Uncharted Fate

by Racette, Cynthia

  When Anna dragged herself out of bed for work a few long, despondent hours later, she felt as if she’d lived through a hurricane. She'd tried to talk to Mallory after Jeff thundered out, but her daughter was tied up in as many knots as Anna herself and they hadn’t gotten far. She’d given up about five-thirty, and they'd gone to their separate nightmares.

  In the morning, Mallory dressed, grabbed her lunch off the kitchen table, and ran out the door without breakfast before Anna could stop her. Even Brian sensed the disturbing vibes in the air, and ate his way silently through a bowl of cereal.

  Unsure how she was even going to get through the day, Anna dressed in her black skirt and a white chiffon long-sleeved blouse with ruffles on the neck and sleeves. She was folding napkins later that morning, fighting yawns, when Henri came and told her someone on the phone had asked for her.

  Alarmed, she went to his office to answer it. Was it Jeff? Could it be the school, informing her the police raided Mallory’s locker and found a cache of marijuana there?

  It was neither. Mrs. Kilty, her real estate agent, had called for her. Anna stifled an expression of exasperation.

  “Mrs. Lamoreaux,” Mrs. Kilty said, “the people who looked at your house a few days ago are interested in making you an offer.”

  As Anna debated whether to feel happy or sad, the real estate agent added, “There’s been a bit of a problem, however. They were concerned about the high taxes, and they asked me to check and see if the assessment could be lowered. I told them I didn’t think it could, since it is not far out of line with other properties in the area. I checked anyway. When the clerk at the tax office went through your file, she said there was no record of your having paid the January city taxes. Can you remember if you paid them?”

  Anna covered the receiver and moaned. This was all she needed today. Bracing herself, she removed her hand and replied, “Of course I paid it. I remember doing it.”

  “The clerk said the records show you were sent a reminder two months ago. If you'd opened it, it would have told you something was amiss. Did you get it?”

  “I remember getting an envelope, but I figured it was my receipt, and I don’t think I even bothered opening it. I threw it in my tax file.”

  “Mrs. Lamoreaux, I do think you ought to check this out. It wouldn’t look good if I went back to my buyers and told them there are delinquent taxes due on the property. They’re about ready to sign. Something like this could make them think twice and might cost us the sale.”

  “Wait a minute, Mrs. Kilty. Let’s not panic. Let me get my checkbook and I’ll see if I have a record of the check being written.” Setting down the phone, Anna pulled her purse out of the small locker in the back of Henri’s office and leafed through to late February. There it was—check number 1362, made out to the City of Binghamton. “Mrs. Kilty, I have my stub right here. I made out the check on February 27. There’s no checkmark next to the check number, which means it’s still outstanding. That’s odd. I wrote it with all the others after I got my husband’s insurance check. Everything else I wrote the same day has come back.”

  “You work over there in downtown, don’t you? Maybe you could run over to the city hall on your lunch break and check it out.”

  “Oh, Mrs. Kilty. I just can’t deal with this today. It’s been a rough day. I’ll write a letter sometime in the next couple of days.”

  “Honey, these people are ready to sign. I don’t think you can afford to take the chance this’ll scare them away. People who are spending as much money for a house as they are want to know the sale will go off without any hitches.”

  “All right, all right. You win. I’ll go on my lunch break today.”

  “Fine. You really are better off getting it settled right away before you incur any more penalties from them thinking your payment is nearly a year late. I’m sure it’s merely some kind of mix-up. Do you know where the tax office is? If you go across the promenade of the city hall complex, it’ll put you on the floor where the main lobby is.”

  “Okay. I’ll let you know what I find out.”

  “Yes, please do call me back. I’ll be here at my desk all afternoon.”

  “Fine. Talk to you later.” Anna hung up the phone and sank onto Henri’s desk chair with her elbows on the desktop and her face in her hands. She was exhausted and so worried about Mallory she couldn't think straight. And Jeff . . . she was still angry at him. In her opinion, he’d acted in an unreasonable fashion, letting his sense of duty override everything else. And duty was what it was, in spite of all his protests about doing it for Mallory’s good. He always seemed strong and able; maybe he was too strong.

