Warning Signs

by Stephen White

  He pressed the "end" button.

  CHAPTER 57

  I was relieved that Sam had the phone. I was terrified by what he was reporting to Rivera.

  "Listen to this, listen to this. Ramp's at the Supreme Court Building. He says he's going to kill them, the justices. He says he won't get them all, but that he should get a few. That's his last stand. This is where it's going to end."

  Sam made a perplexed face, then nodded to himself as he listened intently to the phone. When he winced, I did, too.

  "Jesus. He's taped a shaped charge to Lucy's chest. He says he'll set it off if she does anything… They're in a truck. He's going to the back of the truck to do something. He can see her through the window. He's in a truck, Rivera. Tell them he's in a truck, okay? Do that."

  Sam stopped talking for a moment, then his mouth fell open.

  "Oh my God. He says he has a dead-man switch on the bottom of one shoe. We shoot him and Lucy dies ten seconds later." He raised his voice. "Ten seconds. Rivera, tell them a cop is wired with explosives. You tell them that, you hear me? Tell them that if they hurt him, a cop dies. You hear me?"

  Rivera waved at Sam in a manner even I found dismissive. I assumed that the gesture left Sam homicidal.

  Sam's eyes closed in an effort to shut out the chaos that was growing around us. He mumbled, "Oh no, oh no. Fuck me. No, no, no." He faced Rivera one more time. "He knows that we're listening to him, Rivera. He's been feeding us all this stuff. Who knows if it's true."

  Rivera hustled next to Sam.

  Sam went on with his report. "He's talking to us now. He says that the Supreme Court Building's wired. Chambers, courtrooms, elevators, staircases, exits. The whole thing. He wants everyone to evacuate through the front doors. Justices have to come out last, wearing their robes. We have ten minutes to get everybody organized, but nobody comes out until he says so. That's it. Ten minutes."

  Rivera stared at Sam. Finally, he said, "Ten minutes?"

  "Ten minutes to get everyone organized. Justices have to exit last. In their robes, Rivera."

  Five seconds passed. Ten.

  Sam's eyes burned into his colleague. "That's a cop in that truck with him, Rivera. You understand? She dies if we shoot him. You understand what I'm saying?"

  Rivera's face was impassive.

  Sam handed me the phone. "Line's gone dead. Where the hell's the Colorado Supreme Court Building? Anybody know?"

  T he motorcade of emergency vehicles plowed up Seventeenth Street like the leading edge of an assaulting battalion. Rivera's gray sedan was behind a phalanx of motorcycle officers. I was alone in the backseat; Sam was up front next to Rivera. Traffic cleared in front of us like delicate fish fleeing a school of sharks.

  The sirens were deafening. Every sound reflected a thousand times off the glass, aluminum, and stone towers of the central business district. We weren't trying to sneak up on Ramp. That much was certain.

  The procession headed south on Broadway before stopping at Fourteenth. Six or seven Denver Police cruisers and at least one fire-rescue vehicle were already in place at the corner. Rivera screeched to a stop and we popped out of the car.

  The Colorado Supreme Court was housed in a modern, six-story building at the corner of Fourteenth and Lincoln, across the street from Denver's new main library and a block away from the state capitol. A wide plaza separated the building from the Colorado History Museum. I'd driven past the complex many times without realizing that the chambers and courtroom of the Colorado Supreme Court were inside one of the two buildings.

  E veryone's attention was locked on a flatbed truck parked against the curb on Broadway. The truck was relatively new. There was an emblem on the door that I couldn't read. A man was standing on the bed in the back. He was partially obscured by a large metal equipment box and a steel rack filled with tall green gas cylinders. The tanks appeared to have been placed into the rack upside down.

  The windshield on the truck was screened by a sunshade. I wondered if Lucy was inside the cab.

  Someone with binoculars walked up to Rivera and said, "Everyone's concerned that he could have a big device-a fertilizer and fuel-oil type thing-in that equipment box that's on the back of that truck. He may be planning an Oklahoma City rerun. We need to move this perimeter back."

