Steve Gannon - Kane

Please open…

A creak.

Hurry…

Another creak.

Abruptly, the window jerked up an inch. And another.

Come on, a little more…

With a lurch, the window rattled open wide enough for her to squeeze through.

Allison squirmed one leg into the opening, then an arm, finally her head, expecting at any moment to hear the intruder bolting back up the stairs. With a five-foot drop to the ground and freedom, she paused on the sill.

What about the others? Maybe it’s not too late…

No. I can’t do anything. Go.

But what about them?

There’s nothing I can do. Hurry, hurry, before he comes back. Go

…

Despite her fear, Allison hesitated, suddenly recalling her father’s words to her in the cemetery: “When things go bad, really bad… remember who you are. ” At the time his advice had seemed superficial and facile. Now, with a flash of understanding, Allison realized its meaning.

She hesitated a moment more. Then, clenching her teeth to still their chattering, she eased back into her room.

Following another failed attempt to reach Catheryn on her cell phone, I made a second call to the Malibu sheriff’s station, then jumped into my Suburban and sped north. Even though I badged my way past several jam-ups, it took twenty minutes to reach Topanga, where I found a police unit diverting traffic. Again, I flashed my ID and raced past.

On the other side of the police barricade, I found the four-lane coast highway eerily deserted. Three miles farther on, as I rounded a bend and reached Las Flores Beach, my heart sank. Police cruisers were lined up on the far side of the road. Weapons drawn, a dozen sheriff’s deputies were crouched behind their vehicles, their attention focused on a beach residence across the highway.

Mine.

Swerving to avoid a black-and-white angled across PCH, I skidded through a line of highway flares and screeched to a stop across from my house. With a lurch of horror, I saw Catheryn’s Volvo parked out front, Travis’s Bronco close behind.

Too late? Oh, God, please let me be in time.

“Kane! Over here.”

I glanced toward an officer huddled behind the nearest patrol car. It was Brian Safire, a sheriff with whom I had spoken earlier. Waving frantically, Safire motioned me over. Nodding that I understood, I pulled my automatic. Head down, I exited my Suburban from the passenger side and joined my friend behind his cruiser.

“Fill me in,” I said, staring at my house. Most of the police units had their spots on it, bathing the structure in an unearthly glow.

Sergeant Brian Safire was only in his early thirties, but years of desk work and a steady diet of junk food and cigarettes had taken their toll. “We have an officer down,” he said, his face shining with sweat. He swallowed, seeming more out of breath with each word. “After you called, I had dispatch send over a unit. There was already a car at Carbon Beach, so it got here fast. One of the guys recognized your wife’s Volvo out front. When nobody answered the door, he climbed down the side of the house to the lower deck. Caught a bullet in the chest out one of the back windows.”

“He going to be okay?”

Safire nodded. “Vest stopped it. He’s shook, but he’ll be all right.”

“Anything since then?”

“We got a phone line open twenty minutes ago. The asshole inside says he wants a helicopter and safe passage or he’ll start killing hostages. I’m sorry, Dan.”

“Are they all right?”

“I don’t know. After making his demands, the guy gave us thirty minutes to respond and then cut us off. We evacuated the adjacent homes and stationed teams on either side as well as out on the beach. Nobody’s seen or heard anything since.”

“You talked with him twenty minutes ago? That gives us ten minutes.”

“Give or take. I called SWAT right away. They’ll be here soon. Meanwhile, that dirtbag ain’t going nowhere.”

I holstered my automatic, opened the door of Safire’s cruiser, and reached inside.

Ignoring Safire’s puzzled look, I flipped the radio-console toggle to bullhorn position and grabbed the mike. Seconds later my amplified voice boomed into the night. “Victor Carns. This is Detective Daniel Kane.”

Silence.

“Carns, I know you’re in there. Put the phone back on the hook. I’ll call you in thirty seconds. I have something to tell you. I guarantee it’s something you want to hear. Thirty seconds.”

Safire stared at me. “You know this guy?”

I tossed the mike back into the cruiser. “I know him.” I opened my cell phone and punched in my home number. It was busy. I tried again. The second time someone picked up. “You now have six minutes,” a voice declared harshly.

“Then that’s about what you have, too,” I replied. “That is, unless you pay close attention to what I’m about to say.”

“I’m listening.”

“First off, the helicopter’s on its way,” I lied. “It took off from Santa Monica a few minutes ago.”

“Good.”

“Not good, Victor. Regardless of what you think, there’s no way you’re getting on that chopper with civilian hostages. It just isn’t going to happen-even if it means everybody winding up in body bags, including you.”

Again, silence.

“There is a way,” I continued, easing into my next lie. “The word civilian is the key here, Victor. I’m not a civilian. Take me. Let the civilian hostages go.”

“An interesting proposal, Detective. I accept.”

“Let me talk to them first.”

“Talk when you get here. You now have four minutes.” With that, the line went dead.

I attempted to call back. I got another busy signal. I thought quickly, trying to decide what to do. Finally I stood, took off my jacket, and laid it on the hood of Safire’s black-and-white. As I began unstrapping my shoulder rig, an LAPD cruiser squealed to a stop beside me.

Lieutenant Snead rolled out from the passenger-side door. “What are you doing here, Kane?” he demanded angrily, crouching behind Safire’s vehicle.

“I live here, Snead. What brings you down?”

“After talking with Deluca, I got a squawk from the SWAT unit,” he replied. “You’re not the only one who can do simple addition.”

“Congratulations. One of these days you might make a good cop after all.”

Snead noticed that I was unstrapping my automatic. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“I’m going in.”

“The hell you are.”

“I’m going in, Lieutenant. And nobody’s going to stop me.”

“Wrong, hotshot. SWAT will be here shortly. If you go in, you’ll just make things worse.”

“Maybe.” I handed Snead my pistol and holster, turned, and started across the street.

“Don’t you realize he’ll kill you?” Snead shouted. “I’m ordering you to stand down, Kane. You’re relieved of duty.”

I turned. “Listen, Bill. We haven’t always seen eye to eye on things, but this goes way beyond that. My family’s in there.”

“I appreciate that, but-”

“Look, I know this guy,” I said, my voice hardening. “He has nothing to lose. He’s not going to negotiate. And he’s not going to surrender. And if SWAT sends in an entry team behind tear gas and concussion grenades or whatever, he’ll kill everyone. There’s only one chance of anyone getting out alive, and that one chance is me.”

Just then the SWAT van rolled up, lumbering to a stop fifty yards down the highway.

I glanced at the van. “Tell them there’s an officer inside. Have them give me ten minutes before they move.” I turned and started again across the highway, my arms held out from my sides. “If I’m still breathing when this is over,” I added over my shoulder, “we’ll talk about things then.”