Brick Ransom
Chapters Fourteen & Fifteen
Mon/June/2008 07:00 AM Chapter 1/2Chapter
14/15
Chapter 14 -
Meanwhile...
Sam’s men were treating victims at the scene of the explosion and trying to find out whether an operator had been in the crane’s control cab when it went down. That would be the next, potentially gruesome bit of work they’d need to get out of the way.
The fact that the building was still at such an early stage of construction and free of landscaping had prevented the fire from spreading further than the reaches of its own fuel, but the breadth of the blaze was still massive. To someone just approaching the scene, the flames raging up through the clouds of thick, black smoke, might have looked like some sort of gas line explosion. The closest image Sam could conjure up was the long ago news footage of the raging oil wells as Saddam’s soldiers had retreated and set fire to drilling locations in the first Gulf War.
Sam had moved his base of operations from the front of the hospital to the hill overlooking the construction site. They were still determining the situation inside the building, but now he needed to keep one eye on the the incident on the lower grounds as well.
He raised a walkie-talkie and barked into the handset, “Any word on the crane operator?”
The radio crackled and hissed, then a voice hollered through the din. “Nothing yet. Anderson and Parker are talking to the crew now.”
“Ten four,” Sam responded.
A noise rose up from the crowd behind Sam as the forward most people parted ways for Mark Price, who stepped forward, a young girl beside him. It was Morgan. Sam nodded his head towards them.
“What is it?”
His friend looked grim.
“We may have a different situation on our hands here.”
“What do you mean?” Sam asked.
“This young lady says she was in the building and saw two men with firearms sealing off doors between the wings.”
Sam turned to Morgan. “Is that true?”
She nodded back. “They were in fire department uniforms.”
Sam felt a shiver. “Anyone else see this?”
Mark nodded slightly, “A few folks have mentioned seeing men in fire gear inside the building before the alarms went off. Did you guys have any inspections going on today?”
Sam shook his head. “No. And there were no calls to the station before then.”
Mark put his hand on Morgan’s shoulder. “Which area of the building were you in?”
“The health sciences wing.”
“No alarms were set off in that section,” Sam muttered.
“So there are probably still a lot of people down there.” Mark pressed the transmitter on his radio. “This is Price. Tully, take a few men and check the entrance to the Health Science Lobby.”
The radio crackled, “On our way.”
Morgan’s eyes were wide now. “What’s going on?”
“We’ll see in a minute.” Mark barked.
Sam took a deep breath, the air in his lungs catching for a moment, then wheezing out in a series of staggered gasps. He was feeling the pressure.
Mark stood, two fingers lightly pressed against his chin. His eyes darted from side to side, a nervous tick, then they locked in place, and he turned to Morgan.
“Do you know if there was anything unusual happening on campus today? Any speakers or events?”
“Yeah-” Morgan started, her eyes opening wide. “Jeff Pepper was visiting the Department of Immunology.”
“Jeff Pepper-” Mark glanced at Sam. “Why was he coming?”
“He’s been funding some big project one of the research professors has been working on.”
“What time was he supposed to arrive?” Sam asked.
“Noon.”
“The alarms went off at 12:15.” Sam said flatly.
“Shit.”
The radio on Sam shoulder crackled to life, “Chief, we have a situation here.”
“What is it?”
A pause, then the hollow voice shot through, “It looks like we have about two dozens people in a hostage situation. The doors to the lobby have been sealed, ‘bout a half dozen armed guys are standing guard.”
“Oh my God…” Morgan stammered. “My boyfriend is in there.”
Sam glanced at Morgan, then at Mark. “We have a VIP in a hostage hostage situation, and armed gunmen in a government funded research building... We’re gonna have to step things up a bit.”
“What does that mean?” Mark asked.
“I’m calling Ransom at the FBI.”
Chapter 15 - Brick Ransom
The chopper was circling in around the south end off the building, giving them a clear view of the fire down below. Whatever had set off the blaze was still churning out a thick cloud of black smoke. A construction crane was on its side, debris spread down the hill and across a roadway behind the hospital. Masses of people were spread out in an aura around the site.
Brick Ransom sat by the window, the muscles in his arms and legs growing tense with anticipation. He was suited up in what he called his SWAT equipment, but where the movies always had the letters spread out across the back and chest of the outfit, his gear was plain black. Brick was 45 years old, and as they said in the movies, he should have been “too old for this shit,” but he loved it.
