Robert Crais - Hostage

Tally flashed with anger and fought to control it. Everything seemed out of control and surreal, standing there in the purple street light, moths ticking and snapping into the glass, with these cops who weren’t cops.

“Jones. Your name is Jones. I wish I knew your fucking real name.”

“Keep it tight, Chief. We gotta work together here. I’m in charge of a special operations unit that was working training exercises on the border with the Customs Service when Washington learned what was happening here. The D.C. office called you, explained the situation, and asked for your cooperation. We owe Smith, we’re obligated to protect him and his cover, so you agreed. I’m going to explain all this to Captain Martin, and all you’re going to do is sit there and nod. You got that?”

“I’ve got it.”

“Martin won’t like it, having us here, but she’ll go along because what we’re telling her makes sense.”

“What if she checks? What if she knows people in the LA office?”

“It’s after midnight on a Friday night. She phones LA, all she’ll get is a duty agent, and he’ll have to check with someone else, which he won’t want to do. Even if she calls the agent in charge in Los Angeles and wakes him, he’ll wait until tomorrow to call D.C., because none of these people, not one, will have any reason to doubt us. We’re not gonna be here that long.”

Jones handed Talley a white business card with the FBI seal pressed into the left corner and a phone number with a Washington, D.C., area code.

“If she gets it into her head to call someone, tell her that this is the guy back there who called you. She can talk to him until she’s blue.”

Talley put the card in his pocket, wondering if the name on the card was a real agent, and thought that he probably was. Thinking that scared him. It was like a warning, this is how much power we have.

Talley glanced at the men. They were geared up now. A man in the second van was passing out MP5s, CAR-15s, and loaded magazines.

“What are you people going to do?”

“You and I are going to straighten this out with the Sheriffs. Two of my people are going to reconnoiter the house, see what we have. After that, we’ll deploy in a secure position and wait for the man to call. You’ve got your phone, I have mine. When he gives the word, we move. If something happens in the house that provokes a launch beforehand, we’ll do it. But we will control the scene until we’ve recovered our target. After that, the house is yours.”

Talley thought about the man’s words, thought he might have done this in the military, for the Rangers or Special Forces.

“I won’t be able to keep the others out. You know that. The Sheriffs will come in, and I’m going, too.” Jones met Talley’s eyes and shook his head.

“Listen, man, if it helps you get through this, we don’t want to kill anyone, not even the three dicks who started this mess. We just want the stuff in the house. But we know what’s required when we breach that house. We’ll have to secure the scene before we can recover what we want. We’ll do that, Talley. We’re professionals.”

The phone in Talley’s pocket chirped. He had a phone in his left pocket and a phone in his right, and didn’t remember which was which. Talley pulled out the phone in his left pocket. It was the Nokia. It chirped again.

“Answer it, Chief.”

Talley pressed the button to answer the call.

“Talley.”

“Is Mr. Jones with you?”

“Yes, he’s here.”

“Put him on.”

Talley passed the Nokia to Jones without a word. Jones put it to his ear, saying his name to let the caller know he was on. Talley watched Jones. His eyes were pale blue or gray, Talley couldn’t tell which in the dim light. A man in his mid-forties, maybe, who kept himself in good shape and could be hard when he had to be. As Jones spoke, his eyes flicked nervously to the Sheriffs in the distance. Talley thought that he was probably scared. Any sane man would be scared, doing what he was doing. Talley wondered what the Watchman had on this man, or if Jones was doing it for money.

Jones ended the call and passed the phone back to Talley.

“Let’s go, Chief. Time to get it done.”

“What does he have on you?”

Jones stared at him, then looked away without answering.

“I know why I’m doing this. What does he have on you?” Jones cinched down his vest, tighter than necessary, so tight the straps cut.

“You don’t know shit.”

Jones started up the street.

Talley followed him.

KEVIN

The stink of gasoline was so thick in the closed space of the entry hall that it burned Kevin’s eyes and filled his throat with the taste of metal. He gagged, acid washing the back of his throat, then he couldn’t hold back and vomited, puke splashing the wall. Dennis, in the den with his vodka, was too far gone to have heard.

They were going to die.

Kevin remembered a story from elementary school that explained how coastal Africans caught the tiny monkeys that lived at the edge of the water. The Africans would bore a hole in a coconut just big enough so that the monkey could squeeze its hand inside. They would put a peanut touched with honey into the coconut. The monkey would reach inside to grab the peanut, only with the peanut in its hand and its hand balled into a fist, the monkey’s hand would no longer fit through the hole. As long as it held on to the peanut, the monkey couldn’t take its hand out of the coconut. These monkeys wanted the honey-coated peanuts so badly that they would not let go even as the monkey-hunters walked up to cover them with nets. Dennis was the monkey in this house, surrounded by police but unwilling to let go of his peanut.

Kevin stumbled into the little bathroom off the entry and splashed his face with water. His lip and eye were swelling from the beating Dennis had given him. He washed out his mouth, then washed his face, rubbing the water through his hair and around his neck. After the shootings, the fear, the running, the nightmare terror of the day, he finally knew what he had to do, and why: He was not willing to die with his brother; no matter their childhood, no matter Dennis taking the old man’s belt for him, no matter the horrors they had endured. Dennis was willing to die for money he couldn’t have, and Kevin refused to die with him. He would take the girl and her brother, and the three of them would get the hell out of here. Let Dennis and Mars do what they want.

Kevin dried his face, then went back to the den to see if Dennis was still there. Kevin expected that Dennis and Mars would try to stop him from leaving. He knew that they could, so he wanted to get the kids out of the house without being seen. Dennis’s feet sprouted up over the end of the couch, still flat on his back. Kevin peeked into the office, checking for Mars, but Mars wasn’t there. Kevin thought that he might be back in the family room by the French doors, but suddenly he had the prickly feeling that Mars was watching him on the monitors. Kevin slipped past the den back along the hall to the master bedroom. If Mars was in the security room, he was going to tell Mars that Dennis wanted him to watch the front of the house again, but the master bedroom was empty and so were the closets and security room. Kevin stared at the monitors, seeing the police outside, seeing his brother in the den and the girl in her room, but he didn’t see Mars. He thought maybe he should break the monitors or figure out a way to turn off the security system, but if he moved quickly enough it wouldn’t matter; once he had the kids, they would be out of the house in seconds or they wouldn’t be out at all.

Kevin hurried back through the house to the entry, and then up the stairs. He knocked twice softly on the girl’s door, pulled the nail from the door, and let himself inside. The girl was curled into a ball on her bed, her eyes open, the lights full on. She swung her feet out and stood as the door opened.