Hostage Taker (38 page)

E
ve’s team made it in and fanned out. Eli snuck in first; he took a seat front row and center. Eve went to the left. García went right. Haddox and Mace stayed deep inside the crush of people.

The room was overflowing, packed beyond capacity. The mayor walked to the center of the makeshift stage and gripped his hands on the lectern. An audience of exhausted faces clapped. This wasn’t exactly a victory celebration—but the crisis had ended. The collective relief was palpable.

Who are we looking for?
Mace’s voice crackled in Eve’s headset.

“Anyone who might disrupt the moment,” she replied. “We need to cover all the angles.”

Henry Ma joined the mayor on his right, all smiles and handshakes. He was accompanied by Monsignor Geve and another Church representative Eve had not met.

You sure something’s about to go down, Eve?
Mace demanded.

“Believe me, I hope I’m wrong,” she replied tersely.

More political officials walked to the front of the room, taking their positions near the mayor. She recognized the deputy mayor. The NYPD police commissioner. An interpreter for the hearing-impaired. The five former hostages—the four they’d rescued, in addition to the boy who’d been released—were in the place of honor to the mayor’s left. The witnesses filed in, finding space to the mayor’s far right.

Again, Eve tried to build an image of the person she was looking for. The demand for witnesses had been bizarre. Had he really wanted only to shame the men and women that he’d summoned? And the selection of hostages was worrisome. With little or no provocation, he had killed those who had sinned the most. The hostage-taking had involved a huge risk—and tremendous planning—but with no real reward.

Since the end game still didn’t make sense, she couldn’t relax.

Every seat was taken. The walls were lined with people who spilled into the parlor room next door. The camera crews had muscled their way to the front, taping microphones and recording equipment to the front edge of the dining room table. All the usual suspects were represented: NBC. CBS. ABC. CNN. Fox. Not to mention the local stations.

The lights turned on and cameras flashed.

A junior face initiated the briefing—a young official in uniform with spit-shined shoes. “Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for coming. This is a briefing from the mayor’s office, not a press conference. That will come later, after the governor arrives.” He began stating the facts, but was immediately interrupted with a barrage of questions.

He answered none of them—merely nodded and smiled and sidestepped the issues in a slightly patronizing manner. Then he introduced the mayor.

There were murmurs that went silent the moment the mayor started talking. He thanked everyone involved. He reiterated how Albany and Washington, D.C., were grateful, too.

Candles flickered. Too many people were cramming themselves closer to the mayor. Trying to see better, hear better, feel more part of the gathering.

A group of people in the parlor room next door had knelt down and appeared deep in prayer.

“See anything yet?” Eve asked.

Nothing here,
Mace drawled.

Or here,
Eli said.

Haddox concurred.

Eve started tapping her foot, her earpiece pressed so hard against her ear that it ached.

How long was this going to take?

The mayor was certain to talk for at least fifteen minutes—and that was assuming he didn’t turn the microphone over to Henry, or the Tactical Ops director, or someone from the Church. Or all three of them.

She couldn’t just stand there, helpless. Not while a teenage girl was being held captive—and a final threat loomed.

She studied the faces in the front rows. Then those crammed by the walls. What did she
see
?

There were clear-skinned, attentive faces. Lined, weathered faces. Bored faces—stiff as a piece of cardboard. Not one of them suspicious.

She felt for her Glock, confirmed it was in position, and backed up toward the parlor room door. She was about to retreat through it, search the overflow room, when she stopped short.

She’d heard a noise. A chirp. Someone had received a text.

It was followed by a second.

A third. A fourth.

Then more than she could count. A roomful of incoming texts, creating a burst of noise.

She reached for her own phone. Pulled it from her pocket.

Read:
Do I have your attention NOW?

The sender was a five-digit number.
183-45.

A gasp sounded.

“Haddox! What’s going on?” she demanded.

He’s managed to text every single person in this room.
Haddox’s voice came over the wire.
I’m gobsmacked.

