Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to the characters of Flashpoint or Law and Order, they are owned by their respective companies. Also, this story will include some adult language and content, nothing gory. I'm not well versed in the series, Flashpoint, so I apologize in advance if I get things wrong. Please point them out in a review. Enjoy.
There's an old saying that 'Time heals all wounds', but that's not true. Wounds run deep. To the bone. Details may fade in the conscious mind, but the physical memory still lingers. Even after decades, the wounds are still there waiting to come back.
In Toronto, Canada there is a museum, Royal Canadian Military Institute on 426 University Ave. The facility had a lot to offer about the political and military changes of Canada during its history. Outside is an old bronze cannon 6-pounder, but inside was a library, hotel rooms, and much more. It was a Friday and there was a small class of children standing outside the museum waiting to go in as the teacher searched her bag for the tickets.
As the kids laughed and talked, eager to get inside, there was a man standing beside the low metal fence beside the cannon, staring at it some times and others looking at the children. The man appeared homeless. He wore a moth hole infested dark green jacket, black pants, shoes in tatters, sparse long gray hair, hollow dark eyes with bags under them, his breath reeked of alcohol that they could smell from a distance as his mouth hung open. His face had a blank complexion as if he wasn't fully there. The children looked at him curiously, but were afraid to get too close. The man had stood out there for a several minutes before the class showed up. He didn't move much except his head slowly twisting left to right. When he locked eyes with the kids, his mind decided.
Finding the tickets the teacher ushered the children inside the museum. The man followed behind them. As the teacher was handing over the tickets to the curator of the museum there was a roar from behind as the man shoved the children inside yelling, "Hands up!" reaching into his jacket pocket. His demand immediately caused their heads to turn, but no one moved until they saw a small silver pistol in one hand which caused many to scream.
Pushing his way to the teacher, the man grasped her by the collar. "Get in there!" shoving her to the floor. With his back to the still open front door, one of the children saw a chance, got up, and ran out holding the hand of another child. Several others did the same. "Where are you keeping them?" he demanded. The curator, flustered, didn't respond. "I said, where are you keeping them? The secrets? Where are you keeping the secrets?!"
She pleaded, "What secrets?"
Aiming the pistol at the ceiling the man pulled the trigger. The round went off with a load snap that caused the children to cover their ears and cry. "Shut up!" he yelled at them. But he was distracted by yelling at the curator. The man didn't notice for a full minute, and when he stood in the door frame shouting at the children to come back. With his back turned to the remaining hostages, they also sought their chance and ran for a back door. Again, he didn't notice for a few seconds. He turned around in time to see the museum curator and two children about to make a run for it when he aimed the pistol shouting, "Hands up! Get behind the desk." The others managed to escape, but now the man, enraged, locked the doors ready for a siege.
Police were fast to arrive at the scene. Those that escaped ran across the street and held up there as the police secured the area. Hearing the sirens and seeing the lights the gunman cautiously approached one of the windows and carefully pulled back the curtains. "Damn. Damn" muttering to himself. Pistol tight in his right hand he traced around the room as the curator huddled with the children, their eyes wide with fright. The curator, Jesse, tried to plead with him, "You can take me, but let the children go."
"Shut up! Shut up!" the man screamed as loud as he could. His high-pitched voice irritated their ears, but the sight of his pistol silenced them. He went up to the curator and a aimed the gun at them. "I make the rules here, not you!"
Knowing there was a man there with a gun and hostages, the situation dictated summoning the Emergency Task Force Unit to the scene. Their van rolled to a stop short of the museum in less than 10 minutes, the rear doors opened and out stepped the heavily armed members lead by Sergeant Parker. They were approached by Lieutenant Brown, senior officer present, with a status report, "We have the building surrounded and the man is holed up in the reception room with three hostages. We've identified him as Isaac Thomas, an American."
Parker's eyes carefully looked over the museum then paused to talk to Lt. Brown, "You've talked to him?"
Brown smirked, "No. It's the funniest thing. Those that escaped found an ID card outside the museum and confirmed that this is the man inside."
