Hostage (2001) (35 page)

'JANE!'

The Watchman came back on the line.

'You heard her, Talley. Now take care of my people and get them set up.'

The line went dead. Talley was left shaking and sweating. He pressed star 69, trying to call back, but nothing happened. Jane was gone. The Watchman was gone. Talley shook so badly he felt drunk. He got himself together. He put away the phone. He drove back to the house.

Chapter
22

Saturday, 12:03 A. M.

When Dennis went back into the house, Mars didn't say anything, but Kevin started on him right away.

'What did he say? Did he offer a deal?'

Dennis felt dull; not desperate anymore, or even very frightened. He was confused. He didn't understand how Talley could turn down so much money unless Talley didn't believe him. Maybe Talley thought he was lying about how much money was in the house just as Talley had lied to him about the house belonging to mobsters.

'What happened, Dennis? Did he give us an ultimatum?'

The girl was on her hands and knees on the kitchen floor, staring at him.

'Is your old man in the mob?'

'What are you talking about?'

He could tell that the girl didn't know a goddamned thing. It was all stupid. He was stupid just for asking.

'Mars. Get her out of here. Take her back to her room.'

Dennis went to the office for the vodka, then brought it to the den, drinking on the way. The lights came on as he dropped onto the thick leather couch.

Kevin stopped in the door.

'Are you going to tell me what happened?'

'I shouldn't have told him about the money. Now he's gonna keep it all for himself.'

'He said that?'

'I tried to cut him in. What the fuck, it's a lot of cash, I thought we could buy our way out. See, that was my mistake. Once I told him how much money we had, he probably started thinking he could keep it for himself. Fuck that. If we don't escape, I'm telling everybody. All three of us will tell them about the cash, so if Talley tries to keep it they'll nail his ass.'

Dennis pulled deeper at the bottle, his mouth numb to it, angry at that bastard, Talley, for stealing his money.

'He's gonna kill us, Kev. We're fucked.'

'That's crazy. He's not going to kill us.'

Kevin was so fuckin' stupid.

'He's got to kill us, you idiot. He can't let us tell people about the money. The only way he can keep it is if nobody knows about it. He's probably gonna cap all three of us before they even read our rights. He's probably plannin' how to do it right now.'

Kevin came over and stood by the couch, crowding him.

'It's over, Dennis. We have to give up.'

'Fuck it's over! That money is mine!'

Dennis felt his anger building, and drank more of the vodka. That had always been Kevin's role in life, to hold him back, dragging behind him like an anchor, keeping him down.

Kevin stepped closer.

'You're going to get us all killed for that money. Talley's not playing games. The cops are going to get tired of waiting for us to give up, then we'll all be fuckin' killed!'

Dennis raised the bottle, and shrugged.

'Then we might as well die rich.'

'No!'

Kevin slapped the bottle from his hand, and then Dennis was off the couch. Dennis felt out of himself, his head a red blur of rage and frustration. He shoved Kevin over the coffee table and followed him down. Kevin grunted with the impact and tried to cover his face, but Dennis held him with his left hand and punched with his right, hitting his brother again and again.

'Dennis, stop!'

He hit Kevin as hard as he could.

'Stop crying, goddamnit!'

He hit Kevin harder.

'Stop crying!'

Kevin rolled into a ball, his face blotched red, sobbing. Dennis hated him. He hated their father and their mother, hated all the rathole apartments and the brutal assholes their mother had brought home, hated his shitty job and the Ant Farm and every day of their failed lives, but most of all he hated Kevin for reminding him of these things every time he looked at him.

'You're fuckin' pathetic.'

Dennis climbed to his feet, breathless and spent.

'That money is mine. I'm not leaving without it, Kevin. Get that in your head. We're not giving up.'

Kevin crawled away, whimpering like a beaten dog.

Dennis picked up the bottle, and saw Mars standing in the door, watching without expression. Dennis wanted to hit Mars, too, the sonofabitch.

'What? You got something to say?'

Mars did not respond, the shadows in the dim light masking his eyes.

'What?'

Mars responded somberly.

'I like it here, Dennis. We're not going to leave.'

'Fuckin' A we're not.'

The vague smile flickered at Mars's lips, the only part of him that Dennis could see.

'We're going to be fine, Dennis. I'll take care of everything.'

Dennis turned away and sucked down another belt of the vodka.

'You do that, Mars.'

Mars melted into the darkness and disappeared.

Dennis burped. Creepy bastard.

Quiet settled over York Estates. The traffic on Flanders Road had thinned; the line of cars filled with the morbid gawkers who wanted a brush with crime was gone, leaving the California Highway Patrol motor officers who were manning the barricades with nothing to do. Inside the development, the Sheriffs sat in their cars or at their posts. No one talked. Everyone waited.

Talley pulled his car to the curb outside Mrs. Pena's home and cut the engine. He looked at the command van. With nothing going on at the house, Maddox and Ellison would have pulled back to the van to alternate shifts on the phone, the off negotiator catching a catnap in the van's bunk or the backseat of a car. Talley was tired. The center of his back between his shoulder blades was knotted with a pronounced pain that cut into his spine. His head felt cloudy from more than fatigue, leaving him to mistrust his thinking. He wasn't a kid anymore.

