Exit Strategy

by Jen J. Danna

  “I’m not saying it again,” Garcia snapped.

  “You told the public advocate we were a go.” Gemma pushed back hard, feeling victory slipping through her fingers. “You’re going to explain to him when he shows up in ten minutes that you pulled the operation at the last second with no other feasible way to replace it?”

  “You’re pulling the operation?”

  Gemma, Garcia, McFarland, and Taylor looked up to find Sanders in the doorway. Logan stood behind him, his helmet and safety glasses already in place, ready to act immediately on Sanders’s anticipated orders.

  “Yes.” Garcia straightened from the map of the area spread across the two tables. “I have word right from Chief Phillips that he doesn’t like it. Yes, he’ll only have one hostage instead of seven, but what’s his next demand going to be? Now, instead of a bunch of unknowns, he’s going to be making demands to the NYPD using the life of their officer as collateral. A life that the Chief of Special Operations, a gang squad lieutenant, a patrol sergeant, and an IAB goon will all be arguing to save at any cost.”

  Garcia’s reference to Alex as a “goon” made her temper, already stretched thin, edge closer to snapping completely. She clamped her jaw shut and ground her teeth to keep herself from saying something she’d regret.

  “What’s Phillips’s plan? To send in someone else?” Sanders asked.

  “We discussed it, though he’s not wild about that either. It still puts one of his officers at risk.”

  “I’ll go,” McFarland blurted. “We need to send in someone who’s a trained professional and can deal with Boyle on the fly as the situation shifts. Realistically, it needs to be someone from this team. Someone who is not only a negotiator, but is familiar with the suspect. We know him now, have done the research to understand where he’s coming from and a little of how he ticks.”

  Garcia discarded the idea with a flick of his hand. “No, we need you here to run the tech. We need to keep talking to him.”

  “Respectfully, sir,” McFarland retorted, “that’s bullshit, and you know it. Taylor could run comms, and so could Capello.”

  “If McFarland isn’t appropriate,” Taylor interjected, “I can do it. It can’t be you, Lieutenant—you’ve already lost the connection with him. If you went in, instead of Capello, it could set him off.” He glanced at the clock. “I need to go now though. We’re cutting this close.” He pushed back his chair from the table.

  That was it for Gemma. They were talking around her as if she wasn’t there. Her team was good, and the men in it didn’t tend to treat her differently because she was a woman, but she suspected that played into part of their attitude now. She wouldn’t allow them to discount her ability to handle the man inside City Hall. No one had a stronger relationship with him. More than that, her gender had absolutely nothing to do with her ability to do her job and do it well.

  On top of it all, she was the only one in the room who truly knew the bone-melting terror of someone else holding your life in their hands, and knowing that life meant less than nothing to them. She was a fellow officer, and she was the daughter of a cop familiar to Boyle. She would play into that, making ending her life a more difficult choice for him. And in doing so, she might just save herself.

  “Enough.” She stood to tower over the men at the table. “It has to be me. I’m the only one he’ll accept. You’ll kill seven innocent people if you send anyone else in under a flag of truce. You’ll kill them faster if you send anyone else in under a flag of war.”

  Garcia rose to his feet to face her. “And I’m issuing you a direct order. You will not go in there.”

  There it was, the challenge she knew could surface at any time. She really had no choice with what came next, not if she wanted to be able to live with herself afterward. She slid her hand down to the detective shield clipped to the waistband of her capris. She yanked it off and slapped it down on the table. Then she pulled her holstered Glock 19 from under her peasant blouse and laid it beside her shield.

  Ignoring McFarland’s indrawn surprised breath and Sanders’s guttural curse, she met Garcia’s shocked gaze. “Now I don’t have to follow your orders.” She looked down at her shield, pushing aside the arguments already screaming in her head about walking away from her life’s work. “And now they don’t have to argue for the life of a fellow officer. Tell them I went rogue. Take no responsibility for this.”

