Tobey moved quickly along the counter. The one wounded man was the only casualty, and another man replaced him on the line of defenders.
With his confidence growing that the people in the store could hold off the terrorists, at least for a while, Tobey’s thoughts moved on to the other part of his plan, the one he had mentioned earlier to Calvin.
He didn’t know how many terrorists there were—dozens, he guessed—but there had to be hundreds of hostages, even with all the killing the bastards had done. They would have their hands full controlling that many prisoners.
Of course, faced with the threat of automatic weapons, most of the hostages would be terrified and willing, if not eager, to cooperate.
But give them a chance to revolt against their brutal captors, and some of them would seize it and go on the attack.
Tobey intended to give them that chance.
He just needed to pick the right people for the job.
Chapter 28
The agent who met Walt Graham at the airport in Springfield was a gorgeous young woman who appeared to be of Indian descent, despite having the very nonethnic name Helen Shaw. Graham wanted to ask her about her ancestry and also felt like saying, Are you sure you’re an FBI agent, or do you just play one on TV?
The first question would have been very culturally insensitive, and the other, since it was an indirect reference to her appearance, could be construed as sexual harassment. Graham had endured many agency-mandated seminars on how to avoid giving offense to anybody, ever, and although he had spent most of the time in those seminars trying not to doze off, a few things had stuck in his brain, he supposed.
“I’m glad to meet you, Agent Shaw,” he said as he shook hands with her. His big black hand completely enveloped her slim brown one, but her grip had plenty of strength in it. “Wish it was under better circumstances.”
“Yes, sir,” she said, her tone brisk and cool. “I have a car waiting to take you to the mall.”
Graham didn’t have anything but a small carry-on bag, so they didn’t have to wait for his luggage. As they walked out of the terminal to the dark government-issued sedan, he asked, “Down here from the Chicago office?”
“That’s right.”
“Brendan Zimmer’s still the SAC there, correct?”
“Yes, sir.” Shaw waited a beat before asking, “Do the two of you know each other?”
“We were at Quantico together,” Graham said. “Seems like a hundred years ago.”
“You’re not that old,” she said with a slight frown.
Now that could be taken as a comment on his appearance, he thought, but he didn’t point that out to her. Instead he just said, “Older than I look.”
Once they were in the car with Shaw behind the wheel, headed away from the airport, Graham said, “Fill me in on what we’re dealing with.”
“An unknown number of suspects appear to have opened fire and set off an explosion inside the American Way Mall,” Shaw said. “Their identities and motives are also unknown.”
Sure they are, Graham thought, but he just nodded and said, “Go on.”
“They’ve inflicted an unknown number of casualties, but according to phone calls and text messages and social media posts from people inside the mall right after the incident started, a relatively large number of people have been killed. Also according to that intelligence, the suspects appear to be exclusively males in their twenties and thirties of Middle Eastern descent.”
“So we kind of do know who they are,” Graham said, “even though we don’t know much of anything else.”
“We can make an educated guess, sir. At this point, however, it would be unconfirmed speculation.”
Graham wanted to ask her how long it had been since she’d graduated from Quantico. Not long, he was willing to guess. But there was really no point in it, so he didn’t.
“This intelligence from inside the mall, is it ongoing?”
“No, sir. The messages had all stopped within half an hour of the time the incident began.”
“That’s pretty ominous,” Graham said.
“Not necessarily. The suspects would have been likely to collect all phones and other devices from the hostages.”
“So we’re officially calling it a hostage situation?”
Shaw grimaced just slightly, but the reaction was enough for Graham’s keen eyes to detect. She had said something that wasn’t strictly by-the-book, and that bothered her.
“There’s been no communication with the suspects, so it can’t be considered an official hostage situation. The local police have tried to make contact with someone inside the mall, but as far as I’m aware, they haven’t had any success so far.”
“I assume they tried to get into the mall?”
“Yes, sir,” Shaw said. “Tactical units attempted to gain access to the premises at two separate entrance points, at opposite ends of the mall, at the same time. But both units encountered heavy fire and were forced to withdraw.”
“Casualties?”
“Some wounded, no fatalities, at least not that I heard of.”
“So the local cops are pretty steamed by now, I expect,” Graham said, nodding slowly. “But SAC Zimmer has taken charge, I suppose, and is keeping a tight rein on them.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Is Homeland Security on the scene?”
“They arrived ten minutes after we did.”
Shaw was probably happy that the FBI had beaten DHS to the mall, given the interagency rivalries that permeated the federal government, but if so, she didn’t show any actual signs of it, Graham noted.
“Who’s running the show for them?”
“A woman named Yolanda Crimmens.”
Graham nodded and said, “Know of her. Don’t recall ever meeting her.”
“She’s rather . . . severe.” Again, as soon as Shaw spoke, she looked like she regretted saying something she shouldn’t have.
“A dragon lady, that’s the reputation I’ve heard,” Graham said.
“Sir?”
He waved a hand for her to ignore the comment and said, “Before your time, Agent Shaw.”