Talley went inside for a cup of black coffee, but returned to his car. Three of the CHiPs and two sheriffs were in Mrs. Pena's kitchen, but he didn't want to talk. He sat on the curb with the Nokia and his own phone beside him. He sipped the coffee, thinking about Amanda and Jane, seeing them seated together on a couch in the anonymous room where they were held, seeing them alive, seeing them unharmed, seeing them safe. Imagining them that way helped.

Talley's radio popped at his waist.

'Chief, Cooper.'

'Go, Coop.'

'Ah, I'm here at the south gate. We got some FBI guys asking for you.'

Talley didn't answer. He worked at breathing. He stared at the Sheriff's command van and the line of police cars lining the street and the officers moving among them, feeling frightened and unsure. He was about to lie to them. It would be like letting the enemy into the camp. It would be lying to these people who were here to help him and help the people in that house.

'Chief? They say you're expecting them.'

'Let them in.'

Talley walked up the street to the corner. He didn't know what to expect and wanted to meet them alone, away from everyone else. He stood beneath a street lamp so they would stop in its light. He wanted to see them.

Two gray Econoline vans eased to the corner, four men in the lead van, two in the rear. Talley raised his hand, stopping them. Both vans pulled to the curb and cut their engines. The men inside had short haircuts and were wearing black tactical fatigues, standard issue for FBI tactical units. One of the men in the back wore a ball cap that read FBI.

The driver said, 'You Talley?'

'Yes.'

The man on the passenger side of the lead van got out and came around the nose of the van. He was taller than Talley and muscular. He looked the part: Black tac fatigues, jump boots, buzzed hair. A black pistol hung beneath his left arm in a ballistic holster.

He stopped in front of Talley, glanced up the street at the Sheriffs, then turned back to Talley.

'Okay, Chief, let me see some ID. I want to be sure who I'm talking to.'

Talley lifted his sweatshirt enough to show his badge.

'I don't give a shit about that. Show me a picture.'

Talley took out his wallet and showed the photo ID. When he was satisfied, he took out his own badge case and opened it for Talley to see.

'Okay, here's mine. My name is Special Agent Jones.'

Talley inspected an FBI credential that identified the man as William F. Jones, Special Agent of the Federal Bureau of Investigation. It showed a photograph of Jones. It looked real.

'Don't sweat anyone asking for our papers. Every man in my group has the ID.'

'Are you all named Jones?'

Jones snapped the case closed and put it away.

'Don't be funny, Chief. You can't afford it.'

He slapped the nose of the lead van, nodding at the driver. The doors of both vans opened. The remaining five men stepped out, moving to the rear of the second van. Like Jones, they looked the part down to the haircuts. They strapped into armored vests with FBI emblazoned on the back.

Jones said, 'In a few minutes your phone is going to ring. You know the phone I mean. So let's get some stuff straight before that. Are you paying attention?'

Talley was watching the men. They strapped on the vests, then snapped on new thigh guards with practiced efficiency. Someone at the rear of the second van passed out black knit masks, flash-bang grenades, and helmets. Each man folded the mask twice and tucked it under his left shoulder strap where he could reach it easily later. They clipped the grenades to their harnesses without fumbling and tossed their helmets into the seats or balanced them atop the van. Talley knew the moves, because he had practiced them himself when he worked SWAT Tactical. These men had done this before.

'I'm paying attention. You used to be a cop.'

'Don't worry about what I used to be. You've got other stuff to worry about.'

Talley looked at him.

'How can you people expect this to work? The Sheriffs have a full crisis response team here. They're going to be pissed off and they're going to have questions.'

'I can handle the Sheriffs and anything else that comes up. What's my name?'

Talley didn't know what in hell he wanted.

'What?'

'I asked you my name. You just saw my commission slip. What's my fucking name?'

'Jones.'

'All right. I'm Special Agent Jones. Think of me that way and you won't fuck up. I can lift my end, you got a wife and kid praying you can lift yours.'

Talley's head throbbed. His neck was so tight that it burned, but he managed a nod.

Jones turned so that they both faced the line of vehicles.

'Who's in charge there?'

'Martin. She's a captain.'

'You told her about us yet?'

'No. I didn't know what to say.'

'Good, that's better for us. The less time she has to ask questions, the better. Now, the man on the phone, you know who I mean, did he tell you how we're going to cover this?'

'Smith is in witness protection.'

'Right, Smith is in the program so we have a proprietary interest. What's my name again?'

Talley flashed with anger and fought to control it. Everything seemed out of control and surreal, standing there in the purple street light, moths ticking and snapping into the glass, with these cops who weren't cops.

'Jones. Your name is Jones. I wish I knew your fucking real name.'

'Keep it tight, Chief. We gotta work together here. I'm in charge of a special operations unit that was working training exercises on the border with the Customs Service when Washington learned what was happening here. The D.C. office called you, explained the situation, and asked for your cooperation. We owe Smith, we're obligated to protect him and his cover, so you agreed. I'm going to explain all this to Captain Martin, and all you're going to do is sit there and nod. You got that?'

'I've got it.'

'Martin won't like it, having us here, but she'll go along because what we're telling her makes sense.'

'What if she checks? What if she knows people in the LA office?'

'It's after midnight on a Friday night. She phones LA, all she'll get is a duty agent, and he'll have to check with someone else, which he won't want to do. Even if she calls the agent in charge in Los Angeles and wakes him, he'll wait until tomorrow to call D.C., because none of these people, not one, will have any reason to doubt us. We're not gonna be here that long.'

Jones handed Talley a white business card with the FBI seal pressed into the left corner and a phone number with a Washington, D.C., area code.