Chapter 26/27/28
Chapters Twenty-Six, Twenty-Seven, & Twenty-Eight
Mon/August/2008 07:00 AM
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Chapter 26 - “Good Plan Ransom. Excellent work.”
Phelps walked away as the girl began speaking breathlessly into the telephone. Ransom was patting the camera guy on the back and pointing to the bottom of the hill. What in the hell was he up to?
“Ransom!” Phelps shouted. “We’ve got someone in the building.”
Ransom looked up and headed towards him. “Who?”
Phelps jerked his thumb back over his shoulder. “Girl’s boyfriend. He got to a phone inside.”
“What could he tell us?”
“Not much. I thought we might be able to use him though.”
Ransom nodded his head, thinking.
“What’s your friend doing?” Phelps motioned to Dub Taylor, who was staggering down the hillside with his camera in tow.
“I thought he might be able to get us some footage through the front of the building. Maybe get some shots to confirm who we’re dealing with.”
“You trying to get us brought up on charges of endangering civilians?”
“Relax,” Ransom sighed. “He’s a cameraman! This is what they do.”
Phelps started to speak, then stopped short as he saw the heavy set guy setting his camera up on a set of steps that sat at an angle across from the building. The guy was in horrible shape, his belly swelling up over the top of his belt, his leg’s jiggly and soft, like packaged biscuit dough. Without his jeans, this guy had to look like the doughboy.
Wait, he wasn’t actually setting up the camera’s tripod, he was leaving it behind as he shouldered the camera and headed for the building.
“What is he doing?” Phelps hissed. He motioned at the guy and shouted, “Stay away from that building!”
Taylor either ignored him, or he was out of ear range. Never-the-less, he continued on, making his way down the length of the steps, then hanging close to the side of the building, where he shimmied down as best he could, his back pressed against the brick wall, and began filming. He played with the controls, trying to get the best angle and exposure. The sun was glinting off the glass face of the building. Through the entry way -- which was two automatic sliding doors, then a walking space, then two more doors -- he could almost, almost make out the silhouettes of people inside, but he couldn’t see if they were captives or hostages. Dub shielded his eyes from the light and glanced back at the group of agents clustered at the top of the hill by the street. Phelps threw up his hands, sweeping them back and forth in front of his face as he mouthed the word “No!” Ransom on the other hand stoop behind his superior, his arms crossed, expression blank, and nodded his head once. Dub stood up and shuffled along the wall, moving closer to the building.
Phelps spun his head around, glaring at Ransom. “What did you tell him to do?”
“I just thought it might be in our best interest to get some footage of these guys. See if we can get a view into the rotunda to see what we’re dealing with.”
“So you sent an overweight camera guy from the local news station?! Are you out of your mind?”
“He’s got a better camera than us. Plus, he asked me if he could do it. He’s looking to win some press awards.”
Phelps shook his head. Un-believable.
Taylor was down to the corner of the building now, where the brick western wing butted up against the glass wall of the health sciences his building. Again, he looked up the hill, where the police, fire, and FBI stood in clusters, all watching him. Students and other civilians were spread out along the sidewalk by the street, hundreds of them. No one was talking or shouting, or spreading first hand accounts of the events over their cell phones, everyone was watching him.
Great.
What had he gotten himself into?
His palms were starting to sweat. Suddenly his grip on the camera and the controls seemed tenuous at best. He crouched to the ground and tried to catch his breath.
“Now or never Dubby Boy. Now or never.”
He dropped his knees to the concrete, leaned back on his heels, then pushed the record button on the camera, manually turning the focus ring as he looked through the viewfinder. At first he saw nothing, only sun glare and blurs, then he leaned back into the shadows of the building, zoomed in past the glass and the outside light, and jostled with the controls.
Pop.
He had a clear shot inside. Could see all the way through to the far side of the building, where four guys were standing watch. In the center of the rotunda were about two dozen tables, at which students and research staff sat in clusters. Some of them were crying, hunched over the tables as their companions put their hands on their backs and leaned down to talk to them. A row of students sat on the floor, their legs pulled up to their chests, heads fallen back against the wall. For a second it looked to Taylor like this last bunch might be dead, gunned down all in a row, then one of them moved, rubbed his face, and leaned over to talk to his neighbor. This caught the gunmens’ attention. They looked back at the hostages, then over to three more men who stood along the front entrance.