  Overbearing. No, he’d never struck her as overbearing before. He’d always come across to her as gentle. The strength was underneath. He'd been standing up for something he believed in, and it meant something to her. Even in the heat of the moment last night, she’d seen that, although she hadn’t let him know it. She’d needed to fight against him for her daughter’s freedom, and his stubbornness made her angry.

  But strangely, in spite of her wrath, she missed him already and wondered if he was suffering as much as she was. Now, this. It was a small, niggling, stupid thing, but it almost pushed her over the edge.

  It was after two o’clock before she could leave the restaurant. She didn’t know how long her errand would take, and decided to eat when she got back. At least the day was sunny and nice for walking. As she headed for the stairs leading to the promenade, she glanced down at the police car on the basement level and her thoughts went to Jeff again. Anger and despair battled for precedence in her head.

  She looked up at the four-story, modern gray granite and smoked-glass city hall in front of her. Going through the doors thrust her into the dim, elegant interior of the main lobby, and it was hard to see anything after the glare of the sun outside. She squinted, trying to find the sign with all of the offices on different floors listed. The lobby was surprisingly crowded. Ahead of her, she saw a sign she wanted and headed for it.

  Before she’d even taken a full step, there was a frantic commotion around her, and a woman screamed in terror. Shoes scuffed on the floor as people tried to run, shouting. Over the din Anna heard something that made her stop dead, despite the fight-or-flight adrenaline beginning to surge through her.

  “He’s got a gun!” one man yelled.

  Anna’s eyes swung around in horror, her eyes flickering over the panic-stricken crowd. With her thoughts full of the all-too-frequent news stories of gunmen shooting hordes of people, the flight response finally won out and she started to run with the pushing, jostling, stampeding crowd, wildly searching for whoever had the gun, so she could avoid him as she ran for the exit.

  A shot rang out, whizzing through the air over her head and hitting the plate glass behind her, shattering it like a thousand crystal goblets dropped on a cement floor. “Don’t come near me. Please. Don’t.” cried a voice, sharp and high with panic. A familiar voice.

  Anna skidded to a stop as the crowd flew by her and she spun around in disbelief. “Mark.” There he was in his faded jeans, his body taut as he squared off with a huge, ugly gun clutched in both fists. He was swinging it from side to side like a lunatic, wild and crazy.

  He turned when Anna shouted his name, and spotted her in the crowd. With a cry, he leapt forward and grabbed her by the wrist, jerking her around in front of him. His arm pinned her against his chest and she gasped in shock. In an instant, his gun was pointed to her temple, and he was shouting again, his voice hoarse and panic-ridden. “Don’t come any closer. I’ll shoot her.”

  He swiveled in a circle as if trying to keep track of everyone around him, including the security guards cautiously making their way around in back of him. His arm clamped like a vise across Anna’s neck and she couldn't breathe, even if she dared move enough to breathe.

 
; Choking, Anna knew she must do something, try to stop this horrific situation. She had to try talking to him, and risk jarring the gun pressed cold to her temple. “Mark, you can’t do this,” she whispered. “You can’t hurt me. Let me go.”

  “Quiet!” he screeched, and she realized with a new, terrified fear that Mark was beyond reason. He backed to the elevators, dragging her with him. The door behind him opened, spilling out a handful of startled people. He dragged her inside, now holding the gun pointed at the door until it closed.

  He jerked her around as he moved toward a list of offices on each floor. "Mayor’s office—fourth floor," he mumbled. “Aha.” He pushed the button labeled ‘four.’

  “Mark, you can’t mean to—”

  “Quiet, I said.” Anna could feel his body quiver violently behind hers, and she swallowed the rest of her sentence.

