“Sure, I’ll get the word out,” said one of the officers, turning back toward the cars.
“Thanks. The two of you, come with me.” Rebecca started back into the house, turning slightly to speak to the men as they walked. “We have a hostage situation in St. Louis, a place called Biomedical Engineering Associates. Sister Prudence is involved. Greenwood and Justice are probably there, too. We need to find anything we can that might help with that standoff.”
“And you think it’s on a computer?”
“Probably,” replied Rebecca. “We’re sure they train here. We’ve found pictures of the Biomedical Engineering Associates building and notes on the people working there. We also found a scanner. It’s possible that all of this information has been scanned into the computer so they could set up something like a video game. Then, they could go over it again and again, until they have it down pat.”
“Because they can’t talk, it has to be pictures?” one of the men asked. “One of the Crusaders had pictures of exercises.”
“Yeah, that’s what we’re thinking,” Rebecca replied. “But there’s a lot of paper to go through, too.” They had reached a door, and Rebecca paused. “This appears to be Greenwood’s office. What I’ve seen in here is medical research and may not be related to the hostage-taking. But one of you should stay and look through it.”
“I’ll do that,” said one of the officers.
“Thanks. When more help comes, take who you need and send the rest back.”
Rebecca and the last officer continued down the hall until it opened onto a large room, perhaps a dining room originally. Now, it was filled with equipment. Three computers with monitors were lined up along one wall. Much of another was covered by a large, flat-panel display. A workstation sat in a corner. Shelves were filled with CDs, DVDs, and external drives. Two sets of head-mounted displays rested on a small table.
“Damn, this is like a game arcade,” said the officer. “Except not cheap plastic. This stuff looks expensive.”
“Probably is,” said Clements. He was rifling through one of six, four-drawer filing cabinets.
“Anything yet?” asked Rebecca.
“Pictures of places the Crusaders have hit and a ton of places they haven’t. But I’m not finding anything like signals and what to do when one occurs.”
“That’s got to be on the computers,” said Rebecca.
“And you’re sure if you lock up one of those machines with failed login attempts, that won’t lock them all up?” Clements asked.
“I don’t see how. There’s no hard-wired network, and I shut down the wireless router. They can’t communicate anymore.”
“OK,” he said, although, to Rebecca, he sounded skeptical.
“Agent Marte?” Rebecca turned to see the officer she had left at Greenwood’s office. “You said this hostage situation was at a place called Biomedical Engineering Associates?”
“That’s right.”
He stepped into the room, holding out some photographs. “That name is on the back of these. Thought you should see them.”
She took the pictures from the officer and looked at the first. It was the front entrance to the building. The second was a man she didn’t recognize. The third was Doc, but it had been altered. The fourth was a young woman, the picture edited the same way. She shuffled through the remaining photographs, finding no others that had been changed.
She walked over to Clements and handed him the picture of the woman. “Is this Veles?”
He studied it, frowning. “Yes, but what the heck does that mean?”
“I’m not sure, but this is Sam Price,” she said, holding out another picture. “And this is everyone else in the Biomedical Engineering Associates folder.” She fanned out the remaining shots like a deck of playing cards.
“Aw, shit,” Clements said, the color draining from his face.
“Can you call one of our agents in St. Louis? I’m going outside to call Doc.” Rebecca started toward the door, not waiting for an answer.
At the Same Time – The Biomedical Engineering Associates Building
After the narrowest of margins of victory for our fake-beach plan, everyone had pitched in to implement it, and in short order, it was done. And now that it was, I had to admit … it wasn’t very convincing. At least, not when you were close.
The dust from the concrete had gotten everywhere, leaving a white sheen that looked like morning frost on the tables and chairs. But the tradeoff between lost realism from hurrying and being dead because the signal had come was heavily weighted toward the former. The aggregate in the concrete was also too coarse, many of the stones being the size of the tip of my little finger. I suppose there are pebble beaches, but I doubted Greenwood would have used anything but fine sand in her mockup. Our stand-ins for the beach furniture looked like a table and chairs from an office lunchroom because they were. And we had nothing for a volleyball net. But the plants looked good. And in addition to the large ball to sit on, we’d found a smaller, weighted medicine ball. Both looked the part of beach toys, even if the smaller one weighed several pounds.
While approaching the front door had warranted a warning shot from Prudence earlier, apparently puttering around on the other side of the lobby was irrelevant; she hardly gave us a second glance. So, we had moved two partitions in front of our beach-in-the-making. Seeing the work in progress, we reasoned, might spoil the illusion.
With everything now done, it was time for the reveal. Russo and I were going to pull back the partitions, then “frolic” in a subdued sort of way. Why subdued? With the power to the building turned off, the 75-degree, outside temperature had become almost 80 inside. Prudence appeared unaffected, not even bothering to remove the light jacket she wore. Russo and I, on the other hand, were sweating profusely. Any dust we raised was now clinging to our skin, forming a white coating on our arms, hands, and faces. We wanted to look like Prudence’s friends at play, not a dance of ghosts.
We were ready. The only problem that remained was Nicole. “Babe, you need to join the others in the break room.” Everyone except my future wife had readily accepted the suggestion to wait farther away from Prudence and her bomb.
