The Hypnotist

SIXTY-FOUR

As Olshling explained the instructions he’d received, Lucian listened, and at the same time became aware of a commotion across the room as three-no, four-men pushed their way through the crowd. Each wore a hood and black mask.

Instinctively Lucian reached for his gun but instead pulled out his cell phone. There were too many of them. Just one of him. He needed backup. Before he could hit the key to connect him to headquarters a fifth hooded man came up beside him, knocked his phone out of his hand and kicked it away. From behind, one of the others knocked Lucian to the ground. As he scrambled to his feet, Lucian saw around each attacker’s waist a wide belt decorated with a half-dozen metal cylinders connected with red detonation cords.

The shortest of the human bombs grabbed the microphone from Weil and started shouting out instructions to the crowd. His voice had a flat, distinct Midwest twang.

“Do as I say and no one will be hurt. Stop moving. Just stop moving and stand still. The doors are sealed. The only way you’re getting out is if we let you go.”

At first he was shouting over the crowd’s panic but they grew quiet quickly.

“Any movement and we’ll set off our fireworks.” The lead terrorist patted his belt. Neoprene gloves made his thick fingers look like fat sausages. “No calls.”

Petrified and panicked, the guests stilled. There was no sound from any of them for a few seconds, and then a cry broke the stillness. It was a child. A little girl’s wail, high-pitched and plaintive. Lucian scanned the room trying to pinpoint its source.

Larry Talbot, the ringleader, turned away from the microphone and spoke directly to Olshling. “Get on your radio and instruct your security force to leave the building. Once they’re outside, they can call the police or the FBI or God and tell them what’s going on. But if anyone even attempts to approach this museum we’ll light it up like a kid’s birthday cake. We have men on every corner outside and at strategic points in the park and in your garage. If my team spots a single cop car or fire engine or ambulance in the vicinity, we’ll blow this space to kingdom come.”

Olshling nodded.

“Do it, then.” The leader turned back to the microphone and barked out more instructions to the frightened crowd.

“Cooperate and nobody gets hurt. But if you don’t…” He gestured emphatically to his corset of explosives.

From some corner, the little girl continued to cry, the sound rising above all the others.

“Now, take out your cell phones. Slowly. We’re going to collect them. Needless to say, any attempt at heroics will be plain stupid. Like signing a death warrant. Understand?”

No one spoke, or even moved.

“Excellent…now take out your phones.”

The leader was wearing blue jeans and sturdy work boots. Lucian filed away these small identifying aspects so he’d be able to describe him later. Assuming there would be a later.

After checking on Olshling, who was doing as ordered in a voice he was working hard to keep steady, the terrorist turned to Tyler Weil. “The only way to protect this place and these people is to do exactly what we tell you to do. You’re in charge, so this is up to you. Do you understand?”

“What do you want?” Weil asked. There was a touch of defiance in his voice.

“Do you understand?”

Lucian answered for Weil. “Yes, he understands.”

Talbot focused on Lucian, who looked right into the man’s brown eyes. They gave away nothing. Lucian pressed his arm against his Glock. There were too many people in the gallery to use the gun, too many terrorists, too many unknowns. But there would come a moment when it would be time to act. And he’d be ready.

Olshling switched off his radio.

“You done?” the leader asked.

“Yes.”

“They understood?”

“Yes, but if you-” Olshling said nervously.

“Just answer the fucking question that I’m asking. They understood everything?”

“Yes.”

From out of the crowd one of the other hooded men struggled toward the podium dragging Nina Keyes with him. A little girl was holding her hand but Nina was trying to break the child’s grip and push her away.

“Veronica, don’t stay with me. Let go. Run.”

“No.” The little girl shook her head, and the brown curls bobbed violently.

“Baby, I want you to go.” Nina was frantic.

“I won’t…I won’t leave you,” she cried.

This had to be the child Lucian had heard crying. Her little face was filled with fear but with determination, too.

Nina was still trying to pull her hand out of the child’s viselike grip, but Veronica held tight to her grandmother and wouldn’t leave her side.

It’s as if she thinks she can save the older woman’s life, Lucian thought.

The man dragging Nina took the suicide belt off his own waist and strapped it around hers.

“What are you doing?” She tried to resist.

“Shut up!” he shouted.

The brute was putting explosives on Nina? Lucian’s insides tightened as he realized what these men were planning.

Just then the largest of the masked men arrived at the staging area hauling two women with him as if they were garbage: Deborah Mitchell, with tears streaming down her cheeks, and Marie Grimshaw, whose lips were set into a slash of anger as she cursed her handler with a string of invectives. The man spat. She screeched more foul language. Letting go of her for a moment, the man slapped Marie so hard she fell into Deborah, who tumbled onto the hard floor. When the younger woman started audibly crying, the terrorist kicked her, shouting at her to shut up. When she didn’t, the bully kicked Deborah again, and then kicked at Marie. “Get up, both of you. Now.”

Lucian found the abuse impossible to watch without taking action but he had to hold back until he could have an effect.

Taking off his suicide belt, the brute buckled it around Marie’s waist. The lead terrorist removed his and strapped it on Deborah. A fourth terrorist delivered two more hostages. Unbuckling his belt, he wrapped it around Emeline Jacobs’s middle. It was too big and he had to tie it, violently pulling it tighter than necessary, so it would stay. The diamonds in her ears glinted with each tremble of her slim body as she withstood his ministrations without making a sound. Andre Jacobs just stood there, by her side, weeping silent tears from his rheumy eyes as he watched, helpless and frail.

A rush of conflicting emotions broke over Lucian, too complicated for the time and the place.

“Don’t any of you know how to count, for fuck’s sake? Five belts. Five hostages.” The ringleader screamed at his men. “Why drag this old man up here?”

Up till now everything had been brilliantly executed, but here was a snafu. An innocuous mistake for sure, but maybe, Lucian thought, there was a way to take advantage of the momentary distraction. Thinking, planning, he looked from each of the hooded men to each of the women who’d been transformed into a human bomb. From Marie Grimshaw, to Nina Keyes, to Veronica and to Deborah Mitchell, all he saw in their eyes was terror.

Emeline alone looked strong. She was looking at him, and in her eyes he saw determination and faith-faith in him.

“Now-” Talbot turned to Weil “-you’re going to help us take what we came for out of here. Or else we’ll step outside-” he pointed to the exit doors “-and before you can say boo or unbuckle a single belt, we’ll detonate the explosives…” He pointed at the women and the child. “One lovely lady at a time.”