Chapter 24
Chapter Twenty-Four
Mon/July/2008 07:00 AM
Chapter 24 -
Inside Story
The news vans were starting to arrive at the scene. Brick watched as they hopped the curb and pulled up alongside the police and fire department vehicles.
What made the media folks feel they were just as important as the people trying to handle every crisis?
The van for KOMO News was the first to open its doors, and a heavyset guy in a Hawaiian shirt emerged from within, carrying a camera in his left hand. He lurched his legs out, one then the next, and stumbled onto the sidewalk, where he sort of teetered backwards as he closed the doors behind him.
A blond haired woman in her early thirties sat in the front seat, poking at her hair with a pick. Brick leaned forward, getting a better look to confirm his suspicions.
Yep.
Hot.
The guy in the shirt looked over at him.
“Hey man! What’s happening?”
Brick shrugged his shoulders. “Beats me.”
“Come on man, look at you. You’re wearing the gear, you know what’s up.”
Brick shook his head slightly, but smirked.
The fat guy put out his hand. “Dub Taylor, KOMO News”
“Brick Ransom, FBI.”
“FBI huh?”
“I still can’t tell you anything,” Brick replied.
“Well, can you at least suggest a good spot to shoot from? I need to get this thing rolling so they can cut to us from the studio.”
Brick studied the camera, then turned to the bay of windows along the second floor of the Health Sciences Building.
“Hey, what kind of range does that camera have?”
“Let me put it this way. With the zoom on this thing, I could make a fortune selling videos of the sorority girls here on campus, and I live way up on Queen Anne.”
Brick nodded. “Follow me.”
* * *
Nick’s eyes popped open.
His chin shot up from his chest and the back of his head thumped against the door.
He’d fallen asleep, just for a moment. A moment, or an hour, he couldn’t tell. The room was pitch black. He blinked and looked around. A thin band of pale light glowed at the base of the door. The details of the room began moving forward through the darkness as his eyes adjusted. He wanted to turn on the overhead light, but he didn’t dare.
A hollow, metallic rumbling grumbled overhead. The ventilation ducts were shifting as the air came on. Maybe he could climb through those to safety.
Nah, that only worked in the movies.
In real life it would be like ‘The Breakfast Club’ -- even if he could wedge himself in there, the whole damn thing would come tumbling down as soon as he crawled out over the hallway. What good would that do him? He’d get shot up like a fish in a barrel.
Nick lowered his head to the floor, listening for noises from down the corridor.
Silence.
What the hell had he gotten himself into here?
Yeah, he’d run away, but run away to a private prison cell in the basement of the building. There were no ways out of here. No windows. No escape hatches. Just an empty room, with a locked door, and an unscrewed light bulb. He stood up, feeling his way though the darkness, his hands skimming over the painted cinder block walls. Maybe there was a fire axe or a broom or something.
Then he felt it. He almost knocked it off the wall as his hands swept up and down like a blind man’s.
Screw the light bulb.
He had a telephone.
* * *
The phone rang again.
Phelps answered and walked to the side of the curb, covering one ear from the sounds of the people around him.
The scene was growing more carnival-like by the second. The news vans from several station were set up now. Every ten yards, a young, blond reporter was delivering a similar shpeel. Morgan watched from a distance as the woman from KOMO News rattled off her variation on the events of the afternoon.
“This is Rebecca Anderson live at the scene of a bizarre police, fire, and state law enforcement operation at the University campus here in Seattle. No word yet on what exactly has taken place, but we’ll be sure to keep you posted. In the meantime, check out this shot of a burning tanker truck and a construction site engulfed in flames.”
The camera guy, Dub, quickly panned the camera over to the slowly dying fire at the base of the hill as Ms. Anderson lifted her hand to her ear, no doubt catching the entrancing insight of the anchors back at the station.
Rebecca nodded her head, “Yes, fire. Lots and lots of fire. Mmm-hmmm… mm-hmmmm, well, no word on the situation at the school itself, but yes, the FBI is here, and there are individuals in what appear to be SWAT uniforms arriving on the scene.”
