Amber Morn

by Brandilyn Collins

  Kent breathed out like some mad bull. Suddenly he grabbed Ali’s shoulder with one huge hand and yanked her out of her seat. She screamed. Carla and half the people in the room screamed. Kent stuck his nose in Ali’s white face. “You want to leave this place, or you want to die?”

  Ali’s chin trembled. She opened her mouth but no sound came out.

  Brittany’s muscles turned to lead.

  Kent shook Ali. “Answer me!”

  “I — I want… to go.”

  He shoved her back down. She landed hard and burst into tears. Carla grabbed her arm.

  “Then do yourself a favor.” Kent lashed a finger at Ali’s chest. “Tell your friend to keep her mouth shut.”

  Ali just cried.

  “You want to live, girl?” Kent grabbed a wad of her hair and pulled. “Say it.”

  Oh, Ali, I’m so sorry. God, please…

  Ali raised her eyes to Brittany. Her lips trembled so much she could hardly talk. “K-keep your m-mouth shut.”

  Kent grunted and pushed her head away.

  Ali bent over the table, sobbing.

  Hatred for the Wicksells flamed up and branded Brittany’s soul. I hope you all rot in jail.

  FORTY-SEVEN

  Vince took a call from Al at the media site. Stan Seybert had volunteered his TV.

  “His friend Bud Halloway drove him home to get it,” Al said. “They’ll be ready to deliver it to CRT in about ten minutes.”

  “Great.” Adrenaline shivered Vince’s bones. He’d rest a whole lot easier when those two girls were safe.

  Roger hustled into the office, followed by Larry, who headed to the situation board. “I got through to Judge Hadkin, and he’s on his way.” Roger held out a piece of paper to Vince. “Here’s his cell number. Larry’s putting it up.”

  “Good. Tell Jim to have Lester and Mick wait until the judge arrives, then escort them all in together.”

  “Okay.” Roger eyed him. “Can I talk to you for a minute?” He gestured with his head toward the other office.

  “Sure.” Vince followed him out.

  In the second office, Roger shut the door. “We still need an officer to take the TV to Java Joint’s door?”

  “Yeah. I was just going to talk to Jim about that. He’ll have to find someone from ISP.”

  “Let me do it.”

  “Why? I need you here.”

  Roger ran his tongue beneath his upper lip. “I got friends in there, Vince.”

  “We all got friends in there.”

  He dipped his head sideways — Yeah, I hear you. “Let me do it. I’m a skinny guy — don’t look like a threat. I’ll get those girls away from there.”

  Vince studied him. “This about your stepdaughter?”

  Roger scratched his jaw. “She is that age.”

  “She hang around with Ali?”

  Resignation flickered across Roger’s face, as if he knew how Vince would respond to his answer. “Yeah. Good friends.”

  Vince’s voice softened. “That makes you a little too close to the situation, doesn’t it?”

  “No closer than you. And you’re negotiating.”

  Vince leaned against the doorway. He surveyed the worn brown rug, his gaze landing on a spot. Spilled coffee, maybe.

  Roger didn’t talk much about his private life, but Vince had gleaned bits and pieces of information. The man’s crusty nature hid a loyal family man’s heart. Forging a relationship with his stepdaughter, Tracey, hadn’t been easy. The chasm between them had hurt Roger more than he’d let on. Rescuing Ali and Brittany just might elevate him in Tracey’s mind.

  Vince lifted his eyes to Roger. “Okay. You’re in. I’ll want the girls brought directly here. We need to debrief them before they go home.”

  “Thanks.” Roger nodded. True to form, he wouldn’t make a big deal out of being granted his request. “Before I leave — you want medical here for the girls?”

  “Yeah. Find a female if you can. Coordinate with Jim about having the doc escorted in right away. I’m going to run down the hall, then I’ll inform Tactical of our plan.”

  “Okay.”

  As Vince turned to head for the bathroom, Roger was already picking up the phone.

  Back in his office, Vince could feel the rise in tension as the countdown for the exchange approached. His helpers scurried around, the phone was ringing off the hook, and he still had a dozen details to attend to.

