Hostage

25

Saturday, 2:41 A.M.

TALLEY

The heavy bullet from Talley’s combat pistol bounced Dennis Rooney off the wall, leaving a gory smear of blood. Talley planted a knee in Rooney’s chest and knocked away his gun, but this time Rooney was dead. Talley listened for the sound of Jones’s team coming up the stairs, but he couldn’t hear anything over the crackling, snapping sound of the fire.

He radioed Mikkelson.

“You got the kids?”

“We heard shots!”

“Do you have the kids?”

“Yes, sir. They’re safe.”

“The FBI agents took out a wounded man. Three of them went to their van.”

“Ah, roger. We saw that.”

Talley’s mind raced. He had taken the offensive, and now he had to finish the assault. Time was his enemy. He had to take the fight to the Watchman and press his advantage.

“Get Jorgenson and Cooper. If Larry’s back, get him, too. Arrest them. Strip their radios and cell phones, cuff them, and don’t let them communicate with anyone.”

“Ah, arrest the FBI?”

“They’re not FBI. Arrest them, Mikki. They are armed and dangerous, so you watch your ass. Have someone bring them to the jail, but do not-I repeat, do not-let them talk to anyone: no phone calls, no press, no lawyers, nothing. Don’t tell anyone about this. Do you understand?”

“Ah, sure, Chief.”

“Stand by.”

Everything now depended on speed. The Watchman might learn that his people were being arrested, but his information would be spotty and incomplete; he wouldn’t know what had happened or why, so he wouldn’t act against Jane and Amanda until he knew the details. Talley was counting on that. He was betting his family on it. If Talley had any hope of saving his family, he had to do it before the Watchman knew what he was doing.

Talley pushed the disks under his vest and ran to the stairwell. The fire in the entry had jumped to the stairs and was climbing the walls. The smoke was a twisting orange haze. Talley crept down the stairs with his eyes on the office, then crossed to the door just as one of Jones’s men stepped out. Talley aimed at his face, touching his own lips to motion the man quiet, then stripped his pistol and MP5. Talley handcuffed him and pushed him into the office.

Jones was frantically searching the floor around the desk, his flashlight beam dim in the haze; the drawers had been pulled, their contents scattered. The second man was stripping books from the shelves. They both looked up when Talley pushed the first man to the floor.

Talley trained his gun on them. He no longer felt the fire’s heat; he was so amped on adrenaline and fear that he was totally focused on the two men in front of him.

“Hands on your heads, lace your fingers, turn around with your backs to me.”

Jones said, “What the fuck are you doing?”

The second man swung his MP5, but Talley squared him with a round, the heavy .45 punching through his vest. Talley had fired ten thousand practice rounds a year every year on the LAPD’s combat training range when he was with SWAT. He didn’t have to think about it.

Talley brought his gun back to Jones.

“Lace your fingers. Now!”

Jones raised his hands, then slowly turned. He laced his fingers over the top of his head.

“You’re fucking up, Talley. They’ve got your family.”

Talley stripped the second man of his weapons, never taking his gun from Jones. He tossed the weapons to the side, checked the pulse in the man’s neck, then went to Jones. He took his pistol and MP5, tossed them with the others, then ripped the power cord from Smith’s computer. He forced Jones onto his belly, then pulled his hands behind his back. He pressed the gun to Jones’s neck.

“Move, I’ll fucking kill you.”

Talley planted his knee in the small of Jones’s back, then tied his wrists. He wanted to get Jones out of the house, but he didn’t want to do it on television. He keyed his radio.

“Mikki?”

“Jesus, Chief, are you all right? We heard more shots.”

“Have the firemen move in, then roll your car to the back of the house on Flanders Road. Meet me there.”

Talley knew that the television cameras would be trained on the firefighters. He wanted everyone’s attention on the front of the house, not the rear. He didn’t want the Watchman seeing this on television.

“What’s going on?”

“Do it!”

Talley pushed Jones and the surviving man to the rear of the house. The fire was consuming the house; wallpaper was peeling off the walls and chunks of drywall fell from the hall ceiling. When they reached the French doors, Talley changed his radio to the Sheriff’s command frequency and told the officers on the back wall to kill their lights. The backyard plunged into darkness. Talley pushed the two men outside and hustled them straight to the wall. When the Sheriff’s sergeant-supervisor saw that Talley had two FBI agents bound, he said, “What the fuck’s going on?”

“Help me get these guys over.”

