Takeover - Lisa Black [16]
“Clear picture,” Frank said.
“That’s the beauty of working with such an august institution.” Jason juggled several cords, then ducked under the desk to retrieve one he’d dropped. His voice grew muffled. “No expense is spared. You should see their security center—they have sensors and monitors up the wazoo in that building.”
“Why aren’t we over there, then?” Theresa asked. Anything to get closer to Paul.
Frank had jammed his hands into his pockets hard enough for her to count his knuckles. “We couldn’t see the street from there. If anything happened to the feed, or if they decided to take out the cameras, or if they left the building—we’d be blind. We’re better here.”
“We can’t see anything except that spot right in front of the door!”
“We can see them if they move into the offices or the Learning Center. Those windows to the street are clear. Plus, CPD is setting up a camera here, six floors down, directly across from the Fed entrance, to fall back on in case they do decide to take out the lobby cameras.”
Please don’t, she thought. If she could at least see him, it wasn’t so bad. Yet she wondered. “Why haven’t they?”
“Shot out the lobby cameras? I don’t know. They’re mounted pretty high…. Maybe these guys have enough respect for the marble not to take potshots at it.”
“I doubt it.”
“Or they’re too hopped up to even notice the cameras.”
Paul sat cross-legged on the floor, hands behind his head. His arms must be getting tired, and she guessed that he was feeling frustrated. Really frustrated. She watched the slender guy pass in front of him, each step calm and measured. “I don’t think so. They didn’t have someone to stay with the getaway car and they didn’t have a plan for the cameras. These guys really thought they’d be in and out.”
Jason plugged in his last wire and stood back to admire his handiwork. “Or they’re leaving the cameras in place so that we won’t have a reason to install new ones.”
“How could we do that?”
“Down air vents, ceiling tiles—well, not that ceiling,” Jason amended, in light of the intricately painted and vaulted ceiling. “Around a corner. Letting us see them takes away a big reason for us to approach. Oh, here’s Chris.”
Chris Cavanaugh entered from between two rows of thick reference books, dressed in a sparkling oxford shirt and expensive slacks. He carried nothing but a boyish look and deep dimples, at odds with the receding hairline. And he smiled, actually smiled, which made Theresa itch to grasp his lapels and shake him. Where the hell have you been?
Everyone turned to her.
“Did I say that out loud?” she hissed to Frank.
Cavanaugh’s dimples only deepened. “You did indeed.” In one sweeping glance, he took in Theresa, the Greek gods on the wall above the books, the windows, the communication center spread across the reading table, and the staff office section with its hum of voices, then settled on the monitor. “They’re certainly armed.”
The quiet concern in his tone worried her. Knowing that the hostage takers had guns was one thing; seeing the long black automatic rifles held so tightly in their hands was entirely another.
“Any change since you called?” he asked Jason.
“No.”
Jason performed quick introductions. Cavanaugh acknowledged each of them with a nod and a smile, though his attention always returned to the monitor; when done, he jerked his head toward the muffled tones and asked his assistant, “Is that the dog and pony show?”
“Yep. They’re working out how the FBI is in charge but everyone else’s valuable assistance will be greatly treasured.”
“Good. Then we’ll be up and running before they break for coffee. The stuff looks good. Let’s powwow before we make contact. Please sit, everyone. And I got here as soon as I could,” he added to Theresa. “I had to shower and change.”
She said nothing, well aware