Robert Crais - Hostage

Talley turned onto the condominium grounds. He found Jane’s car parked in the first of the two spaces that were his, and pulled in beside it. He stared up the walk toward his condo, uneasy about the conversation they were about to have. She had finally called him out on their future, and now he had to deal with it. No more running, no more denial, no more excuses; he could keep her, or he could lose her. Tonight it was going to be as simple as that.

As Talley stepped from his car, he noticed that the parking lot was darker than usual; both security lights were out. Talley was locking his car as a woman stepped from the walk that led to his building.

“Chief Talley? Could I have a word with you?”

Talley thought she might be one of his neighbors. Most of the people in the complex knew he was the chief of police, often coming to him with complaints and problems.

“It’s pretty late. Could this keep until tomorrow?”

She was attractive, but not pretty, with a clean, businesslike expression, and hair that cupped her face. He did not recognize her.

“I wish it could, Chief, but we have to discuss this tonight.”

Talley heard a single footstep behind him, the shush of shoe on grit, then an arm hooked his throat from behind, lifting him backward and off his feet. Someone held a gun before his face.

“Do you see it? See the gun? Look at it.”

Talley clawed at the arm that was choking him, but only until he saw the pistol. Then he stopped struggling.

“That’s better. We’re only going to talk, that’s all, but I will kill you if I have to.”

They lowered him, gave him his feet again. Someone opened his car again as someone else felt beneath his jacket and around his waist.

“Where’s your gun?”

“I don’t carry it.”

“Bullshit. Where is it?”

The hands went to his ankles.

“I don’t carry it. I’m the Chief. I don’t have to.”

They pushed him behind the wheel. Talley saw shapes; he wasn’t sure how many; maybe three, could have been five. Someone in the backseat directly behind him smashed the ceiling light with the gun, then pushed the gun hard to his neck.

“Start the car. Back up. We’re just going to talk to you.”

“Who are you?”

Talley tried to turn, but strong hands shoved his face forward. Two men wearing black knit ski masks and gloves were in the backseat.

“The car. Back up.”

Talley did as he was told, his headlights swinging across the walk. The woman was gone. Red taillights waited at the far end of the parking lot.

“See that car? Follow it. We won’t go far.”

Talley pulled in tight on the car. It was a late-model Ford Mustang, dark green with a hard top and California plates. Talley worked at remembering the tag number, 2KLX561, then glanced in the rearview mirror as a second car tucked in tight behind his.

“Who are you?”

“Drive.”

“Is this about what’s happening?”

“Just drive. Don’t worry about it.”

The Mustang drove carefully, leading him back to the street, then out along Flanders Road to a minimall less than a mile away. All the shops were closed, the parking lot empty. Talley followed the Mustang into the alley behind the shops, where it stopped beside a Dumpster.

“Pull up closer. Closer. Bumper to bumper.”

He bumped the Mustang.

“Turn off the ignition. Give me the key.”

Talley had known a kind of fear when he had worked the tactical teams on SWAT before he was a negotiator; but that was an impersonal fear, a going-into-combat fear leavened by the armor you wore, the weapon you carried, and the support of your teammates. This was different, up close and personal. Men were assassinated like this, their bodies left in Dumpsters.

He turned off the ignition, but didn’t take out the key. The second car came up so close that it was inches from his own, blocking him in. Talley told himself this was a good sign; they didn’t want him to try to run. They wouldn’t worry about it if they simply wanted to shoot him.

“Give me the damned key.”

He held it up; the hand snatched it away.

The passenger door opened. A third man slipped inside, also wearing a mask and gloves. He was wearing a black sport coat over a gray T-shirt and jeans. When his left sleeve hiked up, a gold Rolex flashed. He wasn’t large, about Talley’s size, maybe one-eighty, trim. The skin around his mouth and eyes was tan. He held a cell phone.

“Okay, Chief, I know you’re scared, but trust me, unless you do something stupid, we’re not here to hurt you. So you control that, okay? Do you understand?”

Talley tried to recall the Mustang’s tag number. Was it KLX or KLS?

“Don’t just stare at me, Chief. We’ve got to make some headway here.”

“What do you want?”

The third man gestured to the backseat with the phone, giving Talley another glimpse of the watch. Talley thought of the third man as the Watchman.

“The man behind you is going to reach around and get hold of you. Don’t freak out. That’s for your own good. Okay? He’s just going to hold you.”

The arm looped around his neck again; a hand took his left wrist, twisted it behind his back; another took his right; the second man in the back was helping. Talley could barely breathe.

“What is this?”

“Listen.”

The Watchman put the phone to Talley’s ear.

“Say hello.”

Talley couldn’t imagine what they wanted or who they were. His mouth felt stuffed with cotton batting. The phone was cold against his ear.

“Who is this?”

Jane’s voice, shaky and frightened.

“Jeff? Is that you?”

Talley tried to buck away from the arm crossing his throat; he strained to pull his arms free, but couldn’t. Seconds passed before Talley realized the Watchman was talking to him.

“Take it easy, Chief; I know, I know. But just listen, okay? She’s all right. Your kid, she’s all right, too. Now just relax, breathe deep, listen. You ready to listen? Remember: Right now, from this point on, you’re in control. You. You control what happens to them. You want to hear her again? You want to talk to her, see that she’s okay?”

Talley nodded against the pressure of the arm, finally managed to croak.

“You sonofabitch.”

“Bad start, Chief, but I understand. I’m married myself. Me, I wish somebody would take my old lady, but that’s just me. Anyway, here.”

The Watchman held the phone to Talley’s ear again.

“Jane?”

“What’s going on, Jeff? Who are these people?”

“I don’t know. Are you all right? Is Mandy?”

“Jeff, I’m scared.”

Jane was crying.

The Watchman took back the phone.

“That’s enough.”

“Who the hell are you?”

“Can we let you go? You past your shock and all that, we can turn you loose and you won’t do something stupid?”

“You can let go.”

The Watchman glanced at the backseat, and Talley was released. The Watchman leaned toward Talley, going eye to eye and doing it with purpose.

“Walter Smith has two computer disks in his house that belong to us. Don’t worry about why we want those disks. More important, don’t care. But we want them, and you’re going to see that we get them.”

Talley didn’t know what the Watchman was talking about; he shook his head.

“What does that mean? What?”

“You’re going to control the scene.”

“The Sheriffs control the scene.”

“Not anymore. It’s your scene. You’ll take it back or whatever it is you have to do, because no one-let me repeat that- no one is going into that house until my people go in that house.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about. I can’t control that.”