“… extraordinary development, clearly something no one expected. The man walked right through this perimeter behind me, just strolled into that controlled area, completely nonchalant, as though he belonged there. That may have been what caught the police off guard. Plus, the man was heavily armed and wearing a black uniform very much like those you see behind me. It would have been easy to mistake him as one of these Tactical Operations officers …”
Abe Bristol gave a can-you-believe-this? snort. “Guy walked right in off the street, and they let him through!”
“… we’re told there is also an inner police perimeter. But it’s inside the lobby, which we can’t see from here. We haven’t heard yet if this man penetrated the second perimeter. But when you see how easily he walked right through the outer line, you can imagine he must have caught the police inside the building by surprise as well. I’m sure they were focused on containing the hostage taker. They probably didn’t expect a gunman to walk in.”
“They should have known,” said Gabriel, staring in disbelief at the TV. “They should have expected this.”
“… it’s been twenty minutes now, and the man has not re-emerged. There was initial speculation that he’s some self-styled Rambo, trying to single-handedly launch a rescue operation. Needless to say, the consequences could be disastrous. But so far, we’ve heard no gunfire, and we’ve seen no indication that his entry into the building has touched off any violence.”
The anchorman cut in: “Zoe, we’re going to run that footage again, so that the viewers who’ve just joined us can see the startling development. It took place about twenty minutes ago. Our cameras caught it live as it happened …”
Zoe Fossey’s image was replaced by a video clip. It was a long-shot view up Albany Street, almost the same view they could see out the conference room window. At first, Gabriel did not even know what he was supposed to focus on. Then an arrow appeared on screen, a helpful graphic added by the TV station, pointing to a dark figure moving along the lower edge. The man walked purposefully past police cars, past the command post trailer. None of the cops standing nearby tried to stop the intruder, though one did glance uncertainly in his direction.
“Here we’ve magnified the image for a better look at this fellow,” the anchorman said. The view zoomed in and froze, the intruder’s back now filling the screen. “He seems to be carrying a rifle, as well as some sort of backpack. Those dark clothes do blend in with all the other cops standing around, which is why our cameraman at the time didn’t realize what he was seeing. At first glance, you’d assume this is a Tactical Operations uniform he’s wearing. But on closer inspection, you can see there is no insignia on the back to indicate he’s part of the team.”
The video clip rolled forward a few frames and again froze, this time on the man’s face, as he turned to glance over his shoulder. He had receding dark hair and a narrow, almost gaunt face. An unlikely Rambo. That one long-distance frame was the only glimpse the camera caught of his features. In the next frame, his back was once again to the camera. The video clip continued, tracking the man’s progress toward the building, until he vanished through the lobby doors.
Zoe Fossey was back onscreen, microphone in hand. “We’ve tried to get some official statement about just what happened here, but no one’s talking, Dave.”
“You think the police might be just the slightest bit embarrassed?”
“To put it mildly. Adding to their embarrassment, I hear the FBI has just stepped in.”
“A not-so-subtle hint that things could be better managed?”
“Well, things are pretty chaotic out here right now.”
“Any confirmation yet on the number of hostages being held?”
“The hostage taker claimed, during her call to the radio station, that she was holding six people. I’ve since heard from sources that the number is probably correct. Three hospital employees, a doctor, and two patients. We’re trying to get their names now …”
Gabriel went rigid in his chair, staring in rage at the TV. At the woman who was so eager to reveal Jane’s identity. Who could unwittingly condemn her to death.
“… as you can see, over my shoulder, there’s a lot of yelling going on. A lot of rising tempers in this heat. Another station’s cameraman just got shoved to the ground when he tried to get too close to the perimeter. One unauthorized person has already slipped through, and the police aren’t about to let it happen again. But it’s like shutting the barn door after the horse gets out. Or, in this case, gets in.”
“Any idea who this Rambo is?”
“As I said, no one’s talking. But we’ve heard reports that the police are checking out an illegally parked car about two blocks away from here.”
“They think it’s Rambo’s car?”
“Apparently. A witness saw this man leaving the car. I guess even Rambo needs transportation.”
“But what’s his motive?”
“You have to consider two possibilities. One, that the man’s trying to be a hero. Maybe he knows one of the hostages, and he’s launching his own rescue operation.”
“And the second possibility?”
“The second possibility is scary. That this man is a reinforcement. He’s come to join the hostage taker.”
Gabriel rocked back in his chair, stunned by what had suddenly become obvious to him. “That’s what it meant,” he said softly. “The die is cast.”
Abe swiveled around to face him. “It meant something?”
Gabriel shot to his feet. “I need to see Captain Hayder.”
“It’s an activation code,” said Gabriel. “Jane Doe called that radio station to broadcast the phrase. To get it out to the public.”
“An activation code for what?” asked Hayder.
“A call to arms. Reinforcements.”
Hayder snorted. “Why didn’t she just say, Help me out here, guys? Why use a code?”
“You weren’t prepared, were you? None of you were.” Gabriel looked at Stillman, whose face was gleaming with sweat in that oven of a trailer. “That man walked right through your perimeter, carrying in a knapsack with god-knows-what weapons. You weren’t ready for him because you never expected a gunman to walk into the building.”