Dub continued filming. He was a dozen or so yards from the northern entrance. The gunmen seemed more interested in watching the people in the rotunda than they were in seeing what was happening outside. Then, as Dub continued filming, the movements in the room changed suddenly. The gunmen near his entrance stood at attention, as did the men at the other end of the building. The hostages looked around quickly, some huddled up against each other. Dub pulled the zoom back, sweeping the camera’s angle around the interior of the building, trying to catch a glimpse of what was happening. He swept back and forth. Back and forth. Then he stopped. A group of three men came walking into the rotunda from a side corridor. From the way they moved, these were clearly the brains of the operation, the guys in charge of all this. One of the men, an average looking guy with dark hair and a thick, furrowed brow, was clearly the leader. He came in, looked around the room, then turned and started for the guards near Dub’s end of the building. Holy shit! Dub rocked the zoom all the way forward as he turned the focus ring. Fuck. His knees were killing him. He tried to shift his weight. Ouch. Keep filming, Dub, keep film! He got a couple more seconds of footage, then paused and moved forward a bit. No sooner did he shift his weight, than he knew it was a mistake. The lens crept out of the shadows, the ones that were helping him get the shot he wanted, and tilted out into the sunlight, sunlight that ever so briefly flashed off the glass and reflected into the building. Dub caught his balance as he looked through the lens again and into the room. The guy in charge was looking up now - furious. He was pointing towards the front of the room now. At the windows! At him!
Rattatatatatata!
Boom!Boom!Boom!Boom!Boom!Boom!Boom!Boom!
Dub grabbed his camera by the handle and took off running.
The glass around him exploded into a wall of twirling glass shards. He could see pieces of pavement and chunks of dirt rippling up off the ground as a barrage of bullets skittered back and forth. He fell backwards, and heard the camera hit the ground with a hollow chunking noise.
Shit, that would cost him. But not as much as if one of those bullets hit h-
“Gah!”
Dub fell to the ground, crawling behind a concrete planter that ran along the front of the adjoining building. He pulled his arms and legs behind the cover and looked down at his side. A plume of blood was seeping through the side of his shirt.
Ransom looked down on the action, caught off guard by how quickly all hell had broken loose. He motioned to the SWAT team that had moved in on the front of the building the minute the gunfire rang out.
The men swarmed down to the bottom of the hill, moving in a single file line along the edge of the front lawn, then fanning out at the bottom, each officer falling to one knee behind the bike lockers and utility boxes in front of the building. They opened fire on the gunmen who were firing out into the crowd. The hostages inside the building started screaming. The crowd outside the building echoed the shouts of terror as they scattered down the street, away from the chaos.
Ransom ran down the hillside, his feet nearly losing their footing as they tried to keep up with his body. He got to the bottom, hit the pavement, and dove for the ground, rolling over the concrete walkway and slamming into the side of the concrete planter, about fifteen feet from where Dub was lying. He looked up at the heavyset man, whose mouth was starting to quiver as he threatened to go into shock.
“Hang in there, Dub!” Ransom shouted at him.
Dub looked back at him weakly.
Brick started crawling on his elbows and knees, holding his head down low as bullets tore into the concrete above him, chunks of mortar exploding and flying around his head. He got to Dub, took a quick look at the man’s side, then shot his head up over the side for a moment. He got to his feet and pulled the heavy set cameraman’s arm over his shoulder.
Dub screamed in pain, “Oh! Jesus Christ!”
“Ignore it! “Ignore it! We gotta go,” Ransom screamed into his ear as they took off running.
The SWAT guys continued firing into the building, strategically picking out gunmen and directing the fire towards them. The men inside ran for cover, several of them falling to ground with muffled cries of pain.
Then, the gunfire stopped, as the gunmen inside pulled the hostages to their feet, and headed out of the rotunda and out of sight.
Dub and Brick stumbled past the corner of the hospital wing, where Brick stole one fleeting glance over his shoulder, before the two of them fell to the ground. Brick left Dub lying behind the cover of the building and ran over to where Sam Ballard and his men were huddled.
“I need an ambulance over here! I need an ambulance!”
Sam nodded at him, and a group of his men ran over to Dub.
Phelps stepped forward. “Good plan Ransom. Excellent work.”
Ransom hesitated, then turned and headed back to where the injured cameraman was lying.
Chapter 27
The noise was deafening and came without warning.
Nick had been sitting on the floor, still in the darkness, holding his knees against his chest. What the hell was he supposed to do now?
He weighed the options in his mind; they were few and far between.
Best case scenario, he snuck down the corridor, found another way out of the building, and made his escape, scott free, completely undetected. Next case, he waited in the building for the FBI or the SWAT team to raid the building, scavenge the corridors, and rescue his cowering ass. The alternate version of that scenario was that he waited, and he waited, before the FBI decided it was a no win situation, and either the gunmen found him, or they took a bomb and blew the place sky high, with him in it. That was, by no means, a best-case scenario.
