Chapter Twelve
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The aircraft bounced onto the runway and Jon stretched. “Home again.”
Zane lifted a brow. “Maybe this time we’ll be here longer than twenty-four hours.”
His butt numb from the length of time spent in the uncomfortable seat, Jon had to agree. “One can only hope.”
He reached into his pocket, pulled out and turned on his phone. After a few seconds, voicemails and texts began to flood in, sending the vibrating cell into a jig in his hand. Next to him, Zane’s phone did the same.
Jon frowned. “What the hell? What did we miss?”
They’d been brought in as back up for the unit stationed on the Horn of Africa, who was already on site in Ethiopia. After flying to Djibouti, Jon’s unit had cooled their heels for a bit in the SEAL encampment on Camp Lemonier waiting for orders. Finally, they were brought to the airport where the hijackers held the airplane and the hostages. There they got to sit around and wait some more.
They’d been gone less than a week. Even so, it was obvious something had happened in that time.
“There’s only one way to find out.” Eyes on his cell, Zane started to press buttons. “Look’s like the bulk of them are from Rick and they came in today.”
Crap. Rick always kept in touch but he’d never blow up Jon’s phone with messages when he knew they were gone. Not like this. Not even when some pretty important shit had happened in his life, like when he’d gotten hired at his new job and when he’d finally gotten a call from the girl he’d given his number to.
“Something must be wrong.” The texts all said basically the same thing in different variations. Call. Jon moved on to the voicemails, hoping they might yield a clue.
“Hey, y’all get a shit ton of messages?” Brody leaned over from his seat.
“From Rick? Yeah.” Zane continued to scroll through his texts as Jon pressed his phone to his ear to listen to the voicemail.
“Not just Rick.” Brody shook his head. “Chris texted more than once telling me to call him ASAP. Something must’ve happened.”
Jon nodded. There was no other conclusion he could come up with based on the evidence.
Yeah, in past when anything huge happened in the world—such as the taking out of Osama Bin Laden—Jon had gotten a bunch of messages from anyone and everyone who knew what he did for a living. Everyone assumed he’d been on that mission. The truth was, he’d been training in Mississippi at the time. Not that it mattered. He would have told everyone he wasn’t there, that he’d been training, even if it weren’t true.
This mission hadn’t been anything like that. It wasn’t even like the high profile rescue of Captain Phillips from Somali pirates that Jon had actually been on, which had also yielded a bunch of texts, calls and emails.
This mission, the hijacking in Ethiopia, was small potatoes in comparison. One shot had been fired, and it hadn’t been by Jon, but rather by one of the guys in the unit currently stationed in HOA. The head hijacker had given them a clear shot when he dragged a hostage to the open main cabin door of the aircraft. The mistake cost him his life. After that, the rest of the hijackers had come out with their hands up.
Yes, it had probably all played out on television, as much as they’d tried to keep the news crews away, but it shouldn’t have garnered this kind of response, and not from seasoned operatives like Rick and Chris.
A feeling of sickness settled in his gut as the voicemail message came on and Rick’s panicked voice filled his ear.
“I’m trying all of you guys even though I know damn well you won’t get this if you’re still on the mission or in the air. Fuck! I don’t know what else to do. Just call me when you can. Please.”
Something was wrong but Jon still didn’t know what. Giving up on the messages, he hit the button to dial. “I’m calling Rick now.”
Brody nodded, focusing on his own cell. “I’ll hit up Chris and see what I find out.”
Rick answered Jon’s call on the first ring. “Jon. Thank God.”
“We just touched down and got your messages. What’s wrong?”
“It’s Darci. And God, Jon, Ali too. He’s got them locked in the bank.”
Fighting his own reaction, Jon said, “All right, Rick. Slow down and give me the SITREP. Who has them locked in the bank?”
Rick drew in a loud, shaky breath. “Okay. A witness outside the bank saw a masked man carrying an automatic weapon walk into the building at approximately eleven-hundred. She called 9-1-1. He’s locked three bank employees inside with an unknown number of customers.”
Jon glanced at the time. Ali and Darci had been hostages for more than three hours.
“So one hostage-taker and at least three, possibly more hostages?”
“Yeah. The news says that a couple of the bank employees had gone on break right before the gunmen walked in. Christ, I wish it had been Darci.”
“I know, Rick. Keep it together, man. Everyone’s going to be fine.” Jon had to believe that himself. “Are the authorities in phone contact?”
“I don’t think so. They have a negotiator on a bullhorn trying to convince him to release at least the women. That’s all I know. I’m behind the police barricade with the rest of the civilians and press.”
“Did you tell them your sister is in there?”
“Yes, of course. They don’t give a shit.” Rick’s frustration was clear in his voice.
The police wouldn’t want any collateral damage if things went bad, but Jon understood Rick’s feelings perfectly. He just couldn’t let his association with Darci or Ali cloud his thinking. Jon moved on to trying to find a motive for the situation. “Has the gunman claimed affiliation with any organization?”
“No. I don’t think so. Not yet. They haven’t mentioned it on the news if he has.”