  First Vince updated Jack by radio and made sure he’d passed filming instructions to the ISP helicopter. “Also, is that monitor on its way to me?”

  “Yeah. Coming up now.”

  “All right, thanks. Roger will be down there soon. He’ll need to be informed about details of the exchange.”

  “Will do.”

  Next Vince took a call from an irritated-sounding Al. “Chief, afraid to tell you I noticed a reporter following Stan and Bud as they left. They know to keep their mouths shut, but it’s going to look pretty obvious something is up. Don’t be surprised if word of this exchange gets out.”

  Oh, great. Vince buffed his forehead. Al had been releasing information supplied by Roger. The media had already been told the HTs’ identities and their demands, along with names of the hostages. But reporters were insatiable in their quest to get the jump on a story.

  “Okay. Thanks for the warning.”

  As Vince hung up, Larry informed him a Dr. Liz Hughes was on her way from outside Spirit Lake, driven by an officer with lights running. Estimated arrival: fifteen minutes. “And the two reporters got their emails. They’re filming and standing by until we tell them it’s okay to air.”

  “Good. They —”

  The rear door opened. Vince hurried out to the hall to see a couple of CRT techs carrying in the monitor. Vince had Justin dig a folding table out of a closet and set it at the end of the desk. With the monitor set up there, he and Justin could both see the screen.

  As the techs set up the system, Vince pictured the exchange they would soon witness. The café door opening, Ali and Brittany running out…

  Everything should go smoothly. It was a good plan.

  The techs finished and clicked on the screen. It showed feed from the helicopter, now on its way to Kanner Lake.

  They were good to go.

  Time to call Wicksell.

  Vince picked up his phone.

  FORTY-EIGHT

  Helen Communs lifted her head and opened her eyes. She’d been praying a long time. Her neck was tired from bending, and she had to blink four or five times before her vision cleared.

  All around her she heard murmuring. Sounded like a lot more voices than the last time she checked.

  Slowly she pushed to her feet from the front pew, knees catching before she could straighten. She hung there, bent over like an old maid — well, more like the old widow she was — until her legs felt strong enough to hold her upright and her spine agreed to uncurl. One arthritic hand finding her aching hip, she tottered a few steps to turn around.

  She pulled in a breath. My goodness! The church was chock-full. Had to be two hundred people in the sanctuary — more than any Sunday morning. Pastor Hank would be so proud —

  Pastor Hank.

  Lord Jesus, get him and the others out of there.

  Folks sat in groups of all sizes. Others bowed their heads alone. A few lingered against the walls, talking on cell phones. Some time ago Harold Brune, Pastor Hank’s new assistant, had asked everyone to put their phones on vibrate. The ringing had been distracting people from their prayers. No one wanted the phones turned all the way off since tidbits of information were coming in from folks down on Lakeshore.

  Weeping rose from Helen’s far left. She searched out the sound. Linda Brymes. Leslie’s mother. “God, have mercy.” Helen saw Matthew, Linda’s husband, beside her. He slipped an arm around her shoulders, drew her close.

  The couple sat in a circle of chairs brought in from the kitchen. Helen spotted Mark and Gayle Frederick, Ali’s mom and dad. Gayle
’s face glistened with tears of her own. Next to her sat David Clanton, Angie’s close friend. Soon to be her husband — Helen would bet on that, if she was the betting kind.

  Other faces in the group registered in Helen’s mind — Frank Jr., Angie’s son in his thirties. Trudy, Wilbur’s wife.

  Helen made her way toward them. They all needed hugs. They all needed another shoulder. Hers might be bony and weak, but her faith was strong. And right now, faith was what mattered most.

  By the time she reached them, Trudy, her good friend, had bent over, hands gripping her knees, tears dropping to the carpet. Helen laid a hand on her arm, and she pulled up to look. Her face crumpled. She leaned over, burying her face in Helen’s chest, and cried. Others in the group looked up, shook their heads in weary despair.

  No, not despair. We got God on our side.

  Helen stroked Trudy’s gray hair until the poor woman cried herself out.

  “It’s all right.” Helen patted her veined hand. “The Lord puts our tears in a bottle, that’s what the psalm says.”

  Trudy managed a nod.