“Yes, sir.” Shaw handled the car with smooth precision. She had carried on the conversation without ever taking her eyes off the road or missing an opportunity to make good time. She changed lanes, went through a yellow light, and continued, “The FAA has established a no-fly zone for three miles around the mall. All roads are shut down a mile from the mall. Nothing is going in or out.”
“If those fellows are who they appear to be, they don’t want out,” Graham said. “They never intended on getting out. At least, their leaders don’t. Who knows what bill of goods they’ve sold to the foot soldiers?”
“Do you think they intend to blow up the mall?”
“That depends on what their capabilities are. If they have enough explosives to do something like that, then yeah, that’s what I’d expect. If they don’t, they probably intend to kill the hostages once they get good and ready, then lure us in and blow themselves up with suicide vests once we get close enough they can take some of us with them. It doesn’t take near as much C4 for that as it would to take down the mall.”
Her tightly controlled façade showed the smallest of cracks as she asked, “Those men down in Texas . . . they had a nuclear device, didn’t they?”
“A briefcase nuke, yes.”
“I remember when it happened, all the news reports afterward claimed that when the terrorists said they had a nuclear bomb, it was just a bluff.”
“It was no bluff,” Graham said, his voice flat and hard now. “The White House made sure the media toed the line on the story they put out. The president didn’t want the country panicking over the thought that terrorists were able to smuggle a nuclear device into the country and almost get away with detonating it.”
“Do you think there’s any chance the suspects in this case might have a nuke?” Shaw asked, clearly worried about the possibility, as she should hav
e been.
“There’s no reason to believe they do, as far as I’m aware. My boss didn’t say anything about it when he called me.”
“Then with all due respect, why did the director want you involved with this, sir?”
Graham gave her an honest answer.
“I don’t know, unless it’s because I have experience with crazies taking over a place like this. But you know, in the end it wasn’t anything we on the outside did that saved the day down in Texas.”
“Sir?”
“It was the people in the inside,” Graham said. “The hostages. A bunch of brave men and women who did what had to be done . . . and the one man who got them to do it.”
“I wonder if there’s anybody like that in the American Way Mall.”
“We’d damned well better hope there is,” Graham said.
* * *
Empty brass clattered on the floor behind the counter as Tobey moved along it to the spot where Calvin was positioned. The young security guard was reloading his rifle.
“You all right?” Tobey asked.
“Yeah. A little rattled.” Calvin nodded toward a couple of bullet holes in the wall behind him. “Some of those shots didn’t miss by much.”
“An inch is as good as a mile, they used to say.”
“Well, they were wrong,” Calvin said. “I swear, I felt some of those bullets go past me.”
“I wouldn’t be a bit surprised. But you didn’t panic, did you?”
“Well, no. Couldn’t afford to.”
“That’s why I’m putting you in charge.”
Calvin’s eyes widened as he said, “Wait . . . what? You’re putting me in charge? Why? If it’s because I’m one of the guards, that doesn’t mean anything. This is my first day on the job!”
And with luck, maybe not his last, Tobey thought, but there was no reason to say that to the young man.
Instead he said, “Everybody kind of just decided to put me in command, and now I’m returning the favor with you. You’re steady, and people will listen to you.”
“I don’t think so. I’m just a kid.”
“Then grow up in a hurry, because I’m not going to be here to keep everybody fighting.”
Calvin seemed utterly confused. He asked, “Where are you going?”
“I’ve been thinking about it. There are bound to be ways to get around behind all these businesses. Workers have to be able to get to all the electrical wiring and the heating and air-conditioning units. If some of us can use them to get around without the terrorists being able to see us . . .”
“It’ll be like secret passages!” Calvin exclaimed, finishing Tobey’s thought.
“Exactly.”
“You might be able to escape.”
“That’s not likely,” Tobey said, shaking his head. “I’m not sure any of those corridors would lead outside. Probably not. But we could come out in different places, where those murdering sons of bitches aren’t expecting us, take them by surprise, kill some of them, free some of the hostages, and then duck back out of sight.”
“Like a guerrilla war. We read about that in history class.”
“Yep. It’s the way the Iraqis fought us. But we’re the insurgents now.”
“And you want me to take over here and keep the terrorists from capturing the store.”
It wasn’t really a question, but Tobey nodded anyway.
“That’s right. I’ll only take about half a dozen men with me. You’ll still have plenty of fighters to defend the place. You’ve seen how they’ve been attacking us. I don’t expect them to change their tactics. With the logistics of the situation the way they are, there’s not much else they can do.”
“What if they try to throw a bomb in here?”
“I think if they were going to do that, they would have already done it. But if you see anything like that about to happen, you’ll just have to shoot the guy before he can lob it in.”
Calvin drew in a deep breath and blew it out. He said, “That’s not exactly a pep talk.”
“I’m not a cheerleader,” Tobey said. “But I’ll spread the word before I go. I’ll let everybody know that you’re in charge and that they should do what you say.”
“Thanks.” Calvin paused. “Who are you taking with you?”
“That’s what I’ve got to figure out,” Tobey said.
