The Big Thaw - Donald Harstad [121]
Almost in slow motion, we could see three or four rotating blue dash lights, as individual volunteer firemen began driving to the fire station. I reached for my mike. “Three to Alpha Chase … when the firemen get there, tell them we have a robbery in progress, and have them stand by! Do not let them respond to the bank until further notice.”
I can think fast on occasion.
“Right, right,” said Volont, over the radio. “Good move. Right.”
“Three,” crackled Sally’s voice, “the Sheriff’s Department advises that the alarm was not, repeat not, activated in the auto mode. It’s a manual activation.” Information right off the screen at the Sheriff’s Department. It could tell how the alarm was activated. The dispatcher up there had probably just noticed the mode, in all the activity. Strange. A real fire would have activated the auto alarm. Somebody at the bank had set it off manually.
As proud as I was of my warning to the firemen, sometimes even your best isn’t enough. I watched in silence as three firemen went directly to the bank instead of the fire station. I could tell because of the little, flashing blue volunteer fireman lights on the dashes of their cars as they pulled into the lot. They obviously intended to make sure people were out and planned to don their equipment when the apparatus got to the scene. Standard procedure in rural areas, where some of the volunteers might drive right by the threatened location on their way to the fire station. I saw them head toward the bank. They started in, and I saw the last one put his hands in the air.
“Uh, Alpha Two believes we now have three firemen as hostages.”
“Alpha Three confirms.”
“Ditto Alpha Mobile.”
Damn. Or, as Hester said, “Shit.”
“Come on, come on,” murmured Hester. “They can still get away. There is still time to get away. You don’t need hostages, damn it.”
“Maybe not,” I said. “But they sure have ’em.” I radioed Sally. “See if we can get a good guess as to how many people were in the bank when they went in.”
Alpha 2 responded with “We believe five, plus the odd-hour teller, plus three firemen.”
Nine people.
“Well,” I said, disgusted, “that ought to be plenty.”
As I spoke, a second vehicle approached the bank from out of the fog, pulled into the lot, made a turn, and backed toward the bulletproof teller’s cage. A white panel truck with a potato chip logo on the side, it stopped about fifty feet away, and Hester and I watched in fascination while there was a puff of white and a loud crack and the drive-up window flew out of its mountings and slammed into the paving. I could see the shock wave hit her hair, making it fly back. Fascinating.
“It was,” said Hester, even as we ducked down behind the car. “It was det cord he was putting up …”
“Alpha Two here … did you see that? They’ve blown the window.”
Even as he spoke, the truck backed up toward the brand-new opening, and bumped into the wall.
“Well, I guess those windows are designed to resist pressure from the outside, not the inside,” Hester mused. “Pretty slick.”
“How long you think it takes to load a couple of million dollars?” I asked, cautiously raising my head to look over the hood of the car. “Ten minutes?”
“I’d estimate fifteen to twenty,” said Hester, glancing at her watch. “And if they bother with the change, maybe as much as an hour.”
A radio crackled again. “Three, it’s Twenty-nine,” said Sally, on the secure frequency. 29 was the local car, Frieberg PD. “He’s going nuts, people keep running up to him and asking him what the hell he’s doing just sitting there when there’s an emergency at the bank.”
Taxpayers are sensitive about that sort of thing. It was my call, being the highest-ranking local officer within range.
“This is sort of going to shit,” I said, to Hester. “Comm, tell him to go to the bridge ramp and stand by there … nobody can even see him over there. Not in this fog.” I turned to Hester. “Uh, does anybody you know have a Plan B?”
Just then, somebody tapped me on the shoulder, and I nearly jumped out of my skin. I turned, and there was one of the TAC