Hostage (2001) (43 page)

'What?'

Talley made his voice soft.

'Guess who.'

Howell recognized his voice. Talley heard it in the quality of the silence even before Howell answered.

'How'd you get this number?'

'Here are two words for you: Glen Howell.'

'Fuck yourself.'

'I think Sonny Benza is going to fuck you. I have his financial records. I have your SWAT team. I have Captain Martin. I have you. And I have Walter Smith.'

Howell's voice rose.

'I have your fucking family. Don't forget that.'

Talley kept his voice even. He knew that if he remained calm, Howell would grow more frightened. Howell would suspect that Talley was up to something, and, by suspecting it, he would believe that it was true. Howell's only way out now was through Talley. Talley had to make him see this.

'You know where you screwed up? If you had sat tight and let this thing play out, if you hadn't brought me into it or sent in your fucking animals, I would never have known. The disks would have slipped through the cracks, and Benza would be safe. Now you have to deal with me.'

'You're drowning in deep water, Talley. You're just some fuckin' cop who doesn't have a clue. You're killing your family. You're committing suicide.'

'I'll give you five minutes. Call Benza. Ask him if he wants to spend the rest of his life in prison.'

'I'll ask him how many times he wants me to fuck your daughter.'

'Ask him if I can keep the money.'

All Talley heard was the hiss of the cell connection.

'I have something else that belongs to you. I found some money in the house. Looks like almost a million dollars.'

Talley had learned from a hundred negotiations that all liars think everyone lies, all thieves think everyone steals, crooked people think everyone is crooked. The strain in the silence was the sound of Howell trying to read Talley just as Talley was reading Howell. He would be scared and suspicious, but he would also want to believe. His belief was everything.

Howell answered slowly.

'What do you want, Talley?'

'How much money did I find?'

'One-point-two million.'

'I'll sell you a pass. My wife and daughter, and the money, for the disks. If you hurt them, the disks go straight to the FBI and I'll keep the money anyway.'

Talley knew that Howell would never consider a straight-up trade, his family for the disks, because there was no reason for Talley to keep his word. But the money changed things. Howell would understand greed. He would see himself in Talley and believe that a cop might think he could get away with that.

Talley didn't wait for Howell to answer.

'I'll tell you how this is going to work. I'll bring the disks to the north entrance of the mall by the freeway. You bring my family. If they're okay, we'll trade. If I don't make it home tonight, my officers will still have Smith and your phony FBI SWAT team.'

'You make it home, you'll cut them loose?'

'I'll cut them loose.'

'Okay, Talley, I think we can do this.'

'I thought we might.'

'But not at the mall. We'll do this where I want to do this.'

'As long as it's not in the middle of nowhere.'

'The Comfort Inn west of Bristo.'

'I know it.'

'Be there in ten minutes. Someone will be waiting in the parking lot. One minute late, there won't be anyone there to find.'

Talley ended the call. He placed the Nokia carefully on the seat, then closed his eyes. The Comfort Inn was less than a mile away. He got out of the car, stripped off his sweatshirt, then strapped on the vest. He pulled the sweatshirt over it. He checked his pistol; one in the chamber, safety on. He left his radio on, but turned the speaker volume down to zero. He got back into the car. He still had much to do.

Howell was shaking when he put down the phone. Talley had caught him off guard and jammed him into making a deal that might be a setup, but he didn't see what other choice he'd had. His job was to recover the disks.

Howell picked up the house phone. Duane Manelli was sitting in a room two doors down with LJ Ruiz.

'I need you and LJ outside. Talley's coming here.'

'What the fuck!'

'I don't know if he's coming alone. Get your ass outside and set up to watch the area.'

'What happened to Jones?'

'Jones is down.'

Howell hung up. He checked his watch. He didn't want to make his next call, but he didn't have a choice about that, either. Making the next call scared him more than waiting for Talley.

He dialed Sonny Benza.

'Sonny? Sonny, wake up.'

Benza opened his eyes, and saw Phil Tuzee. Charles Salvetti was pacing by the desk, looking upset. Benza was stretched out on the couch, the three of them still in his office at four in the morning. Benza's back ached like a sonofabitch. Another fuckin' trip to the chiropractor.

'What?'

'Glen Howell's on the phone. We got a friggin' mess here. Look.'

Benza sat up and squinted at the television. Smith's house was in flames.

'Jesus Christ. What happened?'

'It's a fuckin' bloodbath. Howell's team went in, and everything went to hell. Now they're pulling bodies out of the place.'

'Did we get the disks?'

Benza knew the answer from Tuzee's expression. Acid flooded his stomach.

'No, skipper. Talley has the disks.'

Salvetti called from the desk.

'C'mon. Howell's on the speaker. He says we don't have much time.'

Benza went to the phone, trying to control his anger.

'What the fuck are you doing down there?'

Howell cleared his throat, leaving Benza to conclude that the man was rattled. Benza didn't like that. Glen Howell wasn't a man to rattle.

'It isn't working out the way we planned.'

'I guess it fuckin' well isn't.'

Howell explained the situation. Talley not only had the disks; he had Smith, Jones, and Jones's team. Benza saw himself killing Glen Howell. He saw himself driving Howell to the desert and chopping him into sausage with a machete.

'Sonny?'

Benza's rage cleared, and he saw Salvetti and Tuzee watching him. Howell was still talking. Sonny Benza was more frightened now than he had ever been in his life. He interrupted.