* * *
Most of the people who weren’t handling the fighting had withdrawn into the large storeroom in the back. They were safe there, as long as the terrorists didn’t get into the store. Charles Lockhart was among them, as well as Pete McCracken and the priest called Father Steve.
Pete had been complaining because he wasn’t on the front lines with the others. The way he waved around the .22 pistol Tobey had given him made Lockhart nervous.
“Perhaps Mr. Lanning wanted you in here to help protect these people in case the terrorists get past our first line of defense,” Lockhart told the old man.
“If those bastards . . . make it this far . . . we’re all done for anyway,” Pete said. “Pardon my language . . . Father.”
Father Steve sighed and said, “At this point, I think it hardly matters, Mr. McCracken.”
“Yeah, we’re all . . . screwed anyway.”
Tobey came into the storeroom with three men, one of whom Lockhart recognized as the store manager, Herb Dupont.
“I need three more men to come with me,” Tobey announced. He nodded to Lockhart. “I’d like for you to be one of them, Charles.”
“Me?” Lockhart said, trying to keep the tendency to yelp out of his voice. “I don’t know what you have in mind, Mr. Lanning, but I promise, I wouldn’t be of any use to you.”
“I don’t know about that. You handled that bow pretty good earlier.”
“I told you, that was pure luck.” Lockhart felt panic rising inside him. He still had the bow in his left hand and the quiver full of arrows slung over his right shoulder. He wished he had left them in the front of the store. Then maybe Tobey wouldn’t have gotten this crazy idea. “If you’re going to launch some sort of attack on those terrorists, I . . . I’m not the man you’re looking for.”
“What I had in mind is more of a commando operation.”
Lockhart waved a hand to indicate his tall, skinny, awkward body and asked, “Do I look like a commando to you?”
“They come in all shapes and sizes,” Tobey said with a grin. “Stealth is probably going to be very important on this mission. Can you be sneaky, Charles?”
“Well, I . . . I don’t know. I suppose . . .”
Tobey looked around and said, “I’m not going to order anybody to come with me. This is strictly a volunteer effort. But if we’re successful, we might be able to whittle down the number of those terrorists until they won’t be able to control the prisoners anymore. If everybody rises up against them, they won’t stand a chance.”
One of the men asked, “What if they’re all wearing bombs? What you’re talking about, mister, is a suicide mission.”
“There’s only so many of us they can kill,” Tobey said, his face and voice grim. “We’re talking about saving the lives of hundreds of hostages.”
“I’ll go,” another man said. He was older, probably in his sixties, and on the small side, but there was a look of rawhide toughness about him. “I was an MP, a long time ago. I know about dealing with troublemakers.”
Tobey nodded and said, “All right. Sounds good to me.”
“Count me in,” a second man said. “I’m a high school football coach.”
Tobey nodded, then looked at Lockhart.
“How about it, Charles?” he asked. “Are you the third man?”
“You haven’t explained exactly what we’re going to do,” Lockhart said.
Herb Dupont, the store manager, pointed to a small door in the wall across from the entrance to the employee break room and restroom. The door didn’t have a knob on it, just a place for a key.
“That leads into the maintenance acc
ess corridors,” he said. “They connect up and form a network that runs all the way around the mall.”
Tobey said, “We’re going to use those corridors to get to where the terrorists don’t expect us to be. We’re going to kill as many of them as we can, duck back out of sight, and then go somewhere else and do it again, as many times as we can.”
“And you honestly think this is something I’d be good at?” Lockhart asked.
“Heroes are made, not born,” Tobey said with a smile. “And you might have a better shooting eye with that bow than you think you do. We’re liable to need to kill quietly, without drawing a lot of attention. An arrow can do that.”
“You don’t think we could take some of them prisoner and negotiate with them?”
Tobey shook his head and said, “Fanatics like these don’t negotiate, Charles. They may pretend to, when it suits their aims, but really, all they want to do is kill us. All of us.”
Lockhart thought about the way the terrorists had blown up the escalators in the center of the mall, killing hundreds of people already, and how they had mowed down more innocent shoppers with those machine pistols. Tobey was right, he realized. It was kill or be killed.
“I still think you’re making a mistake,” he said, “but I’ll come with you.”
Tobey nodded and said, “Good. We’ll be leaving in a few minutes.”
While Tobey was talking to some of the other men, one of the members of the “commando squad” he had brought with him from the front of the store came over and said, “You’re Mr. Lockhart, aren’t you?”
This was the young man he’d seen earlier who looked vaguely familiar, Lockhart realized. He said, “That’s right. Do we know each other?”
“I was in your English class a few years ago,” the young man said. “Aaron Ellis.”
“Mr. Ellis,” Lockhart said as the memory came back. He frowned. “As I recall, you weren’t much of a student. No offense.”
“None taken. You’re right. Hard to make much sense of all that symbolism and grammar crap when you’re high.”
“I always suspected as much.”
“But I’m clean. Right now, anyway,” Aaron went on. “It looks like we’re both gonna be in class again.”
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