Hostage (2001) (31 page)

He called Chief Talley.

Talley checked his radio.

'Jorgenson?'

'Here, Chief.'

'Stand by.'

Talley was at the rear of Smith's property with a Sheriff's tac officer named Hobbs. Hobbs had a Remington Model 700 sniper rifle fitted with a night-vision scope. The chamber was clear and the magazine empty. Talley carried a shotgun fixed with the Starflash grenade.

'Let me see.'

Talley took the rifle from Hobbs and focused the scope on the French doors. He had been peering over the top of the wall for almost six minutes, waiting for Thomas to call. Jennifer and Krupchek were in the kitchen. He thought Kevin was in the family room, but he wasn't sure. Dennis passed through the kitchen twice. He had exited toward the master bedroom three minutes earlier and had not returned. Talley thought he was probably in the safety room, watching the perimeter on the monitors.

Talley's phone rang. He was expecting it, but he wasn't ready for it. He jumped, startled.

Hobbs whispered, 'Easy.'

Talley handed the rifle back to Hobbs, then answered, his voice low.

'Talley.'

Thomas whispered back at him.

'Hi, Chief. I'm in the den.'

Talley watched the shadows play on the French doors.

'Okay, bud. You ready? Just like we said?'

'Yeah. I won't get caught.'

'If there's any chance - any! - you get back up to your room.'

Talley felt like a liar even saying it. The whole thing was a chance.

'Here we go.'

Talley keyed his shoulder mike.

'Kill the lights.'

The house plunged into darkness.

Dennis sat at Walter Smith's desk, watching television. Kevin was back by the French doors, and Mars had the girl in the kitchen. All but two of the local stations had resumed regular programming, breaking in every few minutes with an aerial shot of York Estates, but the national cable channels didn't bother. Dennis felt slighted. He watched MTV with the sound low, black guys with blond hair pretending to be gangsters. He pointed his pistol at them, try this, motherfuckers.

Dennis had progressed from vodka on the rocks to vodka from the bottle, racking his brain for a way he could escape with the money. He was pissed off and frustrated, and grew scared that Kevin was right: That he wouldn't be able to get away with the cash, and that he would go back to being just another shitbag in a cell. Dennis took another hit of the vodka, thinking that he'd rather be dead. Maybe he should just run. Stuff his pockets with as much cash as possible, torch the friggin' house like Mars said, then duck through the little window into the oleander and run like a bat out of hell. They would probably machine-gun him before he got ten feet, but what the hell, it was better than being a turd.

'Shit.'

Dennis left the office, went back to the bedroom, and put the suitcase on the bed. He stared at the cash. He touched the worn bills, silky smooth and soft. He wanted it so badly that his body trembled. Cars, women, clothes, dope, copper bars, Rolex watches, fine food, boats, homes, freedom, happiness. Everybody wanted to be rich. Didn't matter who you were or where you came from or how much money you had; everyone wanted more. It was the American Dream. Money.

The notion came to Dennis like a rush of Ecstasy as he stared at the money: Cops are poor. Cops wanted to be rich like everyone else. Maybe he could split the loot with Talley, trade cash for safe passage to Mexico, work out a scam so that the other cops wouldn't know, something like pretending to swap the hostages for Talley so that the two of them could drive down to TJ together, laughing all the way because the other cops wouldn't dare try to assassinate him if they thought Talley's life hung in the balance. He would even toss in Kevin and Mars; let'm have someone to swing for the Chinaman. Dennis grew excited as he spun through the possibilities. Everyone knew that cops didn't make shit for a living. How far would Talley go for a hundred thousand dollars? Two hundred thousand? A half a million?

Dennis decided to call Talley right away. He was halfway back to the office, thinking how best to persuade Talley that he could be a wealthy man, when the house died. The lights went out, the TV stopped, the background hum that fills all living homes vanished.

Kevin shouted from the other side of the house.

'Dennis? What happened?'

'It's the cops! Get those fuckin' kids!'

Blind in the darkness, Dennis rushed forward, following the wall. He expected to hear the doors crashing open at any second, and knew his only chance was to reach the girl or her fat brother.

'Kevin! Mars! Get those kids!'

Milky light from the French doors filled the family room. Kevin was behind the sofa; Mars was in the kitchen, holding the girl by her hair. Mars was smiling, the crazy bastard. Like this was fun.

'Told you they'd cut the power.'

Talley's amplified voice echoed through the house, not from the street this time, but from the backyard.

'Dennis? Dennis Rooney?'

Dennis wondered why Talley was behind the house.

'Dennis, it's time to talk.'

Then the backyard erupted: Explosions jumped and careened over the surface of the water like automatic gunfire. Star-bright flashes lit the backyard like a Chinese New Year parade. The world was going to hell.

Dennis threw himself behind the kitchen counter, waiting for it to end.

Thomas pushed out of the wine cellar as soon as the lights went off, slipped around the end of the bar, and scurried to the double doors. Dennis and Kevin were shouting, their voices coming from the family room. He knew he wouldn't have much time.

Thomas got down on his hands and knees, and peeked through the doorway. Across the hall, his father's office flickered with light from the candles. Thomas leaned farther out into the entry to see if anyone was coming. The hall was empty.

No guts, no glory.

Thomas ran across the hall into his father's office just as Chief Talley's voice boomed through the house. He knew that something loud was going to go off, so he tried to ignore all that. He concentrated on listening for footsteps.