Then there were the worst case scenarios. He waited, and he hid, only to be found, and turned into a hostage himself, another chip on the bargaining table. Or worst of all, he snuck out of this room, tried to make a run for it, and was either shot and killed, or was tortured, and the then shot and killed.
Each was a sunshiny option, but the worst was waiting in the room, wondering if he would be rescued. Whether he would live or die. He had no idea how to carry out an escape, but he was starting to see the coward’s death as an inevitability, while the hero’s death was a fifty fifty gamble. After pushing his luck with Morgan for the better part of a year, he was getting more comfortable with splitting the difference.
He walked over to the door, pressed his weight the wooden face, and turned the handle ever so slowly. The latch pulled silently from its metal pocket in the doorframe, and clicked into place at the end of its rotation. Nick took a slow breath, held it, and started pulling the door towards himself as he pressed his left hand against the wooden frame. He peered out into the empty corridor, and was just about to sweep the door the rest of the way open, when a sharp cracking noise echoed through the building. It was following by a thundering volley of quick, staccato gunfire, and then the ricocheting sounds of shattering glass. He nearly slammed the door shut in his panic, but caught himself, and slowly pressed the door closed.
He could hear himself breathing.
“Fuck,” he thought. “Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.”
The gunfire continued. He closed his eyes. Better to know what was happening than sit in this room like a caged dog. He again opened the door, paused, and stepped out into the short, darkened hallway that led out to the corridor. He legs grew stiff with each explosion of glass. He could hear people screaming in terror. Then came the yelling. Someone had been hit. A man. One of the attackers.
Nick clenched his hands, gritted his teeth, and walked to the end of the hall, his arms and legs loose. If he got shot, he got fucking shot. He peered around the corner just as things started happening.
Two men were walking past the end of the hall. They appeared to be in no hurry. Their body language was angry, but not panicked. They were followed a moment later by a third man, who seemed more on the defensive, like his duty was to guard his comrades. This man held his gun at attention, and glanced behind him as he hurried away. Then the tide started moving. Another gunman, this one cursing and yelling came down the hall. He was followed by about a half dozen civilians - students, nurses, and cafeteria workers - who jumped or held their hands to their heads every time shots were heard.
“Shut the fuck up!” One of the men yelled. “Keep moving!”
Two more gunmen walked past end of the hallway. Then another half dozen hostages followed behind. One of the men glanced down the hall as he went by. Nick pulled his head back.
Goddammit. Had he seen him?
Nick waited.
Then the rushing of feet. Clamoring.
“Leave them!” one of the men yelled.
More men came rushing past. They were yelling to each other.
Then something big went off.
BoOoOooom!
The lights flickered, and the floor shook. A bomb? The sound rumbled the air. Nick threw his hands to his head instinctively, as though he’d been hit. The first boom was followed by the sounds of twisting metal and crumbling concrete, which continued for several moments, then slowly stopped.
Nick leaned his head towards the corner again, sliding one eye past the edge of the wall until he had a clear view. The air was filled with dust and smoke. Two more men ran past, the last one stopped and watched behind him. Then the sounds of heavy fire doors being closed, and a solid kajunking noise as something was slammed against metal.
“Is that thing secure? Check it.” The guy yelled.
His comrade grunted back at him. “It’s good.”
Then the second man rushed past, and the two of them were gone.
The gunfire had stopped. The sounds of the people leaving the area died down.
What had happened?
How did it stand now?
Nick waited to see if any of the men would be coming back.
All he could heard were the sounds of sizzling wires. Then somewhere, far off in the building, a fire alarm started going off. But there was no sound of anyone returning.
He was just about to run down the hall to investigate, when the phone in the next room starting ringing. He ran inside, caught it at the start of the next ring, and clasped the handset in his hands. He waited. Listened to see if the phone had drawn attention.
Nothing.
His hands were sweating.
He raised the receiver to his ear, took a breath, and whispered, “Hello?”
Chapter 28
They brought the new group of hostages in. From the looks of them, they were mostly students and lab workers. Jeff watched as they were led into the lab and directed towards the back of the room, where he and the rest of the group sat seated on the floor, their backs against the wall, literally and figuratively. Jesus. It didn’t look like any of them had been injured, but that didn’t mean there weren’t dead or dying people around the building, they’d probably just been left upstairs. After the commotion they’d heard just a few moments ago, he and the rest of the group, Renoir, Nina, David, and Raj, were certain that the cavalry had arrived. Unfortunately, the job wasn’t finished. Tim and his men were losing ground, getting pushed back inside the hospital, which meant their options would only be getting more desperate.
