The Informant

by James Grippando

  Hannon said nothing. He kept the phone at his chin, so Victoria could hear him, but he spoke to the housekeeper. “Get up, Shelly.”

  She rose slowly from her chair. Her hands were tied behind her back. The blindfold was still in place. With a nudge, he turned and faced her toward the door. Then he reached for the knife on the room service cart. “Do exactly as I say, Shelly.”

  Victoria’s heart raced at the other end of the line. “What are you doing to her, Frank?”

  Again, he ignored her. With a quick flick of the knife, he cut her hands free. She gasped at the sound of the tearing knife.

  “Now walk, Shelly. And keep walking until I tell you to stop.”

  She took a small step, then another. She was tentative, still wearing the blindfold.

  “That’s good,” said Hannon. “Nice and slow. Straight ahead. Stop!”

  Shelly froze right in front of the door. Hannon was standing twenty feet behind her, deep inside the room. He crouched behind the dresser, tucked the telephone under his chin and aimed his pistol at the back of her head. “With your right hand, Shelly, take the chain off the door.”

  Her hand shook as she reached out for the chain like a blind woman. She found it, then removed it.

  Hannon’s eyes narrowed as he focused his aim. “Now open the door.”

  Back in the communications center, Victoria grabbed the radio that linked her to the Hostage Rescue Team, adjusting the receiver in her ear.

  “Cabin door’s opening,” came the message from the HRT agent parked at the end of the corridor on the Tropical Deck.

  Victoria looked at Shapiro, confused. One of the technical agents adjusted the security monitors on the wall, training all six cameras on the long corridor that led to cabin 921, Tropical Deck.

  Victoria leaned over the table and spoke into the speakerphone. “Frank, what are you doing?”

  “Just watch,” said Hannon, speaking into the phone tucked under his chin. He peered out over the top of the dresser. Shelly was standing in the open doorway, framed in the rectangle of light that led to the hallway. “Shelly,” he said loudly, “take one step forward, then get on your knees.”

  Her chest heaved with an anxious sigh. The first step took her to the threshold. Kneeling put her body just outside the cabin, but her feet were still inside. She was shaking in her blue-and-white uniform. The hand towel covered her eyes and the top half of her face.

  Victoria suddenly got another message in her earpiece from the Hostage Rescue Team. “Hostage in the hall. Alone.” Victoria glanced at the monitor. The picture confirmed the report.

  Hannon’s voice was back on the speakerphone, filling the communications center. “Decision time,” he said in a bemused tone. “I can show good faith and free a hostage. Or I can show you I mean business and blow her brains out. Ask Posten what he wants me to do.”

  Victoria’s gut wrenched. “Just let her go, Frank.”

  “Is he coming?” he said, cocking his pistol. “Or isn’t he?”

  Mike checked the television monitors on the wall, focusing on the black-and-white image of the long corridor leading to Hannon’s cabin. He and Victoria exchanged glances.

  “It doesn’t feel right,” Victoria whispered to Mike. “There’s a chance he found out about Karen before it all went downhill for him. If so, you’re his payback.”

  “What’s it gonna be!” said Hannon.

  In the communications center, all eyes were on Mike. Calmly, he reached over and snatched the receiver from Victoria. “Hannon, this is Posten. You’ve got yourself a delivery boy.”

  Back in cabin 921, Hannon smiled. “How nice,” he said. He focused again on the doorway. “Shelly,” his voice boomed. “Back inside! On your knees!”

  Victoria took back the phone. “You said you’d let her go, Frank.”

  “I will. Just as soon as Posten keeps his word. If he comes, Shelly leaves with him. If he doesn’t…well, let’s just say she would have been much better off had he just said ‘no’ and let me put a bullet in her head.”

  The telephone line clicked. All eyes in the communications center turned to the monitors, watching helplessly as Shelly walked backward on her knees, retreating into the cabin. The door swung shut.

  Victoria looked away from the monitor. “That bastard.”

  Mike swallowed the lump in his throat.

  Shapiro looked him in the eye. “You sure you want to go through with this, Mike?”

