Takeover - Lisa Black [10]
So this is what it’s like to be a victim. They’re right. It all does happen so fast.
The tall suspect had carried a duffel bag and shouted instructions for filling it with cash, but no one had listened. The fourth security guy, who had been next to the doors, darted outside, a response Paul didn’t understand; the slender robber fired at him, leaving a hole and a series of spiderwebs in one of the glass doors and assaulting anew their already-numbed ears.
The other three guards were now kneeling between the solid reception desk and the row of hostages. Two of the guards had their hands on their heads and murderous expressions on their faces. The third, the K-9 officer, had both hands on his dog, as instructed by the blond robber. The blond guy seemed more afraid of the dog than of the guards, and the K-9 guy seemed more concerned about his dog than about the hostages.
Paul turned his head until he could count up the hostages out of the corner of his eye. Besides himself, the guy in the uniform, and the three security guards, he counted two. One man and one woman, each in neat office attire.
The tall one left the front door and faced them, holding the M4 at the ready. He nearly bounced as he walked, and Paul wondered if the manic energy came from adrenaline, drugs, or panic over a plan gone awry. Each source could be bad, all three together disastrous. “Bobby, go through and check both floors.”
“What?” The stocky blond didn’t care for the idea.
“There could be an army hiding in this place.” Paul could see his point. Two rows of teller cages faced each other in the south half of the lobby, and the area between the inner and outer lobby walls in the north half seemed to have been given over to educational displays. Past a sign reading THE LEARNING CENTER, Paul could see a tree stretching through both stories, with dollar bills attached to its branches. Both the educational area and the teller cages had a number of partitions, turning the place into a warren. Now Bobby’s partner used his M4 muzzle to gesture at the door in the north wall. “And make sure they can’t open that.”
“How am I going to do that?”
“Wedge it with something.” He spoke without taking his eyes off the people on the floor. Neither suspect had any particular accent. “And shoot first. Don’t bother with questions.”
That attitude did not bode well. Nor did using his partner’s name in front of the hostages. It sounded as if he didn’t expect any witnesses to survive the morning.
Paul pondered what to do. He didn’t care to sit there with his hands behind his head while Bobby shot a few secretaries. There were only two of them, against three officers and four civilians. We could take them.
And maybe get himself and a few other people killed in the process. That wouldn’t do for the department’s up-and-comer, the whiz kid whose clearance rate made his boss look not only good but great, the one who was supposed to have all the answers.
Funny, he had not yet thought about how the day would affect his career. Once upon a time, that had been all he thought of. Obsessing over his work had been the only way to stop obsessing over his wife’s death. But now he had Theresa.
Could he find an answer to this one, such a smart boy?
He heard muffled thuds as Bobby sped through the Learning Center. He would be passing by the clear outer windows…but no sniper’s bullet shattered the glass, not with his partner staying out of sight below, right outside the room with the money tree.
Bobby’s feet pounded downward into the southwestern section of the lobby.
Behind the grillwork labeled SAVINGS AND LOAN TRANSACTIONS, a woman screamed.
8:57 A.M.
“Where the hell is Cavanaugh?” one of the SRT cops demanded to know. He paced through the aisles of the public library, glancing at the books as if they might be armed.
Frank Patrick shrugged. He had never even met the great Chris Cavanaugh; he certainly had no idea what kept the city’s best hostage negotiator from the most spectacular