Taking and looking at the card himself, Parker got a close look at the man. Here in the card he did look slightly better than what he did now, but he had a downed look on his face, a man worn down by abuse. Handing the card to Jules, the only woman of the group, "Work your magic".
"You got it," Jules replied. Her mission was to recover information about the man to build a profile. With the ID card it was off to a good start.
Lt. Brown continued, "He has three hostages; the museum curator and two little girls being held in the front office."
"Any contact with him?" Sergeant asked as his eyes carefully looked over the front of the museum, a lot of glass, a lot of windows, many vantage points.
"No. The intel we got from those that escaped said that the man demanded to know where the secrets were being held."
Parker paused in his steps and turned to Lt. Brown, "Secrets?"
"Yeah, I know, we don't know what it means either, but he fired a shot into he ceiling and saying that the government was out to get him for what he knows."
"Thank you, Lieutenant" Parker nodded, "We got it from here. Keep your people where they are." Now came delegation of roles to the rest of his team. With Jules gathering Intel that left Ed Lane as sniper, "Find a vantage point, get me eyes inside on the target" The sniper nodded and hustled off. "Wordy, get me eyes inside, routes of escape as well as entry points. "Sam and Spike prep for entry, I'm going to talk to our guest."
The phone line to the museum was still working, so there was no need to deposit a phone at the front door and risk a shootout. Setting up on his perch on a rooftop across the street and looked down into the museum, Ed could see the man walking about in a crazed way, pistol resting against the side of his head. "Got visual on the target," he whispered into his radio. "See the hostages. They're unharmed but cowering in the far right corner of the room. All of the doors to the room are closed."
"What kind of weapon does he have?" Parker asked.
"Small, silver semi-auto pistol. Looks like .25 caliber." Ed replied. "Can't tell if he's wearing body armor."
On a small computer Jules inserted Thomas' ID and tapped away at the keyboard as information flooded back. Taking a cellphone Parker entered the museum's number for the front desk and listened to it ring. Slowly taking a deep breath, his eyes locked at the front door of the building, the tense ring in his ear pulse several times before someone picked up the receiver, there was heaving panting on the other end before a low growl as if awoken from a deep sleep, "What?"
Standing behind a parked cruiser Parker opened with, "Hello, my name is Sergeant Parker of the Emergency Task Force Unit. To whom am I speaking with?"
"My name is Commander Isaac Thomas, United States Navy!" the voice growled. "You will address me as such!"
Parker's eyebrows buckled as he wrote down the name proving the ID correct, "Fine then, Commander Thomas. You know why I'm calling, right?"
"You're here to listen to my demands, so no one else gets hurt. You give me what I want" Thomas snarled as he stomped around the office.
"That's correct, sir."
"Good. Good. I don't want to hurt these bratty kids, but I will," pointing the small pistol at the woman who cried and curled up in the corner putting her body in front of them. "Now listen here. I'm an American. I have my rights, and one thing I want is for you Commie pigs to back off!"
Parker denied this, "That's not going to happen, sir. Now, I'm willing to listen to your demands and we can work together on this. We all want this to end peacefully."
"Fine. Fine!" Thomas yelled. He walked around in tight circle, pistol resting against his head, "What I want...what I want...what I want..." Parker was waiting for him to finish his sentence, but Thomas didn't finish. Instead he muttered something and hung up the phone.
"He hung up the phone," Ed responded. "Now is standing in behind the front door, pistol against his head."
"Is he going to shoot himself?" asked Parker unable to see it.
"Negative. Looks like he's thinking. The barrel is pointing at the ceiling" the sniper said. "He's moving to the curtains," then came a grunt, "He closed the curtains. I lost visual. Moving to another location."
Their first attempt failed. That's to be expected, but Thomas appeared to be a man who was mentally unstable. That made him unpredictable, he could snap at any moment if he felt threatened. It would take longer than a few minutes to get any personal information, stuff to go from that would help them in this situation. Then came a shriek and a cry from inside that rang in Parker's ears that he picked up the phone and tried again. The phone rang for a full minute before Thomas answered it. "What?" he yelled.
"Sir, is everything alright in there?" being calm and collective.