  Frank Jr. straightened suddenly, slid a hand into his jacket pocket. He must have come right out of work in Spokane as soon as he heard. He pulled out his cell phone, got up, and wandered over to face the wall, where his conversation wouldn’t bother anybody.

  Helen got a feeling about that call. She fixed her gaze on his back, trying to figure his body language. She saw his head draw back, his left elbow up and hanging in the air. He listened a moment longer, then snapped the phone shut. Turned around, eyes roaming the sanctuary. Helen followed his gaze to Harold Brune. Frank strode over to him, spoke words Helen couldn’t hear. Harold’s eyebrows rose, and he leaned back to aim a penetrating stare at Frank Jr. Angie’s son nodded.

  Harold squeezed his arm, then the two of them walked over to the Fredericks in the family circle. The men pulled them aside, their voices low, but Helen caught the words. Gayle gasped, a half cry of victory, half wail. She and Mark hugged each other like they didn’t want to let go.

  Oh, God — yes! Fear fluttered at her heart, but Helen renounced it in Jesus’ name. Keep them safe, Lord; keep them safe.

  Harold and Frank turned to the rest of the circle and told them the news. More gasps. Trudy’s hand flew to her mouth, her eyes round. Hope freshened her face.

  Harold faced the crowd in the sanctuary. “Can I have everyone’s attention, please!” Heads looked up, worn faces hopeful for good news. All voices fell to a hush.

  “We’ve heard word that something is happening down on Main Street,” Harold said, “but we can’t verify it. Somebody heard a reporter phoning his news station and saying he’d heard a television is being taken into Java Joint. Seems the men holding our loved ones hostage want to watch the news.” Clothes rustled, murmurs of disgust rippling over the pews. “In return, if this news is true, Ali and Brittany will be released.”

  Gasps filtered toward the ceiling. Heads turned toward the Fredericks. Gayle and Mark gripped each other, faces pulled taut.

  Harold held up a hand. “We need to pray — hard. We got to pray that this is true, that everything goes all right — and those girls get to safety.” He glanced toward the Fredericks.

  Helen saw in his expression more fear than he would put into words. So many things could go wrong. They’d all heard about the guns those men had — and they’d already shot one person. What if this was only a trick to shoot somebody else? Maybe even those precious girls?

  Helen’s heart folded in on itself. Oh, Lord Jesus, get them out!

  Harold squeezed Gayle’s shoulder. “Gayle and Mark will be driving down to Lakeshore now to see if they can find out anything more. Let’s all get to praying they’re united with their daughter soon.”

  Applause broke out in the sanctuary, amid a few shouts of “hallelujah” and “thank you, Lord!”

  As the Fredericks hurried off, Helen sank into the chair Mark had occupied. Frank Jr. slid the remaining empty chair away from the circle, and everyone closed in. Helen bent over her knees. Soon the sounds of fervent prayers rose to the rafters of New Community Church.

  FORTY-NINE

  “Yeah.”

  Kent’s voice snapped over the phone line. Apprehension flushed through Vince. He was up walking his office, too pumped to sit down. Justin sat at his desk, ready to take notes. Larry stood by the situation board, tapping the black marker against his palm.

  Vince jangled keys in his pocket. “Kent, you okay? You sound upset.”

  “I’m fine. Nothing I can’t handle.”

  Didn’t sound fine. The man sounded like he was ready to chew somebody’s head off.

  Vince lifted his hand palm up at Justin — Should I pursue this or move on? Justin rolled his forefinger in the air.

  “Okay. Glad to hear it. Want you to know your TV’s being delivered. Everything will be ready to go soon.”

  “That guy who’s bringing it…”

  “His name’s Roger Waitman. He’ll be unarmed, like we agreed.”

  “How I know you’re not lying to me?”

  “Kent, what would you expect one man to do when you’ve got multiple automatic weapons pointed at ten remaining hostages? I’m not going to risk anything going wrong.”

  Kent grunted. “Let’s just get this done with. I want those girls outta here.”

  Justin raised his eyebrows — That’s a switch.

  “Me too. Now remember, we’ll have someone waiting around that corner to take the girls away. But they don’t need to concern you because they’re not coming anywhere near Java Joint. They’re only there to get the girls out of the area.”