“How’s that possible?”

Through the carrier, by manipulating location data.
I’ve seen it before. When I visited Jordan, the instant we crossed the border, everyone on the bus received a
text
message saying “Welcome to Jordan.”

Another chirp. Followed by another. Then a whole chorus of them.

Every person there had received a second text:
No one leaves. If anyone tries, we all die.

“We need to stop this,” Eve snapped. “Who’s typing?”

Her eyes scanned the faces around her again. The attentive faces and the weathered faces and the stiff faces. It was even harder this time. Every single person in the room was hunched over his or her phone.

Watching. Waiting. Frightened.

Even the mayor.

The members of his security detail formed a protective barrier around him. NYPD officers did the same for the other officials and political dignitaries and former hostages.

The messages may have been prearranged to send at specified times,
Haddox explained.

Penelope Miller was weeping. Father DeAngelo’s eyes were closed. The priest appeared lost in prayer.

Another round of chirps.
There is a bomb in this room. You must do exactly what I say.

Eve shoved her hands in her pockets to keep them steady. A rumble of noise rose from the crowd. People were talking, but not moving. They had gone stiff with panic.

Yo—Mace! You see
anything?
García demanded.

Nothin’ so far,
Mace replied.

Do we even know he’s in this room?
Eli’s voice quavered.

“Don’t think he’d dare miss it.” Eve stood on her tiptoes, straining for a better view.

Another text chirped, a hundred times over.
SA Rossi needs to come to the front of the room.

Eve’s heart was pounding. It didn’t matter that the room was packed as tight as a can of sardines. The moment she began moving, a path opened in front of her. The mass of people parted, just like the Red Sea.

More chirps. Then:
Find my witnesses. Tell them to spread out, so they can see and be seen!

Now Eve’s heart thudded an irregular beat. The witnesses had clustered together, not far from the mayor and his entourage. In a spot close enough that he could honor them with a special word. Let them be recognized. To a one, they had their phones out. They were reading the texts, too.

Sinya Willis let forth a long, keening wail. Blair Vanderwert was trembling like a leaf.

Eve caught Alina Matrowski’s eye. “Please do as he says. I’m working on this.”

Alina nodded. She had enough presence of mind to help the others move. Until they formed a half-circle in front of Eve.

The text came again.
Plenty of law enforcement types in this room. Plenty of people who are decent shots. That includes you, Eve.

“No!” Eve protested.

The moment one of you puts a bullet through one of their heads, we all go home
.
That’s what ends this crisis, once and for all.

Someone shrieked. A few women began crying; others began praying.

Five min. Or the bomb blows.

Eve heard Mace through her headset.
Is there really a bomb?
Wasn’t this room thoroughly screened?

’Course,
García’s voice crackled.
But all these people with bags and news cams and mikes?
We can’t be sure something didn’t slip in.

Eve could hear the sounds of Christmas outside. The bells of Saint Patrick’s pealing. Revelers—probably just allowed to return to their homes and businesses—were shouting in the streets.

Another text, another demand.
Their lives hang in the balance. At least one of you is going to die. Who in this room is going to help?

Eve’s eyes scanned the room. Searching for the guilty one responsible for these messages. These messages were for her, but everyone in the room continued to receive them. Some still cried and prayed, but many had grown quiet. Their voices strangled by panic.

Eve focused on Alina. The only witness who seemed to have any presence of mind. Cassidy jerked right and then left; her flight instinct had fully kicked in. But the room was jam-packed; there was no place to go. The others stood, stiff and unmoving—their faces blank with terror.

Tell them to beg—and bow their heads like the confessors they are!

Eve didn’t have to ask. Alina and Cassidy immediately assumed the pose of the confessional. Blair nodded awkwardly. Sinya continued to sway back and forth, keening. Their words were a whisper at first—then they slowly gained volume. “Help. Help me! HELP!”

Eve heard Eli over the headset.
Just shut down the cell tower
.
Make the bastard talk to Eve, direct!

