by Gary Sapp
what had recently happened, their likely position and the terms of Hugh Keaton’s surrender.
The first new round of shots sounded close—and then a second round of shots spit passed where they were all standing.
She and Hugh both drove for the ground, taking Moses and the other boys down with them.
“Angel,” Chris shouted into the receiver. “Angel,”
“Hurry, Christopher,” The fear in Angel’s voice was tangible and real. “I don’t know how long we can make it out here.”
And then the signal between the phones was lost.
A minute after the disconnection Angel wondered to herself: How did she forget to mention to Christopher that Roxanne was still alive, relatively well and at the Marta Station with other victims of the earthquake?
Chris
From this distance and elevation, it looked to Special Agent Christopher as if Louis Keaton (or whatever they profile referred to monsters as this morning) had shrouded the four surviving boys and his best friend Dr. Angel Hicks Dupree with his frail frame of a body. All of them looked as if they were nearing a panic even as Keaton slid from one spot to another as if not to give any alleged sniper in this area a less clean spot at the pedophile and raising the risk of hitting one of those children percentage points.
And yet this situation looked even more desperate in the 45 minutes or so that it had taken them to get here from the last time he’d spoken to Angel on the cell. He’d only tried ring her up once more since that conversation. And everything considered, the doctor had done a bang up job of describing their position.
Chris asked, “What in the hell happened here?”
Sheridan was wiping his latest round of perspiration off of his thick brows. He could only shrug an answer while he struggled to catch his breath. Normally a drive from just west of downtown out here to near Stone Mountain in eastern Atlanta would take about 20 minutes if you didn’t run into any traffic snarls.
This murky Atlanta morning, however, didn’t qualify as anything close to normal.
It took them that 20 minute count alone to maneuver through two neighborhoods near the mansion while being shot at street level by of gang of about 10 or 12 citizens who’d claimed the streets as territory of their own. Sheridan had lost a fifth of his convoy in the exchange and looked as if he’d taken a bullet in and out of his left shoulder for his trouble. The rest of the lost minutes were spent maneuvering around debris of cars, buildings and the occasional debris of human bodies that the earthquake had left in its wake.
Serena had hid the children well indeed.
Chris mouth went dry and he could feel a huge gust of wind whipping up dirt near his neck and ears. He felt a devastating shot of pain in his gut—that he wasn’t able to mask from Sheridan’s eye, but shrugged him off before he could ask him questions he didn’t want to answer.
He was spending his last days alive in the generation of well laid planners: Serena Tennyson, Grace Edwards and his father Isaac Prince among others.
“It could be anybody following them,” Sheridan said in a loud voice so he could be heard by Chris and the other half a dozen or so men in close proximity. “It could be the reminisce of a Pandora cell or one of those volunteer search parties that we’d organized a few weeks ago trying to play hero by taking Keaton out.” Sheridan dropped his eyes. Either he was bracing them against the windstorm or trying to focus on a particular that he’d seen south of their position down there. His face reddened either from fatigue or embarrassment. “All of the resources that this department possesses and we have to depend on some weekend warriors to do the discovery for us.”
Chris got close to Sheridan so he wouldn’t have to yell. The man needed to learn the revelation that was told to him by cell on their way up here.
A Sargent Valarie Briscoe of the Atlanta Police Department, a professional ally and a personal friend of Chris for years now tearfully gave him the scoop of what might be going on out here. She said told him that she never believed that bullshit about him and any sexual misconduct with his now dead step daughter Erica Lovings. She also told him that she’d heard rumors that his brother Xavier Prince had bought it and from the hand of his own people at that, and that she was sorry for his loss, but her call wasn’t about any of that.
What she told him next astounded him—and Sheridan as well when he passed the information on to the acting Director of the FBI.
“What?” Sheridan said in near exasperation. A pain shot through his shoulder. “You just can’t make this shit up can you?”
Chris shook his head.
