Takeover - Lisa Black [74]
“Theresa,” Lucas called her, as if on cue. “Come here.”
1:07 P.M.
“What’s he doing with Theresa?” Patrick demanded to know, stalking the monitor. “What did you say to him?”
“I asked if he’d reconsider the two o’clock shipment, since it’s only fifty minutes away now. That’s all.”
Over the speaker they heard Lucas’s voice, slightly muted as he turned away from the receiver to speak to Theresa, but still clear. “Chris wants me to take the two o’clock shipment and go. This is acceptable to me, provided a SWAT team doesn’t come along with it, provided all the people here cooperate in moving the money for me—got that, team?—and provided no one and nothing comes near that Mercedes parked outside. That’s the deal we’re working on, Theresa, to bring you up to speed. The problem is, like Bobby, I don’t trust cops, and I don’t trust the great Chris Cavanaugh. I think maybe he thinks I won’t strike back when double-crossed. So I just need you to clarify what happens to people who don’t cooperate, like Cherise, because obviously they have no camera feeds in the cubicles behind the teller cages. Understand?”
Silence, but on the monitor, Patrick could see her head move in a small nod.
“So, Theresa, what happens to people who don’t cooperate?” He held out the phone.
A slight brushing sound, then Theresa’s voice. “Cherise is dead. He shot her.”
“Damn,” Cavanaugh muttered.
“Hardly a surprise,” Patrick said.
Theresa asked, “Is Paul all right?”
Patrick dropped his cigarette into Jason’s empty water bottle. He hadn’t even called to check. Cavanaugh caught his eye, and Patrick shrugged. Cavanaugh pushed the “talk” button on the phone.
“He’s at the hospital, Theresa. That’s all I can tell you,” he added before changing the subject. “Did you see Cherise?”
“I did. She’s very, very dead, believe me. It was an explosive sight.”
A second of quiet and then a whistling sound. The receiver made a clanging noise, as if it had been dropped.
Patrick stared at the monitor in disbelief. “He hit her!”
“What?” Cavanaugh stood, moving closer to the screen, though he could see perfectly well from his chair. Lucas had ripped the phone from Theresa’s hand before punching her in the face with his right fist. It had to have been hard; it knocked her completely off her feet, so that now she sprawled across Missy and Brad.
“Shit!” Patrick screamed.
Lucas picked up the receiver, dangling by its cord against the outer wall of the reception desk. “Excuse me a minute, Chris. Theresa and I need to have a chat.”
He hung up.
Theresa had curled and rolled to all fours, trying to raise herself. With the M4 carbine in his left hand, Lucas grabbed her hair at the nape of her neck and pulled her up, marching her away before she could get her feet underneath her.
“Take the shot!” Patrick shouted, looking to the assistant chief for some backup, but the man merely stared at the TV screen with a dumbfounded expression. “He’s going to shoot her just like he shot Cherise!”
Cavanaugh stared at the monitor. “Don’t panic.”
“Why the hell not? Where is the SWAT team? Where’s Mulvaney?”
“He’s not heading for the teller cages,” Cavanaugh pointed out. Indeed, Lucas headed away from the cages, toward the east wall of the lobby.
“There are classrooms there,” Patrick said. “He’s trying to get her off camera.”
“Why? If he wants to force us into a concession by killing someone, why do it out of our sight?”
“That’s how he killed Cherise. Maybe he can’t work with an audience. Take the shot. We have to take the shot.” In another few steps, they would leave the center of the lobby, the small area where the snipers could see through the clear glass.
Cavanaugh hit another button on his telephone console. “Harry, you there?”
“Roger.”
“Target A is taking a hostage away from the others, moving northeast. Anyone got a clear sight?”
“In sight, but chance of deflection too high. Target B