“What happens now,” Jeff whispered to Nina.
His friend, advisor, and occasional flame, Nina Parker was known in the business world for her unshakeable calm. At the Foundation, her unflappable, detached reasoning on nearly every business matter had earned her an icy, merciless reputation, mostly because her determinations usually led her to reorganize and regroup, which meant people were let go. Jeff never liked to do that, which was why he left that part of the management to his leadership team, but he had to admit, when Nina made a decision, it usually straightened things out, and quickly. She was a skilled surgeon, scanning the body, looking for the problems, and removing them piece by piece with infinite precision. Still, that wasn’t necessarily an endearing quality.
Nina cleared her throat. Her eyes scanned the room calmly.
“Whatever just happened upstairs, our friend with the gun came out one notch down.”
Jeff waited for her to continue.
“I can’t imagine that their original plan involved them holing up in the basement of the building. They’ve gotta be looking for a new way out. That can only mean…” She trailed off.
“That can only mean what?” Jeff asked.
She turned to him.
When she spoke, there was a whispery rasp in her voice, something Jeff had never heard before.
“That can only mean trouble for someone in this room.”
No sooner did she say it, than trouble showed its face. Tim and his second in command barked orders to the gunmen scattered around the room, who quickly scattered, hoisted their guns in the air, and screamed at the trapped crowd.
“You move!” They shouted. “Move!”
The crowd, some of whom had slumped over lab counters or sat on stools and chairs around the room, staggered to their feet, weary.
“Back of the room!” The gunmen shouted.
The crowd moved, their arms in the air, eyes nervous, unsure what effect even the slightest hesitation or confusion might have. Once the majority of them had been lined up against the back wall, the gunmen fanned out, one stood at each of the half dozen doors going in and out of the lab. Three stood in the middle of the room, guns raised, scanning the crowd. A tenth man walked over to Tim and whispered something in his ear.
Tim nodded his head and walked across the room, between two of the gunmen. Then he spoke, “Would my original guests please step forward.”
Jeff’s heart murmured in his chest. No doubt his companions were feeling the same sensation. Nina was right. What now?
Tim raised his voice. “Please step forward! We will not be waiting on you.”
The five of them stood. Renoir climbed to his feet with a grunt of pain. Nina and David rose, their expressions defiant. Raj sort of shuffled forward, hand still clasped to wrist. They all stepped forward, emerging from the crowd, ghosts through the trees.
“Thank you. Now, would the bunch of you be so kind as to make your way into the back room please.”
Tim nodded towards the glassed in room. Jeff’s jaw dropped. Oh my God.
“Its not what you think.” Tim cooed. “It’s not what you think. You’re of no use to me dead, people.”
They were all rocking their weight on the balls of their feet. This last sentence seemed to give them one last nudge forward, and they began walking. They were almost to the door when Tim spoke again.”
“Not you Mr. Drake.”
David stopped in his tracks.
“It is Mr. Drake?” Tim continued. “If this is Jeff Pepper, the two of you can only be Ms. Parker and Mr. Drake. You’re his guy and girl Friday, respectively, are you not?”
Nina held Tim in a cold, steady gaze. David stood in the middle of the room, slowly turning towards the man who clearly knew more about him than he wanted to let on.
“Yes, I know who all of you are now.” Tim said slowly. “Now, how can the coincidence of you being here, help me get out there? Oh, I know.”
Tim motioned towards two of his men, who walked over, grabbed David by each of his arms, and headed out of the room.
“David!” Nina shouted.
“What do you want?!” Jeff bellowed. “Tell me what you want and I’ll get it for you.”
Tim walked over to the far wall, where he gingerly selected one of the white canisters, which he cradled in his hands as he crossed the room. He stopped in front of Jeff and stared him in the face.
“You’re gonna get me what I want either way.”
“I have a chopper on the roof. The pilot is sitting at the controls, ready to go.”
Tim hesitated. “What good would a helicopter do me, Mr. Pepper, if the minute I climb
on board, the police shoot me down?”
“We can make sure that they don’t.”
“How?”
“Tell them I’m on board,” Jeff said matter of factly.
Tim again hesitated. “I think the boys out there still need a little lesson. David will help me with that part.”
Jeff struggled to control himself. “If anything happens to him-”
Tim looked from Jeff to the canister in his hand. For a moment it looked as if the man might be considering a change in his plans, then he stepped back, motioned for David and two of the gunmen to exit the room, and walked out behind them.
