John Gilstrap - Hostage Zero

“But there’s no such person as Special Agent Leon Harris with the FBI,” she said, responding to the information he’d just recited.

“I’m not hard of hearing,” Granville said. “And I’m not especially dim-witted. Right around the time that he was coldcocking my colleague I think I began to consider the possibility that he was an imposter. How many times must I say it?”

Sheriff Willow rose to his opportunity to make noise. “I’d watch my tone if I were you, Deputy,” he said.

Granville ignored him.

So did Sergeant Wilson. “When you explain how you let an imposter into a secured area, I can stop asking.”

“He was an imposter with legitimate FBI credentials,” Granville explained. Again.

“Not possible.” This from Special Agent William Meyer, FBI, whose role in this was not clear to Granville, beyond the fact that Jimmy Henry was being held on federal charges. “They had to be counterfeit.”

“Then they were good ones.”

“Perhaps to the untrained eye,” Meyer said. Wilson nodded in agreement. It seemed that the federal government and the Commonwealth of Virginia had jointly decided that there was a certain dimness between Granville’s ears.

Granville gestured to them both. “You two met before?”

“Actually, no,” said Sergeant Wilson. And judging from her tone, this was a good thing.

“Then how do you know he’s really with the FBI?”

Meyer puffed up like an indignant fish.

“His credentials, right?” Granville answered for her. “I mean you didn’t do a quick background check or take any fingerprints? It was the attitude, the badge, and the gun, right? Same with me.”

Sergeant Wilson smiled as she got the point. Special Agent Meyer did not. “Let’s move on,” she said.

“No, let’s not move on,” Granville said. He struggled to keep his tone even, but the more he spoke, the more difficult that became. “Let’s stay right where we are until we all embrace the fact that I am not an idiot. In fact, let’s all agree that I am not only a victim, but in many ways the primary victim of what went down here.”

Sheriff Willow took a step forward.

“Save it, Sheriff. I understand that this is embarrassing to the department. Christ, of all the people in the room right now, I understand that better than anyone.”

“You’re getting defensive,” Meyer said with a roll of his eyes and a wave of his hand.

Granville shot to his feet, toppling his chair with his knees. “Defensive, my ass. Shall we talk about what really happened here tonight?”

“What we’ve been trying to do since we got here,” Sergeant Wilson said.

“Bullshit. Y’all have been trying to dig a bunker for yourselves with a door that’s too small to let me in.” As he felt the color rising in his cheeks, he knew that his dreams of getting away from the desk were done, but he didn’t give a shit anymore. “What actually happened here is a very carefully planned and brilliantly executed prison break.”

“That better not be admiration I hear in your tone, Deputy,” Willow said.

Granville glared. “Jesus Christ, Sheriff, open your eyes. ‘Admiration’ might not be exactly the right word, but I gotta tell you it’s close. It was a flawless plan.” He turned on Agent Meyer. “And why would you doubt that a team that was able to hijack our entire security system-and, in the process, erase every goddamn trace that they were ever here, despite the eyewitnesses-could figure out a way to forge a hunk of metal into a precious FBI badge, and some papers into convincing creds?”

He paused. It was a real question, but Agent Meyer’s only answer was to make his ears turn red.

Granville shifted his attention to his boss. “You know, Sheriff, as you struggle to find the right kind of message to send out to the voting public, you might want to mention the fact that thanks to me and all the other competent deputies you hired, we came this close to stopping them, and we limited what could have been a mass breakout to only one.”

Sheriff Willow prepared to be angry, but then the words got through, and he backed off.

Granville lowered his voice as he closed the deal. “What I saw happen tonight was nothing short of heroic. One deputy was overpowered and severely beaten, and then the rest of the team risked their lives to keep everything from going to hell.”

He turned to Meyer. “I’m guessing that your guy has some damned important friends, and they didn’t want him spending time with you. The kind of help he got doesn’t come cheap.”

“But he’s nobody,” Sergeant Wilson said. “Jimmy Henry is a small-time crook, in and out of the system two or three times, but no known ties to anyone important. No known ties to anyone at all.”

Just like that, Granville saw that he’d earned his way inside the circle. She was speaking to him, not at him. “He was accused of shooting up that school yesterday, right?” he asked. He knew the answer, so he kept going. “Maybe it was just a vigilante thing. People broke him out to string him up.”

“For God’s sake, Deputy George,” Sheriff Willow growled.

Again, Granville decided not to engage the boss, deciding to cut a break for the guy who was watching his career implode.

“Was there anything in this Leon guy’s words or actions that make you think that might be the case?” asked Sergeant Wilson.

Granville shrugged. “No. But then again, there was nothing in his words or actions that made me think he wasn’t an FBI agent.”

“Seems awfully Zane Grey to me,” Meyer said, alluding to the famed writer of pulp Westerns.

“You know what goes on at the school, right?” Granville pressed. “Every single student there is the child of an incarcerated parent. If ever there was a group that could open up a can of Zane Grey vigilantism, that would be the one.”

“It’s worth looking into,” Wilson said, jotting a note to herself. “We start with the parents of the two who were kidnapped-”

A state trooper who looked too old not to have any stripes on his sleeve interrupted Wilson by clearing his throat. He held a cell phone in his fingers, ready for it to be taken. “Excuse me, Sergeant, but this is a park ranger. He first asked for Sheriff Willow, but when I told him you were running the investigation, he said he wanted to talk with both of you.”

“A park ranger?” Wilson said. She looked to Willow. “Any objection to putting it on speaker?”

The sheriff shrugged.

She pressed the button on the phone. “This is Sergeant Wilson with the Virginia State Police,” she said. “I’m here with Sheriff Willow. How can we help you?”

The background noise through the speakers made it clear that the ranger was outdoors. “Yeah, hi,” said a young voice. “This is Paul Johnson with the National Park Service. I’m at the George Washington Birthplace Memorial here on Popes Creek?”

Everyone in the room shrugged together. “Okay,” Wilson said.

“Well, I think I’ve got something here that belongs to you.” A smile appeared in his voice. “Some one, actually. He says his name is Jimmy Henry. Does that mean anything to you?”

The morning crew at the Washington Birthplace Memorial had been shocked to find the shackled man chained to the base of the obelisk that marked the entry to the park. According to the incident reports they’d filled out for the National Park Service, the young man had been sleeping soundly on the ground. Once the workers saw the chains and the orange jumpsuit, they were able to link what they were seeing with the reports they’d heard on the radio, and they’d called higher-ups without actually approaching the fugitive.

Granville George was waiting at the jail when Jimmy Henry arrived. The overtime hadn’t been approved, but he didn’t care. If he had to eat a couple of official hours on his own nickel, that would be fine, just so long as he saw justice done.