Counterplay bkamc-18

by Robert K. Tanenbaum

  As if waiting for this cue, a middle-aged woman got up from her seat stating, “I’m not going to stay for this,” and began to leave with her nose in the air as though she’d been insulted by the hostess at a bridge party. One of the terrorists near the entrance stepped into the aisle and fired a quick burst that caught the woman and laid her out on the carpet where she lay twitching.

  “This,” Azzam shouted, “is the penalty for ignoring my instructions.”

  The Pope, who’d remained seated as if he was trying to understand what sort of theatrical production was being staged, tried to stand. “Please, what is the meaning of this? Do with me what you will, but in the name of God, do not harm innocent-”

  Azzam shoved the Holy Father back down in his seat. “Shut up, old man. You are nothing to me but a symbol of my people’s oppressor.” She turned to the television camera crew, who had remained motionless in slack-jawed terror staring at the body of the former anchorman. Neither of them had liked the man, a pompous ass who liked to treat fellow employees like his personal slaves, but they weren’t prepared to see him staring sightlessly at the ceiling with blood trickling out of his ruined eye socket.

  “You,” Azzam said, commanding their attention, “you will now turn your camera back on and train it on me. No one else…or you will die.”

  The cameraman and the soundman nodded and picked up their equipment. From the folds of her robes Azzam pulled a written statement that she began to read into the camera. “On behalf of the struggle of Muslim peoples in Chechnya, as well as throughout the world, your Pope, a criminal and Crusader representing the centuries of oppression against Muslim people, is the prisoner of al Qaeda in Chechnya, as are all other people in this building. Any attempts at rescue, and this man will be the first, but not the last, to die. My people have already taken control of the security cameras monitoring the outside of this building; we will know of any attempts to use force against us. There have already been numerous deaths; your security people are dead. If you wish to prevent any other unnecessary deaths, you will wait until further contact. That is it for now.”

  Azzam signaled for the camera crew to cut, which they did, dutifully placing their equipment back on the ground. Then the terrorist turned back to where Agent Hodges, aka Andrew Kane, still had his hands up. “It is done,” she said.

  The other woman with the gun lowered it as Kane strode forward wearing a big smile as if he’d been named Homecoming King. He’d almost laughed looking at the astonished faces of the crowd when Azzam first announced that the Pope was her prisoner. “Let’s get started then,” he said clapping with glee.

  Half the terrorists put their guns down and picked up bags they’d stored at various spots around the cathedral and began removing the contents. A frightened murmur ran through the spectators when some recognized the materials for making bombs.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, please,” Kane announced. “My people are just taking out an insurance policy. If all goes well, and everyone cooperates, you’ll all go home and sleep in your own beds tonight.”

  Kane leaped down the stairs and approached the camera crew. “See my face?” he asked the cameraman. The man nodded. “Good. If you ever photograph my face, you will die. Is that clear?” The man nodded again and mumbled, “Yes, sir.”

  Kane smiled and patted him on the shoulder. “Good. Good. Then we’ll have no problems. Now, think of me sort of as your director-slash-off-screen-

  commentator. You’ll carry my voice, but no face. Now, we’re about to go live again. I want you to open with a nice shot of my friend Samira Azzam with her gun pointed at that ridiculous little old man in that silly costume.”

  “The Pope?” the cameraman asked.

  Kane rolled his eyes. “Yes, of course, you idiot. The Pope…. Then we’ll switch to a shot of those fine young men rigging the explosives. Got that? Good, good…hey you might even win an Emmy out of this! All right, hand me that microphone…oh good God, wipe the blood off of it first…that’s better. You ready? Okay, lights, camera, action.”

  Kane cleared his throat. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had this much fun. “Good afternoon,” he said. “We’re sorry for any inconvenience, but we’ve interrupted your regularly scheduled program to bring you a special report. He turned to face Karp, Lucy, and the cowboy, all of whom had remained calm, and said, dropping the Southern accent and assuming his normal voice, “My name is…drumroll please…Andrew Kane.”