"No! No! It's not. I know what you fat pigs want. You want to bury secrets. You want to distort the truth. You want to deny what I'm entitled to," Thomas replied, his words dripping with acid. He didn't know Parker, but he hated him with a passion along with any other constable and officer outside facing him. They were all the enemy in his eyes.
"Alright then. Can you please tell me what it is?" Parker asked calmly.
"I was out there fighting the Japs before you were even a forethought in your grandparent's mind," the more he spoke the more his words were high pitched, screeching, irritating to listen to, "I was out there. I am a war hero and my government wants to deny me what i'm entitled to, okay? They imprisoned me to cover up the truth. To cover up what I did!"
Parker had to be a bit forceful to get a word in edge wise to his ranting, "Tell me what you did" he said. If he could keep him talking then he can slowly win his confidence. Thomas needed to vent, so Parker was giving him an ear.
"During the war I earned the rank. I earned the medals. I fought in places that you've never even heard of. I went behind enemy lines many times to gather intel. I rescued prisoners of war. I sank Jap subs! The Government denies this." Slowly Parker nodded his head and went along with this. "Now, listen here...what's your name?"
"Sergeant Parker"
"Right. Sergeant Parker. Here are my demands. I will give you the hostages once my government officially recognizes me as the hero I am!" then hung up the phone.
Putting away the phone Parker knew that they were making progress. The hostages didn't seem in danger, but that could change at any moment. Ed was still repositioning.
The stand-off continued for another thirty minutes. Ed found a vantage point to the left of the museum that he was able to look through an open curtain, through an open door and see the hostages in the corner. They were scared, but unharmed. Jules appeared beside Parker with a pad of paper full of information and a thin smile on her lips, "Good news is, I was able to track down his criminal record in the States. Isaac Hawker Thomas. An American. There's a warrant for his arrest for attempted murder in New York City. According to them, he tried to kill one of his old Navy buddies after an argument over Thomas' service during the war."
That gave his rantings from credence.
"What else you got on him, Jules?" Paker asked.
"You think I wouldn't have more?" she mused, "He served in the war as an officer in the Navy. He had a series of postings on several ships, but each one kicked him for 'Below-Average performance,' and by the end of the war he was being court-martialed for; cowardice, insubordination, conduct unbecoming an officer and a gentleman, and for lying onan official report. He was convicted and sentenced to fifty years in prison. He was let out about five years ago and since then he's been bouncing around the country spouting many conspiracy theories about the war and the Government, even wrote two books about it and has a website with several thousand followers"
"So he's a conspiracy nut?" Parker nodded. "How'd he get into Canada with a criminal history?"
His partner didn't have a definitive answer, "There's no passport in his name, he must have crawled in."
As the two spoke Ed's voice entered their ear buds, "He's picking up the phone, boss." A moment later it rang.
Before Parker could say a word Thomas' voice rang through the receiver, "Well? Well? What did they say?"
"Commander Thomas, I have some good news. We were able to get ahold of your service records" Parker said. It was all part of the ploy, but he had to choose his words carefully. The wrong ones could end the call and leave the man enraged. He had to keep playing the 'eager to listen' card to keep that man talking to put him at ease. "Seems you have an impressive record."
"Yeah. Yeah. That's right," the man spat, "What else did you find out?"
He couldn't bring up the court-martial, that would set him off. He had to go around it. Jules was scribbling down names of ships, "You were on the USS Blue. That was a destroyer in the Pacific" going off of Jules writing.
"That's right" Thomas' tone suddenly changed. It was upbeat. Perhaps feeling nostalgia. "That's right. I was there at Pearl Harbor during the attack. I got my ship underway."
While they talked Ed could see the man clearly as he talked on the phone, leaning his dirty body against the front desk, pistol relaxing at his side. A good bullet now would end the matter, but Parker wanted to end this with non-lethal force.
The two talked for several minutes, but something in the man's mind popped. It came out of the blue. He yelled, "I'm important here. NOT YOU! Got me? I'm the one who saved your country from speaking Japanese. I'm the one who saved your mother from giving birth to slant-eyed babies. Got me? You're nothing without me!" Thomas roared into the phone.
His voice was loud enough that Parker had to take the receiver from his ear. This man has a deluded sense of grandeur. Then he hung up.