M Sellars - The Law Of Three

Still, even discounting all of those factors, body armor had been one of the most uncomfortable things I’d ever worn.

I slipped into the vest and in the process realized just exactly how sore I was. My body creaked like an old, wooden sailing ship, and I suspected I had bruises forming on top of bruises. I grimaced and forced my torso into the armor then wrestled with the Velcro straps. I wriggled about inside the somewhat bulky protective garment as I smoothed them down. Agent Kavanaugh inspected the closures, taking a moment to rip several of them open and pull them tighter.

“I was thinking I might like to breathe,” I declared with a sarcastic bite as she tightened the last one.

“I was thinking I might like you to walk away alive,” she retorted without looking up. “You’re no good to us dead.”

“Thanks for the compassion,” I scoffed.

She didn’t miss a beat with her own acerbic reply. “You’re welcome.”

Ben handed me my coat, and I struggled to pull it back on over the vest.

Agent Kavanaugh was already climbing into the driver’s seat of the sedan when she called to us. “Come on!”

We followed suit; Ben took the front passenger seat while I jumped into the back. I was still pulling my door shut when Kavanaugh spun the tires against the slushy pavement and expertly whipped the vehicle around in a tight half-donut.

I rocked inward and felt the door partially latch then sat up and looked forward. I happened to catch a quick glimpse of Ben’s injured right hand as he twisted to look back at me. He was holding it balled up in a tight fist and cradled against his chest. Even in the dark, I could tell it was covered in blood, and when I looked up at his face, I saw immediately that he was mutely coping with severe pain.

“You really need to have that hand checked out, Ben,” I told him. “It doesn’t look very good.”

“What? You a doctor all of a sudden?” he retorted.

“Ben…”

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll get it taken care of when this is over.”

We rocked to the side as Agent Kavanaugh whipped the vehicle out of the lot at a sharp right angle, sped forward, and then made another ninety degree turn to the right. She accelerated down the hill, only to quickly apply the brakes, fishtail the sedan through another right hand turn, and bring it skidding to a halt diagonal to the curb.

“Well, that was fun,” Ben quipped as he turned back to the front and reached across with his left hand to open his door.

Our no-nonsense escort already had my door open and was hustling me from the back of the vehicle. Once I was out, she led me toward a small clutch of very serious-looking individuals.

A trim man, looking to be in his late forties or early fifties, was at the center of the activity. He was wearing a headset that appeared to be connected to a large, gadget-laden, black box. Upon close inspection, the container looked to me like a deep suitcase. The hinged clamshell of the case was wide open, displaying a patch panel and compact recording equipment, as well as an array of switches and dials.

He fixed his gaze on me and gave a questioning raise of his eyebrow. He must have received a response from Agent Kavanaugh as he immediately executed a satisfied nod of his head and continued talking.

“Yes, Eldon,” he said into the headset microphone. “He’s here. I’m looking right at him. Can’t you see him from the window?”

He grimaced for a moment, and I wondered what Eldon was saying to him. His response that followed a few seconds later gave me a clue.

“No, Eldon, I’m not trying to trick you into giving away your position. I just want to make sure you know I’m telling you the truth. Yes… Yes, I know. Yes, that is him. Okay, fine. Now, according to my watch, we came in well under your deadline.”

He continued staring at me with that as his only acknowledgment of my presence. Around us, members of the team appeared to be taking notes while others seemed to be in the process of arranging them on a large board.

“All right, Eldon,” he said. “I can let you talk to him for a minute, but I’m going to need something from you… Hey, Eldon, I kept my end of the bargain. You wanted Mister Gant here, and I made good on my promise. He’s on site. This is all give and take, Eldon.”

I studied the man as he worked, wishing I could apply the same detachment that I was witnessing in him. At the same time, I wondered if that detachment was merely a stoic front and that perhaps he internalized these things even more than I did.

“Okay then. I want you to put Miss Sullivan on the line, so I know she is okay. Simple, right?” He paused for a moment. “Give and take, Eldon, give and take. Right now it’s your turn to give… Okay… That’s good… Thank you.”

He paused again, and I waited.

“Miss Sullivan?” the man suddenly said with a questioning note in his voice. “This is Special Agent Scott McCoy with the FBI. Have you been harmed in any way? Miss Sullivan? Miss Sullivan?”

Agent McCoy’s eyes hardened, and the lines in his face grew deeper as he frowned. In that instant, he actually seemed human as opposed to just the detached automaton I’d been watching for several moments.

“That wasn’t much of a conversation now was it, Eldon?” he said into the microphone. “Okay… Calm down, he’s right here… Yes, I’m going to put him on the line. Hold on.”

McCoy twisted back a half turn to the box and pulled out a handset. When he turned back to me, he held it down to his side and fixed his stare with mine. “All right, this is how we need to play this, Mister Gant…”

I shot him a concerned glance, looking first at the handset by his side then at his headset. He noticed it immediately. He turned the handheld phone up so I could see it. “We’re fine, there’s a talk button on this, and right now my headset is muted.”

I nodded, feeling a little chagrined at having questioned him.

“Now, I’m going to put you on the line with Porter,” he continued. “We will be listening in. The only thing I want you to do is calm him down. Once you’ve done that, we take over again. It may sound crass, sir, but you just became a carrot for us to dangle in front of him.”

“That doesn’t bother me,” I returned. “But you probably aren’t going to like how I calm him down.”

He shook his head at me. “Mister Gant,” he said. “We heard your conversations with him earlier so we get the picture. Truth is I don’t particularly care what you have to do as long as you don’t make him any promises. I just want that hostage out of there alive.”

“Believe me, the feeling is mutual,” I replied.

He held the handset out to me. “Press the button to talk, and let it go if you want to say something to us without him hearing. Remember, NO promises. I’ll handle the negotiating. Understood?”

“Yeah,” I affirmed. “You negotiator. Me carrot. No promises.”

I stepped forward and took the device out of his hand then drew in a cleansing breath. I let it out slowly from my mouth in a thin cloud of steam and then felt myself join with a solid ground. I placed the handset to my ear and squeezed the talk button.

“Listen up you sonofabitch,” I said with more than just a hint of sincere anger. “You are really starting to get on my nerves.”

I turned to face the building as I spoke. It didn’t exactly tower over us, but at five stories, it definitely required a rearward tilt of the head to see the top. Large windows were spaced at regular intervals across the brick face, vertically rectangular with a slight arch at the top of each. Unfortunately for us, every one of them was securely boarded over with aging plywood.