Chapter 26 - “Good Plan Ransom. Excellent work.”
Phelps walked away as the girl began speaking breathlessly into the telephone. Ransom was patting the camera guy on the back and pointing to the bottom of the hill. What in the hell was he up to?
“Ransom!” Phelps shouted. “We’ve got someone in the building.”
Ransom looked up and headed towards him. “Who?”
Phelps jerked his thumb back over his shoulder. “Girl’s boyfriend. He got to a phone inside.”
“What could he tell us?”
“Not much. I thought we might be able to use him though.”
Ransom nodded his head, thinking.
“What’s your friend doing?” Phelps motioned to Dub Taylor, who was staggering down the hillside with his camera in tow.
“I thought he might be able to get us some footage through the front of the building. Maybe get some shots to confirm who we’re dealing with.”
“You trying to get us brought up on charges of endangering civilians?”
“Relax,” Ransom sighed. “He’s a cameraman! This is what they do.”
Phelps started to speak, then stopped short as he saw the heavy set guy setting his camera up on a set of steps that sat at an angle across from the building. The guy was in horrible shape, his belly swelling up over the top of his belt, his leg’s jiggly and soft, like packaged biscuit dough. Without his jeans, this guy had to look like the doughboy.
Wait, he wasn’t actually setting up the camera’s tripod, he was leaving it behind as he shouldered the camera and headed for the building.
“What is he doing?” Phelps hissed. He motioned at the guy and shouted, “Stay away from that building!”
Taylor either ignored him, or he was out of ear range. Never-the-less, he continued on, making his way down the length of the steps, then hanging close to the side of the building, where he shimmied down as best he could, his back pressed against the brick wall, and began filming. He played with the controls, trying to get the best angle and exposure. The sun was glinting off the glass face of the building. Through the entry way -- which was two automatic sliding doors, then a walking space, then two more doors -- he could almost, almost make out the silhouettes of people inside, but he couldn’t see if they were captives or hostages. Dub shielded his eyes from the light and glanced back at the group of agents clustered at the top of the hill by the street. Phelps threw up his hands, sweeping them back and forth in front of his face as he mouthed the word “No!” Ransom on the other hand stoop behind his superior, his arms crossed, expression blank, and nodded his head once. Dub stood up and shuffled along the wall, moving closer to the building.
Phelps spun his head around, glaring at Ransom. “What did you tell him to do?”
“I just thought it might be in our best interest to get some footage of these guys. See if we can get a view into the rotunda to see what we’re dealing with.”
“So you sent an overweight camera guy from the local news station?! Are you out of your mind?”
“He’s got a better camera than us. Plus, he asked me if he could do it. He’s looking to win some press awards.”
Phelps shook his head. Un-believable.
Taylor was down to the corner of the building now, where the brick western wing butted up against the glass wall of the health sciences his building. Again, he looked up the hill, where the police, fire, and FBI stood in clusters, all watching him. Students and other civilians were spread out along the sidewalk by the street, hundreds of them. No one was talking or shouting, or spreading first hand accounts of the events over their cell phones, everyone was watching him.
Great.
What had he gotten himself into?
His palms were starting to sweat. Suddenly his grip on the camera and the controls seemed tenuous at best. He crouched to the ground and tried to catch his breath.
“Now or never Dubby Boy. Now or never.”
He dropped his knees to the concrete, leaned back on his heels, then pushed the record button on the camera, manually turning the focus ring as he looked through the viewfinder. At first he saw nothing, only sun glare and blurs, then he leaned back into the shadows of the building, zoomed in past the glass and the outside light, and jostled with the controls.
Pop.
He had a clear shot inside. Could see all the way through to the far side of the building, where four guys were standing watch. In the center of the rotunda were about two dozen tables, at which students and research staff sat in clusters. Some of them were crying, hunched over the tables as their companions put their hands on their backs and leaned down to talk to them. A row of students sat on the floor, their legs pulled up to their chests, heads fallen back against the wall. For a second it looked to Taylor like this last bunch might be dead, gunned down all in a row, then one of them moved, rubbed his face, and leaned over to talk to his neighbor. This caught the gunmens’ attention. They looked back at the hostages, then over to three more men who stood along the front entrance.