Thomas went directly to the computer on his father's desk. He had brought his flashlight, but the candles gave enough light so that he didn't need it. The desk was scattered with papers, but he didn't see any disks. He checked the computer's Zip drive. It was empty. He lifted the papers around the computer and keyboard, but he didn't see any disks there, either.

A series of explosions cut through the house like a giant string of firecrackers. Thomas thought Dennis was shooting. Kevin shouted something, but Thomas didn't understand him. He was scared that they were on their way. He ran to the door to go back into the den, but stopped at the hall, listening. His heart pounded so loud he could barely hear, but he didn't think they were coming.

Chief Talley had told him not to spend more than a minute or two. He didn't have much time. He had used too much already.

Thomas looked across the entry hall to the safety of the den, then glanced back at the desk. A picture flashed in Thomas's memory: Earlier that day, after all the shooting, his father had tried to talk Dennis into getting a lawyer and giving up; he had gone to his desk, placed the disks in a black case, and put the case into the drawer. The disks were in the drawer!

Thomas went back to the desk.

The back of the house exploded with noise and light as if the Marines were hitting the beach. Dennis saw cops at the wall, lit by the glare from their lights, but they didn't rush the house.

Dennis thought, What the fuck?

Talley's voice echoed from the backyard.

'It's time to talk, Dennis. Me and you. Face-to-face. I want you to come out, just you, I'll meet you and we'll talk.'

Kevin scrambled into the kitchen on all fours, fast, like a cartoon.

'What are they doing? What's going on?'

Dennis didn't know. He was confused and suspicious, and then suddenly very afraid.

'Mars! Those fuckers are trying to blindside us! See what they're doing in front!'

Dennis grabbed the girl from Mars, who lurched to his feet and went down the hall.

The black leather case was a soft black leather folder about the size of a compact disk. The candlelight behind the desk was too dim to see into the drawer, so Thomas turned on his flashlight, cupping the lens to hide most of the light.

The case was in the top drawer.

It opened like a book. Each side had pockets to hold disks. Two disks were in the right pockets, labeled just as Chief Talley had described, disk one and disk two. Thomas was closing the drawer when he heard footsteps coming fast down the hall.

Thomas wanted to run, but it was too late.

The footsteps came fast!

They were coming to the office!

They were at the door!

Thomas turned off his flashlight and ducked under the desk. He pulled himself into a tight ball, hugging his knees, and he tried not to breathe.

Someone was in the room.

His father's desk was a great oak monster, heavy and ancient and as big as a boat (his dad jokingly called it the Lexington, after the aircraft carrier). It sat on curvy legs that left a small gap between the desk and the floor. Thomas saw feet. He thought it was Mars, but he couldn't be sure.

The feet went to the window.

Thomas heard the shutters snap open. Light from outside poured into the room. The shutters snapped closed.

The feet stayed at the shutters. Thomas imagined he must be peeking through the cracks.

Dennis shouted from the back of the house.

'What in hell's going on out there?'

It was Mars in the room. He stood at the shutters without moving.

'Goddamnit, Mars!'

The feet stepped away from the window, but Mars didn't leave. The feet turned toward the desk. Thomas tried to squeeze himself smaller. He hugged his legs so tight that his arms hurt.

The feet took a step toward the desk.

'Mars! What the fuck are they doin'?'

The feet walked to the end of the desk. Thomas tried to close his eyes; he tried to look away, but he couldn't. He watched the feet as if they were snakes.

'Mars!'

The feet turned and left. Thomas followed them with his ears, down the hall, away, gone.

Thomas scrambled from under the desk and went to the door. He peeked down the hall, then ran across to the den.

He heard Chief Talley talking over the public address system as he pushed into the wine cellar, climbed the racks, and found the safety of the crawl space.

Talley knew that Rooney and the others would be panicked. They would believe that Talley had launched a breach and Dennis or one of the others would probably run to the front of the house to see what the Sheriffs were doing. Talley had to keep their attention focused here at the back of the house. On him.

'Is he still in the kitchen?'

Hobbs was peering through the night-vision scope.

'Yeah, him and the girl. He's trying to see us, but he can't see past the lights. The big one went down the hall. I don't see the brother.'

Talley keyed the portable P.A.

'We are not breaching the house, Dennis. We need to talk. Me and you. Face-to-face. I'm coming out to the pool.'

Martin and Hicks hustled toward him through the shadows. Martin wasn't happy.

'What face-to-face? We didn't discuss that.'

'I'm going out.'

Talley dropped the P.A. and heaved himself over the wall before she could say anything more. He wanted to draw Rooney's attention away from the front of the house even if it meant offering himself up to do it.

Martin's voice followed him over the wall.

'Damnit, Talley, all you'll do is make yourself a target.'

Talley walked to the edge of the pool and raised his voice.

'I'm unarmed. I'm not going to strip for you this time, so take my word for it. I'm unarmed, and I'm coming alone.'

Talley held his hands out from his sides, open palms forward, and walked toward the house along the side of the pool. A dark raft floated effortlessly on the water. A towel was spread on the deck, the radio that had played earlier silent, its batteries dead.

He reached the end of the pool nearest the house and stopped. A flashlight lay on the kitchen floor, its beam cutting a white slash that bounced off the counters. Talley raised his hands higher. Again, the bright lights behind him cast his shadow toward the house. It looked like a crucifix.

'Come out, Dennis. Talk to me.'

Dennis shouted from the house, his voice muffled through the closed French doors.