Mikkelson and Dreyer were climbing out of their car by the time Talley jumped to the ground.

The SWAT officers stared at Jones and the other man. Here they were, the backs of their vests blazoned with a huge white FBI, cuffed and dragged over the wall. The sergeant again asked Talley what was happening, but Talley ignored him.

“Martin’s inside. The second floor. She’s been shot.”

Talley got the response he wanted. The SWAT cops poured over the wall and rushed toward the house.

Talley shoved his prisoners toward Mikkelson’s car.

Jones said, “You’re finished, Talley.”

“I’m not the guy with his hands tied.”

“You know what he’s going to do, don’t you? You understand that?”

“I’ve got the disks, you motherfucker. We’ll see how much your boss wants them now.”

When Mikkelson saw the two FBI agents, she pooched out her lips in confusion.

“Jesus. Did I miss something here?”

“These people aren’t FBI.”

Talley pushed the first man into the backseat of their car, then shoved Jones against the fender.

“Where are they?”

“I don’t know. I’m not part of that.”

“Then where is he?”

“I don’t know.”

“What’s his name?”

“It doesn’t work like that, Talley. He’s a voice on the phone.”

Talley searched Jones’s pockets as he spoke, and found Jones’s cell phone. He pressed star 69, but nothing happened.

“Shit!”

He pushed the cell phone in Jones’s face.

“What’s his number?”

“I don’t know any more than you.”

Talley kneed him in the stomach.

Dreyer said, “Holy shit.”

Talley slammed Jones into the car.

“You fucking well know his number!”

“I want to talk to an attorney.”

Talley kneed him again, doubling Jones over. Mikkelson and Dreyer squirmed uneasily.

“Ah, Chief …”

“These bastards have my family.”

Talley cocked the .45 and pressed it into Jones’s cheek.

“We’re talking about my wife and daughter, you sonofabitch. You think I won’t kill you?”

Talley wasn’t on Flanders Road anymore; he had stepped into the Zone. It was a place of white noise where emotions reigned and reason was meager. Anger and rage were nonstop tickets; panic was an express. He had been all day coming to this, and here he was: The SWAT guys used to talk about it. You went to the Zone, you lost your edge. You’d lose your career; you’d get yourself killed, or, worse, somebody else.

Talley bent Jones backward across the trunk of the car. He had to reach the Watchman, and this man knew how. He didn’t have time to wait for the Watchman to call. He needed the Watchman off guard. Time was his enemy.

“He calls me. Just like with you.”

Talley’s head throbbed. He told himself to shoot the sonofabitch, put one in his shoulder joint and make him scream. Mikkelson’s voice came from far away.

“Chief?”

The white noise cleared and Talley stepped back from the Zone. He lowered his gun. He wasn’t like them.

Jones glanced away. Talley thought he seemed embarrassed.

“I don’t call him. He calls me, just like with you. That’s how they stay safe. Just hang on to the phone. He’ll call.”

Talley stared at Jones’s phone, then dropped it to the street and crushed it. He had the Nokia, but if it rang, he would not answer it. If the Watchman placed the call, the Watchman would expect him to answer. Talley didn’t want to do what the Watchman expected.

“Put him in a cell with the others.”

Everything seemed like it was ending even before it began. He couldn’t stop now. Once you breached the structure, you pressed on until the end. If you stopped, you died.

Smith would know. They trusted Smith with their closest secrets. It had all come back to Smith again.

“Where are the kids?”

“Cooper has them with the paramedics. They’re okay. We finally got the mother, Chief. She’s flying back from Florida.”

“Tell Cooper to meet me at the hospital. Tell him to bring the children.”

Talley wiped the smoke from his eyes as he looked back at the house. The fire was eating its way through the roof. Tongues of flame lapped beneath the eaves even as silver rainbows of water arced over the house. Talley could smell the fire on his skin and in his clothes. He smelled like a funeral pyre.

KEN SEYMORE

Seymore was trading Adderall for cold dim sum with a news crew from Los Angeles when a string of dull pops snapped from the direction of the house. The Los Angeles remote producer, a skinny kid with a goatee and no life experience, stopped his discourse on news selection as a political vehicle.

“What was that?”

Ken Seymore recognized the sound right away: gunfire.

Seymore knew that Howell hadn’t launched the breach, because Howell would have told him. He trotted to the nearest news van to find out what was happening. The tech there monitored a police scanner tuned to the Sheriff’s tactical frequency.