“We know it’s always a possibility,” said Stillman. “That’s the reason we set up perimeters.”
“Then how did this man get through?”
“Because he knew exactly how to do it. His clothing, his gear. This was well thought out, Agent Dean. That man was ready.”
“And Boston PD wasn’t. That’s why they used a code. To take you by surprise.”
Hayder stared in frustration out the open doorway of the command trailer. Though they’d brought in two oscillating fans, and the street had now fallen into the shadow of late afternoon, it was still unbearably hot in the vehicle. Outside, on Albany Street, cops stood red-faced and sweating, and reporters were retreating back into their air-conditioned news vans. Everyone was waiting for something to happen. The calm before the next storm.
“It does start to make sense,” said Stillman. The negotiator had been listening to Gabriel’s points with a deepening frown. “Consider the sequence of events. Jane Doe refuses to negotiate with me. She won’t even talk to me. That’s because she’s not ready—she needs her back covered, first. She needs to strengthen her position. She calls the radio station and they broadcast the activation code. Five hours later, that man with the knapsack arrives. He shows up because he was summoned.”
“And he blithely walks into a suicide mission?” said Hayder. “Does anyone have friends who are that loyal?”
“A marine will lay down his life for his company,” said Gabriel.
“Band of brothers? Yeah, sure.”
“I take it you’ve never served.”
Hayder flushed an even deeper red in the heat. “Are you saying this is some sort of military operation? Then what’s the next step? If this is so logical, tell us what’s next on their agenda.”
A new voice cut in, “Reasonable prediction, Agent Dean. You’re probably right.”
They all turned to look at the stocky man who had just stepped into the trailer. As usual, Agent John Barsanti wore a silk tie and a button-down shirt; as usual, his clothes did not fit well. He responded to Gabriel’s look of surprised recognition with a sober nod of greeting. “I’m sorry about Jane,” he said. “They told me you were involved in this mess.”
“No one told me you were, John.”
“We’re just monitoring developments. Ready to assist if we need to.”
“Why send someone all the way from Washington? Why not use the Boston field office?”
“Because this will likely go into negotiations. It made sense to send someone with experience.”
The two men regarded each other for a moment in silence. Experience, thought Gabriel, couldn’t be the only reason John Barsanti had turned up. The FBI would not normally send a man straight from the deputy director’s office to supervise a local hostage negotiation.
“Then who’s in charge of the deal making?” Gabriel asked. “The FBI? Or Boston PD?”
“Captain Hayder!” called Emerton. “We’ve got a call coming in from the hospital! It’s on one of their lines!”
“They’re ready to negotiate,” said Gabriel. Just as he’d predicted.
Stillman and Barsanti looked at each other. “You take it, Lieutenant,” said Barsanti. Stillman nodded, and crossed to the phone.
“I’ve got you on speaker,” said Emerton.
Stillman took a deep breath, then pressed the connect button. “Hello,” he said calmly. “This is Leroy Stillman.”
A man answered, just as calm. A reedy voice, with a hint of a southern drawl. “You’re a policeman?”
“Yes. I’m Lieutenant Stillman, Boston PD. Who am I speaking to?”
“You already know my name.”
“I’m afraid I don’t.”
“Why don’t you ask the FBI guy. There is an FBI guy, isn’t there? Standing in that trailer with you?”
Stillman glanced over at Barsanti with a look of how the hell does he know? “I’m sorry, sir,” said Stillman. “I really don’t know your name, and I’d like to know who I’m speaking to.”
“Joe.”
“Right. Joe.” Stillman released a breath. So far, so good. At least they had a name.
“How many people are in that trailer with you, Leroy?”
“Let’s talk about you, Joe—”
“The FBI is there, though. Am I right?”
Stillman said nothing.
Joe laughed. “I knew they’d show up. FBI, CIA, Defense Intelligence, Pentagon. Yeah, they all know who I am.”
Gabriel could read the expression on Stillman’s face. We’re dealing with a man who clearly has delusions of persecution.
“Joe,” said Stillman, “there’s no reason to draw this out any longer. Why don’t we talk about ending it quietly?”
“We want a TV camera in here. A live feed to the media. We have a statement to make, and a videotape to show you.”
“Slow down. Let’s get to know each other first.”
“I don’t want to know you. Send in a TV camera.”
“That’s going to present a problem. I need to clear this through a higher level.”
“They’re standing right there, aren’t they? Why don’t you turn around and ask them, Leroy? Ask that higher level to get the ball rolling.”
Stillman paused. Joe understood exactly what was going on. He finally said, “We can’t authorize a live media feed.”
“No matter what I offer you in exchange?”
“What would that be?”
“Two hostages. We send them out as a sign of good faith. You send in a cameraman and a reporter, and we all go on live TV. Once our message gets out, then we send out two more hostages. That’s four people we’re giving you, Leroy. Four lives for ten minutes of TV airtime. I promise you a show that’ll knock your socks off.”