  He glanced at Victoria, then back at Shapiro. “I don’t see that there’s much choice. I’d hate to think what he’d do to that girl if I backed out now.”

  Victoria sighed, knowing he was right. “Let me check with our sharpshooters. Maybe they can give you a fighting chance.”

  Chapter 56

  kevin McCabe was nearly running as he reached the communications center. Mike was standing outside the door, so that the FBI agents could confer among themselves. McCabe gave him a wink as he opened the door and stepped inside. David Shapiro was pacing in front of the wall of television screens. Victoria was sitting at the table. In five minutes Victoria explained everything. McCabe had a gleam in his eye as he spoke.

  “We can view this two ways,” he said. “We can be on the defensive and simply protect Posten. Or we can use this as our entrée for a quick offensive.”

  Shapiro made a face. “I won’t have a civilian leading the charge into the den of a psychopath.”

  “Of course not,” said McCabe. “Let’s leave Posten out of it. I’ll wheel the cart down the hall. We’ll put another agent inside the cart, like a Trojan horse.”

  “We can’t make substitutions. Hannon knows what Posten looks like. That’s why he chose him. He can take one look at Posten and know he’s not dealing with an FBI agent.”

  “All right,” said McCabe. “We’re stuck with Posten. He can still be of help to us. For example, when he delivers the equipment, he could discreetly take a look inside the cabin. I’d like to know where the hostage is positioned, whether any furniture has been moved around. That would be of value to us if we do decide to go inside at some point.”

  “Mike can’t be looking around,” said Victoria. “He needs to be focused on Hannon, period.”

  “Okay,” said McCabe, “here’s another possibility. While he’s focused on Hannon, he could talk to him, try to lure him out of the cabin so that the snipers could get a shot.”

  “It’s too dangerous for Mike to strike up a conversation, and Hannon is too smart to be lured out of his cabin anyway.”

  “You’re right,” he said. “That leaves us with no choice but my favorite option. In any hostage situation, the moment of the exchange is a moment of distraction. We should take advantage of that. The instant Posten shoves the cart inside, we should send a rescue team in the back door, through the veranda.”

  “That’s extremely high risk,” said Victoria. “Posten could end up shot by one of our own HRT agents.”

  McCabe bristled, obviously annoyed. “Look, I’m trying to be constructive here, and all you’re doing is shooting me down like a protective mother hen. Now, either you got a thing for this guy, or that blond dye job has made you really stupid.”

  “Get a grip, will you?”

  “No, you get a grip. If we don’t go in, our hostages are dead. Hannon said it himself: He has nothing to lose by killing them. He wouldn’t even let you talk to Coolidge on the phone. I’d be surprised if the poor kid still has a tongue.”

  Shapiro stopped pacing and faced them both. “You’re right, McCabe. It looks like we will have to go in. But Victoria’s right, too. We can’t do it with Posten standing in the doorway.”

  McCabe grimaced. “If we don’t go when there’s some kind of distraction, you’re making it ten times more risky for our rescue team.”

  “The best way to reduce everyone’s risk,” said Shapiro, “is for Posten to give us an advance look inside the cabin. I agree with Victoria that Posten can’t be looking around. But let’s see if our technica
l support can hook up a camera on him. Even though he’s not going inside, these cabins aren’t that big. We may get a great picture from the hallway.”

  Victoria nodded. “I’m okay with that.”

  “Fine,” said McCabe. “We’ll stay on the defensive. But if Posten gets into trouble, any realistic rescue has to come in through the veranda. I’m the best man for the job. I want to lead it.”

  Shapiro gave him an assessing look. “All right. But no one goes in without a direct order from me or Victoria. I won’t have Posten used as a decoy.”

  “Fair enough,” he said with a confident smirk. “Call in your paperboy, Victoria.”

  Chapter 57

  hannon’s cabin was closer to the bow than midship, so Victoria used the deserted casino in the bow as their staging area. Along the far wall, a row of one-armed slot machines stood in silent salute. Two crap tables stretched in isolation beneath a picture window that framed an ocean view. Blackjack and roulette stations were scattered about the interior on a royal blue carpet. The overhead lights were up to full intensity, giving the place a level of scrutiny that most of its night-owl patrons could never have endured.