“You guys get anything on that?”

The tech waved him silent. He listened to the scanner with a bug in his ear, because their news director didn’t want anyone else to hear.

“They called up the fire company. The goddamned house is on fire.”

“What was the shooting?”

“That was gunfire?”

“Hell, yes.”

The tech waved Seymore quiet again and tuned his receiver, working through the frequencies.

“The SWAT team went in. Shit, they got casualties. It sounds like they got the kids. Yeah, the kids are coming out.”

The technician pulled the plug from his ear and shouted for his producer.

A heavy column of smoke rose into the light from the helicopters, and then another string of pops echoed over the neighborhood.

Seymore took out his phone.

GLEN HOWELL

The local stations resumed live coverage because of the fire. Flames lapped from the windows on the left side of the house, but the fire at the rear, back by the pool, was going pretty good. Fire crews hosed the roof and shadows ran along the perimeter, but the aerial shot was so murky that Howell couldn’t tell who was who or what was happening, just that everything was going to hell.

“You sure Jones’s people got hit?”

“They said it was FBI, so it hadda be Jones’s guys. We’re getting this shit off the scanner.”

“They get the disks?”

“I don’t know. It’s happening right now; no one’s talking to us.”

“Why the fuck did they go in?”

“I thought you gave’m the green light.”

“It wasn’t me.”

“Hang on a sec; there’s more traffic on the scanner. Okay, they’re saying two FBI agents came out and both kids. The kids are out.”

Howell tried to stay calm.

“Who’s in the fuckin’ house?”

“I don’t know.”

“Is Jones still in the goddamned house?”

“I don’t know.”

“Where’s Talley?”

“I don’t know.”

“You’re paid to know, goddamnit. That’s why you’re there.”

Howell broke the connection, then punched in Jones’s number. The phone rang once, then a computer voice came on telling him that the user had left the service area or turned off his phone. Howell called Martin. He let her phone ring fifteen times, and finally hung up.

“Fuck!”

He dialed Talley’s number and listened to the Nokia ring. He let it ring twenty times, and then he snapped his phone shut so hard he thought he might have broken it.

TALLEY

Talley rolled code three all the way to the hospital. He beat Cooper, arriving a few minutes after three A.M. The parking lot was almost deserted; the remaining press camped by the emergency room entrance. Talley parked at the side of the hospital to avoid them, but got out of the car because sitting was difficult. He leaned against the door with his arms crossed, watching the street, then realized he was still wearing the bullet-resistant vest and the radio. He took them off and tossed them into the backseat. He found the Nokia, and dropped it onto the front seat.

The Nokia rang.

Talley hesitated in the door of the car, thinking the Watchman had finally heard about the house. He stared at the ringing phone as if he was hiding from it, as if any movement might draw the Watchman’s eye and the Watchman would somehow know that Talley was there. Talley should have turned the goddamned thing off. He wanted the Watchman to wonder.

Talley felt his chest tighten, and realized that he had stopped breathing. The phone stopped ringing as Cooper turned into the parking lot. Talley took a breath, then raised his hand, but Cooper was already turning toward him.

Talley watched carefully as Thomas and Jennifer got out of Cooper’s car. They looked pale and tired, and their eyes were anxious with apprehension. Talley knew that they might seem fine now in the initial elation of being released, but later there could be nightmares, flashbacks, and other symptoms of post-traumatic stress disorder. Jennifer reminded him of Amanda all over again. Talley felt himself lifted by such a swell of feeling that he wanted to both cry and hug them, but he only let himself smile.

Jennifer said, “Are we going to see our father?”

“That’s right. Did Officer Cooper tell you about your mother? We spoke with her in Florida. She’s flying back now.”

They beamed. Jennifer actually said, “Yay.”

Talley put out his hand.

“We didn’t really meet before. My name is Jeff Talley.”

“I’m Jennifer Smith. Thank you for what you did.”

She shook his hand firmly, her smile blinding. Thomas shook his hand as if it were serious business. They stood so close together that their arms touched, and both children stood very close to him. He knew that this was normal. He was the man who had saved them.

“It’s good to finally meet you, Thomas. You were a big help. You were very brave. You both were.”

“Thank you, Chief. You’re really dirty.”

Jennifer rolled her eyes, and Cooper laughed.

Talley glanced at his hands. They were streaked with soot and sweat, as was his face.

“I guess I am. I haven’t had time to clean up.”