As if on a cue, three black vans came roaring down the street. They came to a stop in front of the building, and three dozen men in dark assault gear came bursting out onto the sidewalk. Morgan watched, agog, as the men swarmed the scene, two of them rushing toward Phelps, who waved them away with his hand. Morgan stepped closer to see what the FBI lead was discussing. The other guy, Brick Ransom, (what a hottie, and what a name!), he too was watching Phelps closely as the man spoke into the handset.
“Are we sure this isn’t some type of practical joke? The news guys are showing this place from every angle at the moment. This could be some asshole with too much time on his hands between Jerry Springer and his daily Girls Gone Wild video fix.”
Phelps nodded his head.
“Okay then, patch him through.”
Phelps looked at Ransom.
“What is it?” Ransom asked.
“911 just got a call from a man claiming to be inside the building.”
Morgan’s head shot up.
“They’re patching the call through to me now,” Phelps continued.
Ransom spun towards Aftab and Murray, snapping his fingers and motioning for them to record the call. Murray nodded and turned to his computer.
There was a pause as Phelps stood there with his mouth hanging open slightly, waiting to speak, “- - -.”
The phone clicked audibly.
“Hello. This is Agent Phelps from the FBI. Who am I talking to?”
Morgan held her hands to her chest, afraid to breath. Ransom glanced over, seeing the expectant expression on her face.
“Nick King?” Phelps asked.
Morgan let out a sigh of relief.
“That your boyfriend?” Ransom asked.
Morgan nodded.
Brick didn’t know why, but he was sort of pissed off.
“Okay Nick, first of all, are you all right?” Phelps nodded his head. “Good. Good. Then we’re gonna need to get some information from.”
Morgan shivered as her arms and legs started trembling. She sat down on the curb and looked over at Ransom, who had turned and was now walking over to the KOMO cameraman. She looked up at Phelps who was looking off into the distance as he spoke into the phone.
“First of all, lets start with where in the building you are right now?”
The news vans were starting to arrive at the scene. Brick watched as they hopped the curb and pulled up alongside the police and fire department vehicles.
What made the media folks feel they were just as important as the people trying to handle every crisis?
The van for KOMO News was the first to open its doors, and a heavyset guy in a Hawaiian shirt emerged from within, carrying a camera in his left hand. He lurched his legs out, one then the next, and stumbled onto the sidewalk, where he sort of teetered backwards as he closed the doors behind him.
A blond haired woman in her early thirties sat in the front seat, poking at her hair with a pick. Brick leaned forward, getting a better look to confirm his suspicions.
Yep.
Hot.
The guy in the shirt looked over at him.
“Hey man! What’s happening?”
Brick shrugged his shoulders. “Beats me.”
“Come on man, look at you. You’re wearing the gear, you know what’s up.”
Brick shook his head slightly, but smirked.
The fat guy put out his hand. “Dub Taylor, KOMO News”
“Brick Ransom, FBI.”
“FBI huh?”
“I still can’t tell you anything,” Brick replied.
“Well, can you at least suggest a good spot to shoot from? I need to get this thing rolling so they can cut to us from the studio.”
Brick studied the camera, then turned to the bay of windows along the second floor of the Health Sciences Building.
“Hey, what kind of range does that camera have?”
“Let me put it this way. With the zoom on this thing, I could make a fortune selling videos of the sorority girls here on campus, and I live way up on Queen Anne.”
Brick nodded. “Follow me.”
* * *
Nick’s eyes popped open.
His chin shot up from his chest and the back of his head thumped against the door.
He’d fallen asleep, just for a moment. A moment, or an hour, he couldn’t tell. The room was pitch black. He blinked and looked around. A thin band of pale light glowed at the base of the door. The details of the room began moving forward through the darkness as his eyes adjusted. He wanted to turn on the overhead light, but he didn’t dare.