That was strange. He’d figure a man risking his life to take a bunch of bank employees hostage would want to shout about why he was doing it.
Rick drew in a breath and continued, “But who the hell knows for sure? I’m getting more information from the internet than the authorities on site at this point.”
“What’ve they got there? How are the police set up?” Jon asked Rick something he would be able to answer.
“Not just police. A few suits just showed up that have the look of Feds to them. I’d say close to sixty men, which includes uniformed police, S.W.A.T., tactical support units and the suits I mentioned. Squad cars blocking the roads. I see one, two, three snipers on surrounding rooftops.”
“What’s the layout of the bank building?”
“Glass entrance foyer on the south side. Double sets of doors leading into the lobby area with the tellers’ counter. Drive up window, north side. Offices off to the east side with windows in the front. No windows or visibility on the west side of the building.”
By now every member of Jon’s unit was up and out of their seats and clustered around him, listening to his side of the conversation. He resisted the urge to hit speakerphone. The others on the flight didn’t need to be privy to all that was happening.
“Where is he holding the hostages?” He kept his voice down while reaching to release his safety belt. The Air Force crew would lower the ramp any minute and the crew chief would give the order to disembark.
“From what I’ve overheard, they think they’re in the vault.”
“Location?”
“North-east side of the building.”
Jon pictured the building in his mind. “How many stories?”
“One.”
That was good news. The roof could be the weak point. A team, choppered in, could fast rope down and at least place a listening device so they could hear the state the hostages were in.
The hostages . . . Jon had to objectively think of them as faceless, nameless, but they weren’t. He knew at least two of their names, and he knew a lot more about Ali than just her face. And Darci—he could only imagine what Rick was feeling right now.
Jon wres
tled his focus back to where it needed to be. “They have anyone on the roof yet?”
“No, but that’s what I would do if it were up to me.” Rick let out a sigh. “These S.W.A.T. guys—Jon, I’ve seen them work in this kind of situation. They go in guns blazing. It’s amazing the hostages aren’t killed right along with the hostage-takers.”
Talking logistics had seemed to bring Rick back to his years of training and put him in work mode. He’d sounded calmer for a bit, but now the panic returned to his voice when he talked about the possibility of casualties.
He knew Rick would feel better to be doing something rather than cooling his heels. So would Jon, and maybe there was something he could do about that. “We’re getting off the transport now. I’ll get there as soon as I can, but listen. If there is any chance, even a suspicion that this guy is a foreign terrorist, or even an American with ties to Al Qaeda, they could bring us in.”
“I hear ya. Let me see what I find. I’ll call you back.”
Rick sounded more hopeful before he’d disconnected. Jon giving him a task, and some hope, had helped.
Jon lowered his cell and glanced around him. “You guys hear all that?”
Brody dipped his head in a nod. “Yeah, and Chris filled me in on what he knew. He’s on site with Rick.”
Jon checked the time again and blew out a breath. “It’s coming up on four hours since he locked down the building.”
Anything could have happened inside that bank during that time and the authorities might know nothing about it.
Zane cocked a brow. “Jon, you know how these things go. It’s all sit around and wait. If he’d killed a hostage, he’d have announced it somehow to prove he’s serious.”
Jon nodded. Zane was right. They all knew how these things went. They’d just experienced it in Ethiopia. The only difference was that there everyone was waiting around staring at a jet instead of a bank.
Dammit, how long before they could get off this damn transport? Jon glanced at the front and then back to his guys. “If we can find out something to convince headquarters that this guy has terrorist affiliations, we might be able to get in there. Otherwise . . .”
“We’ll be sitting on the sidelines as spectators right along with everyone else.” Grant finished Jon’s sentence.
“Chris and Rick are there doing what they can until we check in at base and can get over there.”
Brody was right. First things first, but Chris and Rick weren’t an advance team. They were civilians. And Jon’s unit had no jurisdiction. Even if they could wrangle proving that they should, they’d still have wait for orders to come down from command.
Until then, Jon was next to powerless to help and it was frustrating as hell. All of his training was for shit if he wasn’t allowed to use it when he needed to.
With the image of Ali’s face in mind, Jon imagined how frightened she must be. The thought nearly immobilized him.
Just make it off the aircraft and check in. He’d move on to the next milestone from there. One thing at a time.
He reached for his backpack as the exit finally opened.
*
“What language is that?” Ali hissed the question as softly as she could and still have Darci hear her.
They sat on the floor of the bank’s vault, along with the loan manager and the customer who’d been unlucky enough to decide to do his banking today.
Eyes on the gunman, Darci answered, “Some sort of Arabic, I think.”
They all watched as he paced and spoke rapidly into the biggest cell phone Ali had ever seen.
“Do you think he can’t speak English? That’s why he’s not answering the phone or making demands?”
Darci shrugged. “Maybe.”
The customer, a burly man who was dressed like some sort of construction worker, glanced at Ali. “Sounds like Pashto.”
Ali’s gaze shot to the man. “How do you know?”
“Served two tours in Afghanistan before I got out.”
“Can you speak it?”
“A few words, but I heard it spoken enough to recognize it.”