  The door slid open with a silent swish, and he thrust the cold muzzle against her temple. An elderly man, who'd been about to get on the elevator, jumped back as they exited on the fourth floor.

  “Open the door.” He pointed with his elbow to the smoked glass door leading to the mayor’s office. A clerk at the far side of the room noticed the commotion, and started to stand.

  Before she could come to her feet, Mark dragged Anna to the desk, his hand trembling as he held the gun on her. “Where’s the mayor’s office?”

  The secretary froze, her mouth moving but nothing coming out.

  "Come on." He prodded Anna with the pistol.

  “Uh,” the secretary stammered, obviously trying to stall. Mark must have seen her eyes flit for a microsecond to the doorway behind her, because he rushed through it, shoving Anna into the room. He slammed the door behind him with his shoulder.

  Mayor Stanton was coming around his desk when they burst into the room. His eyes went past Anna to the scruffy, tattered figure of Mark, whose breathing was heavy while holding the door closed.

  Then the mayor’s gaze must have taken in the gun, because he stopped in his tracks, speaking in a calming voice. “Take it easy, young man. No one is going to hurt you. No one is going to do anything you don’t want them to do. Let the woman go.”

  Mark hesitated for an instant and looked through the glass beside the door. There was chaos in the hall with people rushing to hide from the gunman. “Okay. Both of you over there where I can keep an eye on you.” He pointed with the gun and released Anna who wobbled over to the mayor on unsteady feet. He put his arm around her shoulders and squeezed, reassuringly. But he never took his eyes off Mark.

  Outside the office, Anna could see that pandemonium still reigned. The secretary phoned someone. Seconds later, a security team came running through the door of the glass- surrounded mayoral suite. Everywhere else, people were running out, trying to escape the danger.

  Mark opened the mayor’s door a sliver. His frightened voice boomed out over the confusion. “I want this section of the floor cleared. Everyone else into the outer hall where I can see you.”

  One of the security team started clearing everyone out and Anna could hear him say, “Everyone stay calm. We’re not going to take any chances with personnel. We know how to handle this. Come on. Everybody out.”

  A tall, blond young man tried to hang back and slip into his office adjoining the mayor’s. Mark must have seen him and motioned with his gun. “You too, you sonofabitch.”

  In the police department eight floors below, Jeff was sitting, despondent, staring at nothing in particular when the call from upstairs came through.

  “Holy shit,” he heard the desk sergeant cry. “We’ll get some men up there right away.”

  Jeff strode to his office doorway to stare at the sergeant. The old man had been through every sort of crisis imaginable in the department, and nothing ever fazed him anymore. Something big must have happened. “What’s up?”

  “Jeff,” the sergeant said, his eyes huge, “some idiot with a gun is holed up in the mayor’s office. He has the mayor and a woman in there as hostages.”

  “Good God.” The blood drained from Jeff’s face and he felt a little dizzy. This was one of the ultimate fears of being a policeman. A hostage situation. They seldom ended without someone getting hurt or killed. And sometimes it was the policeman. It had happened in Elmira only a few months earlier, ending in three casualties—a hostage, a cop, and the perp.

  And the mayor’s involvement made it twice as bad. It would hit the news services like a bomb and the whole place would be swarming with reporters and satellite trucks before he could blink an eyelash.

  Since he was the hostage negotiator for the force, the situation was his to deal with. He called the captain and apprised him of the situation. Then, grabbing his bullet-proof vest, he ran to get Detective Carruthers and two patrolmen and headed, heart pounding, for the elevator.

  At the fourth floor, the door slid open to a scene of chaos and disorder. Everyone was frightened and milling around in the hallway. The noise level was horrendous.

  He held up his arms. “Attention. This is the police. Clear the floor this instant. Go home. The offices on this floor are now closed. That’s an order. Go home.”

  A young man came up to him and introduced himself. “I’m Mayor Stanton’s executive assistant, Steve Dimecco. I think it would be helpful if I stayed. I know the whole layout, and can give you a hand placing your men.”