  "Do it," snapped Rivera. "And get me somebody from the bomb squad to advise me."

  "I'm trying. They're spread all over the city chasing the other bombs. A bunch are on their way to East High School. Some are still at Elitch's and Coors Field. And some are still searching for secondary devices at the train station."

  "Damn it," Rivera cursed. "Screw Elitch's and Coors Field. Screw the train station. Get everybody who's not at the high school back down here. I want the containment vehicle here, everything." Rivera lifted binoculars to his eyes. "It's a kid. Just a kid. The truck is from a company called JT Welding Supplies. Somebody call them. The kid's wired from head to toe. He has something taped to his wrist. Looks like a garage-door opener. And some other switch-type thing at his waist. We have to take him out while we have a chance."

  Sam said, "You can't. You shoot him and a cop gets blown to bits. You can't do that, Rivera."

  "The alternative? He kills half the justices of the Colorado Supreme Court? It's a tough call, Purdy, but I'm not afraid to make it. Sorry. Columbine taught us all the consequences of waiting too long to go after the bad guys."

  R amp leaned over and briefly disappeared from view. The rack of gas cylinders on the back of the truck slowly pivoted forty-five degrees so that the bottoms of the tanks were directed toward the entrance doors of the Supreme Court Building. I was still wondering why the tanks were upside down.

  Sam said, "What the…? What's he doing with that thing? How many tanks are on that rack?"

  I counted the blunt ends that were pointing toward the plaza. I said, "Nine."

  "What's in them? Anything toxic? Explosive?"

  I said, "If they're for welders, they could be a lot of things. Oxygen, acetylene, helium. I don't know. What's weird is that the tanks are loaded into the rack upside down, Sam. Does that mean they're empty?"

  "I don't know anything about welding. What's he doing? I need some binoculars."

  Rivera handed his field glasses to Sam. Sam stared at the truck. "What the hell is that kid up to?"

  "Can you see Lucy?" I asked.

  "No. I bet she's in the cab."

  Rivera was busy listening to a report on the readiness of his sharpshooters. It sounded to me as though the snipers were ready.

  My phone rang.

  Sam had the binoculars glued to his eyes. I could tell he was staring at Ramp. Loud enough for everyone to hear, Sam told me, "Answer it, Alan. It's him."

  CHAPTER 58

  D r. Gregory," Ramp said to me. I recognized his voice from our conversation the night before.

  "Yes. You want to talk to one of the police officers?"

  "No, I want you. They'll lie to me without hesitation. You'll hesitate."

  Ramp and I were appraising each other over a distance that I guessed was about fifty yards. His body was mostly blocked by the equipment box and the rack of gas cylinders, but I could see him clearly from the chest up. He was holding a phone to his left ear.

  The Denver Police helicopter hovered high above him. The thwack, thwack, thwack reverberated like the muted pulse of the city's racing heart.

  "How's Lucy?" I asked.

  "So far, fine. You ready to relay my demands?"

  "If that's what you want me to do."

  "It is."

  "I'm ready."

  "Tell them this. If they shoot me, Lucy dies. I'm not kidding about the switch on my boot. In case that's not enough deterrence, have them try this on instead. See this button?" He raised his free hand.

  Sam continued to stare through the binoculars. He said, "He's showing us a red box with a button on it."

  "Yes," I said. "I can see your hand. And it does appear that there is something in it." />
  "Every time I touch this button, it resets a time switch for the explosives inside the building. If I don't hit the button, the switch isn't reset, and the explosives go off in ten seconds. Therefore I have to hit the button every ten seconds. If I hold it down for three seconds continuously, the devices in the building will go off instantly. Do you get it?"

  "Yes."

  "Explain it to those cops. Talk loudly so I can hear what you say. I want to make sure they get it."

  I tried to repeat what Ramp had explained to me. It didn't help my concentration to note that Sam was breathing heavily through his nose and that Rivera's dark brow was dotted with sweat, like old macadam after a gentle rain.

