Takeover - Lisa Black [18]
“They’ve shut off the elevators and cleared the employee lobby. They have a team at the other end of the hallway, tucked around the corner.” Jason touched the screen, pointing out the area behind the hostages. “They’ll keep the two guys from getting into the elevators or reaching the employee lobby, which has entrances to the parking garage and Superior Avenue.”
“But they can’t approach that way,” Cavanaugh mused. “No cover. Any stairwells or elevators in the public lobby?”
“No.”
“So the only thing those two men can do is to go out the same way they came in. Except they’ve got no getaway car to step outside for, because we took it. Did we find anything significant in the car?”
“Registered to a Robert Moyers in Brookpark,” Frank told him. “No one answers the phone or the door; the house is locked up tight, with no signs of violence. We’ve got a guy sitting on it in case he comes home. The car has not been reported stolen. Theresa? You find anything?”
She swallowed. “Not really. Prints are going into AFIS right now. A cash receipt from Lakewood, dated yesterday. An empty Advil bottle. A smudge of blood in the trunk, but we won’t have DNA results until, I hope, this is over.”
“You’re Theresa,” Cavanaugh said to her, looking her up and down with such care that she wanted to squirm. “I was just hearing about you the other day.”
And he still had that trace of a grin, damn him. “Yeah?”
“I had lunch with Jack. Prosecutor Sabian, I mean. Don’t frown like that—he thinks very highly of you. Something about a murderous pediatric nurse and saving his baby’s life. Really, stop scowling at me.”
“I don’t care for being discussed behind my back.” Stop it, she told herself. Be smart. He’s going to want you to leave; he’d be an idiot if he didn’t. Let him think one phone call to the county prosecutor could open any door in the city. “But yes, Jack and I are…old friends.”
His gaze grew even more appraising. “Well, I’m enchanted to make your acquaintance. Why, exactly, are you…?”
Time to wipe the smile off his face, and besides, better he hear it from her than someone else. Men never forgave the withholding of information. “My fiancé’s in that lobby, Mr. Cavanaugh.”
The grin did indeed disappear, if only for a moment. “I see. Patrick’s partner?”
She nodded, not trusting herself to speak. She stared at her hands, refusing to meet his eyes, though she could feel his gaze burning into her temple. Finally he said only, “We’ll get him out.”
She let a sigh of relief escape between her teeth. He hadn’t asked her to leave—yet.
A uniformed cop appeared. “I got someone you’re going to want to talk to.”
CHAPTER 5
9:25 A.M.
“My name is William Kessler.” The man clutched at his tie as he spoke and nearly collapsed into the chair Frank brought for him. Finally, Theresa thought, someone who’s as nervous as I am. “I’m vice president of Supervision and Regulation. The president is in D.C. right now. I had to shuffle cars around in my driveway this morning because my daughter had a late night—anyhow, I got caught in traffic, and that’s why I was late to work, and you’d already barricaded the building. Who’s in there? Is anyone hurt? No? Thank God. I tried to call the president, but the open-market meeting had already convened.” He began to wind down. “I really didn’t want to be late today.”
“Mr. Kessler—” Cavanaugh began.
“Are they terrorists? Do they have a bomb? What on earth do these men want? Can’t you get them out of there? There hasn’t been blood spilled inside a Federal Reserve bank since…well, ever, so far as I know.”
“Has one ever been robbed?”
“Robbed?” Kessler stared at Cavanaugh, then the rest of them, in dismay, either over their collective ignorance of the Federal Reserve Banking system of America or over his task of summarizing it for them. “You don’t rob a Federal Reserve bank. The Fed supervises and regulates banks, sets the discount rate—the rate at which we