by Ethan Cross
He removed his toolkit and repeated the procedure he had performed on Fred Little, removing the eye cleanly from the body. Then he bandaged the bloody socket and left Yarborough passed out in his chair. He retrieved the hand and eye and placed them into two large freezer bags. Then he opened the office door and yelled, “Sparks, clean that mess up and drop what’s left of him on the couch.”
Kruger maintained his composure until he reached the bathroom, then he rushed into a stall and dry-heaved into the toilet. He started to cry, not knowing what was happening to him. Not sure what these feelings were. He had never let emotion get in the way of a mission, and he promised himself that he wouldn’t allow his weakness to be his downfall now.
He had already realized that he had yet to force Yarborough to give him the door’s passcode and the watch. He was definitely slipping, losing his head. But he suspected that the old war dog would need no further demonstrations in order to fear the lion. But as Kruger cleaned himself up at the sink and looked in the mirror, he wondered what happened when the lion started to fear and hate itself.
Chapter 19
Assistant Special Agent in Charge Samuel Carter had been around men like these in situations like this for eighteen years and four months now. In his youth, he would have been nervous as hell walking into the room. Lives hanging in the balance. The weight of that on his shoulders. He had lost his lunch at several crime scenes over the years, not because of the blood or bodies, but because the weight of needing to right so many wrongs could sometimes be overwhelming.
Carter found it strange that he didn’t feel anxiety anymore. But since the accident, he found it hard to feel anything.
He took a seat at the head of the comm center’s small conference table and said, “Sgt. Ortiz, that coffee behind you smells delightful. Would you be so kind as to pour me a cup?”
“No problem, but if you start asking me to file and collate shit for you, then we’re going to have words,” Ortiz said. “You want cream and sugar?”
“Both, please. Now, gentlemen, before I step out into this guy’s line of fire, why don’t you bring me up to speed.”
“Of course, sir, where would you like to start?” Deputy Chief Edgar quickly said.
“At the beginning. And explain it to me as if I’m taking notes in crayon, please and thank you.”
Officer Juliano reached over Edgar and picked up an iPad from the desk. Carter instantly noted the potential in the kid. He had a no-nonsense way about him that resonated with the aging FBI agent, one who always wanted a son. He could hear his wife’s voice in his head, telling him that he had hundreds of sons and daughters. His brain had recorded the little audio clip during a fight about the job being more important to him than family.
Looking back, he knew that she had been right in so many ways. He had commanded several young men and women with whom he’d held a special bond, some of whom he loved as much as his own daughter. But none of them invited him over for Christmas dinner. Most of them didn’t even send a Christmas card.
As he tapped away at the iPad, Juliano said, “At 9:47 a.m.—”
The door opened, and Dr. Burke and the young Ms. Whelan crowded into the conference room.
“Glad to see you’re making new friends, Dr. Burke, but are you ready to get to work?” Carter said.
“Sure thing.”
Carter gave Burke an exaggerated look to make sure that the young man understood his annoyance. Then, he said, “Go ahead, Officer Juliano.”
“You can call me Nic, sir. Short for Dominic.”
Sgt. Ortiz returned with a cup of steaming coffee and said, “And you can call me Taz. Short for Tasmanian Devil.”
Carter smiled and accepted the coffee with a thank you, and then he motioned with his cup for Nic to continue.
“At 9:47 a.m., a group of three men armed with assault rifles and possibly explosives entered the GoBox facility and took eleven people hostage.”
Nic tapped the iPad and a large display mounted to the wall came to life with grainy security camera footage. “This is them entering the building,” he said.
The video showed three men walking into the frame. They wore long coats and ski masks. The trio approached the door. Carter pointed at one of the masked figures and said, “This one is huge.”
“Yes, sir, probably at least seven feet. Maybe bigger.”
“Have you sent the footage anywhere for analysis?”
“No, sir, not yet.”
“Okay, we’ll get some of our techs on it.”
Carter looked over at Burke, who was playing around on his own oversized iPad. He wanted to tell Burke to put away his toys and pay attention, but he held his tongue.
Nic changed the video to an interior shot of the facility. On the screens, the same three men stormed inside and expertly secured the room. Two of them moved like soldiers. First, they surprised and subdued the two guards in the lobby, and then they destroyed the cameras.
“I’m assuming the video feeds to an outside location?” Carter asked.
“Yes, sir, but once the cameras are out, we lose the whole lobby and reception area,” Taz said. “And these guys knew right where the guards would be standing and where the cameras were located.”
“This is obviously no standard smash-and-grab,” Carter said. “You said you lost video for the front of the building, does that mean that you have eyes in the back?”
“Yes, up until a few minutes ago anyway,” Nic said. “But before we discuss that, you’re going to want to see this.”
Chapter 20
Sam Carter watched as the giant squeezed the woman’s neck, lifted her from the floor, and placed the barrel of a large caliber revolver to her temple. Then he watched as they played Russian roulette with the same hand cannon.