The pilot’s voice came through Ransom’s earphones, “I’ll have to sweep around to the North and land on the highway. That smoke’s too thick on this side.”
Ransom nodded his head.
Twenty minutes ago he’d been at home in his kitchen, slicing onions for a tartlet he was making for dinner. Tonight was the night of the “big date” with the woman he’d been seeing. Victoria. It was seal the deal night, which called for his signature seal the deal onion tartlet. Why it worked, he didn’t know, but something about that dish, the flaky crust, the smell, the flavor. The fact that Brick, a muscular man’s man, could put together such an intricate dish, it just seemed to work. Onion tartlet was his aphrodisiac of choice, an awesome force of nature he only pulled out when he knew he was ready for the next step. No point bedding a woman he wasn’t looking to get serious with. That got too messy, and onion tartlet was just too complicated, no matter how hot the target. Plus, for a man like himself, there was always the risk of injury. Not to his heart, but to his hands. He worked fast, cutting and slicing, mincing and filleting, his hands and his eyes worked in sharp harmony, but on occasion, just as in his work, he would hit a bump and have an accident. His fingers were speckled with a series of small scars from long ago wounds, mementos of dinners and work assignments gone by. ‘Course, knives weren’t the only utensils known to cause him damage. He’d jammed his fingers in guns. Blasted his skin with handgun discharge. And he’d shot more than a few guys, all bad, and in each case, the slip of his finger on the trigger had seemed almost serendipitous, like he’d read the culprit’s mind and known the exact instant when he planned to turn the gun on the hostage, or open fire on the crowd below, and somehow he, Ransom, had popped off a round, hitting the bad guy, missing the good guys, and saving the day. No one ever suspected that he suffered from a sweaty trigger finger, but that was the case. He was working on that, but it always made him nervous. His greatest fear was being nicknamed Agent Butterfingers.
Victoria. He licked his lips, half for the woman, and half for the onion tartlet. God those things were good. One way or the other, he’d be home for dinner.
Back to the business at hand. The chopper was coming in for the approach. The pilot was scanning the area for power lines, carefully setting up the landing location.
“I’ll have you on the ground in a minute.”
Ransom glanced back at the other passengers onboard. There was Phelps, the top man at the Seattle FBI branch, perpetually dressed in a little plaid hat, with a John Waters moustache and Ed Harris features. Beside Phelps were Aftab and Murray, two guys similar to himself, dressed in the gear, ready to go into action. They were the action men, G-men with muscles and cool clothes. Then there was Brick Ransom himself, part action man, part negotiator, part improvisational decision maker. He liked to think of himself as MacGyver. He didn’t tell people that. They’d laugh.
Then they were on the ground. A group of police officers headed up the lawn to greet them as the FBI contingent disembarked. The first officer stepped up, shouting over the spinning rotor blades.
“I’m Officer Gridley! Which one of you is in charge here?”
Phelps stepped forward. “Agent Phelps, Seattle FBI.”
The officer looked at Phelps blankly.
“Which one of you is Brick Ransom?”
Brick stepped stepped forward, “I’m Agent Ransom.”
“Follow me please, sir!”
Brick stared straight ahead, avoiding any sideways glances from Phelps, who was undoubtedly pissed off. The group headed down the sloping grass to the courtyard in front of the Research Sciences Building. Crowds of people, students and staff, stood in clusters everywhere.
Ransom knew there was a reason the police had asked for him and not Phelps. Actually, in this case there were several reasons. He was sort of the go to guy for the Seattle police department. He was known to do good work with minimal hassle and maximum pay off. He was easy to deal with and made solid decisions. In this case there was another reason: He was good friends with Jeff Pepper, Jeff and the other fella, Mister Big Shot Computer Guy, they’d all gone to school together. Those two had been the computer guys, while Brick was the ladies man. At any rate, they were all kinda tight still. Brick had also helped each of them out in a number of delicate situations, the type that can only happen to two of the top five richest men in the world. Kidnapping threats, ransom, extortion, all were scenarios both men had had to address at one stage or another over the last ten years. They’d always come out on top.