'Glen? Listen to me, Glen.'

He spoke softly, trying to keep his voice from shaking. Salvetti and Tuzee watched him.

'I want to tell you something here, Glen, before you go any further. I trusted you to handle this, and you've fucked it up. You're letting me down here, Glen.'

'Sonny, Talley has the disks, but we can still get this settled.'

Howell's voice shook.

'It's good you've got a plan for that.'

'He wants the money that Smith was holding for us, the one-point-two. He gets his family and the money, he says he'll give us the disks and cut loose our guys.'

Salvetti said, 'Waitaminute. Are you saying that this asshole wants to be paid off? He's extorting us?'

'One-point-two is a lot of money.'

Tuzee shook his head, looking at Benza but speaking to Howell.

'It's a setup. He's baiting you to get the wife.'

'What other choice do we have?'

Benza answered, softly again, without waiting for Tuzee's or Salvetti's opinion.

'You don't have any other choice.'

Howell didn't answer for several seconds.

'I understand.'

'Hang on.'

Benza muted the phone. He stretched his back, trying to lessen the ache, but it only hurt worse. He tried to figure out which way to jump; either Talley was really trying to scam the cash or he wasn't. If Talley was setting up Howell, the next few hours would be a shit storm. Federal agents might already be pouring over the disks and petitioning for warrants. Benza knew that he should warn New York, but the thought of it made his bowels clench.

'Phil, call the airport and have the jet prepped. Just in case.'

Tuzee went to the other phone.

Benza took the speakerphone off mute. He didn't want to accept defeat yet; there might still be a way out.

'Okay, Glen, listen: I don't care about the money. If I gotta lose the cash to buy some time, so be it.'

'That's what I figured.'

'If Talley is setting you up, we're fucked anyway.'

'I'll give you fair warning.'

'Fuck you and your fair warning. Get the disks, then get rid of him. If you don't get the disks, you're gonna have a problem, Glen. You understand that?'

'Our guys will still be in custody. He's not going to cut them free until after he has his family.'

Benza glanced at Tuzee again. He didn't like the idea of killing his own employees, but he had done it before. He had to get rid of Smith, Talley, Jones and his crew, and anyone else who was vulnerable after tonight. That was the only way he would be safe.

'After Talley is dead, we'll take care of Smith and Jones and his people. That's the best way to do this. Everyone has to die.'

'I understand.'

Benza pressed the button to end the call, then went back to the couch.

Salvetti came over and sat next to him.

'This thing is goin' south, Sonny. We gotta think about that. We should warn New York. We let'm know what's comin', old man Castellano might cut us some slack.'

Benza considered that, then shook his head.

'Fuck New York. I'm not that anxious to die.'

'You sure about that, Sonny? We still got a few minutes here.'

'We lose those disks, the last thing I want is a conversation with that old man. Even prison looks good by comparison.'

Salvetti frowned.

'That old man has long arms. He'll reach us even in prison.'

Benza looked at him.

'Jesus, Sally, always the cheery word.'

Tuzee crossed his arms, and shrugged.

'What the fuck, we get those disks, we'll beat the Feds and Castellano will never know this happened. Things could still work out.'

Benza decided to pack. In case things didn't.

Chapter
27

Saturday, 3:37 A.M.

Santa Clarita, California

Talley drove without lights, swerving far onto the shoulder whenever he passed an oncoming vehicle. He pulled off the road a hundred yards before the motel and left his car in the weeds, thankful for the black sweatshirt he had pulled on earlier. He tied a roll of duct tape to a belt loop, then shoved a handful of plastic restraints into his pocket. He rubbed dirt on his face and hands to kill their shine, then drew his pistol and trotted toward the motel. The moon was up, bright like a blue pearl, giving him light.

Talley guessed that Howell would post observers to warn him if the police were approaching. He worked his way to the edge of the motel property and froze beside a spiky-leafed manzanita bush, searching the shadows at the edge of the light for some bit of movement or blackness that did not fit. Talley had approached a thousand armed houses when he was on SWAT; this time was no different. The motel was a long two-story barn surrounded by a parking lot. A smattering of cars were sleeping outside the ground-floor rooms. Two huge tractor-trailer trucks sat at the rear; a third was parked near the street. Talley worked his way around the perimeter of the grounds, moving outside the field of light, pausing every two paces to look and listen.

He spotted one observer on the east side parking lot, sitting between the wheels of an eighteen-wheeler that had been docked for the night. A few minutes later, he found the second man hunkered beneath a pepper tree across the street on the west side. Talley looked carefully for others, but only two men were posted.

Manelli lay belly-down in the hard dirt at the base of a pepper tree, watching LJ Ruiz move between the wheels of the eighteen-wheeler. They were hooked up by cell phone. If either saw an oncoming vehicle or anything suspicious, they could alert the other, and then Glen Howell. Manelli didn't like it that he could see movement. This meant that LJ was bored, and bored men made mistakes.

He whispered into his phone.

'LJ, you in position?'

'Yeah, I'm here.'

'Settle in and stop moving around.'

'Fuck yourself. I'm not moving.'

Manelli didn't respond. LJ had stopped moving, so Manelli let it go. Duane Manelli had spent enough time on night recon training exercises when he was in the army to respect radio silence.

Manelli settled into the dirt.

Ruiz said something, but Manelli didn't understand.