Jennifer said, “He can be so rude. You should look at yourself, Thomas. You’ve got ash on your nose.”

Thomas rubbed at his nose, but his eyes never left Talley.

“Is our daddy okay?”

“He’s doing better. Let’s go see him.”

Talley brought them through the side entrance. He held their hands, letting go only to badge an orderly who led them through the hospital to the emergency room. Everyone they passed stared at them. Talley knew that it was only a matter of time before word spread to the press that the chief of police had brought the hostage children to their father. When the press knew, the Watchman would know.

Talley refused to bring the children through the ER admitting area. The orderly led them past the hospital laboratory along a hall that the ER personnel used to bring samples to the lab. Klaus and Reese were no longer present, but a nurse that Talley recognized from before stopped them.

“You’re the Chief, aren’t you? May I help you?”

“I’m bringing the Smith children to see their father.”

“I’d better get Dr. Reese.”

“Fine, you go get her. We’ll be in the room.”

Talley found Smith’s room without waiting. He thought that Smith would be sleeping, but Smith was staring at the ceiling, his eyes blinking. He was still wired to the monitors.

Jennifer said, “Daddy?”

Smith lifted his head enough to see, and then his face registered surprise and elation.

The kids ran to him, both to the side of the bed without wires, and hugged their father. Talley waited in the door, giving them a moment, then entered and stood at the end of the bed. Jennifer cried, her face buried in her father’s chest. The little boy wiped at his eyes and asked if it hurt.

Talley watched. Smith wrapped his arm around Jennifer and held Thomas’s arm. He looked up past them, met Talley’s eyes, then hugged his children tighter.

“Thank God you’re all right. You’re all right, aren’t you? You’re okay?”

“Mommy’s coming home.”

Talley stepped up behind Jennifer.

“We reached your wife. She’s in the air now.”

Smith met Talley’s eyes again, then looked away.

Talley said, “Your family is safe.”

Smith nodded, still not looking at him.

“What happened to the three men?”

“They’re dead.”

Thomas pulled at his father’s arm.

“Daddy, our house is on fire. We almost burned.”

Thomas jerked his father’s arm again, then coughed a great shuddering sob and buried his face in his father’s stomach. It was all coming out now, all of Thomas’s tension and fear. Smith stroked his son’s hair.

“It’s okay, partner. It’s okay. You’re safe. That’s all that’s important.”

Talley waited until the boy had calmed, then squeezed Jennifer’s shoulder.

“Could you guys wait in the hall for a second? I need to talk to your dad.”

Smith glanced up, then nodded to send his children to the hall. Jennifer took Thomas’s hand and led him outside. Smith took a deep breath, let it out, then looked up.

“Thank you.”

Talley took out the two disks.

Smith stared at them, then looked away again.

“Did you tell my kids?”

“No. They’ll have questions. Thomas helped me get them. He opened them on his computer.”

“It wouldn’t mean anything to him.”

“He’ll wonder. He’s going to ask sooner or later.”

Smith sighed again.

“Shit.”

“Those are good kids you got there. That little boy, Thomas, he’s something else.”

Smith closed his eyes.

Talley watched Smith, wondering if there was anything he could say to get this man to help him. He had negotiated with hundreds of subjects, and that was the game: Figure out what they needed to hear and say it; find their buttons and push them. All of that seemed beyond Talley now. He didn’t know what to say. He glanced over at Thomas and Jennifer standing in the hall, and felt a pain so deep and pure that he thought it might break him. If he could just get Jane and Amanda back, he would never let them go.

He patted Smith’s arm.

“I don’t know where you come from or what you’ve done in your life, but you’d better do right by those kids. You’ve got your family now, Smith. They’re safe. Help me get mine.”

Smith blinked hard at the ceiling. He shook his head, then closed his eyes tight. He took another deep breath, then looked past Talley to his own children.

“Shit.”

“Yeah. Shit.”

Smith looked at him. Smith’s eyes were wet.

“If you’ve got the disks, you’ve got everything. You can put them all away.”

“Who has my family?”

“That would be Glen Howell. He was coming to the house today. He’s Benza’s man on the scene.” Talley touched his wrist.

“Gold Rolex here? Dark tan?” Smith nodded.

Talley was getting excited. He had something now. He was close by the door and ready to breach.

“Okay, Smith. Okay. Glen Howell. He’s been calling me, but now I need to call him. How do I reach him?”

Smith gave him Howell’s phone number.