“What’s the point of this, Joe?”
“The point is, no one will listen to us. No one believes us. We’re tired of running, and we want our lives back. This is the only way left. The only way people in this country will know we’re telling the truth.”
Hayder swept a finger across his throat, a signal to interrupt the conversation.
“Hold on, Joe,” said Stillman, cupping his hand over the receiver. He looked at Hayder.
“Do you think he’ll even know whether it’s a live TV feed?” asked Hayder. “If we could make him believe it’s actually going on the air—”
“This man is not stupid,” cut in Gabriel. “Don’t even think of playing games with him. You cross him, you’ll make him angry.”
“Agent Dean, maybe you could step outside?”
“They want media attention, that’s all! Let them have their say. Let them rant to the public, if that’s what it takes to end this!”
Joe’s voice said, over the speaker: “Do you want to deal or not, Leroy? Because we can do it the hard way, too. Instead of live hostages, we can send out dead ones. You have ten seconds to make up your mind.”
Stillman said, “I’m listening, Joe. The problem is, a live feed isn’t something I can just pull off. I need the cooperation of a TV station. How about we make it a taped statement? We deliver a camcorder to you. You say whatever you want, take as long as you need to—”
“And then you bury the tape, right? It’ll never see the light of day.”
“That’s my offer, Joe.”
“We both know you can do better. So does everyone else standing in that command trailer with you.”
“Live TV is out of the question.”
“Then we have nothing more to say to you. Good-bye.”
“Wait—”
“Yes?”
“You’re serious? About releasing hostages?”
“If you keep up your end of the bargain. We want a cameraman and a reporter to witness what happens here. A real reporter, not some cop with a fake press pass.”
“Do it,” said Gabriel. “This may be the way to end it.”
Stillman covered the receiver. “Live TV is not on the table, Agent Dean. It never is.”
“Goddamn it, if this is what it takes, give it to them!”
“Leroy?” It was Joe talking again. “Are you still there?”
Stillman took a breath. He said: “Joe, you have to understand. It’s going to take time. We’d have to find a reporter who’s willing to do this. Someone willing to risk his life—”
“There’s only one reporter we’ll talk to.”
“Wait. You didn’t specify anyone.”
“He knows the background. He’s done his homework.”
“We can’t guarantee that this reporter will—”
“Peter Lukas, Boston Tribune. Call him.”
“Joe—”
There was a click, then the dial tone. Stillman looked at Hayder. “We’re not sending in any civilians. It will just give them more hostages.”
“He said he’d release two people first,” said Gabriel.
“You believe that?”
“One of them might be my wife.”
“How do we know this reporter will even agree to it?”
“For what could be the biggest story of his life? A journalist just might do it.”
Barsanti said, “I think there’s another question here that no one’s answered. Who the hell is Peter Lukas? A Boston Tribune reporter? Why ask for him in particular?”
“Let’s call him,” said Stillman. “Maybe he knows.”
TWELVE
You’re still alive. You have to be alive. I would know it, feel it, if you weren’t.
Wouldn’t I?
Gabriel slumped on the couch in Maura’s office, his head resting in his hands, trying to think of what else he could
do, but fear kept clouding any logic. As a marine, he had never lost his cool under fire. Now he could not even focus, could not shut out the image that had haunted him since the autopsy, of a different body lying on the table.
Did I ever tell you how much I love you?
He did not hear the door open. Only when Maura sat down in the chair across from him, and set two mugs on the coffee table, did he finally raise his head. She’s always composed, always in control, he thought, looking at Maura. So unlike his brash and temperamental wife. Two such different women, yet somehow they had forged a friendship that he did not quite understand.
Maura pointed to the coffee. “You like it black, right?”
“Yes. Thanks.” He took a sip, then set it down again, because he had not really wanted it.
“Did you eat any lunch?” she asked.
He rubbed his face. “I’m not hungry.”
“You look exhausted. I’ll get you a blanket, if you’d like to rest here for a while.”
“There’s no way I can sleep. Not until she’s out of there.”
“Did you reach her parents?”
“Oh god.” He shook his head. “That was an ordeal. The hardest part was convincing them they had to keep it a secret. They can’t show up here, they can’t call their friends. I almost wonder if I should have kept it from them.”
“The Rizzolis would want to know.”
“But they’re not good at keeping secrets. And if this one gets out, it could kill their daughter.”
They sat for a moment in silence. The only sound was the hiss of cool air blowing from the AC vent. On the wall behind the desk were elegantly framed floral prints. The office reflected the woman: neat, precise, cerebral.
She said, quietly: “Jane’s a survivor. We both know that. She’ll do whatever it takes to stay alive.”
“I just want her to stay out of the line of fire.”
“She’s not stupid.”
“The problem is, she’s a cop.”
“Isn’t that a good thing?”
“How many cops get killed trying to be heroes?”
“She’s pregnant. She won’t take any chances.”
“No?” He looked at her. “Do you know how she ended up in the hospital this morning? She was testifying in court when the defendant got out of control. And my wife—my brilliant wife—jumped into the fight to subdue him. That’s when her water broke.”
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