“As you can see, the reason we don’t have any causalities yet isn’t because they don’t have the stones to go that far,” Nic said. “This guy didn’t even flinch when he pulled the trigger. A real psycho.”
“Yes, I see your point,” Carter said. “Give me the timeline again. 9:47, they enter the bank.”
“9:48, silent alarm is triggered,” Taz replied. “9:51, the 911 call comes in. 9:53, they play Russian roulette and gain access to the secure area of the building.”
“Do we have any blueprints of this place?”
“We have one of their company reps on his way,” Nic said. “But from what we know, the front half of the building is reception and sales. It’s secured by an armed guard. Then the back half of the building is for clients only. There’s a lounge area, the manager’s office, a row of private viewing rooms, and the vault room.”
“The building doesn’t look big enough to hold all that. How big is the vault?”
“That’s the part we don’t know about. Supposedly, their vault technology is a closely guarded trade secret.”
“When do you expect the GoBox rep to be here?”
“We expect him or her at any moment, sir,” Nic said.
“What about their transportation?”
“We found a stolen blue panel van across the road. We have our techs checking it for everything, but so far, no prints. Preliminary results show traces of C-4.”
Carter sipped his coffee and took a moment to check on Burke. The young man was still tapping with his iPad and Apple Pencil.
Carter placed his coffee back on the conference table and returned his attention to the task at hand. He wasn’t really angry at Burke. In the short time he’d spent working on cases with the kid, Carter had come to realize that there was always a reason for any abnormal thing Burke may do or say. Though the reason may not be fully realized, even by Burke himself.
He couldn’t be angry. He had dragged the kid into this kicking and screaming. Burke had made it clear from the start that he didn’t want to be here. Carter supposed he was just a little disappointed. He had thought the kid would find all this more interesting.
“So what about the video feed in the secure part of the buildin
g?” Carter asked.
“We lost that a few minutes ago. The cameras in the rear are built into the wall and hidden, along with some armored cameras for show. But one of the three, referred to by the others as Doc, was working at the terminal when we lost the video feed.”
“So the assumption is that they now have unfettered access to the building’s computer and security systems?”
“Correct, sir.”
“What does that mean for us?”
“We don’t really know yet. Hopefully, the GoBox rep will be able to shed some light on what they may be after.”
“That’s all we know right now, sir,” Deputy Chief Edgar said. “We’re just digging in and waiting for them to make the next move. Time is always on our side in standoffs like this.”
Carter nodded. “Thank you, gentlemen. Dr. Burke, do you have any observations to add?”
Burke looked up from his iPad. “Right now?”
“No better time than the present.”
“I’m still gathering data.”
“Well, doctor, let’s hear your initial thoughts.”
Burke narrowed his eyes at Carter and said, “You really want to know? You sure about that?”
Carter turned his chair toward the young man and spread his arms. “Enlighten us.”
Burke looked around the room, sighed, and said, “Fine. From start to finish, that analysis was horse shit.”
Chapter 21
Nic heard Bristol chuckle at Burke’s remark, but then all eyes turned to the four displays mounted on the walls of the small conference room as they came to life with a zoomed-in shot of one of the three gunmen.
Nic looked down at the iPad in his hand in confusion and said, “Where is this coming from?”
“From me,” Burke said. “One of my masters degrees is in computer science.” He tapped the screen of his tablet and a slow-motion version of the gunman’s walk to the bank played over all the displays. As Burke continued, he used his Apple Pencil to pause and highlight certain areas of the video.
“Officer Juliano, your very first sentence contained a pretty glaring misrepresentation of the facts,” he said.
Nic gritted his teeth and fought to maintain his composure. He glanced over at ASAC Carter for rescue, having sensed the tension between Carter and Burke from the start. But Carter had a little smirk on his face, as if he was not-so-secretly enjoying the whole thing. Nic had hoped that this incident was his second chance at being accepted into the FBI academy, his chance to impress a high-ranking agent, one who maybe could pull some strings or write him up a letter of recommendation. But that prospect was slowly dying.
Burke continued, “You can see here and here, as the fabric bunches, you can make out the padding, which is trying to conceal her feminine frame.”
“Carter, did you hire this guy when Blockbuster Video went out of business?” Taz said. “We don’t have time for—”
“You can also tell here and here and then again here using gait analysis,” Burke said.
“What analysis?”
“When you analyze the way a person walks, you can learn quite a bit about them. And typically a person, even when trying to walk like a member of the opposite sex, will still subconsciously move in ways inherent to their gender. The FBI techs will run a detailed analysis to be sure, but I’m confident in my assessment. This unknown subject, the same person who later disables the security cameras, is most definitely a woman. And she’s trying to conceal that fact from us.”
Burke played a few sections of video in slow motion to further demonstrate his point. Nic watched each section of footage closely, and although he didn’t plan on voicing the realization, he had to admit that he could see Burke’s point.
“Where did you get that footage?” Nic asked. “We haven’t sent it to the FBI yet.”