  “I could have you arrested for interfering with a police investigation, civilian,” Garcia snapped.

  Gemma couldn’t help wincing at the moniker. Over twenty years working toward a goal, gone in a snap. “You could, but I know you’re smarter than that and I know you value the lives of those civilians more than that. We’re out of time and Boyle’s out of patience. If I don’t go in there, the hostages are going to die.”

  “So Tony Capello’s daughter is going to play the hero?” Sander’s tone carried the hint of a sneer.

  “Only because Tony isn’t here to do it himself,” she retorted. “And if he was here, he’d be going in with me.” She turned her back on Sanders to face the man who had been her commander up until minutes before. “I know you’re torn. I know you’re looking for a way for all of us to win, but there isn’t one unless I walk in there because he won’t accept anyone else. If it all goes to hell, blame me. Tell whatever story you need to make sure the team and the department come out of this clean. You know my family; they won’t hold the department to blame. That’s all on me.”

  She strode from the room, carefully meeting no one’s eyes. As she cut through the outer office, she heard an explosion of sound come from within the vault, McFarland’s voice loudest of all arguing, “You can’t let her do this.”

  Too late. The damage is already done.

  Don’t think about it. Focus on the operation.

  She pushed through the officers milling near the front windows—none of whom tried to stop her; for now, only the five men inside the vault knew what she’d done—and burst out through the front door, into the clear air of late summer, where she could breathe again. Dragging in a lungful of fresh air, she jogged across the street, as if expecting Garcia to grab her from behind to stop her. But when she mounted the curb on the far side and looked back, the door below the old Citibank sign remained closed.

  She blew out a long breath and sent a silent word of thanks to McFarland and Taylor, who had no doubt kept Garcia too busy arguing to come after her. The only thing she was truly leaving behind was her shield; Boyle had already specified she come in unarmed. But the lack of her shield left her feeling naked and bereft. Her only goal from the time she was a child was to follow in her father’s and then her brothers’ footsteps to become an NYPD officer. Now she’d thrown it all away.

  What have I done?

  Deal with it later. You need to survive this first. Then you’ll find a way to get it back.

  She wouldn’t allow herself to contemplate the possibility that wouldn’t be possible.

  She checked the time on the fitness band that doubled as her watch: 6:25 p.m. Right on time. Fixing her gaze on the building in the center of the park and taking a deep breath, she started toward City Hall. She entered the park past the deserted security gatehouse that guarded the small parking lot for City Hall staffers, still full of cars because of the rapid evacuation.

  The regret she felt at giving up her shield faded slightly under the greater guilt over what she knew she was going to put her family through. After her mother died, her father had not spared himself a single detail of the last moments of Maria’s life. Every conversation, every movement. With a strong personal connection to the case, Tony had not been allowed to interview the one surviving suspect, but that hadn’t stopped him from questioning his daughter, gently, but in a way that drew all the details from the shattered ten-year-old. Then he’d read every report in the case file. He’d attended every day of court and had been there for the sentencing. Only after the man had been sentenced to twenty-five to life had he put
the outward grief away and moved on to the greater responsibility of raising their children alone. But Gemma knew the grief had stayed with him for years, and still snuck up on him occasionally.

  And now, because of this one decision, she would put him through it all over again. He’d relive every moment of that day twenty-five years before—like it was yesterday. And then on top of it, he’d go through the fresh hell of his daughter being a hostage again. She may be a cop now, but to her father, part of her would always be the terrified and traumatized ten-year-old he pulled out of the bank. The little girl who took a full twenty-four hours to talk after watching her mother’s murder. The little girl whose whole center had been violently taken from her as she’d helplessly watched. The little girl who grew up and was now the same age as her mother had been that fateful day.