When the police realized Jeff Pepper might in fact be in the middle of this particular crisis, they’d no doubt known there was only one man for the job: Agent Butterfingers.
Sam’s men were treating victims at the scene of the explosion and trying to find out whether an operator had been in the crane’s control cab when it went down. That would be the next, potentially gruesome bit of work they’d need to get out of the way.
The fact that the building was still at such an early stage of construction and free of landscaping had prevented the fire from spreading further than the reaches of its own fuel, but the breadth of the blaze was still massive. To someone just approaching the scene, the flames raging up through the clouds of thick, black smoke, might have looked like some sort of gas line explosion. The closest image Sam could conjure up was the long ago news footage of the raging oil wells as Saddam’s soldiers had retreated and set fire to drilling locations in the first Gulf War.
Sam had moved his base of operations from the front of the hospital to the hill overlooking the construction site. They were still determining the situation inside the building, but now he needed to keep one eye on the the incident on the lower grounds as well.
He raised a walkie-talkie and barked into the handset, “Any word on the crane operator?”
The radio crackled and hissed, then a voice hollered through the din. “Nothing yet. Anderson and Parker are talking to the crew now.”
“Ten four,” Sam responded.
A noise rose up from the crowd behind Sam as the forward most people parted ways for Mark Price, who stepped forward, a young girl beside him. It was Morgan. Sam nodded his head towards them.
“What is it?”
His friend looked grim.
“We may have a different situation on our hands here.”
“What do you mean?” Sam asked.
“This young lady says she was in the building and saw two men with firearms sealing off doors between the wings.”
Sam turned to Morgan. “Is that true?”
She nodded back. “They were in fire department uniforms.”
Sam felt a shiver. “Anyone else see this?”
Mark nodded slightly, “A few folks have mentioned seeing men in fire gear inside the building before the alarms went off. Did you guys have any inspections going on today?”
Sam shook his head. “No. And there were no calls to the station before then.”
Mark put his hand on Morgan’s shoulder. “Which area of the building were you in?”
“The health sciences wing.”
“No alarms were set off in that section,” Sam muttered.
“So there are probably still a lot of people down there.” Mark pressed the transmitter on his radio. “This is Price. Tully, take a few men and check the entrance to the Health Science Lobby.”
The radio crackled, “On our way.”
Morgan’s eyes were wide now. “What’s going on?”
“We’ll see in a minute.” Mark barked.
Sam took a deep breath, the air in his lungs catching for a moment, then wheezing out in a series of staggered gasps. He was feeling the pressure.
Mark stood, two fingers lightly pressed against his chin. His eyes darted from side to side, a nervous tick, then they locked in place, and he turned to Morgan.
“Do you know if there was anything unusual happening on campus today? Any speakers or events?”
“Yeah-” Morgan started, her eyes opening wide. “Jeff Pepper was visiting the Department of Immunology.”
“Jeff Pepper-” Mark glanced at Sam. “Why was he coming?”
“He’s been funding some big project one of the research professors has been working on.”
“What time was he supposed to arrive?” Sam asked.
“Noon.”
“The alarms went off at 12:15.” Sam said flatly.
“Shit.”
The radio on Sam shoulder crackled to life, “Chief, we have a situation here.”
“What is it?”
A pause, then the hollow voice shot through, “It looks like we have about two dozens people in a hostage situation. The doors to the lobby have been sealed, ‘bout a half dozen armed guys are standing guard.”
“Oh my God…” Morgan stammered. “My boyfriend is in there.”
Sam glanced at Morgan, then at Mark. “We have a VIP in a hostage hostage situation, and armed gunmen in a government funded research building... We’re gonna have to step things up a bit.”
“What does that mean?” Mark asked.
“I’m calling Ransom at the FBI.”
Chapter 15 - Brick Ransom
The chopper was circling in around the south end off the building, giving them a clear view of the fire down below. Whatever had set off the blaze was still churning out a thick cloud of black smoke. A construction crane was on its side, debris spread down the hill and across a roadway behind the hospital. Masses of people were spread out in an aura around the site.
Brick Ransom sat by the window, the muscles in his arms and legs growing tense with anticipation. He was suited up in what he called his SWAT equipment, but where the movies always had the letters spread out across the back and chest of the outfit, his gear was plain black. Brick was 45 years old, and as they said in the movies, he should have been “too old for this shit,” but he loved it.