Dub continued filming. He was a dozen or so yards from the northern entrance. The gunmen seemed more interested in watching the people in the rotunda than they were in seeing what was happening outside. Then, as Dub continued filming, the movements in the room changed suddenly. The gunmen near his entrance stood at attention, as did the men at the other end of the building. The hostages looked around quickly, some huddled up against each other. Dub pulled the zoom back, sweeping the camera’s angle around the interior of the building, trying to catch a glimpse of what was happening. He swept back and forth. Back and forth. Then he stopped. A group of three men came walking into the rotunda from a side corridor. From the way they moved, these were clearly the brains of the operation, the guys in charge of all this. One of the men, an average looking guy with dark hair and a thick, furrowed brow, was clearly the leader. He came in, looked around the room, then turned and started for the guards near Dub’s end of the building. Holy shit! Dub rocked the zoom all the way forward as he turned the focus ring. Fuck. His knees were killing him. He tried to shift his weight. Ouch. Keep filming, Dub, keep film! He got a couple more seconds of footage, then paused and moved forward a bit. No sooner did he shift his weight, than he knew it was a mistake. The lens crept out of the shadows, the ones that were helping him get the shot he wanted, and tilted out into the sunlight, sunlight that ever so briefly flashed off the glass and reflected into the building. Dub caught his balance as he looked through the lens again and into the room. The guy in charge was looking up now - furious. He was pointing towards the front of the room now. At the windows! At him!
Rattatatatatata!
Boom!Boom!Boom!Boom!Boom!Boom!Boom!Boom!
Dub grabbed his camera by the handle and took off running.
The glass around him exploded into a wall of twirling glass shards. He could see pieces of pavement and chunks of dirt rippling up off the ground as a barrage of bullets skittered back and forth. He fell backwards, and heard the camera hit the ground with a hollow chunking noise.
Shit, that would cost him. But not as much as if one of those bullets hit h-
“Gah!”
Dub fell to the ground, crawling behind a concrete planter that ran along the front of the adjoining building. He pulled his arms and legs behind the cover and looked down at his side. A plume of blood was seeping through the side of his shirt.
Ransom looked down on the action, caught off guard by how quickly all hell had broken loose. He motioned to the SWAT team that had moved in on the front of the building the minute the gunfire rang out.
The men swarmed down to the bottom of the hill, moving in a single file line along the edge of the front lawn, then fanning out at the bottom, each officer falling to one knee behind the bike lockers and utility boxes in front of the building. They opened fire on the gunmen who were firing out into the crowd. The hostages inside the building started screaming. The crowd outside the building echoed the shouts of terror as they scattered down the street, away from the chaos.
Ransom ran down the hillside, his feet nearly losing their footing as they tried to keep up with his body. He got to the bottom, hit the pavement, and dove for the ground, rolling over the concrete walkway and slamming into the side of the concrete planter, about fifteen feet from where Dub was lying. He looked up at the heavyset man, whose mouth was starting to quiver as he threatened to go into shock.
“Hang in there, Dub!” Ransom shouted at him.
Dub looked back at him weakly.
Brick started crawling on his elbows and knees, holding his head down low as bullets tore into the concrete above him, chunks of mortar exploding and flying around his head. He got to Dub, took a quick look at the man’s side, then shot his head up over the side for a moment. He got to his feet and pulled the heavy set cameraman’s arm over his shoulder.
Dub screamed in pain, “Oh! Jesus Christ!”
“Ignore it! “Ignore it! We gotta go,” Ransom screamed into his ear as they took off running.
The SWAT guys continued firing into the building, strategically picking out gunmen and directing the fire towards them. The men inside ran for cover, several of them falling to ground with muffled cries of pain.
Then, the gunfire stopped, as the gunmen inside pulled the hostages to their feet, and headed out of the rotunda and out of sight.
Dub and Brick stumbled past the corner of the hospital wing, where Brick stole one fleeting glance over his shoulder, before the two of them fell to the ground. Brick left Dub lying behind the cover of the building and ran over to where Sam Ballard and his men were huddled.
“I need an ambulance over here! I need an ambulance!”
Sam nodded at him, and a group of his men ran over to Dub.
Phelps stepped forward. “Good plan Ransom. Excellent work.”
Ransom hesitated, then turned and headed back to where the injured cameraman was lying.
Chapter 27
The noise was deafening and came without warning.
Nick had been sitting on the floor, still in the darkness, holding his knees against his chest. What the hell was he supposed to do now?
He weighed the options in his mind; they were few and far between.
Best case scenario, he snuck down the corridor, found another way out of the building, and made his escape, scott free, completely undetected. Next case, he waited in the building for the FBI or the SWAT team to raid the building, scavenge the corridors, and rescue his cowering ass. The alternate version of that scenario was that he waited, and he waited, before the FBI decided it was a no win situation, and either the gunmen found him, or they took a bomb and blew the place sky high, with him in it. That was, by no means, a best-case scenario.