  Then there were her brothers. They, too, had lived with the shock of losing their mother, though they’d been spared witnessing her death. They were the sons of a cop, and were well familiar with the violence that came with Tony’s career, even though he’d done his best to shield them from it. They, too, would be affected by this, and she was grateful they would be there for her father, if anything went wrong.

  The guilt weighed heavier as she thought about what she was doing to those she loved. She had no choice, but regretted they were collateral damage.

  Despite the summer heat, she shivered slightly as she stepped into the shade of the large trees surrounding City Hall, and couldn’t help the memories from flooding back.

  The chill of cold marble under her legs. The sobs of a terrified woman and the ragged breathing of the men. The splatter of blood and—

  “Capello!”

  She turned at the sound of running feet to find Sean Logan sprinting across the street.

  She drew herself up taller. “Back off, Logan. I have this under control.”

  He came to a standstill five feet away and pulled off his safety glasses so she could look directly into his blue eyes. “I’m not sure you do.”

  “This is how it has to be.”

  “Garcia’s not wrong. The likelihood of this going south is pretty high.”

  “Am I just supposed to leave them in there to die? They’ve spent hours at the mercy of a madman with a gun, a man who is so focused on revenge that he doesn’t care who gets in his way. He’s killed already today. That’s the biggest barrier in a hostage taker. Once that first kill is complete, the rest all come pretty easily.”

  He moved to put himself between her and City Hall. “So you get to be the sacrificial lamb? It’s your life for all of theirs? Is this your way of atoning for the past? You were ten. What were you supposed to do?”

  White-hot fury rose up in Gemma and it took all her control not to slap him across the face for . . . what? Speaking the truth? Climbing into her head? Putting voice to feelings she didn’t dare touch?

  The reason didn’t matter. She had a job to do. She stepped past him.

  He grabbed her arm, spinning her back. “Gem.”

  The last time he’d called her that, it had been on a whisper in the dark. “Don’t call me that.” She yanked her arm free. “We’re done here.” She stared pointedly at his carbine. “Unless you plan on shooting me, get out of my way.”

  “Goddamn it, wait a second. You’re going in there with no communications, no vest, and no weapon. You’ll be completely at his mercy.”

  “No gun, no wire, no phone. Those were his conditions. And the bulletproof vest would be useless when he’s close enough to make a head shot. All it would do is hamper my own movements. But he can’t take away my experience and my intuition. You say I’m walking in there with no weapons. I disagree. Think back.”

  She saw the memory in his eyes: The two of them grappling during a training exercise. His confidence that he’d be able to take her down simply because of his greater size. Her stubborn determination that her skills would give her the edge. The stunned look in his eyes when she pinned him to the mat.

  It was a mistake he’d only made once.

  He gave a sharp nod of acknowledgment. “Point taken. Even considering that, you’re still walking into a totally unpredictable situation. I don’t know if you’re the bravest person I know, or the most foolhardy.”

  She didn’t even pretend to know how to take that. She just shook her head and turned away. “I have to go.”

  “Capello, just . . . be careful. Don’t underestimate him. He’s wily and I’m not sure he figures he has much to live for at this point. ‘Head up and eyes open.’ ” He echoed the words of one of their instructors from years ago, a mantra he repeated to his cadets daily. Simple words that saved lives on a regular basis. Could save hers today.

  Logan took a step back from her, gripping the butt of his carbine in one white-knuckled fist.

  Not stopping her, but fighting the instinct to do so.

  She nodded at him. Then she turned away, squared her shoulders, and strode toward City Hall, her gaze fixed on the front doors and whatever awaited her inside.

  CHAPTER 17

  She climbed the steps to City Hall with her hands in the air.

  The ABC7 team was still set up in City Hall Park, and she knew if they hadn’t still been broadcasting, they would have started again the moment she appeared. She was sure Boyle watched her approach, but she wasn’t about to take the chance he might think she was approaching in any kind of aggressive manner. He could even have stationed one of the hostages to watch for her approach at the designated time, so she deemed caution to be in order.

