by Jen J. Danna
“Yes, sir.” Kalani left the vault.
Garcia drew in a slow breath and then huffed it out. “Okay, we don’t have much time, so let’s regroup. Give me your first impressions.”
“It was a short conversation, but he presents as older, so we’re not dealing with someone who’s twenty-five,” Gemma said. “Fully structured, likely first-language sentences, spoken in a Bronx accent. And I don’t think he’s in the mayor’s office, but in one of the side rooms. The space sounded too . . . small. And like there were no bare surfaces.”
“Like a window?” McFarland asked. “None of the snipers can see him, so that would make sense if there’s no window in the room. Totally internal.”
“That type of planning, or at least that kind of strategic placement, is indicative in itself,” Taylor said. “Perhaps we’re looking at someone who is ex-military. Even with field experience.”
“That’s a good possibility,” said Garcia. “What else?”
“He’s one cool customer,” said McFarland. “Steely nerves. Some suspects take hostages and are either scared by their own bravado or get high on the power. This guy is neither.”
“On the surface, it appears as if he’s playing a long game,” added Taylor. “I’ve never experienced a hostage taker like this. Usually, there is something they want, or some revenge scheme they’re enacting. This scenario reads more like cat and mouse.”
“I think you’re right that he’s playing a long game.” Gemma looked down at her notes, considering the precious little they knew so far. “He’s not young and he’s well spoken. There’s zero panic in his voice. I know we’ve hardly talked to him, and he’s holding his cards close to his chest, but the one overriding characteristic he’s putting out there is control. He has it, and he’s not going to want to relinquish it. He dropped a bomb and hung up, just to make that point.”
“And we have no idea how much longer we can negotiate with him,” McFarland said. “He threatens to kill Willan, but doesn’t apply pressure by laying out a timeline or specifying something he wants in exchange for Willan’s life.”
“He makes it sound like there isn’t anything he wants.” Gemma tapped her pen beside the single sentence she’d underlined on the notepad. “ ‘Tell him his first deputy mayor is going to die, and it’s all his fault.’” She looked up from her notes. “There’s no hesitation, no room for negotiation in that sentence. He’s not asking for safe passage in exchange for Willan’s life. He’s planning to take it, end of discussion.”
“But why?” McFarland’s gaze was fixed on his screen as he hunched over his laptop, alternately typing and clicking. “I’m not seeing anything political that Willan or Rowland is involved in that might lead to this kind of deadly animosity.”
“The same issue that incites motive in one man won’t seem important to another. You may not be seeing it in the same light as the suspect.”
“Could there be an upcoming issue or event?” Taylor suggested. “Something the suspect thinks he can stop?”
“Or influence,” said Garcia. “Look for something Rowland is pushing that needs Willan’s support. Maybe if Willan is out of the picture, some process or new law falls apart? It could point us to the hostage taker’s ID.”
Gemma continued to stare at the last part of the sentence she transcribed: and it’s all his fault. “Maybe, but that’s not playing for me. What if the more important aspect is their relationship?”
McFarland looked up. “You mean as mayor and his administrative right-hand man, the first deputy mayor?”
“No, I mean about their background. They’ve been friends since high school. Were in the student union together and ran against each other for class president. Willan won that time around. But then they got into New York City politics and have been friendly rivals ever since.” At Garcia’s raised eyebrows, Gemma explained, “In the early days, they used to bump into my dad occasionally at his favorite pub, and they’d have a beer together. He’s always had an interest in them, because he got to know them personally, not just as politicians. So threatening to take Willan out isn’t just a threat to an employee—it’s against a lifelong friend. That says personal revenge to me.”
“If that’s true,” Garcia said, “then his reason for the threat is to torture the mayor and to milk his panic for as long as he can.”
“The culmination of which could be an actual death.” Taylor’s gaze dropped to the clock. “In which case, we need to move faster before he crosses any lines.”
“Unless we tell him we can’t find the mayor.” Gemma held up a hand when Garcia started to cut her off. “Hear me out. This could be a test of whether we’re on the right track or not. We call him back and tell him we can’t find Rowland. If he wants Rowland pressured with the possibility of the death of his friend and colleague, it doesn’t work if Rowland’s in the dark. We may be able to tell from his reaction if that’s his plan. Without any overt message, he’ll be telling us more than he’d want us to know.”
Garcia nodded slowly. “I like it.” He slid his headset back into place. “And if we’re lucky, by the time we’re off the phone with him, someone will have figured out where the hell Rowland is. Ready?” Everyone nodded and McFarland put the call through again.
One ring.
Two.
Three.
Four.
Just when Gemma was sure the call would go unanswered, a male voice came over the line. “You can talk all you like, but I’ve already made up my mind.”
“Every man has something he wants,” Garcia said. “Maybe we can get it for you.”
“I have what I want.”
“A chance to kill First Deputy Mayor Willan.”
“I’m a man of few needs.”
“That seems like a big one.”
“But the only one.”
Gemma closed her eyes, concentrating on the voice on the other end of the line, weighing not just his words, but his tone of voice and attitude. So much of human language wasn’t conveyed by words. She always preferred a visual of the suspect to give her more to work with, but in the absence of sight, she’d make use of every clue possible to gain an advantage.