Sargent Briscoe told him that her second underneath him and a small group of men had broken off from the ‘protect and serve’ element of the APD into an independent crew of vigilantes who were calling themselves Hell’s Gate. They had gotten valuable intel—she didn’t know from where—of Keaton’s approximate location and they had set out with scoped rifles and tons of ammunition in hopes of putting the man out of everyone’s misery before sunset tonight.
“Of all the dumb luck it looks as if their information was concrete. Their out here…somewhere; look Sheridan, I wouldn’t beat yourself up about it. These smaller cells of the APD have been showing up all over the city from what Briscoe told me. Some are fighting on the side of the light, while others have strayed along a darker path. Anyway, just remember that Pandora had the jump on us—this was their hideaway after all—and apparently they hadn’t had any luck in finding Keaton either.” Chris paused and then finished his thought: “We do have to keep this situation contained and not let those boys get hurt.”
“We’ve got bring our own drinks to the party huh?”
“What?”
Justin Ryan shouted a goodbye into his cell phone, got out of the car he’d shared with Sheridan on the ride out here and angled his slight frame through the wind gust until he found himself standing next to the two FBI Agents. Chris looked behind where the former hostage negotiator had walked from a saw a bustle of activity to the south and east of their position.
Sheridan pointed out to an area 100 yards or so that Chris wouldn’t have noted otherwise before the younger agent could open his mouth in protest. He put a hand on Chris’ shoulder and turned him so he could see more men and equipment setting up points to the southwest and west as well.
Louis Keaton and anyone who sought to do the troubled man any harm were surrounded, but should be well outside of sight of the man just below them.
Sheridan had put a lot on the line and trusted Chris’ judgement back at the mansion and now it was his turn to return that trust to his boss right now to get everyone a few feet below them out of this alive.
“I have my sources as well, Agent Prince,” Sheridan managed a tight smile. “I’ve been told that there could be as many as six different parties out here in close proximity. I agree with you that this---Hell’s Gate is probably our biggest threat though. Listen to this though: I’m convinced that gunshots that you heard over the cell were from another group. I’ve also been told that our good doctor put a round in the leader’s side. Those men called off their pursuit to tend to that man’s wounds.”
“Angel and the others don’t look like they’ve taken any direct fire yet?”
“They’re alright,” Sheridan’s smile was gone as if it never had existed at all. “I would think that they are holding up in a physical sense as best as they can, though they’ve got to be fatigued, hungry and mentally spent by now.”
Chris nodded and took the opportunity to steal another look below. Sheridan was on point. Keaton was not looking well especially. He would unravel the longer it took for this thing to settle. And when he emotionally collapsed people would die.
Ryan took the quick moment of silence to offer his opinion.
“I don’t think that your assessment of this Keaton fellow is entirely accurate, Sheridan.” He said and held up his hand to silence both men while he continued to his point. “Look, that monster squeezed the hell out of every moment he’s been allotted
to take these hostages in the first place.”
“Damn you and your theories, Ryan,” Chris spoke up. “He was and is still prepared to surrender to me. Angel—Dr. Hicks Dupree and I have already worked it out. And Sheridan’s people are securing the perimeter against any and all enemies. We don’t need you—“
Ryan chuckled.
“You and your doctor girlfriend have ‘worked it out’ as you say? I surely hope that those boys’ parents have their insurance policies paid up—“
Chris snatched Ryan off of his feet by the collar in a second.
Sheridan wedged himself in between the men for the second time in the past few hours. Chris shoved the slight man away. Sheridan fixed a hardened gaze squarely on his subordinate. “Unfortunately, Agent Prince, I find myself siding with Mr. Ryan on this front. I do not doubt Dr. Hicks-Dupree assessment of the man or his situation. I’ve had my differences with that woman’s approach to her job but not with the professionalism and expertise she exhibits once her head is screwed on correctly. My point is this, Chris, if Keaton were planning a peaceful surrender to you, which probability lessens with each passing second because all of these outside factors.”
“Don’t tell me you’re giving up? I gave her my word that we would bring him in alive.”
“Bring him back alive for what?” Ryan snorted. “Look around you, Agent Prince. Even if you take the