Might do. Why?”
As Andy explained, Herman watched Sheriff Ethan Armstrong through the glass. Faces glistening with sweat, Ethan and three townspeople were gathered around an impromptu command table covered with white butcher paper. Wearing a tactical vest, Deputy Frank Malone was drawing with a marker while the others pointed and talked. Men and women in civilian clothes filled in around t
hem.
Knowing Andy’s predisposition to trailing off, Herman left the desk while he was still talking and passed the fireplace and conversation pit. Gabe followed, unbuttoning his coat.
Sheriff Armstrong waved the retired Ranger in. Herman opened the glass door and heard Ethan’s side of the conversation. “There aren’t enough of us to do anything at all right now. This storm’s locked us down, and nobody’s getting in until it lets up. That leaves me with two deputies, four firemen who were on duty, and two highway patrol officers.”
Standing in the open doorway, Gabe pulled at one ear. “Algo está realmente mal, jefe.”
“This is bad all right.” Herman surveyed the room, catching pieces of conversation.
“Hey, you think I don’t know the proper response for this situation? Let me tell you something, buddy, we’re outnumbered and outgunned here. An unknown number of people with automatic weapons have our courthouse. The only ace I have is—” Ethan held the phone from his ear and caught Deputy Malone’s attention. “Do you have any reporters nearby?”
Busy with his own duties, the deputy glanced up and then back down. “Nope.”
“Good. Major, my ace in the hole is your man, Sonny Hawke.”
Ethan put his hand over the mouthpiece. “Sorry, Herman. Hang on. He’s all right.”
Herman took half a step back as if he’d been punched in the chest.
Gabe put a hand on Herman’s shoulder to steady his boss. “Shit hell. Fácil mi amigo. Se va a estar bien.”
Easy my friend, it’ll be all right.
Ethan met Herman’s eyes. “He’s trapped in there with them, but they haven’t taken him hostage, yet.” He spoke into the phone. “Of course, I tried to call. I may be sheriff in a one-horse town, but I’ve got some sense.”
Pause.
“Don’t know. He managed to get some info out to us, but we haven’t heard from Sonny in a while. I’m not reading anything into it. He could be laying low, and that’s what I’d do if I was inside of something like this. I’m waiting and hoping he’ll call back to give me some more. Everything I have from the inside has come from him so far. The terrorists haven’t contacted us yet.”
Hawke's Prey Page 13