  “How do you feel, Mike?” she asked.

  “Like a guy with a five-dollar limit playing at the fifty-dollar table.”

  She smiled only slightly, sensing he was half-serious. Two other agents were nearby, retrofitting a room service cart, loading on the scuba gear. She helped Mike with the body armor.

  “This is the most inconspicuous full-coverage armor we have. It’s made of Kevlar 129. Front, back, side, groin, shoulder and upper-arm protection, with an extra steel trauma plate covering the sternum. This getup would get you through a prison riot. It bulks you up a little, but with a baggy shirt no one can tell.” She pulled the Velcro strap snugly around his waist, below the belt line. “Too tight?”

  “Only if I want children.”

  She gave him a half-inch of slack, then pulled an extra large Hawaiian print shirt from the box beside her. It was a ghastly mixture of red, green, yellow and orange tropical flowers.

  He made a face. “Dear God, please don’t let me die in that.”

  “Don’t even joke about it,” she said, her voice shaking slightly.

  “You getting soft on me or something?” he jested.

  She bit down on her upper lip. “I just want you to be careful,” she said. She looked down self-consciously as he worked his arms into the shirt.

  “It must be hard,” he said, slowly doing the buttons.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Always keeping up that tough-as-nails exterior.”

  Her eyes met his. The moment hung there. “Sometimes,” she said. “Sometimes it is.”

  Then the connection was gone and she was all business. “Our technical agents wanted a loud color print shirt to hide the video camera,” she said. “The lens is sticking through this patch of begonias here on the breast pocket. It’s such a busy pattern, there’s no way Hannon will notice any of the electronics. All you have to do is face the open doorway, and we should get a nice wide-angle view of the cabin.”

  “Is it bulletproof?”

  “No. But in addition to your vest, we’re mounting a Kevlar shield on the room service cart. If bullets start to fly, just duck behind it. Don’t try to run unless I tell you to.”

  “How will I hear you?”

  “With this,” she said as she tucked a LASH unit into the utility pouch beneath his shirt. A clear wire channeled through the vest to an electronic collar around his neck that looked like a thick, gold chain. She plugged the tiny receiver into his ear. “Just talk in a normal voice and I’ll hear you fine. I’ll be giving you instructions all the way through, from the moment you start down the hall until you get back safely. There’s a microphone around your neck, so I’ll be able to hear everything you or Hannon say.”

  “What about a gun?”

  “Sorry. We can’t risk letting another weapon fall into his hands.”

  His eyebrows arched. “You want me to go up against Hannon completely unarmed?”

  “Not at all. You’ve got two Hostage Rescue Teams on either end of the hall. My guess is that if you actually see Hannon, he’ll be holding the hostage at gunpoint. If you notice the barrel turning toward you, even in the slightest, just hit the deck. We’ll shoot the door right off the frame. We won’t have the angle to hit Hannon, but he sure as hell won’t come running out of the cabin after you.”

  “Then what do I do?”

  “Just lay on the floor and pin yourself against the wall. The rescue team will come flying through the back door, off the veranda.”

  “They know I’m one of the good guys, right?”

  “Of course. They can be pretty bad guys themselves sometimes, but at times like these, I’m glad they’re on my side. If you just listen to my commands, however, it won’t come to that.”

  “What are you going to do, call a time-out?”

  “I’m serious, Mike. If we get any inkling that he chose you for any reason other than to deliver the gear, I’m pulling you out. We’re letting you do this only because we think he has no idea of the role Karen played in his rape conviction. If he does anything to suggest he does know—or even suspects—you’re pulling back immediately.”

  One of the agents from the Technical Support Squad came up and said, “Cart’s all set.”

  Victoria looked at Mike. “Ready?”

  He took a deep breath. “I guess so. But if this turns out badly, can you do me a favor?”

  She looked at him reprovingly. Her eyes were getting glassy again. “Name it.”