  She had already crossed the raised stone platform encircling the front steps, passing between the twin flagpoles. With her hands held up above her shoulders, she mounted the dozen limestone steps climbing up to the main entrance.

  She kept her eyes fixed on the five sets of double doors that opened into the building. Even on her walk from the gatehouse to the front steps, she assumed she was being watched, and took care not to search the tops of the buildings around her for any sign of A-Team sharpshooters. She knew they were there. And she was willing to bet a year’s salary that Boyle knew it too.

  She lowered one hand to grasp the handle of the middle set of doors and pulled it open to step through into the cool dimness of the foyer. On her right stood a tall bronze statue of George Washington towering over her as he stood atop a marble pedestal. She gave herself a few seconds for her eyes to acclimate to the lower lighting, and then moved through a stone archway into the airy rotunda. A grand, floating staircase rose ahead of her to split into two, curving higher to meet again on the second floor. The domed, coffered rotunda soared far overhead, supported by a circle of classical columns and lit by a central skylight.

  But Gemma only barely spared a glance for the classical architecture as she looked down the hallway to the left. Beyond paired wooden benches painted white to match the walls, a short fence of vertical black bars with a gate separated the foyer from the mayor’s suite of offices. Behind the gate sat a sturdy security desk, now deserted.

  Not that security had helped City Hall staffers today.

  Boyle wasn’t far away now.

  “John? It’s Gemma Capello. I’m coming in, just as I promised. I’m alone and unarmed.”

  She opened the gate and stepped into a hallway lined with massive gold-framed paintings of historic City Hall notables hanging over the wainscoting. The closed door directly in front of her carried a brass sign to announce the OFFICE OF THE MAYOR OF NEW YORK CITY. She tried the knob. Unlocked.

  She cracked the door open a few inches and called out her greeting again, not being sure when he’d actually be able to hear her. She found herself in a well-furnished reception space with a classic wood desk for an administrative assistant. McFarland’s research had borne fruit and they knew who the hostages were now, as well as their basic history, and how they fit into City Hall life. This room was Janina Lee’s post, where she would greet the many high-status visitors who came to meet with the mayor. The woman Gemma had spoken t
o had been calm and collected each time, even if a thread of fear wove through her tone. Gemma had the impression she was a woman used to managing an overbooked schedule, as well as stressful situations, but still had the sense to know this one was entirely out of her control.

  The reception room matched the rest of the building’s Federal style from the wainscoting to the spare decorative touches to the comfortable wing chairs in the waiting area.

  An open door to the left led to a large, sumptuous, unoccupied room that had to be the mayor’s personal office. Lit well by tall, mullioned windows, even if framed by curtains, Boyle would have instantly recognized it would be a death trap under the eagle eye of a sniper.

  Gemma turned to the doorway on her right and called out again, sure he’d be able to hear her at this point. “John? It’s Gemma.”

  “I hear you. Keep coming. Down the hallway, turn right. First door on your right.”

  “Okay, I’m coming in. I’m unarmed and I’ll keep my hands in view.” She slowly walked down the hallway, quickly taking in the surroundings in case she was able to stage an escape.

  All the rooms on the left side of the hallway had light spilling through their open doorways to signify bared windows. When the building was constructed in the early nineteenth century, commercial electric lighting was over seventy years away, so architectural designs were fashioned to allow as much natural light into the work space as possible. The few completely internal rooms would have been dark, dungeonlike spaces, lit only by candle or lamplight.

  But now, this enclosed space was the only logical place for Boyle to be.

  She turned the corner and found an open doorway to her right. It faced the corridor wall, ensuring no line of sight for an eager sniper. A single exit ensured no one could cause a distraction at one entrance to allow escape at another. She glanced back at the doorway into the reception room to find the EMERGENCY EXIT sign shining over the top lintel. Only one entrance also meant only one exit. The enemy could only sneak up on you from one direction, if they dared to try.