A hollow, metallic rumbling grumbled overhead. The ventilation ducts were shifting as the air came on. Maybe he could climb through those to safety.
Nah, that only worked in the movies.
In real life it would be like ‘The Breakfast Club’ -- even if he could wedge himself in there, the whole damn thing would come tumbling down as soon as he crawled out over the hallway. What good would that do him? He’d get shot up like a fish in a barrel.
Nick lowered his head to the floor, listening for noises from down the corridor.
Silence.
What the hell had he gotten himself into here?
Yeah, he’d run away, but run away to a private prison cell in the basement of the building. There were no ways out of here. No windows. No escape hatches. Just an empty room, with a locked door, and an unscrewed light bulb. He stood up, feeling his way though the darkness, his hands skimming over the painted cinder block walls. Maybe there was a fire axe or a broom or something.
Then he felt it. He almost knocked it off the wall as his hands swept up and down like a blind man’s.
Screw the light bulb.
He had a telephone.
* * *
The phone rang again.
Phelps answered and walked to the side of the curb, covering one ear from the sounds of the people around him.
The scene was growing more carnival-like by the second. The news vans from several station were set up now. Every ten yards, a young, blond reporter was delivering a similar shpeel. Morgan watched from a distance as the woman from KOMO News rattled off her variation on the events of the afternoon.
“This is Rebecca Anderson live at the scene of a bizarre police, fire, and state law enforcement operation at the University campus here in Seattle. No word yet on what exactly has taken place, but we’ll be sure to keep you posted. In the meantime, check out this shot of a burning tanker truck and a construction site engulfed in flames.”
The camera guy, Dub, quickly panned the camera over to the slowly dying fire at the base of the hill as Ms. Anderson lifted her hand to her ear, no doubt catching the entrancing insight of the anchors back at the station.
Rebecca nodded her head, “Yes, fire. Lots and lots of fire. Mmm-hmmm… mm-hmmmm, well, no word on the situation at the school itself, but yes, the FBI is here, and there are individuals in what appear to be SWAT uniforms arriving on the scene.”
As if on a cue, three black vans came roaring down the street. They came to a stop in front of the building, and three dozen men in dark assault gear came bursting out onto the sidewalk. Morgan watched, agog, as the men swarmed the scene, two of them rushing toward Phelps, who waved them away with his hand. Morgan stepped closer to see what the FBI lead was discussing. The other guy, Brick Ransom, (what a hottie, and what a name!), he too was watching Phelps closely as the man spoke into the handset.
“Are we sure this isn’t some type of practical joke? The news guys are showing this place from every angle at the moment. This could be some asshole with too much time on his hands between Jerry Springer and his daily Girls Gone Wild video fix.”
Phelps nodded his head.
“Okay then, patch him through.”
Phelps looked at Ransom.
“What is it?” Ransom asked.
“911 just got a call from a man claiming to be inside the building.”
Morgan’s head shot up.
“They’re patching the call through to me now,” Phelps continued.
Ransom spun towards Aftab and Murray, snapping his fingers and motioning for them to record the call. Murray nodded and turned to his computer.
There was a pause as Phelps stood there with his mouth hanging open slightly, waiting to speak, “- - -.”
The phone clicked audibly.
“Hello. This is Agent Phelps from the FBI. Who am I talking to?”
Morgan held her hands to her chest, afraid to breath. Ransom glanced over, seeing the expectant expression on her face.
“Nick King?” Phelps asked.
Morgan let out a sigh of relief.
“That your boyfriend?” Ransom asked.
Morgan nodded.
Brick didn’t know why, but he was sort of pissed off.
“Okay Nick, first of all, are you all right?” Phelps nodded his head. “Good. Good. Then we’re gonna need to get some information from.”
Morgan shivered as her arms and legs started trembling. She sat down on the curb and looked over at Ransom, who had turned and was now walking over to the KOMO cameraman. She looked up at Phelps who was looking off into the distance as he spoke into the phone.
“First of all, lets start with where in the building you are right now?”