“I pulled the files from your servers,” Burke said.
“You can’t just do that.”
“I believe I just did. The second thing you missed is the time that they entered. Why 9:47 a.m.?”
“Why not?” Taz said.
Burke blinked rapidly, and said, “What normal person would choose a time like 9:47 a.m.? They would choose 10:00 sharp or 9:45.”
“Maybe his watch is off,” Nic said.
“The timing isn’t important. What’s critical here is analyzing the data at hand, which you haven’t done properly.” Burke changed the displays to a shot of the front of the GoBox building at 9:46 a.m. The video showed a family leaving the building.
“So what,” Nic said and dropped his now useless tablet computer onto the conference room table. “They waited for the family to leave. All that really tells us is that they’re smart enough to not want to contend with crying children pissing their pants.”
“Yes, Officer Juliano, but what you’re neglecting to see is that there is no way they could have known that the family was in the building. You have a report from an eyewitness claiming that the van pulled up at 9:30, while the family entered at 9:10. They could only have known that children were inside if they had eyes within the facility. That potentially means that one of our hostages is not on our side.”
Chapter 22
August Burke would have rather been almost anywhere else than crammed into this tiny box with a bunch of strangers, people whose behavior patterns and uses of non-verbal communication were unknown to him and therefore completely unpredictable. Contending with neurotypical people was so strenuous, and not because they lacked intelligence or because he felt that his IQ made him superior. In fact, he had often wished he could trade his intellect for just a few hours of peace, a few hours of being able to interact with other human beings without having to analyze and filter every word, every gesture. And despite his attempts to learn about people and study their ways of thinking, he usually had no idea how to communicate with them without feeling like a freak, without spending countless hours assessing and then obsessing over some small social offense.
And that was why it was always safer to just keep his damn mouth shut. Unfortunately, he had already foolishly challenged the official assessment. It didn’t really matter that he knew they were wrong. He often talked to people who told him about things they believed to be absolutely factual, while he could quote five or six different sources that invalidated the person’s entire argument. Even in those moments, he had learned it was better to just smile and nod. In his experience, neurotypical people didn’t really want to hear what others thought and felt, especially if the other person’s feelings or opinions contradicted his or her own beliefs. Burke liked to be wrong because that was an opportunity for learning, but he had discovered that most people interpreted an attack on an opinion as an attack on him or her as a person.
He often felt like he was wearing a straightjacket and a gag in his mouth while walking on broken glass and trying not to make a sound.
Sgt. Ortiz was the first to dispute Burke’s inside-man theory. “They could have had someone else out there watching since the place opened and knew exactly who entered the building. And one of those hostages is probably the reason for all this.”
Nic nodded. “Right, they wait for a big fish to enter and then they force him to hand over the contents of his personal vault.”
Burke rubbed both his temples. “Highly unlikely, but moving on. This group triggered the alarm and then doubled-down with a 911 call. They wanted a standoff, and then they stalled for time by asking for an SSA.”
“And why would they do that, Doogie Howser?” Taz said with a little smirk.
Burke cocked his head. “I assume that was supposed to be an insult, and while I do understand the reference and correlation, please try to restrict your taunting to things that happened this century, grandpa. In answer to your question, if we knew why they were stalling, then we would be able to determine their objective. But we don’t have enough data points for that yet. What is obvious is that they do not intend on killing anyone. At least not at this stage in their plan.”
&n
bsp; “Son, you seem like a bright kid,” Deputy Chief Edgar said, “but we’ve all seen the way the big one played with that woman’s life.”
Burke sighed and started tapping his iPad. He wished people would just trust him. Life would be so much simpler and more productive if he didn’t have to explain every word that came out of his mouth. “If you watch the video closely, chief, you can see that the young female was in no real danger.”
Taz pulled out his cell phone. “I’m gonna play Candy Crush. Let me know when the lecture is over and we can get back to work.”
Burke opened his mouth to verbally attack the SWAT commander, but Nic Juliano spoke first: “Taz, give the kid a chance. I think I know where he’s going with this.”
Ortiz rolled his eyes and jammed his phone back into a pants pocket. “Okay, dazzle me.”
Burke pushed the video feed to all of the monitors and zoomed in on the big man’s hands and the gun. He said, “It’s a bit of a magician’s trick for playing Russian roulette. You spin the cylinder, but catch it for a millisecond as you close it. That way you’ve seen the positioning of the bullet and always know the risks and how many times you can pull the trigger.”
“Bullshit,” Taz said.
“Plus, when you understand the laws of physics, specifically the concept of centripetal force—the force acting on a body in curvilinear motion that is directed toward the center of the curvature or axis of rotation—you can predict that a bullet of such a high caliber and weight will always pull downward when spun like that,” Burke said. “Which means the bullet will naturally pull away from the barrel of the gun. It involves another concept called gravity. You should Google it.”
Taz narrowed his eyes, but Nic said, “He’s right, brother. I’ve seen it done like that before. I’ve just never heard anyone explain it.”