  “Tell CNN to find a better picture of me.”

  The last swirl of color from a glowing sunset had just faded into the dark ocean as the Hostage Rescue Team silently moved into their outdoor positions. Outfitted in SWAT tactical armor, they were three black silhouettes in the night. Their ballistic military vests came with inflatable flotation devices, in case they were swept overboard, and radio channelization for two-way communication with Victoria. Black Nomex bodysuits, gloves and tactical hoods made them virtually invisible in the darkness. Each was armed with a Heckler & Koch MP5 submachine gun, and an FBI .45 HRT pistol holding thirteen rounds of .45 ACP ammunition for ample backup.

  McCabe was the first to step out onto the veranda to state-suite 1021, one deck above Hannon’s cabin. Twenty feet below was the narrow teak-planked Lido Deck and lifeboats. Beyond that single tier was a sheer hundred-foot drop to the black ocean below. The brisk wind beat against their faces, filling the air with salt spray. The ship rocked gently with the rolling swells. The noise from wind and waves would have made conversation difficult.

  McCabe waved the other two men forward to the glass balustrades, where they huddled in a crouched position. He checked his watch, then raised three fingers and jerked his arm forward three times. Without a word, the others nodded in silent confirmation.

  In three minutes, the team was going in.

  Chapter 58

  mike took a deep breath and started walking from the bow stairwell. The cart rolled smoothly across the carpet. Two sets of scuba tanks lay on top. Wet suits, masks and fins were tucked in the shelves below.

  The narrow corridor stretched more than a hundred feet to midship, like a long, straight tunnel. The walls were covered with nautical art, with teak and brass accents. Were it not for the slight sense of motion from the sea, Mike would have thought he was in a luxury hotel. Straight ahead, he could see a team of snipers crouched in the main stairwell. They seemed closer with each step, which was a momentary comfort, until he realized that the closer he got to them, the farther he was from the home base behind him.

  The cabin doors were evenly spaced, each one exactly like the other. Odd numbers were on portside; even, on starboard. Mike counted them off, knowing he’d pass five of them before reaching cabin 921.

  Victoria’s voice was suddenly in his earpiece. “Slow down a little, Mike.”


  He drew a deep breath, calming himself. With the adrenaline pumping, he hadn’t noticed how fast he was going. He was beginning to sweat beneath his Kevlar vest.

  “Slower still,” said Victoria as he reached cabin 925.

  Two more doors. Thirty feet to go.

  His throat went dry as he passed 923, the last door between him and Hannon’s cabin. He felt a sudden urge to turn back and forget it. But then he thought of the stories he’d written about Hannon and his victims—Gerty Kincaid in Georgia, Timothy Copeland in San Francisco, and all the others. He thought how close Karen had come to being on that list. He imagined Shelly Greene and Leddy Coolidge on their knees in the cabin, begging for mercy, praying for a miracle. Most of all, though, he remembered telling Aaron Fields how much he really cared about the victims he wrote about each day—and how he hadn’t stayed in touch with a single one of them after the Tribune had run their story.

  The cart stopped directly outside cabin 921. His earpiece buzzed again.

  “Don’t stand in the line of fire when the door opens,” said Victoria. “Stand to the right side, so that if you have to run, you can run back to me without passing in front of the door.”

  Mike positioned the cart facing the door, then stepped to the right. He checked his watch. Six o’clock exactly—Hannon’s designated time.

  “Are you out there, Posten?” came the voice from behind the door.

  His heart leapt to his throat. Hannon even sounded large. “It’s me. I’m alone.”

  “Come out where I can see you through the peephole. And don’t even think about shooting at the door. You’ve got a fifty-fifty chance of hitting my hostage.”

  Victoria jumped in. “Take the Kevlar shield from the cart, Mike. Stand behind it, so he doesn’t shoot you through the door.”

  Mike detached the shield from the front of the cart. It was solid black, except for a clear window that revealed his face. He held it like a cop marching on a riot as he stepped in front of the door, directly behind the cart. He stared at the peephole, wondering if Hannon was staring back.