Then there were the worst case scenarios. He waited, and he hid, only to be found, and turned into a hostage himself, another chip on the bargaining table. Or worst of all, he snuck out of this room, tried to make a run for it, and was either shot and killed, or was tortured, and the then shot and killed.
Each was a sunshiny option, but the worst was waiting in the room, wondering if he would be rescued. Whether he would live or die. He had no idea how to carry out an escape, but he was starting to see the coward’s death as an inevitability, while the hero’s death was a fifty fifty gamble. After pushing his luck with Morgan for the better part of a year, he was getting more comfortable with splitting the difference.
He walked over to the door, pressed his weight the wooden face, and turned the handle ever so slowly. The latch pulled silently from its metal pocket in the doorframe, and clicked into place at the end of its rotation. Nick took a slow breath, held it, and started pulling the door towards himself as he pressed his left hand against the wooden frame. He peered out into the empty corridor, and was just about to sweep the door the rest of the way open, when a sharp cracking noise echoed through the building. It was following by a thundering volley of quick, staccato gunfire, and then the ricocheting sounds of shattering glass. He nearly slammed the door shut in his panic, but caught himself, and slowly pressed the door closed.
He could hear himself breathing.
“Fuck,” he thought. “Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.”
The gunfire continued. He closed his eyes. Better to know what was happening than sit in this room like a caged dog. He again opened the door, paused, and stepped out into the short, darkened hallway that led out to the corridor. He legs grew stiff with each explosion of glass. He could hear people screaming in terror. Then came the yelling. Someone had been hit. A man. One of the attackers.
Nick clenched his hands, gritted his teeth, and walked to the end of the hall, his arms and legs loose. If he got shot, he got fucking shot. He peered around the corner just as things started happening.
Two men were walking past the end of the hall. They appeared to be in no hurry. Their body language was angry, but not panicked. They were followed a moment later by a third man, who seemed more on the defensive, like his duty was to guard his comrades. This man held his gun at attention, and glanced behind him as he hurried away. Then the tide started moving. Another gunman, this one cursing and yelling came down the hall. He was followed by about a half dozen civilians - students, nurses, and cafeteria workers - who jumped or held their hands to their heads every time shots were heard.
“Shut the fuck up!” One of the men yelled. “Keep moving!”
Two more gunmen walked past end of the hallway. Then another half dozen hostages followed behind. One of the men glanced down the hall as he went by. Nick pulled his head back.
Goddammit. Had he seen him?
Nick waited.
Then the rushing of feet. Clamoring.
“Leave them!” one of the men yelled.
More men came rushing past. They were yelling to each other.
Then something big went off.
BoOoOooom!
The lights flickered, and the floor shook. A bomb? The sound rumbled the air. Nick threw his hands to his head instinctively, as though he’d been hit. The first boom was followed by the sounds of twisting metal and crumbling concrete, which continued for several moments, then slowly stopped.
Nick leaned his head towards the corner again, sliding one eye past the edge of the wall until he had a clear view. The air was filled with dust and smoke. Two more men ran past, the last one stopped and watched behind him. Then the sounds of heavy fire doors being closed, and a solid kajunking noise as something was slammed against metal.
“Is that thing secure? Check it.” The guy yelled.
His comrade grunted back at him. “It’s good.”
Then the second man rushed past, and the two of them were gone.
The gunfire had stopped. The sounds of the people leaving the area died down.
What had happened?
How did it stand now?
Nick waited to see if any of the men would be coming back.
All he could heard were the sounds of sizzling wires. Then somewhere, far off in the building, a fire alarm started going off. But there was no sound of anyone returning.
He was just about to run down the hall to investigate, when the phone in the next room starting ringing. He ran inside, caught it at the start of the next ring, and clasped the handset in his hands. He waited. Listened to see if the phone had drawn attention.
Nothing.
His hands were sweating.
He raised the receiver to his ear, took a breath, and whispered, “Hello?”
Chapter 28
They brought the new group of hostages in. From the looks of them, they were mostly students and lab workers. Jeff watched as they were led into the lab and directed towards the back of the room, where he and the rest of the group sat seated on the floor, their backs against the wall, literally and figuratively. Jesus. It didn’t look like any of them had been injured, but that didn’t mean there weren’t dead or dying people around the building, they’d probably just been left upstairs. After the commotion they’d heard just a few moments ago, he and the rest of the group, Renoir, Nina, David, and Raj, were certain that the cavalry had arrived. Unfortunately, the job wasn’t finished. Tim and his men were losing ground, getting pushed back inside the hospital, which meant their options would only be getting more desperate.