  When I was through with the explanation, Ramp said, "You did good. I'm going to be sitting down now between the tanks and the equipment box. In about a minute, I'll give the okay to start the evacuation from the building. I want to remind everyone that the justices come out last, wearing their robes. Remind the cops."

  I did.

  "Now tell them to get the chopper out of here. It's bothering me."

  I said, "Rivera? He wants the chopper out of here."

  Rivera stared at me malevolently, as though moving the helicopter had been my idea. Within ten seconds, the helicopter departed in the direction of the state capitol building.

  Rivera said, "I want a guarantee he's not going to harm the evacuees."

  My mouth was as dry as insulation. "The police are concerned that you're planning to hurt the evacuees as they come out of the building. They want your word that you won't."

  "They're assholes. Have I spent my day trying to kill innocent people? Let me talk to the cop, the one you keep talking to."

  I handed the phone to Rivera. "He wants to talk to you."

  Sam asked me, "How does he sound?"

  "Less nervous than me."

  "Did he say anything about Lucy?"

  "No."

  Sam said, "He's smart. Where he's sitting now, the sharpshooters would have a hard time hitting him."

  "Could they risk it? The way he has the explosives wired it seems too risky to shoot him."

  "Rivera thinks he's bluffing."

  I tried to swallow that news and ended up almost choking with the effort. "Rivera thinks the kid is bluffing? After all that's happened this morning?"

  "I don't envy him; he's in a tough spot. He doesn't want to be accused of waiting to act, the way the sheriff in Jefferson County did during Columbine."

  I asked, "What do you think?"

  "Lucy's in that truck. That's what I think."

  Rivera handed me back the phone. "He wants you again."

  "Yes?"

  Ramp's voice was harder now. "Change in plans. Let's see if you guys were planning to play fair. I want the justices outside on the plaza within thirty seconds. In their robes. I'm counting, starting now."

  I snapped at Rivera: "He's changed his mind. He wants the justices outside on the plaza in their robes within thirty seconds."

  "Shit!" Rivera barked a command into his radio. "We can't do it. We can't do it in time. We have state cops in their robes. Buy some time." He began running down the sidewalk to some of his colleagues who were hidden behind patrol cars in front of the library.

  Sam and I followed Rivera as I said, "Ramp! Ramp!" into the phone. I was wondering how the hell I was going to buy some time, but when I looked back over to the truck, Ramp was holding the cell phone high in the air, far from his ear. He wasn't prepared to listen to Rivera's excuses.

  Sam broke the news. "Rivera, look. He's got the phone in the air. He's not even listening."

  The seconds ticked away. I stared at my watch as three became two became one and then… a sharp craaack filled the air and glass and stone flew out onto the Broadway sidewalk as at least three windows blew out from the third floor.

  In my ear, I heard Ramp's voice. "That one was a warning from an empty office. Thirty more seconds. The next one's going to take some people with it. Tell him."

  I did.

  Rivera yelled commands into the radio. After twenty-two more seconds leaked away, the justices began to exit the building. One by one they walked to the center of the plaza. Their robes swayed gently in the morning breeze. I couldn't see their faces but I could feel their terror, even from this distance.

  Ramp said, "The one in back is not a justice. The tall guy. If he doesn't leave that group in five seconds, you assholes will have some blood on your hands. Tell him that. Do it."

  I repeated Ramp's message word for word.

  Rivera cursed and spoke into his microphone.

  A heartbeat later, one tall, robed figure walked backward away from the clustered judges.

  "Tell the cop not to screw with me again. I'm not in the mood."

  I held the phone a few inches from my mouth and told Rivera what Ramp had just said.

  "Now I want the justices to back up against the wall of the History Museum and get on their knees."

  Rivera used a megaphone. The justices moved back slowly, reluctantly. The building on the other side of the plaza was the Colorado History Museum. Its wall rose from the stone at an unconventional forty-five-degree angle.

  "Now, have the people who are still inside the court building begin a single file evacuation. They should exit to Lincoln, then south. No running. No hands in the air. Just have them walk out. The justices stay put."

