Chapters Twenty-One, Twenty-Two, & Twenty-Three
Tim lifted the receiver from its cradle on the wall. He said nothing, simply held it to his ear. There was an ever so soft click on the end of the line, then a voice came on, a sort of older brother, commanding, yet jovial voice, one with an oh so subtle southern lilt at the end of each word.
“Hello,” the voice said.
The tumblers in Tim’s brain skittered softly as he looked around the room.
At the moment he had two businessmen, a woman, two professors, and three lab techs held captive. Three of his men: two gunmen and his second in command, Simon, were placed at the doors and pacing the room. Upstairs, from what Simon had just told him, there were a dozen more hostages, and almost as many of his own men holding them and guarding the main rotunda.
Their exit was now blocked. They needed to find another way out.
Of course, there was also that wall of canisters on the far side of the room. Each was the size of a beer bottle, white, with a small blue rocker switch on the side. One click, a few electric pings, and everything was different.
Those canisters were the wild card.
He contemplated them. Which would be the easiest to lift? Where would he hide it? Were they heavy? The variables made his heart stutter, but only once. He darted one eye to the side and saw Professor Renoir looking right at him, his expression set, his mouth a thin line. Their eyes locked, then Renoir looked away.
“Is this the man in charge?” the voice on the phone continued.
“Yes it is,” Tim answered softly.
“Can I get your name?” The voice questioned.
“You can call me Tim.”
“Tim, this is agent Phelps, from the Washington State FBI.”
“Yes?” Tim waited.
A moment of silence as Phelps undoubtedly consulted with his cohorts as to what he should say next.
“Do you have a moment to talk, Tim?”
“Only if you can help me.”
“We’re here to help. That’s why I’m calling,” Phelps responded. “You’ve obviously got something underway here. I don’t know what, so I need you to fill me in on some things.”
Again, Tim sat silently.
“It might help us if you’d explain why you’re doing this, what you’re after.”
“Just doing an errand, picking up a few things.”
“Uh huh...”
He could hear Phelps’ brain churning.
“Well Tim, it looks like while you were in the store, getting the milk or whatever it was you were after, something blew up in the store parking lot, if you know what I mean.”
“Yes, I’ve been made aware of that,” Tim said cooly.
“Does that affect your plans at all?”
“I’m working on that.”
“That’s what I was figuring,” Phelps drawled back. “Thought we might be able to help you out with that.”
“Look agent-”
“Phelps.”
“Look agent Phelps, I’ve got your number here. Perhaps I’ll get back to you in a little bit-”
“Fine.”
“-and you know where you can get ahold of me now.”
“Yes I do,” the voice said flatly. “One more thing.”
Tim waited. He heard Phelps take in a shallow breath.
“Does this have something to do with Jeff Pepper? Is he all right?”
Tim’s eyes settled on the man standing on the opposite side of the glass.
Son of a bitch.
He heard another breath on the end of the line, “- - -.”
Then he hung up the phone.
Chapter 22 - A Match
“Well good job buddy,” Ransom patted Phelps on the back. “You either saved my friend’s life, or signed his death certificate with that last comment.”
Phelps ignored him. He glanced at Murray, who stood over a field computer waiting for results. A green “Fantasia” voice line danced on the screen as Tim’s muffled voice was replayed through the machine’s tiny speakers.
“You get anything yet?” Phelps asked.
“We’ve got a couple possible matches. Narrowing it down as we speak.”
Ransom was getting worked up. “What do we do now?”
“You know what we do now. You’ve been through one or two of these before.” Phelps continued. “This is where we wait.”
“Where we wait.” Ransom flexed his hands. “Wait to find out if we’re calling the bio cleanup crew, going in to do something ourselves, or standing out here with our respective thumbs up our asses? That kind of waiting?”
Phelps nodded, “We do work for the U.S. government son.”
Brick had no comeback.
They waited.
The fire department was slowly getting the fire at the construction site under control. Three hoses were spraying at the base of the flames as steam rolfed up into the air in thick, white plumes. An ambulance squawked its siren as it made its way from the accident site to the far end of the hospital.
“That’s convenient,” Phelps observed as the vehicle drove past.
“Okay,” Murray said. “We’ve got a couple of possibilities, but one with a 90 percent match.” He pointed at a couple of spikes in the line chart.
“And who is that?” Ransom asked.
Murray’s fingers danced over the keyboard as he pulled up a series of windows. Then he tapped the keyboard once and a voice came through the speakers:
“ I believe out negotiations
are wrapping up now. Perhaps next time you’ll try
harder to make this work for both of
us-”
The recording cut off abruptly.
“What happened there?” Phelps asked.
Murray made a mushroom cloud gesture with his
hands, “Boom.”
“When was that?”
“U.S. Embassy bombing in one of our pet countries.
Three years ago. He and his crew took control of the
building with thirty-three Americans inside. Made
their demands, got half of them filled, then got
restless. Wiped out half of his own guys in the
process. He and the main group escaped through the
parking garage, slipped into the crowd during the
explosion.”
“What kind of an explosion?” Phelps asked.
“A big one.”
Ransom looked at his boss, his face a virtual
question mark.
Phelps shrugged his shoulders and turned to Murray,
“It’s not a stupid question.”
“Well, it wasn’t a dirty bomb, but it was strong.
Turned a five story building to pancake mix in about
fifteen seconds.”
“Who is he?” Ransom asked.
“Last names Griffin. First name they don’t know.
Initials on file are H. K.”
“What groups he with?”
“Near as we can tell, he’s a free agent. All his tags
are for weapons connections. He seems to set the bad
guys up with their nasty little toys, but he’s got
that mean streak. There are three big events in here,
and all of them ended with him killing the hostages
despite the end result.”
“So he’s spiteful?” Phelps muttered. “Great.”
“How sure are you on this match?” Ransom asked.
“I’d love visual confirmation,” Murray turned the
computer to show a picture of an average looking guy
with a close-cropped haircut on screen. “But even
without it, I’m pretty sure this is him.”
“So, we won’t expect negotiations to play out in good
faith.”
“Don’t let him think that though!” Phelps grumbled.
“Jesus.”
“But this is who we believe we’re dealing with?”
Ransom asked.
Phelps nodded.
“Okay then,” Brick turned to Murray, “Talk to your
guys, get me everything you can find on this guy. I
need to know what I’m dealing with.”
“What we’re dealing with, Ransom,” Phelps muttered.
“What we’re dealing with is-”
His words were wasted. Ransom was already headed for
the squad car, returning to the spread out building
plans.
Chapter 23 -
Meanwhile...
Jeff was
still standing in the middle of the glass-enclosed
room.
He looked bored.
It was a façade.
His mind was racing. He looked at Tim, who had just
hung up the phone. He couldn’t hear a word that had
being said. Nina and David’s expressions showed
mutual confusion.
Who had this guy been talking to?
More of his cohorts? The police?
What would happen now? Were they about to see Raj’s
project in action? On himself?? Jesus.
Tim’s hand still rested on the phone receiver as it
sat in its cradle on the wall. He brought two fingers
to the bridge of his nose and squeezed the skin
between his eyes, massaging it sharply. Then, just as
casually, Tim approached the glass and pulled the
door open.
“Mr. Pepper, please make yourself comfortable.”
Then he turned and walked out of the room, leaving
his men behind to stand watch.
The group sat, bewildered, as Jeff walked out of the
chamber, and back across the room.
He shrugged his shoulders, not knowing what to do
next.
Then he realized.
The guy knew who he was now.
That could only be a bad thing.