“What happens now,” Jeff whispered to Nina.
His friend, advisor, and occasional flame, Nina Parker was known in the business world for her unshakeable calm. At the Foundation, her unflappable, detached reasoning on nearly every business matter had earned her an icy, merciless reputation, mostly because her determinations usually led her to reorganize and regroup, which meant people were let go. Jeff never liked to do that, which was why he left that part of the management to his leadership team, but he had to admit, when Nina made a decision, it usually straightened things out, and quickly. She was a skilled surgeon, scanning the body, looking for the problems, and removing them piece by piece with infinite precision. Still, that wasn’t necessarily an endearing quality.
Nina cleared her throat. Her eyes scanned the room calmly.
“Whatever just happened upstairs, our friend with the gun came out one notch down.”
Jeff waited for her to continue.
“I can’t imagine that their original plan involved them holing up in the basement of the building. They’ve gotta be looking for a new way out. That can only mean…” She trailed off.
“That can only mean what?” Jeff asked.
She turned to him.
When she spoke, there was a whispery rasp in her voice, something Jeff had never heard before.
“That can only mean trouble for someone in this room.”
No sooner did she say it, than trouble showed its face. Tim and his second in command barked orders to the gunmen scattered around the room, who quickly scattered, hoisted their guns in the air, and screamed at the trapped crowd.
“You move!” They shouted. “Move!”
The crowd, some of whom had slumped over lab counters or sat on stools and chairs around the room, staggered to their feet, weary.
“Back of the room!” The gunmen shouted.
The crowd moved, their arms in the air, eyes nervous, unsure what effect even the slightest hesitation or confusion might have. Once the majority of them had been lined up against the back wall, the gunmen fanned out, one stood at each of the half dozen doors going in and out of the lab. Three stood in the middle of the room, guns raised, scanning the crowd. A tenth man walked over to Tim and whispered something in his ear.
Tim nodded his head and walked across the room, between two of the gunmen. Then he spoke, “Would my original guests please step forward.”
Jeff’s heart murmured in his chest. No doubt his companions were feeling the same sensation. Nina was right. What now?
Tim raised his voice. “Please step forward! We will not be waiting on you.”
The five of them stood. Renoir climbed to his feet with a grunt of pain. Nina and David rose, their expressions defiant. Raj sort of shuffled forward, hand still clasped to wrist. They all stepped forward, emerging from the crowd, ghosts through the trees.
“Thank you. Now, would the bunch of you be so kind as to make your way into the back room please.”
Tim nodded towards the glassed in room. Jeff’s jaw dropped. Oh my God.
“Its not what you think.” Tim cooed. “It’s not what you think. You’re of no use to me dead, people.”
They were all rocking their weight on the balls of their feet. This last sentence seemed to give them one last nudge forward, and they began walking. They were almost to the door when Tim spoke again.”
“Not you Mr. Drake.”
David stopped in his tracks.
“It is Mr. Drake?” Tim continued. “If this is Jeff Pepper, the two of you can only be Ms. Parker and Mr. Drake. You’re his guy and girl Friday, respectively, are you not?”
Nina held Tim in a cold, steady gaze. David stood in the middle of the room, slowly turning towards the man who clearly knew more about him than he wanted to let on.
“Yes, I know who all of you are now.” Tim said slowly. “Now, how can the coincidence of you being here, help me get out there? Oh, I know.”
Tim motioned towards two of his men, who walked over, grabbed David by each of his arms, and headed out of the room.
“David!” Nina shouted.
“What do you want?!” Jeff bellowed. “Tell me what you want and I’ll get it for you.”
Tim walked over to the far wall, where he gingerly selected one of the white canisters, which he cradled in his hands as he crossed the room. He stopped in front of Jeff and stared him in the face.
“You’re gonna get me what I want either way.”
“I have a chopper on the roof. The pilot is sitting at the controls, ready to go.”
Tim hesitated. “What good would a helicopter do me, Mr. Pepper, if the minute I climb
on board, the police shoot me down?”
“We can make sure that they don’t.”
“How?”
“Tell them I’m on board,” Jeff said matter of factly.
Tim again hesitated. “I think the boys out there still need a little lesson. David will help me with that part.”
Jeff struggled to control himself. “If anything happens to him-”
Tim looked from Jeff to the canister in his hand. For a moment it looked as if the man might be considering a change in his plans, then he stepped back, motioned for David and two of the gunmen to exit the room, and walked out behind them.