Ali’s mind spun with what to do with this information. Keeping her eyes on their captor, Ali asked Darci, “Do you think Rick can speak it?”
“I don’t know. Maybe. Probably. A little.” Darci’s eyes widened. “Why? You’re not planning on trying to talk to this crazy guy, are you?”
“If we could communicate enough to convince him to let us call your brother, he could tell Rick what he wants . . . We have to open communications.” Ali watched the gunman looking more and more agitated as the moments went on.
So far his obsession with making phone calls to whoever was probably pulling the strings of this operation had worked in their favor. They were basically left to themselves in the vault. But for how long?
Milton Hamilton, the bank’s loan officer and probably twenty years Ali’s senior, shook his head. “I think we need to lay low. It seems like he’s pretty much forgotten about us.”
“For now. That might not be the case for long. Besides, I don’t wanna be here when he gets the order from above to detonate that vest he’s wearing. They could be waiting to do it live on the evening news for all we know.”
Ali glanced at the thickness of the open vault door before directing her attention to Milt and the customer. “Will this door, this whole vault, withstand the blast of that thing he’s wearing?”
“Probably. If we could get it closed in time,” Milt answered. The door swung out rather than in, making it all the more difficult for them to reach it and close it.
“That’ll only work if he’s not in here with us when he blows it,” the customer’s added observation deflated Ali’s plan further.
The gunman turned to glare at them, putting a halt to the hushed conversation for a few minutes until he started pacing again while yelling into his cell.
The office phone rang on Milt’s desk right outside the vault, as it had on and off for Ali wasn’t sure how many hours. That, in combination with the noise of the buzzing, ringing and singing pile of cell phones the gunman had collected from them and tossed on the desk before shoving them into the vault, was enough to drive anyone crazy—a realization that particularly disturbed Ali given the suicide vest strapped onto their captor.
She shook her head, searching for something to do rather than what they had been doing, which was nothing. “I still think if the police spoke to him in his own language it would help.”
Darci cocked a brow. “But there’s no way to get that news to them, now is there?”
“I have a cell phone.”
Ali pivoted toward the customer. “What?”
“I only gave up the cell my boss gives me to use for work. I still have my personal one.”
Her eyes widened. “What should we do? Call 9-1-1?”
Milt shook his head, while staring at the gunman. “We can’t call. He’ll hear.”
“We can text. Darci, text Rick. He’ll know what to do.” Ali turned to the man who might possibly be their savior. “What’s your name?”
“Tim.”
“Tim, can you send a text without him seeing?”
“Yeah, I think so. Signal in here’s crap though.” Tim glanced down at the phone. “I’m getting one—now two bars.”
“Try. A text might get out even if the signal’s not strong.” Pieces of Ali’s plan began to come together. “Make sure it’s on silent.”
“Already is. So who do I text?” Tim raised a brow and glanced at Darci.
She whispered Rick’s cell number as Tim entered it, shielding the cell on the floor from view with his body.
“What are you going to say?” Milt asked.
“He’ll need to know where we’re located in case they come in shooting. And say what kind of firepower he’s got.” Being the sister of a SEAL for all those years had apparently rubbed off on Darci. She supplied information that Ali wouldn’t have thought of herself. At least not in her current state.
“That’s good.” Darci nodded. “It will tell them he’s got a boss or partner somewhere off site.”
Probably Al Qaeda. Ali kept that cheery thought to herself while Tim continued typing as he whispered, “Suicide vest, one automatic weapon. Four hostages in vault.”
“Good. Sign it Darci, spelled with an ‘i’ so he knows it’s us,” Ali added.
“Yeah,” Darci agreed. “He won’t recognize your number.”
“Okay. Sent.” Tim blew out a breath and slipped the phone into one of the pockets in the leg of his cargo pants.
Ali mirrored Tim’s exhale and glanced again at the man, looking more upset as the moments passed.
Milton too glanced at the gunman who was the center of everyone’s attention. “Let’s hope it helps.”
There wasn’t much left to do but hope and pray. With everything in her Ali did both, asking whatever power might be listening to make sure that Rick was out there reading that text right now. If Jon and his SEAL buddies could be there too, that would be even better.
Chapter Thirteen
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“I don’t like being helpless.” Jaw set, his eyes never leaving the building where his sister was hostage, Rick’s nostrils flared as he drew in a breath.
“I know the feeling.” Jon had been experiencing it far too much lately. All of his training and experience didn’t mean shit if he wasn’t allowed to use it.
Between the government trying to make it look to the world as if everyone in Afghanistan would play nicely together if the military just asked politely enough, and this situation where he and his team of the most highly trained operatives in the United States Navy were being kept behind a police blockade, Jon was ready to blow.
“It’ll be okay, man.” Zane eyed the building as well, his gaze moving to the snipers on the roof.
Rick shook his head. “I’m not so sure.”
“Sure, it will. Y’all will see. Before you know it we’ll be back at your place sipping on scotch to celebrate.” Chris shot Jon a look that showed his concern even as he reached out and squeezed the back of Rick’s neck.
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