  Kane paused to let it sink in. He was pleased by the gasps of the spectators in the cathedral and absolutely overjoyed to watch Karp realize the implications. He was less enthused by the reaction of Lucy. He’d expected some mix of shock and horror, but instead she just looked at him steadily, as if she’d known all along and was prepared. It sent a shiver up his spine that he had not anticipated. Well, I will see fear in her eyes before this is over, he swore to himself and tore his gaze away from hers.

  “As you’ve been informed, His Pope-ness and all these fine people are prisoners of al Qaeda,” he said and motioned to the cameraman to switch from the Pope to the bombers, who were attaching their devices to the columns of the cathedral and running wires down the aisles toward a panel near the Pope’s chair. “Failure to comply with our few rules and our small requests…and we’ll blow this place to, pardon the pun, Kingdom Come. Oh, and by the way, that goes for any attempt to interrupt this broadcast now or at any time in the future. We are in contact with friends on the outside who will let us know, at which point I will have no choice but to kill someone for every minute we are off the air.”

  Kane laughed. “Our demands are pretty simple. First, the Vatican will direct its bank to transfer by wire the sum of five hundred million dollars into an account the numbers of which will be given when the Vatican is ready and it had best be within the hour or else”-Kane did his best James Cagney gangster voice-“the Pope gets it, you dirty rats…. Next, when our demands have been met, we’ll be leaving this fine establishment and traveling to LaGuardia with His Eminence-just to make sure there’s no trickery-at which point we’ll board a 747 and fly to a country of my choosing. At that point, the Popester will be released to that government, which I’m sure can be negotiated with to allow his return to the Vatican.”

  Kane pointed to the dead woman lying in the aisle and signaled for the cameraman to focus on her. “This bitch wouldn’t follow directions,” he quipped. “Now, she’s dead. So you can see that I am absolutely serious. Stay tuned for further updates in the near future. Oh, the clock starts ticking as…of…now.”

  When the camera was turned off, Kane walked over to where Karp was sitting with his arm around Lucy. “Ah, my good friend Butch Karp,” he said, then sniffed the air. “Is that Karp, or carp? Something smells like dead fish.”

  Karp said nothing so Kane pulled out his gun and waved it in his face. “What’s the matter, Karp, cat got your tongue?” He put the gun closer to Karp’s face. “So whatever shall I do?” he said. “Shoot you now or shoot you later.” He began to dance a little jig. “Shoot Karp now, or shoot him later. Shoot Karp now, or shoot him later.” He stopped dancing. “Shoot you now and splatter your fucking ugly head all over your little bitch daughter, or let you think about it?” He leaned toward Karp. “What shall it be?”

  Karp continued to say nothing. He just looked in Kane’s eyes until the psychopath quailed, but then snarled. “I think we’ll wait. In the meantime, I have an hour to spare, maybe it’s time Miss Lucy and I became better acquainted. I’ve decided to make her my concubine, you know…mother of my children. Hey, how about that? We’ll be related. Mind if I call you Dad?”

  Karp moved his hand so that it gripped Ned’s shoulder. Kane saw the move and said, “That’s right. Sit still, cowboy, while I go rape the shit out of your girlfriend. Come on, Lucy, let’s go.”

  Any thoughts Karp had entertained about staying calm and finding a reasoned way out of the difficulty were lost to the duty of fatherhood. With a snarl he shot up from his
seat, and with one hand grabbed Kane’s wrist so that he couldn’t use the gun and with the other took Kane by the throat and tried to crush his larynx. He had the momentary satisfaction of seeing terror in the eyes of Kane before the blow from the butt of the gun of a terrorist who’d come up to support Kane, stunned him. The second blow knocked him out.

  The terrorist pointed the gun at Karp’s head to finish the job, but Kane stopped him. Still, clutching his injured throat and pointing his gun at Ned, who’d started to rise from his seat, Kane croaked, “No. I don’t want him dead yet. Bring the girl.”

  Ned would have leaped and died anyway, but Lucy turned to him quickly. “If you love me, you’ll sit back down,” she said. “This isn’t over.” The cowboy remained poised for a moment, then collapsed into his seat.