  Rivera eagerly gave those commands.

  Sam had the binoculars to his eyes. He said, "He's been moving that rack of tanks on the back of the truck. He's doing it real slowly, but the bottoms of the tanks are pointing directly at the plaza now. The base of the rack is solid metal, not an open grid. That's not usual, is it? What the hell's he doing?"

  I said, "The hostages are coming out, Sam."

  One by one, stepping quickly, seemingly fighting an urge to run, a steady stream of men and women began walking from the entrance of the building, across the plaza, down to the sidewalk, and then south on Lincoln.

  Rivera touched me on the arm. "Cover the microphone on that cell phone."

  I did.

  He spoke into his radio. "Give me a status report from the sharpshooters. We're taking him out as soon as anyone is ready. On my order."

  CHAPTER 59

  W ithout warning, Ramp jumped off the back of the truck and hopped into the cab with Lucy. Within seconds, the driver's-side window was blocked with a sheet of cardboard.

  Rivera's order to the sharpshooters had been seconds too late.

  I thought he looked like a kid who'd missed Christmas and was trying to figure out how to lure the fat man back down the chimney.

  "Shit. Now what?" he asked.

  Sam pointed at the plaza. "The justices are moving away. Look."

  They were. The whole pack of them was squatting in their robes and edging down the angled wall away from Ramp toward Lincoln Street. From this distance, they looked like a pack of nuns trying to walk away on their knees.

  Ramp noticed, too. He barked at me, "Tell them to stop moving. Tell the cop, now!"

  I said, "Rivera? He wants the justices to stop moving."

  Rivera looked to make sure I'd covered the microphone with my finger. "Screw him. They're almost away."

  As though he'd read Rivera's lips, Ramp reacted. An audible little boom sounded and a tiny puff of smoke emerged from the steel rack on the back of the truck.

  Sam, the binoculars still at his eyes, said, "Oh shit."

  One of the tall green tanks began spewing its pressurized contents with an immense hiss and roar. The volume of the noise of the escaping gas was incredible.

  As they heard the blast and the subsequent roar, the justices stopped their progression from the plaza and dropped back down to the ground.

  Blunt end first, a green tank lifted from the steel rack on the back of the truck like a missile leaving its launcher.

  I held my breath.

  Another small explosion followed, and then came the roar of additional escapi
ng gases. A second tank immediately lifted from the rack.

  Rivera screamed into a megaphone, urging the hostages to run. I'm sure they couldn't hear him. I was five feet from him and I could barely discern his words above the hiss of the ruptured tanks.

  Although the first of the tanks launched into the air like a slow-motion rocket, it returned to the ground no more than thirty feet from the truck. It bounced off the stone plaza like a smooth rock on a glass lake, hopping across the wide expanse with a speed and ferocity that should have belonged only to objects launched by the Marines. A stone bench slightly changed the tank's trajectory: It skidded up the angled wall about twenty feet from the huddled Supreme Court justices before it vanished over the top of the roof.

  The second tank stayed airborne at least twice as far as the first one had before crashing blunt-end-first into the plaza. From there it tumbled once end over end like a child's jack, finally bouncing high and disappearing into the second floor of the building, demolishing all the windows in its path. The destruction was only fifteen feet above the huddled hostages.

  As the hissing died away, I could hear screams. I could also hear Rivera yelling for someone to take Ramp out.

  A third puff of smoke emerged from the back of the truck and a third tank launched into the air with an enormous swoosh. A fourth tank followed two or three seconds later.

  My eyes followed the two new hurtling tanks until Sam-Rivera's binoculars still glued to his eyes-screamed into my ear, "He just busted out the back window of the truck. Watch him!"

  Ramp dove athletically through the empty space where the window had been and immediately disappeared into the void between the big equipment box and the steel rack full of tanks.

  I didn't hear any shots from sharpshooters' rifles.

  I looked over in time to see one of the newly fired tanks skittering through the justices like a bowling ball through a fresh stand of pins. Black-robed bodies went flying into the air.