The pilot’s voice came through Ransom’s earphones, “I’ll have to sweep around to the North and land on the highway. That smoke’s too thick on this side.”
Ransom nodded his head.
Twenty minutes ago he’d been at home in his kitchen, slicing onions for a tartlet he was making for dinner. Tonight was the night of the “big date” with the woman he’d been seeing. Victoria. It was seal the deal night, which called for his signature seal the deal onion tartlet. Why it worked, he didn’t know, but something about that dish, the flaky crust, the smell, the flavor. The fact that Brick, a muscular man’s man, could put together such an intricate dish, it just seemed to work. Onion tartlet was his aphrodisiac of choice, an awesome force of nature he only pulled out when he knew he was ready for the next step. No point bedding a woman he wasn’t looking to get serious with. That got too messy, and onion tartlet was just too complicated, no matter how hot the target. Plus, for a man like himself, there was always the risk of injury. Not to his heart, but to his hands. He worked fast, cutting and slicing, mincing and filleting, his hands and his eyes worked in sharp harmony, but on occasion, just as in his work, he would hit a bump and have an accident. His fingers were speckled with a series of small scars from long ago wounds, mementos of dinners and work assignments gone by. ‘Course, knives weren’t the only utensils known to cause him damage. He’d jammed his fingers in guns. Blasted his skin with handgun discharge. And he’d shot more than a few guys, all bad, and in each case, the slip of his finger on the trigger had seemed almost serendipitous, like he’d read the culprit’s mind and known the exact instant when he planned to turn the gun on the hostage, or open fire on the crowd below, and somehow he, Ransom, had popped off a round, hitting the bad guy, missing the good guys, and saving the day. No one ever suspected that he suffered from a sweaty trigger finger, but that was the case. He was working on that, but it always made him nervous. His greatest fear was being nicknamed Agent Butterfingers.
Victoria. He licked his lips, half for the woman, and half for the onion tartlet. God those things were good. One way or the other, he’d be home for dinner.
Back to the business at hand. The chopper was coming in for the approach. The pilot was scanning the area for power lines, carefully setting up the landing location.
“I’ll have you on the ground in a minute.”
Ransom glanced back at the other passengers onboard. There was Phelps, the top man at the Seattle FBI branch, perpetually dressed in a little plaid hat, with a John Waters moustache and Ed Harris features. Beside Phelps were Aftab and Murray, two guys similar to himself, dressed in the gear, ready to go into action. They were the action men, G-men with muscles and cool clothes. Then there was Brick Ransom himself, part action man, part negotiator, part improvisational decision maker. He liked to think of himself as MacGyver. He didn’t tell people that. They’d laugh.
Then they were on the ground. A group of police officers headed up the lawn to greet them as the FBI contingent disembarked. The first officer stepped up, shouting over the spinning rotor blades.
“I’m Officer Gridley! Which one of you is in charge here?”
Phelps stepped forward. “Agent Phelps, Seattle FBI.”
The officer looked at Phelps blankly.
“Which one of you is Brick Ransom?”
Brick stepped stepped forward, “I’m Agent Ransom.”
“Follow me please, sir!”
Brick stared straight ahead, avoiding any sideways glances from Phelps, who was undoubtedly pissed off. The group headed down the sloping grass to the courtyard in front of the Research Sciences Building. Crowds of people, students and staff, stood in clusters everywhere.
Ransom knew there was a reason the police had asked for him and not Phelps. Actually, in this case there were several reasons. He was sort of the go to guy for the Seattle police department. He was known to do good work with minimal hassle and maximum pay off. He was easy to deal with and made solid decisions. In this case there was another reason: He was good friends with Jeff Pepper, Jeff and the other fella, Mister Big Shot Computer Guy, they’d all gone to school together. Those two had been the computer guys, while Brick was the ladies man. At any rate, they were all kinda tight still. Brick had also helped each of them out in a number of delicate situations, the type that can only happen to two of the top five richest men in the world. Kidnapping threats, ransom, extortion, all were scenarios both men had had to address at one stage or another over the last ten years. They’d always come out on top.
When the police realized Jeff Pepper might in fact be in the middle of this particular crisis, they’d no doubt known there was only one man for the job: Agent Butterfingers.