Lisa Black - Takeover

“I’m sorry, Chris.” Her hurried breaths dissolved into sobbing. “I’m sorry.”

“Theresa, it’s all right,” he soothed, and sounded as if he meant it. But then, feigning empathy was his stock-in-trade. “We’ll get through this okay.”

“I’m sorry.” “Calm down. It’s all right.” “I’m sorry. Tell Oliver I’m sorry.” “Just calm down, okay? I will get you out of there.” “Shouldn’t make promises you don’t know you can keep,” Lucas observed. Theresa choked out, “Is Paul all right?” “He’s in the ambulance now. They’re-” Lucas interrupted. “Okay, you spoke. Now the lady is going to sit down and you’re going to hang up, Chris, because, like I said, I don’t need you no more.” He gave Theresa a small shove. She walked with leaden feet to join another woman who had lost her other half.

Perhaps Paul would live. Perhaps she would not. Was it worth it? Would Rachael agree? Would the girl ever for give her mother for taking the risk, even if she lived? Even if Paul lived? Ultimately it didn’t matter. She couldn’t stand by and do nothing while he died. She could not. It was too late now anyway. Stick to it.

Across the street Cavanaugh ripped off his headset and turned to Patrick. “Who the hell’s Oliver?”

12:35 P.M.

“Listen up, people.” Lucas addressed them as a group while Bobby hovered nearby, out of sniper range.

Theresa took in her surroundings; the room she’d been watching in black and white had suddenly blossomed into reality, like Dorothy’s Technicolor Oz. The polished granite and the soaring, painted ceilings were quite beautiful. Pity to turn it into a mausoleum, a place for the dead.

“It’s twelve-thirty,” Lucas said. “I don’t want to hang around here waiting for that afternoon shipment, do you?”

He didn’t get a response but didn’t seem to expect one.

“So let’s forget that, and let’s forget the computerized vaults downstairs and their uncooperative robots. Where else is there money in this building? Anyone? Brad-jeez, relax, Brad, I’m not going to shoot you. I’ve got my car, so you’re safe. Where is the money?”

“If I tell you, will you let me go?”

Lucas studied him. “You getting cute on me, Brad? You think because Theresa and I made a deal that the table is suddenly open?”

The young man swallowed hard. “Yes. I’ll tell you if you let me walk out of here.”

“That doesn’t sound like a bad deal. I’d still have six of your coworkers, right?”

Brad nodded, his head bobbing quickly; his fellow hostages were on their own.

Next to him Missy clenched her fists as if restraining herself from slugging him. “Thanks a lot.”

“Don’t blame Brad because he’s less than altruistic. Some people are. Okay, tell me where the money is. When I have it in my bag, you can leave.”

The man opened his mouth, shut it again. He frowned in thought.

“You don’t really know, do you, Brad? You figured I’d take your word for it and shove you out the door. There’d be no one around but your fellow hostages by the time I found out you lied.”

“No, really, I just need to think a minute. I’m usually guiding little kids around…”

“You work on it, Brad.”

“But I’m only twenty-four!”

“And that’s relevant to me… why, exactly?”

“I can’t die. ”

“I thought that once, too, Brad. Anyone else? And before you ask, no, I won’t let you walk out. But once I have enough cash, I’ll leave, and then you can all go.”

No response. Theresa’s breath had finally steadied, and the white spots had disappeared from her vision. Next to her, Jessica Ludlow fidgeted, her son shifting in her lap.

“Missy? I’ll bet you can tell me. Receptionists know everything. They’re almost as good as janitors.”

“I don’t.”

“The way I figure it, if I can pick up another million dollars, I’ll just go on my merry way. Or I can hang out here and continue to shoot people. Which do you think is a better idea?”

“I thought you wanted to leave,” Theresa said. “You said you didn’t want any more money.”

Lucas barely glanced at her. “I only said that to get my car in place before the next stage of wealth accumulation commences, because that sort of activity makes cops antsy. Missy?”

“If I knew where a million dollars was, you think I’d be working as a receptionist?”

“Yes, I do. Because you’re an honest girl, Missy. And also because you’d never get it out of here without one of these.” Lucas gestured with the automatic rifle, its barrel drawing a loop in the air. “Neither condition restricts me.”

He stood in front of them, in scuffed Timberland hiking boots, a crisp black T-shirt under the nylon Windbreaker. His jeans seemed crisply new as well, but they had already been stained. Dark droplets made a vertical line on his right leg, difficult to see against the dark fabric. Their tiny tails pointed toward his head, indicating that the liquid had been cast off by a soaked object traveling upward. He had been doing something messy before entering the bank.

“I’m always down here,” Missy said. “That’s it. I don’t have the run of the building.”

“We’ll go logically. What’s on the second floor?” “Research.” “And the third?” “Check Services. Verifying and correcting.” “No cash?” “That’s the beauty of checks,” Missy pointed out. “All electronic.” “Where are the security guards?” “Sixth. No cash there either.” They stared at each other. “What’s in the security offices?” “Desks. File cabinets. Lots of food.” “Food?” “For the dogs. Monitors. A meeting room.” “Monitors showing what?” “The building.” “What parts of it?” “All of it. There’s cameras on every floor.” “This lobby?” Why did he ask? As Cavanaugh had pointed out, the cameras were clearly visible. “Sure, this lobby. The vaults. The loading dock. Third floor.

The-” “What’s on the third floor?” Missy hesitated. She had erred somehow, and the knowledge showed clearly on his face. “Bank Loans.” “What’s that?” “How would I know?” “I’m willing to bet you could run the department if you had a fancy degree after your name. I’m willing to bet you know all about it. So don’t make me shoot Brad after all, okay? What’s in the bank-loan department?”

The girl sighed. “If banks are having a shortfall, or some other temporary crisis, they come in here and get a loan to tide them over. They get a certain interest rate and-anyway, most of it is done by electronic transfers.”

“But some isn’t?”

“Some cash,” Missy admitted, less reluctant now that the subject had been broached, “is kept on hand in case of an old-fashioned run, where customers come in and want to withdraw all their funds. Never used to happen before 9/11. Now, with terrorism scares and worries about another blackout-”

“Thank you for the financial analysis, Missy. Where is this money kept?”

“Don’t know,” the receptionist told him, with a trace of smugness. “I’m always down here, like I said.”

“How much cash?”

“I wouldn’t know that either.”

Lucas watched the young woman, his stare on a slow simmer. “Well. We need to get that money.”

Missy shook her head.

“You got a problem with that, sugar?” Lucas asked.

“No, but you might. There’s still security in the rest of the building. You won’t make it.”

“Of course not. It’d be suicide even to try. That’s why I’m going to send someone else.”

His eye fell on Theresa, producing a mixture of feelings. She’d be more than happy to wander around the Fed, more than happy to be anywhere except in this lobby. She could probably find a phone to check on Paul’s condition and call Rachael.