  “That’s right, cowboy,” Kane taunted. “No John Waynes in here, please. Any heroics would just get a lot of nice people killed. So Lucy and I are just going to go have a little fun, then we’ll be right back.”

  “I’m going to kill you, Kane,” Ned said.

  “Oh, get in line, cowboy,” Kane replied. “Of course you will. Isn’t that what happens in the movies? Oh, but wait. This isn’t a movie. This is real life and sometimes the bad guy wins!”

  “And when I put a bullet in you,” Ned whispered, “that will be real, too.”

  Kane looked at the cowboy for a moment as if weighing whether to end the threat. Then he laughed. “Yeah, but first I’m going to get the girl.”

  34

  As Kane and his bodyguard ascended the stairs to the altar and prepared to pass, the Pope spoke up. “Please, leave the child alone,” he said.

  Kane shook his head. “Now, you just sit there like a good little Pope and wait for your friends to send me lots of money.”

  But the Pope continued, “Don’t compound your sins by harming another innocent life. No man is so evil that he cannot find salvation through Jesus Christ.”

  “Oh pul-eeze,” Kane said, rolling his eyes. “Take a look at the world, you clown, and tell me again that two thousand years of Christianity has improved things. And let’s take the Catholic Church. You’ve been ignoring the rapacious nature of your priests for how long? Do you think raping little boys is something new? The Catholic Church is just another greedy, money-sucking leech, willing to do whatever it takes to keep the coffers full and the faithful in fear of hell if they don’t do as you say. Did you know my father was also my grandfather…yes, that’s right, he fucked his own daughter, and then your precious church hid the dirty little secret. I don’t want your salvation or God’s forgiveness. If anything, you should be asking for mine and every other child out there harmed by your crap.”

  “I am God’s representative on earth,” the Pope said. “If I beg for your forgiveness, will you give up this mad plan and let the child go?”

  Kane looked up at the ceiling as if considering the offer. But then looked back at the Pope and said, “Hell, no. What do I look like, an idiot?”

  As he began to pass from the cathedral, Father Aidan Clary stepped forward and clutched Kane by the arm. “I’ve done what you asked,” he said. “I’ve killed, and now I’m about to become a mass murderer. Where are the woman and my child?”

  Kane pulled his arm away from the scar-faced priest. “Oh, I expect you’ll be seeing them soon enough,” he said, then looked as if something else had occurred to him. “Of course, if there really is a heaven and a hell…maybe not.”

  Clary’s face became such a mask of anger and grief that one of the terrorists pointed a gun and motioned him back. “You promised,” the priest sobbed.

  Kane looked amused. “Yes, so I did. But guess what? I lied. So long, Father…and thanks.”

  As Kane pulled Lucy into the rectory, he stopped at a room where one of his men was monitoring a bank of monitors showing the outside of the building.

  “Damn,” he said, looking back to smile at Lucy. “Looks like they got us surrounded. Whatever will we do?” He patted the terrorist on the back. “Anything to worry about?”

  “Not yet,” the man said. “They have called in their SWAT teams, but they seem confused as to what to do next. The infidels are never prepared to accept losses. But soon they will see how real men die, Allah akbar.”

  “Yes, yes, Allah be praised and all that,” Kane said. “Let me know if anything changes.”

  They continued until reaching the archbishop’s apartment where Kane led the way to the sleeping quarters where he shoved Lucy down on the bed. “Leave us,” he ordered the bodyguard, then turned to Lucy. “Sheesh, I am so tired of true believers. Don’t you find them taxing, Lucy?”

  “At least they believe in something worth dying for,” Lucy replied calmly.

  “At least they believe in something worth dying for,” Kane mimicked. “How droll. I hope you’re a better fuck than you are a philosopher. We have a lot of years ahead of us.”

  Lucy furrowed her brow. “What do you mean?”

  “Just what I told your daddy,” Kane said. “I’m taking you with me when I leave here, and you’re going to spend whatever years I decide you have left bearing my children and servicing me whenever I feel like it.”

  “I’d rather stay here,” Lucy said.