“And let you and Gene have all the fun?”
My suspicion that I wasn’t very good at scowling at my fiancé was confirmed when I tried, and she smirked in reply. “Gene and I have this covered,” I said. “And if it starts to fall apart, I don’t want to have to worry about you.”
“Sam Price,” she said. Her scowl, unlike mine, was perfect. “We’ve had this discussion. You are not responsible for me.” She was the stubbornest person I had ever known, an endearing trait most of the time. At the moment, however, my emotions were an ever-changing mix of frustration and worry.
My look of defeat apparently got to her because when she continued, her tone was much milder. “What you’re trying to do is sweet. I appreciate it. But it’s not smart and you know it. We have no idea how Laura handled gender differences. Prudence may feel threatened with only males in sight. If there’s only going to be one gender here, it should be female.”
“She’s right, you know,” added Russo.
I blew out a long breath. Out-argued and outvoted, I started to concede when my phone rang. “It’s Agent Marte.” I raised the phone to my ear. “Rebecca, can I put you on speaker?” There was a trace of hope in my voice that was apparent even to me.
“No, don’t do that.” Her words came out in a rush. “I need to speak to you or you and Ms. Veles, but not anyone else.”
I wasn’t prepared for that answer, and it took me a moment to recover. I turned from Nicole and Russo and slowly walked away. “OK,” I said softly. “What’s up?”
“First, sorry, but nothing about the signals Prudence is waiting for. But we have come across several pictures labeled Biomedical Engineering Associates. One is you and Gus confirmed one is Ms. Veles. We think the others are probably coworkers. But there’s something … different about your two pi
ctures.” She paused, taking a breath. “There’s a big, red X across your faces.”
Marked for death, but why? I couldn’t see the reason. If Greenwood wanted a victim with a fresh, young face to send a wave of fear into the industries surrounding medicine, Nicole was the perfect candidate. But what was the message in killing me? Even future families of medical workers aren’t safe from the Crusaders’ wrath? That felt like a stretch.
“OK,” I replied, just to let her know I’d heard.
“Clements is passing the same information on to an agent there,” said Marte. “So, don’t be surprised if they offer you some additional protection when they take you out. Not that we’re going to leave anyone exposed.”
“And hopefully, we’ve got something that’ll get the agents in the door,” I said. “We’ve created a distraction for Prudence. And now that it’s done, I hate to ask, but did you find something like a beach there?”
“Yeah, we did,” she said after a pause that seemed minutes rather than the split-second it probably was. “Why?”
“Tell you later,” I said, not wanting to take the time now. “Anything else?”
“Nothing, except let’s make that a story over drinks with you and Ms. Veles. My treat. I’d like to meet this woman of yours.”
“I’m sure she’d love to.” I disconnected and walked back to Russo and Nicole.
“The FBI have any news?” asked Russo.
“Apparently, the Crusaders prepared for this operation at Greenwood’s farm. They found pictures of the building, stuff like that. Unfortunately, they haven’t found the actual plan. So, the next step is up to us. Ready?” Both nodded.
I considered pulling Nicole aside to tell her about the altered pictures, but I wasn’t sure how much time we had left. Seconds might count. And besides, knowing that Greenwood wanted us dead more than she wanted everyone else dead wasn’t very helpful anyway.
Russo moved to the end of one of the partitions while I took the other. Nicole took a seat at the table, complete with a drink at her elbow composed of nine-parts water and one-part concrete dust that had collected there. I glanced at Russo. He nodded, and we pulled the partitions apart.
Prudence rose to her feet, her eyes narrowing as she took in the scene. She moved from behind a column where she had taken cover, leaving the roller bag behind but still carrying a revolver in her right hand. She was exposed to the building’s front windows. Agent Alban had said they wouldn’t shoot unless we were threatened, but was that just something they told hostages? I tensed, wondering if a rifle shot was about to shatter the glass.
Russo and I stepped onto the concrete-covered floor. As planned, he picked up the large ball. But before he could toss it to me, it slipped from his hands, hit the floor in a puff of dust, and bounced away. I could see the outline of a partial handprint on its surface, the product of sweat from Russo’s fingers and the concrete mix.
“Damn,” he whispered, as the ball stopped only after reaching the far wall.
I looked at Prudence. If we’d created confusion, it was gone. She glanced at the window, and as if realizing what she had done, she dived behind the column. There, she retrieved the pushbutton attached to the roller bag.
But before I could consider whether we had just sealed our fate, Nicole stood up and removed the thin pads covering the chairs’ wire-mesh seats. She climbed onto one. “In her head, she’s a kid, not a killer,” Nicole said. She jumped across to the second chair. She turned and jumped back, this time releasing a faked squeal like a child might make on a playground.
“The medicine ball,” I said to Russo. It was sitting a few feet from him. He retrieved it, then tossed it in a high, arching lob. I extended my hands in front of me, hoping to use the extra distance to slowly drain the ball’s momentum. Even so, it hit my hands hard, and I staggered back a step. I stepped forward and returned the lob, Russo catching it in much the same manner.