  “Yeah.” Kent sounded almost raspy. “Okay.”

  Vince gazed at the monitor at the side of his desk. The helicopter was now a few miles northeast of downtown. He watched the slow pan of rooftops and residential streets. He could make out dozens of people on the sidewalks, standing in clusters. Looking up.

  Within a minute the copter would be in place, hovering. Vince would be able to see Lakeshore, Second Street, and Main.

  “Kent, you’ll hear the helicopter soon. It won’t get close. It’s only there to film what’s happening so I can tell you exactly when the TV starts rolling and when you can expect a knock on the door. No surprises.”

  “Better make sure it’s not close. That thing gets in my face, this whole deal’s off.”

  “No need for it to. I want this to go as smoothly as you do.”

  Wicksell breathed heavily over the line. “How long once we get the TV before we see those reporters on the news?”

  “Shouldn’t be long, but I’ll keep you informed. They’re waiting for the signal from me that all’s ready.”

  “They’d better make it good.”

  “They’ll make it good.”

  His breathing whooshed in Vince’s ear. Too heavy. Angry. Vince didn’t like the sound of it.

  A noise outside Vince’s office. Larry hurried out to see who had arrived. He reappeared with an ISP officer and a woman. She looked about forty, with short blonde hair and a compassionate face. Large gray eyes. She carried a black bag.

  “Hold on a minute, Kent.”

  Vince covered the phone’s mouthpiece and motioned them in. The woman nodded to Vince. “Dr. Liz Hughes.”

  He nodded back. Pointed at a chair for her to sit.

  “Need anything else?” the officer asked.

  “No. Appreciate it.”

  As the officer left, the station phone rang. Larry swiveled to answer it in the second office.

  Vince looked to Dr. Hughes. “Thanks for coming on such short notice.”

  “Sure.” She looked grim. Determined.

  He pointed to the phone. She raised a hand — Go ahead.

  Vince turned back to check the monitor. The copter was in place over the target. Its camera shot covered the CRT team on Lakeshore, the ghostlike second and third blocks of Main. He stared at the top of the Java Joint building, picturing the hostage
s inside, the men and their guns. If ever he’d wanted X-ray vision…

  Justin jotted a note and held it up for Vince to see. Keep him talking.

  Vince nodded. “Kent, you all getting hungry in there?”

  “Nah. Ain’t had time to think about food. Besides, don’t she have sandwiches and stuff here? Menu sign says so.”

  “Yes, she does.”

  “It ain’t food we need. It’s just so dang hot in here.”

  A certain amount of discomfort could be positive. Enough of it, and the captors’ resolve might weaken. But heat was a bad one. Heat led to short tempers.

  “I hear you. That’s a lot of people breathing in a closed-off space. Everybody drinking plenty of water? You don’t want people fainting on you.”

  Kent sniffed. “Yeah, suppose so.” The phone muffled. “Bailey. You got bottled water? Go get everybody one.” More rustled movement. “Okay, we’re giving out water.”

  “That’s good.”

  Vince watched the monitor. A pickup truck was heading up Lakeshore. A TV and table sat in its bed.

  “Kent, looks like the TV is being delivered to its drop-off point.”

  “About time.”

  “I know this seems like it’s taking forever. But everybody’s moving as fast as they can.”

  Wicksell snorted.

  The line fell silent. Vince’s mind thrashed for something to say. “This is a good thing you’re doing.”

  “Oh yeah. I’m a great guy.”

  The sarcasm bit. Vince flexed his jaw. “All right, give us a minute or two —”

  “I’m tired of hanging on to this phone,” Wicksell snapped. “You get everything in place, you call me back.”

  “No, wait, Kent, let’s stay on the —”

  “I’m tired of yakkin’ to you, hear? And when this thing’s over, I’m gonna expect things to go much faster. I’ll be thinking on that, understand? Some kind of time frame for T.J. to get out of prison — like real quick — or I quit talking altogether.”

  The line clicked off.

  Vince lowered the receiver and stared at it, wondering at Wicksell’s unpredictability. A chill crept through his veins.