Lives depended on it.
“Why is it Mayor Rowland’s fault?” Garcia continued, his tone light and mild. Casual, as if they were discussing last night’s Mets game. “He’s completely out of touch, so I haven’t been able to get ahold of him to ask myself.”
There were a few beats of silence, then, “Where is he?”
“Honestly, I don’t know. He’s been MIA for a while now. We’re trying to reach him, but may not be successful for a few more hours.”
“Maybe you should try a little harder to locate him. He might have a vested interest in what’s going on here.”
Gemma’s gaze flicked to Garcia. From his slow smile, he’d heard the edge in the suspect’s voice as well, and the venom behind the words “vested interest.”
“We’ll certainly do our best.”
“Yeah, you do that.”
Then they were listening to a dial tone.
Garcia leaned back in his chair and grinned at Gemma. “That was a good call.”
“It was subtle, but you decidedly unsettled him,” Taylor said. “He maintained the overwhelming majority of his control, but the frustration and disappointment leached through, if you were listening for it.”
“And that buys us a little extra time.” Garcia looked up to find Kalani in the doorway. “Got something?”
“Sanders is coming in,” she said. “He wants a face-to-face.”
“Thought he might.” Standing, Garcia took off his headset. In the main room, the door banged open. “That’ll be him now. Lieutenant!”
Two men stepped in to fill the vault doorway, Sanders in front and a tall, blond officer behind him. Gemma was surprised to recognize the second officer—Detective Sean Logan, a fellow trainee from her days in the police academy. They’d been rivals from day one, the star cadet and the woman tryi
ng to knock him off his throne, a challenge made harder because of her gender. Women had been a part of the NYPD for decades, but they still had to work that little bit harder to be considered equals. And when you were the third Capello in a single generation to go through the academy, it was even harder because every instructor had a story about a brother who was stronger or faster in any given task. But Gemma was smarter, and what anyone might have felt she lacked in strength and male aggression, she made up for in intuition and strategy—valuable tools in her current position.
She’d been a thorn in Logan’s side all through the academy, just as he’d been in hers. And the one night they’d blown off some of that competitive steam in his bed was never acknowledged afterward by either of them. She didn’t need an entanglement when she was focused on clawing her way to the top of the class, and she imagined he felt the same. Still, more than a decade later, it was a night she’d never quite been able to forget.
Both officers were in full SWAT gear, dressed all in black, carrying their tactical helmets, and sporting bulletproof vests with NYPD ESU emblazoned on them. They cross-carried Colt M4 Commando rifles slung across their chests, the barrel pointed to the floor, each securely holding the rifle with a hand on the pistol grip.
Gemma met Logan’s eyes, and he gave her a brief nod.
“I understand a threat has been made against the first deputy mayor.” Sanders didn’t bother with a greeting, but got right down to business. “We need to get eyes on what’s happening in the mayor’s office. I have a team ready to go in.”
A slight tightening around Garcia’s mouth was his only sign of dissent. But just as he started to reply, the outside door banged open again and Mayor Rowland entered. A tall man with a tendency to portliness, his face was an unhealthy mottled pink. He yanked at his tie to loosen it as he stalked toward them. “What is going on? Why are my people still trapped with a madman?”
Gemma exchanged glances with Taylor and McFarland. Someone had obviously updated the mayor, and it was going to be two against one with only Garcia fighting for a calm and patient approach to hostage extraction. Garcia had risen to lead the HNT because he was steady and logical in a crisis, and no hostage taker or senior officer ever saw him lose his cool. But Gemma suspected he was going to need every ounce of restraint to remain calm today in the face of such a high-profile hostage and while under a significant amount of outside pressure from both the city and NYPD brass.
“Mr. Mayor, we’re very glad to see you,” said Garcia. “When we couldn’t get in touch with you, we were afraid you were still inside City Hall.”
Rowland popped the top button of his shirt and wiped the sweat from his brow with the back of one hand. “My meeting with the state attorney general started considerably later than planned and then went for more than an hour, so I silenced my phone, knowing someone would come get me if I was needed. I had a new staffer with me, and I told him not to interrupt me for any reason. He actually took me literally. When this situation blew up, he stopped any calls from getting through to me. Finally word leaked through to the AG and I left right away.” He scowled. “Make that an ex-staffer. Now, what’s going on? Who’s still inside? How many people are holding them? When are you going in to get them out?”
“We don’t have many details yet, sir. We know there’s one suspect, but don’t know if he has any accomplices. We don’t have visuals, so we don’t have a full count of the hostages, but officers are working with your staffers who made it to safety to determine who is unaccounted for. We’ve been in contact with the suspect and are starting negotiations. I highly recommend not moving to a tactical entry at this time due to the nature of the threat.”
“Which is?”
“The suspect has not outlined what he wants in exchange for the hostages. He has simply said he has a message for you.” Garcia turned to his officers. “Detective Taylor, read back the exact wording.”
“Yes, sir. ‘Tell him his first deputy mayor is going to die, and it’s all his fault.’ That was at two thirty-seven p.m.”