Nicole paused her play to laugh and point at us. If she’d been up for an academy award, the critics might say it was forced, but I marveled at how natural it sounded. I added a few snorts, and Russo soon joined in our feigned merrymaking. I wondered what law enforcement watching from outside was thinking. Perhaps that we had succumbed to the pressure and were now exhibiting mass hysteria? But a glance at Prudence said it was working.
She stood and walked more purposefully from behind the column. Again, she left the roller bag behind. Again, she brought the handgun. Halfway to us, she reached inside her jacket and pulled out a second revolver. The room went silent. Russo froze, halfway in his motion to lob the ball. Nicole stopped jumping between the chairs.
Please don’t raise those guns.
I didn’t want to see Prudence die. She might have looked like a twenty-something-year-old, but she was innocent. She’d never even had the chance to have an impure thought. “Games not over, Gene,” I said and forced the most natural chuckle I could muster from a parched throat.
“You sure you can handle my fastball?” he said, resuming his windup and laughing as he lobbed the ball to me.
I could almost hear a collective sigh of relief from the three of us as Prudence laid her firearms on the floor and came over to our playground. And as if in complete affirmation of Nicole’s argument for staying, Prudence walked directly to her, climbed up on the other chair, and took her hands.
Russo and I both ran to the revolvers on the floor then turned toward the roller bag. But before we reached it, law enforcement was inside, surrounding Prudence and Nicole with drawn guns. I looked on, feeling helpless should Prudence decide to make a last stand. But then, making a decision was beyond her, and apparently, no trained behaviors fit the situation. She simply looked confused as the officers took her into custody.
The room became a scene of organized confusion. Someone asked where everyone else was, and I pointed them toward the break room. A couple of officers led Prudence out. Nicole joined me, and I locked her in an embrace. “I think she’ll be OK,” Nicole said. I smiled but never had the chance to reply.
“We need to get everyone out,” someone yelled.
I looked out through the front windows, finding a corridor of officers in riot gear that started at the entrance to the Biomedical Engineering Associates building and continued diagonally across the street into another structure. It would take a sniper in a helicopter to get a shot into the narrow gap between the rows of men, and since they had been keeping the airspace clear, even that wasn’t a possibility. They started lining us up for the evacuation.
“Dr. Price? Ms. Veles?” asked a man I didn’t recognize.
“Yes,” I replied.
“I’m FBI Special Agent Blewitt. I have an extra precaution for the two of you. Something to make you look a bit different than when you came in.” He held out a blue, FBI windbreaker and cap. “Sorry, but you’re going to need to share. I could only find one set on such short notice. Ms. Veles, you first.”
“I don’t understand,” Nicole said, looking at the garments in the man’s hands.
“I’ll explain, as soon as we’re safe across the street,” I said.
Nicole frowned but donned the gear, and they left. In less than a minute, Blewitt returned. “Your friend’s safe and secure on the other side. Now, your turn.”
After putting on the makeshift disguise, the dash across the street passed in a blur, making me wonder if I was coming down hard from the adrenaline-fueled stress of the last hour and a half. I was looking forward to some peace and quiet, a bit of normalcy, even if it was in the lobby of a strange building surrounded by people I didn’t know.
Agent Blewitt and I had just passed through the doors when a woman approached. She was either a nurse or her fashion sense ran to white dresses accessorized by a clipboard. Beyond her, there were about 20 others, men and women, all moving between pieces of furniture that appeared a cross between a folding chair and a cot.
“Let me get you something to drink,” said the woman. “You must be dehydrated.”
“Sure. The bathroom is just past the reception desk.” She gestured with a hand and smiled at me. “And you may want to wash your face while you’re in there.” I reached up and rubbed my cheek, bringing back a layer of gray on a finger. “Were you all trying to tunnel out?”
“Something like that.”
After using the bathroom and getting cleaned up, I felt better. But even so, the lobby didn’t feel less chaotic. I walked slowly back to my chair/cot, looking for Nicole but not seeing her. The woman with the clipboard, however, was there, this time with a cup of orange juice in the other hand. I sat, accepted the drink with thanks, and took a sip.
“Let me take your blood pressure, and then, we have cookies or bananas if you’re hungry.”
But rather than sitting back and raising an arm, I slid forward on the chair. “Is that a list of the hostages?” I pointed at the clipboard.
“The workers, actually. Often these things are over before we get onsite and the victims are taken to emergency rooms for treatment. But given what they do on the other side of the street, I think someone knew exactly who to call. We’re here in force.”
She looked pleased, but the scene felt wrong to me. I gazed around the lobby, again failing to find Nicole. “My fiancé is here, somewhere. I’d like to talk to her.”
“Of course, but let me take your blood pressure first. You seem fine, but it’ll only take a moment and we wouldn’t want you collapsing halfway across the floor.” Her words were reasonable, but my mind wouldn’t be quieted. I started to lean back, just to get it over with so I could look for Nicole.
“You’re probably just not seeing her because we came with so many people. The first estimate of hostages was thirty, not thirteen.”
“Thirty?” I stood up from the chair.
“Sir, please sit back down.”
“Who reported thirty hostages?”
Mind in Chains Page 25