Robert Crais - Hostage

It was Rooney.

“Okay, Talley. If you want him, come get him. But just you.”

Talley had thought it was over, thought he had completely blown any chance at getting to Smith, but here was Rooney delivering him. Talley was dead, but now he lived again. He had a chance at Jane and Amanda!

Talley rolled to his knees and peered over the car’s hood. He muted the phone to hiss at Maddox.

“Ambulance. He’s coming out.”

Ellison said, “Sonofabitch.”

Maddox went back on the hard line as Talley un-muted his phone.

“Okay, Dennis. I’m here. I’m with you. Let’s figure this out.”

“There’s nothing to figure out, goddamnit. Come get him. But you better keep SWAT outta here. That’s the deal.”

“I can’t carry him by myself. I’ll have to bring someone else.”

“Fuckin’ liar! You’re going to try to kill me!”

“That won’t happen, Dennis. You can trust me. Me and one other person and a stretcher. That’s it.”

“Fuck you, Talley, fuck you! All right! You and one other guy, but that’s it! You gotta strip down! I want you stripped! I gotta know you aren’t carrying guns!”

Talley looked at Maddox and twirled his finger, telling Maddox to have the ambulance get here fast.

“Okay, Dennis. If that’s what you want, that’s what we’ll do.”

“You’ll keep’m outta here. That’s the deal, right? We have a deal?”

“That’s the deal.”

“I swear to Christ if those bastards try something these kids are gonna die! Everybody’s gonna die.”

“Just take it easy. Work with me and no one has to die.”

“Fuck you!”

The connection popped in Talley’s ear. Rooney was gone.

Talley stared at the house. Several moments passed before he lowered the phone; his hand was okay, but his ear hurt from the pressure. His sweatshirt was soaked, and the Colt cut into his belly. He felt numb.

Maddox stared at him, and Ellison smiled.

“Sonofabitch. You kicked one free. That was great work, man. That was a clinic.”

Talley left them without a word. He climbed into the backseat, stripped off his clothes except for his underwear and shoes, and waited for the ambulance. In an earlier life Talley would have felt proud, but now he wasn’t. He hadn’t done it for Walter Smith. He was risking Smith’s life, his own, and likely the children’s in the house. He had done it for himself, and for Amanda and Jane.

Friday, 11:19 P.M.

TALLEY

Martin buzzed around him like an angry wasp. She had ridden up in the ambulance with an ER doctor named Klaus from Canyon Country Emergency.

“Wear a vest. Just strap it over your chest, he’ll be able to see you’re not armed.”

“The deal was that we would be stripped. I don’t want to spook him.”

Klaus was a young, thin man in black-framed glasses. He introduced himself as he shook Talley’s hand.

“I was told that we have a head trauma and possible gunshot wounds.”

“Let’s hope not, Doctor.”

Klaus smiled awkwardly, embarrassed.

“I guess they sent me because I did two years at Martin Luther King down in South Central. You see everything down there.”

One of the paramedics, an overweight man named Bigelow, volunteered to go with Talley. Here was Bigelow, walking over from the ambulance in the dim light behind the front line, wearing only striped boxers with his clunky paramedic shoes and black socks up to his knees. Bigelow’s partner, a woman named Colby, brought the stretcher.

Talley said, “You ready?”

“Yes, sir. Good to go.”

Martin seemed irritated.

“You know it’s stupid to agree to something like this. You were SWAT. You know you never expose yourself without protection. We could end up with two bodies out there.”

“I know.”

Talley didn’t mention the day-care center. He folded his Colt into his sweatshirt, left it on Maddox’s backseat with his clothes, then joined Bigelow. He wanted this thing to happen before Rooney changed his mind.

Talley called the house on his cell phone. Rooney answered on the first ring.

“Okay, Dennis. Put him outside. We’re stripped, so you can see we’re unarmed. We’ll wait in the drive. We won’t approach the house until after you’ve closed the door.”

Rooney hung up without answering.

Martin said, “I don’t like this. Tactical people should recover this man.”

Talley ignored her, and glanced at Bigelow.

“Here we go. I’ll walk in front of you going up to the door. Once we have him on the stretcher, I’ll take the rear position coming out. Okay?”

“You don’t have to do that.”

“It’ll be fine.”

Talley and Bigelow went around the car and stepped in front of the lights. It was like passing into a world of glare. Stick-figure shadows moved into the mouth of the drive, then stopped, waiting. Talley could tell that Bigelow was frightened; he was probably worried because of what Martin had said.

“It’s going to be all right.”

“Oh, sure. I know.”

“We’d look pretty silly if they put our picture in the paper.” Bigelow smiled nervously.

Talley watched the house. First, the shutters opened like a narrowed eye. That would be Rooney, looking them over for weapons. Smith’s front door opened, a crack at first, then wider. Talley sensed the difference in the line of officers behind him; their shuffling stopped, no one cleared their throat or coughed. The sound from one of the helicopters changed in pitch and a light swept to the door, offering nothing against the glare of the floodlights. It wasn’t Dennis Rooney. Kevin and Mars Krupchek waddled out with Smith between them, put him on the front entry about six feet from the door, then returned to the house

“Okay, let’s do it.”

Talley went directly to Walter Smith. Here was this middle-aged man wearing a Polo shirt, stonewashed jeans, and sneakers, and men were willing to murder Jane and Amanda for something in his house. The contusion on the side of his head was visible even from the mouth of the drive.

Bigelow said, “Let me set down by his head.”

Talley stepped away, letting the paramedic open the stretcher and lock out the frame. Talley kept his eyes averted from the shutters and did not try to look into the house. He watched Smith. He wanted to see some sign that Smith was waking, but the depth of Smith’s sleep scared him. Smith trembled from the center of his body, and Talley grew frightened that the man might be in a coma.

“How’s he look?”

Bigelow peeled back an eyelid, flashed a penlight in Smith’s eye, and grunted.

“Pretty bad concussion for sure.”

Bigelow fingered Smith’s neck, probing for a cervical injury, and seemed satisfied by what he found.

“Okay. We’re good. We don’t need a brace. I’ll support his head and shoulders. You lift beneath his hips and knees. He’s going to be heavier than you think, so be ready. On three.

Three.”

They slid Smith onto the stretcher. Bigelow started fastening a strap across Smith’s chest, but Talley stopped him.

“Don’t bother with it. Let’s get him out of here while we can.”

They moved straight down the sidewalk to the street and into the lights, where they were immediately surrounded by Hicks’s tactical team. Klaus ran up alongside the stretcher, snapping at Bigelow.

“Why isn’t this man’s neck braced?”

“I didn’t see any sign of cervical injury.”

“Goddamnit, he should’ve been braced anyway.”

Colby took over from Talley to help Bigelow. Ellison brought over Talley’s clothes, and Talley pulled on his pants while they loaded Smith into the ambulance. Talley followed Klaus inside.