Rowland reached for the back of Garcia’s chair to steady himself. “He has Charles.”
“Yes, sir.” Garcia pointed to the first-floor blueprint spread out on the table. “A number of security cameras were shot out less than a half hour ago. Based on the location of those cameras, we think he’s holed up with the hostages in one of your inner offices. The A-Team has not been able to get visuals through any of the first-floor windows, so it looks like he strategically chose an internal location.” He pointed to a conference room and an assistant’s office. “Possibly one of these two locations. Both rooms have phones, and both could pick up our incoming calls. He may have chosen the room based on how many people he’s taken hostage.”
“So, if we go in,” Sanders interjected, “we know where we’re going and have a limited area to cover.”
“If you go in,” Garcia countered, “he’ll simply follow through with his threat to kill Willan, because what does he have to lose?” Garcia swung back to face Rowland. “Mr. Mayor, we’ve bought ourselves some time because we told him we have no idea where you are, and he wants you to know what’s going on. He wants you to suffer with that knowledge. As long as he thinks you’re in the dark about Willan, he’s in a holding pattern, at least in the short term. That won’t last forever, but, in my opinion, he won’t kill anyone during this time. He’s going to wait for you to resurface. While we can’t see him, he also can’t see us, so he won’t know you’re back in touch, unless he has some other way of getting that information.”
“You mean being in contact with someone on the outside?”
“Yes.” Garcia turned to Gemma. “And that’s a problem. The FCC won’t let us shut down the cell towers in the area, but we can certainly isolate the landlines going into the building so we’re his only link to the outside world.”
“I can set that up,” she said.
“That would go a long way to furthering his isolation.” Garcia swung back to the A-Team officers. “You need to give us time. We’ve bought some by throwing him off guard. We don’t know who he is or why he’s doing this, but he sure as hell already has a plan in place. I bet Plan A was the mayor being in-house so he could deal with him directly. He’s now likely moved on to Plan B. But without the mayor, he’s left treading water. Let him tread a little longer. A suspect under pressure can be off guard and we may be able to learn more about him, and then use that leverage to steer him down another path. Hostage negotiations aren’t about fast resolutions. When they are, history has shown us you tend to get a bloodbath and everyone dies.” He met Rowland’s eyes. “Including Willan. We need time and you need to give it to us. Step back and let us do our jobs. And be sure to keep a low profile until we tell you other wise.”
From Rowland’s furrowed brow to his clenched jaw, indecision was starkly outlined on his face. He was used to calling the shots in his city, and being blocked was evidently unfamiliar and uncomfortable.
Gemma was willing to bet Garcia was happy to use Willan as specific leverage to buy the time they needed.
“Fine.” Rowland snapped out the word. “But I want results from this. If not, then you”—he punctuated this with a finger jab at Sanders—“are going in and getting my people out.” Elbowing his way past Sanders and Logan, he strode toward the exit.
“You better make this work.” Sanders leaned in to Garcia, as if to apply additional pressure by sheer presence. “You’re not the last word in the command structure. If the ESU decides we need to go in, then we’re doing it, no matter how much time you think you need.”
“Understood.” Garcia’s tone was flat and emotionless, but the fist that tightened over the top of his chair spoke volumes about his frustration with that structure. “We’ll get the phone lines isolated, and then work on talking him down.”
Prompted by Garcia’s words, Gemma bent over her phone to find the number to call the techs.
When she looked up, Sanders and Logan were gone.
CHAPTER 5
Gemma walked back into the vault to find Taylor and McFar land, but not Garcia. “The techs are working on the phone lines now. They need some time because of the number of lines going into City Hall. But they can isolate that one line.” She tapped Garcia’s empty chair. “Where’s the lieutenant?”
“He said he wanted five minutes to walk around the block to clear his head,” Taylor said.
“That’s what he said, but my money is on punching a wall in the back alley,” McFarland said. “Totally called for, to blow off steam, in my opinion. Which he probably needs more than head clearing. Though Sanders usually makes me want to put my head through a wall, not my fist.”
“There can be pitfalls in working with the tactical team,” Taylor said. “Some of them are overenthusiastic and prefer to shoot first and ask questions later during a high-stress situation.”
Gemma thought of Logan, an officer who would not remotely fit that description. She’d rarely seen a cooler head or a steadier hand when everything went to hell around him. It was one reason he’d been so hard to beat.
Garcia came through the doorway carrying a tray of extra-large coffees and a bakery box. He looked around at his officers and shrugged. “I needed a minute and had to walk over a few blocks to find anything open. The caffeine and sugar are also appreciated.” He set the box on the table and then pushed the tray of coffees into the center of the table. “We could all use both.” He sat down, selected a coffee, and took a long swallow. “Dig in. No contact yet, I assume?”
“Nothing so far,” said Taylor.
“I didn’t think he would call. It’s a good idea at this point to give him time to think and, hopefully, start to worry about how his plans are collapsing. If he’s off balance, he’ll be more open to compromise.” Garcia reached into the box and pulled out a chocolate-glazed donut. He pushed the box toward McFarland, who selected a Boston cream and jammed it into his mouth to take a huge bite.