  “Okay, good idea. Where can we set up headquarters, man phones and such?”

  “The closest office is data processing, the first door on the right down this hall.” He pointed in one direction, and Jeff followed him down the hall, Detective Carruthers and several patrolmen trailing behind to keep an eye on the situation. They cleared the office clutter off a few desks and moved all the computer consoles over to one table.

  “Dimecco, see if you can find me a floor plan of the building in case we need to storm the office if things get desperate. Before you go, tell me how I get through to the mayor’s private line. And have all incoming calls rerouted. We’d better talk to this guy and find out who else he’s got in there and what he wants. He must want something. I only hope we can give it to him.”

  Chapter 17

  In the mayor’s office, Anna sat on the edge of his luxurious leather desk chair, watching Mark, visibly agitated, pace back and forth across the dense beige plush carpet. The room was low-key and elegant. The wide desk of light-colored hardwood sat in front of bookshelves and discreet corner cabinets. A beige L-shaped sectional looked out upon the historic downtown office buildings. There was no other furniture in the room, merely the luxury of wide-open space.

  Mayor Bob Stanton, standing behind Anna with his arms folded, was also watching Mark. “I hope you know, son, you've got a tiger by the tail now. It may get a little rough from here on out with you holding a gun on us.”

  Mark turned on him. “I don’t need you to tell me that. Do you think I meant for this to happen? I was looking for some kind of office where I could talk them into giving me a job.”

  “With a gun?”

  “I thought I could threaten someone without having to use it. I was desperate. Nothing else has worked.”

  “What happened in the lobby, then?” Anna asked.

  “I’m not sure.” He looked confused. “There was this security guard coming toward me, and I was afraid he saw my gun. I turned away from him and pulled it out of my pocket to hide under my shirt. This lady saw it and screamed and everybody started to run. I got bumped and it went off and . . . and, the next thing I knew, I’d grabbed you. I was scared. I didn’t know where to go.”

  His eyes, wide and dilated, shifted in distress from side to side. “I saw the sign for the mayor’s office and decided it would be the safest place. I don’t know why. I didn’t have anywhere else to go. They were after me.”

  “They’re still after you,
” the mayor pointed out. “The corridor outside is crawling with cops by now.”

  “I know.” Mark’s voice was a hoarse crack of sound. “But they can’t get to me. I have you two.”

  “Look, son—”

  “My name is Mark. Ask Anna. She knows me.”

  Stanton raised one eyebrow at that, and went on, “The longer you stay in here, the worse things will be for you. This place is essentially made of glass.” Anna watched in distress as Mark’s startled eyes took in the large expanses of glass making up almost two walls of the office. “All you have to do is step in front of one of those windows by accident, and a sharpshooter could pick you off,” the mayor added. “It’s too risky for you. Give up now, before someone gets hurt. Before you get hurt.”

  The gun in Mark’s hand jerked spasmodically, and he motioned with it to the windows behind him. “You two, get over on the couch. I’ll stay near the desk, away from the windows.”

  Anna and the mayor moved with caution to sit on the end of the couch away from the window. A glance through the glass beside the door showed the reception area and hall outside were now empty except for two uniformed policemen standing on either side of the glass wall, their pistols trained on the office door.

  Mark made his way over to the wide desk, keeping his gun pointed in the mayor’s direction. He swept the contents off with the flat of his hand, and leaned over to sit on top of the smooth wood. The telephone rang and he jumped, startled. He stood, watching it ring for a few minutes, looking at it as if he thought it was a bomb.

  “Mark.” Anna kept her voice easy. “It might be the police wanting to talk to you. You'd better answer it.”

  He stared at it a while longer. It didn’t stop ringing. He slowly lifted the receiver and held it to his ear without speaking.

  “Hello, this is Detective Thomas. Don’t be frightened. We want to help you. No one here wants anyone to get hurt, but you have to cooperate with us to a degree to ensure your safety, okay?”