No can do,
Mace broke in.
Assuming there’s a bomb, disrupting the cell signal could automatically trigger it.

Eve cursed. There were no good options. “Just ID the carrier and shut down these texts!”

Working on it,
Haddox muttered.

Cameras were still rolling. All eyes were on her. Expecting her to fix this situation, if only because she was the one at the front of the room. Because the sender of the text messages had mentioned her by name.

The mayor’s security team was huddled tight. Planning their exit strategy.

The former hostages stood awkwardly behind a cluster of cops. Penelope and Luke Miller were locked in a tight embrace. Ellen Hodge stood stoically, blinking up into the lights. Father DeAngelo still prayed. Ethan Raynor was texting furiously on his phone. Except he wasn’t a threat. A cop was proofing his every word, right over his shoulder.

Another text:
4 minutes.

Eve’s heartbeat was racing, but she knew how to keep her cool. Her strategy was simple: She imagined the Prelude of Bach’s Cello Suite in G, a piece her mother had played. Its steady rhythm kept Eve’s sense of time from spinning out of control. A mind trick—one that allowed her to become calm and focus on what was most important.

She caught a glimpse of Director Ma and the police commissioner, arguing heatedly. Monsignor Geve and his companion were attempting to edge toward the door, without success.

Everyone’s phone beeped.
Someone must step up. Shoot just one witness. Save the rest in this room!

The messenger had to be here. Had to be watching—gauging the effect of these words.

Eve spoke in a clear, loud voice. “Is that what this is about? The fact that these witnesses didn’t help you that day on the subway?”

No answer.

Just the sounds of people in the room: keening and crying and nervous breathing. An elderly man was mumbling the
Our Father.
People behind Eve were praying the rosary.

A chorus of phones beeped.
3 minutes. Kill one witness—or my bomb explodes.

The room rustled in panic.

“Don’t you want them to explain?” Eve demanded. She locked eyes with Alina. “Last July. The subway station. You witnessed a mugging. The victim needed help. So did the eyewitness who intervened. Tell us what happened.”

Tears were streaming down Alina’s face—creating ugly dark rivers of black mascara. “I remember the mugging. I remember it was awful. I remember watching. But I froze. I wasn’t scared, exactly. I just couldn’t move.”

“Me, too,” Sinya chimed in. “It was like a bad dream. Like my body and my brain were trapped in a nightmare. I couldn’t move. I couldn’t stop watching.”

2 minutes.

“Please!” Cassidy begged. “I don’t want to die! Somebody stop this!”

“Where’s your SWAT team now? Where’s the police? The FBI?” Vanderwert found his voice. “It doesn’t look to me like anybody’s doing a damn thing! We’re all just standing here, and this bastard says one of us has got to die for the room not to blow, and no one’s lifting a finger! Can’t
somebody
do
something
?”

What he had said wasn’t true. Every pair of law enforcement eyes was working double-time.

Watching. Observing.

Cops had managed to return two bomb-sniffing dogs to the room.

García was eagle-eyed. Mace muscled his way through, checking the perimeter. Eli was alert in the thick of it all. Haddox was isolating the cell carrier that was enabling these damn texts.

Eve’s eyes continued to probe every individual. Searching for the body language that would betray the architect of this madness.

Sixty seconds. fifty-nine, fifty-eight…

One bomb-sniffing dog was working the left side of the room. The other was checking the right.

Forty-four. Forty-three. Save yourselves. Save this roomful of people. Just kill a witness.

Time was running out. People began mumbling. Then shouting. Screaming.

The mayor’s security detail pressed tighter around him. Eve watched their coordinated movements. They were preparing to break the mayor out of there.

Thirty-two. Thirty-one. Will no one step up? Be a hero? Save the many?

“Why not you?” Eve called out. “
You
can save all of us.
You
can be the hero. Instead of standing by like a coward, exactly like the witnesses on that subway platform.”

On the left side of the room, people were moving. Away from the wall. The bomb-sniffing dog had given a signal.