  “What? And die when I blow this place into so much rubble?”

  “If that’s the choice, then yes, I’d rather stay.”

  Kane shook his head. “Sorry, not part of the plan. It is too bad that your dad is going to die here, and your mom and your brothers won’t be around much longer, either. I’d give almost anything to see their faces when we send them baby photos. But like I said, almost anything. Fact is, I really can’t be bothered with them anymore, I have a world out there that’s just waiting for me to take over. I’ll just have to get my kicks tormenting you for as long as it amuses me.”

  “You’re insane,” Lucy said.

  “Well, duh,” Kane responded. “But I really hate it when someone says that to me. So I guess we better get started. Take off your clothes, bitch.”

  Lucy launched herself at Kane, surprising him with the suddenness and ferocity of her attack. A year earlier, and she might have taken his gun. But his training in Kali paid off as he sidestepped and struck her in the solar plexus with the extended fingers of his right hand. She collapsed gasping for air on the floor.

  Kane took his gun out of its shoulder holster and pointed it at her as he unzipped his pants. “Take your clothes off,” he demanded.

  “Fuck you,” she replied.

  “Exactly, but if you don’t make this easier, I’m going to send for your boyfriend and blow his brains out all over the archbishop’s nice quilt and then fuck you in the gore,” Kane snarled.

  Lucy got to her knees and nodded. “Okay, you win,” she said.

  “Good, now-” Kane stopped talking and grabbed his head with his free hand. “Ow, that hurts!”

  “Good, maybe it’s a stroke,” Lucy said.

  “Oh, oh,” Kane cried out in pain, then he looked up as if frightened and held the gun out to Lucy. “Here, quick, shoot him.”

  “What?” Lucy looked around wondering who “him” was.

  “Take the gun and shoot Kane,” he said, shoving the gun toward her as she backed away.

  “What’s with the sick joke, Kane? And what’s with talking like a little boy?”

  “I’m not Kane,” he replied. “I’m Andy, and I’m twelve years old. Now, take the gun and shoot before he comes back.”

  “You are one sick puppy, Kane.”

  Kane stopped offering the gun for a moment, his face a mask of sadness as tears welled in his eyes. “Yes, he is…we are.” He tried to offer the gun again. “Please, Lucy, I’m a good boy, but I can’t do it myself. Shoot us. I want to die.”

  Lucy stood up slowly and approached. The way Kane was holding the gun, she could have easily taken it out of his hand. “Wow, a complete schizophrenic break,” Lucy said in awe and in spite of herself.

  “A what?” And
y asked.

  “Most so-called split personalities aren’t really complete personalities within one body,” Lucy replied. “Just variations or idiosyncracies that surface in one main personality. But sometimes the personalities are complete and distinct. Andrew Kane, the psychopath. Andy, the twelve-year-old boy. Of course, I happen to believe that it has something to do with the existence of good and evil in every person. My dad and I could debate this forever.”

  “There are others in here, too,” Andy offered. “Some worse than Kane. They are getting stronger and someday will take over even from him if you don’t shoot me. Then the world will be in real trouble.”

  Lucy looked at the gun. “I…I don’t think I can, Andy, not while it’s a twelve-year-old boy I’d be shooting, not Andrew Kane,” she said.

  “Please, Lucy, I’m scared,” Andy cried. “I don’t want to live with the others. They are mean to me and hate me. You have to do it. You’re the white queen!”

  Lucy’s mouth fell open. “You sent the chess pieces,” she said.

  “Yes, yes, I was trying to warn you,” Andy said. “Whenever I could get away from the mean people, like that Samira. I sent them to a friend. He’s a bicycle messenger. He gave two to a janitor who works where your daddy does. He also brought them himself. He’s my friend.”

  “What about Aspen…the pawns?”

  Andy smiled. “That was me when he ran by the mailbox. He didn’t see you coming down the driveway, but I did. I thought I could get you to look inside.”

  “Why not write a note?” Lucy asked.

  “They wouldn’t let me,” Andy pouted. “I tried. But the inside Kane thought it was a fun game to send the pieces.”

  “He did know, then?”