HOSTILE TAKEOVER
By AJ Squaredaway
PART FOUR
I had a gut instinct that something about this leap wasn't right. Al was missing, the stand-in Observer, Dr. Fuller, had given me nothing the one time I'd seen her, and I'd been here for hours and was still without a clue as to why I was here. My gut instinct told me that this incident I was responding to was my reason for leaping here, whenever this was. I felt so unprepared for what lay ahead; I was glad I had at least perused the 'Elements of Hostage Negotiations' notebook in Chuck's car. Thanks to my photographic memory, I at least had some of the jargon available and the organizational chart in my head. I just hoped I wasn't the one listed at the top of the chart as the 'Incident Commander'; that sounded more like Al's place. I could only hope I'd see him soon.
Sam kept as close to Chuck as he could, but Chuck was as enthusiastic about driving as he was about teaching. They pastoral surroundings gave way quickly to city streets, and Sam finally saw a city he remembered: Arlington. He knew they were in the beltway of Washington DC at that point. Chuck had one of those detachable red 'bubble lights' on his dashboard, as well as a siren, and broke every driving rule in the book to get to the Command Post. Sam wasn't sure he could pry his own knuckles from the steering wheel when Chuck finally parked.
Chaos reigned the streets where they stopped. Cars were everywhere, and everyone in sight had a uniform, badge, gun, or bulletproof vest over their clothes, or any combination of those items. Sam had tried to listen to the police radio, but it was all gibberish to him; too many codes, too many voices. He didn't even have a car radio to listen to the news.
Chuck had pulled over a curb and slammed on his brakes on a patch of grass not meant to be a parking lot. He was completely professional as he got out, donned his fatigues and vest, and clipped his badge to his belt. Sam followed suit, always feeling like he was playing catch-up with the big man. He also couldn't help but noticed the large number of officers that respectfully acknowledged them. Sam hoped he wouldn't damage Sgt. Takeshta's reputation.
They strode off together towards a large, white bus bedecked with antennas and satellite dishes in the distance. They had parked as close as they could get in all this mess. Sam saw a large contingent of military men patrolling the area; he couldn't see the White House yet, but could tell the direction it was in by the increasing numbers of soldiers. Nervously, Sam licked his lips and wiped his sweaty hands on his pants. He sure could use some help, here; the closer he got to the Command Post, the less sure he was about pulling this off.
When they arrived at the bus, there was little backslapping and hearty greeting; everyone knew the bleakness of the situation. When their number reached about a dozen, a man with great command presence raised his hand and they were all quiet. The only noise he couldn't control was the 'whup-whup' of the helicopters overhead, distant sirens and muted police radios.
"OK, troops, I'm your Incident Commander, Captain Burroughs."
Sam let out a big sigh, and relaxed slightly.
"I'm passing out a sketch of the area, and the blocked off streets. We have commandeered the lobby of that building behind you," everyone turned and noted the office building, "and it will be the Command Post. I've penciled in some unit leaders at the bottom. If your name is listed, follow me to the lobby now. The rest of you stay here until you're called to your particular unit. There's no big surprises here, folks. I'm not taking this time for training, so you will all be in familiar units."
'Yeah, right,' Sam groaned to himself. He looked at the paper and wasn't surprised to see Takeshta's name written on the bottom. He whispered softly to the heavens, "Al, where are you??"
The lobby of the Command Post was a busy place. Tables were being set up around the perimeter, and loaded with equipment. Captain Burroughs herded them to the quietest corner. "OK," he started. "Most of you probably got the low-down on your radios on the way over, but I'll go over it again to clarify our part in this.
"Since we paged you, another situation has arisen, and the first thing we have to do is verify a connection. At approximately 1425 hours, a dark skinned male believed to be of Iranian descent drove up to the northeast White House guard shack in a white panel truck, and took the two guards there hostage. He claims the truck is loaded with explosives. He appears calm and in no hurry at all, and had duct-taped the guards' hands and feet. They are still in the guard shack, and the suspect is sitting in the truck. As a result, Level 1 security measures were enacted with shut down all access to the White House, the Capitol Building and all the Senate and House office buildings. This includes the underground trolley that runs between the Capitol Building and office buildings.
"At approximately 1500 hours, word came me that the Senate trolley line, which is underground, has also been seized by an unknown number of suspects in the section that connects from the Senate Building to the Russell Senate Office Building. I have that area noted on your maps.
"We believe that the first event was a diversion for the second event, allowing the armed suspects to move about freely in public, armed to the teeth, so to speak. There have been no demands made yet."
He paused to allow the group to chat amongst themselves for a few minutes. Sam was shocked at the news, and tried to absorb what he could from the people around him. Chuck was very animated in his discussion, and Sam tried to hear every word. Sam saw the Captain consult with another man, who handed him a paper, then he motioned for silence.
"OK, here's the line up: Incident Commander, me. Negotiation Supervisor: Chuck Crossman." Chuck raised his hand so everyone could see him. "Tactical Supervisor, Bob McMartin." A man near Chuck raised his hand. "Primary Negotiator," Sam felt butterflies in his stomach. "Tom Williams." Sam sighed. "Secondary Negotiator, Sandy Allen."
A short haired woman yelped, "Here!" and everyone laughed briefly.
Burroughs continued, "Dr. Carlson is here for Mental Health and brought his team, and Communications Center Lieutenant Axall will head up Support, and the Intelligence Officer will be, of course, Sergeant Takeshta."
Sam didn't say anything, but many heads turned his way. He felt himself blush, and tried to find his position on the chain of command diagram in his head. He was pleased to find he was in the third row from the top, and exhaled gratefully.
"Refer all press inquires to Lieutenant Dann; No press inside the inner perimeter on you maps, and I want updates in one-half hour. If you have any questions, ask me now. Dismissed."
Project Quantum Leap
They all watched the scenario unfold before them on the television screens, narrated by Ziggy as she relayed the police radio traffic. Everyone felt helpless and useless.
Donna's mind was flying beneath her calm façade. 'How can we help Sam?' she thought. 'What can we give him that he can use?' Finally, a thought occurred to her. "Ziggy, ask Dr. Beeks if our Visitor is usually assigned to a particular position on the negotiation team, and what that job entails. Maybe we can do Sam's work for him."
There was a slight pause before Ziggy replied. "I've already researched Mr. Takeshta's records and have deduced a pattern. There is a 95.22% probability that Dr. Beckett will be the Intelligence Officer. The Intelligence Officer gathers and assembles all background and information on both the hostages and hostiles. The information is used to bargain with, and to determine who will be the strong and weak links in the hostages. As they say, there can never be enough information."
"True," Donna smiled. "I also assume Sam will have his own computer terminal at the Command Post?" she inquired further.
At this question, all heads raised and faced her, realizing what she was building up to.
"Yes. That assumption is correct."
Donna burst into a huge smile. Finally! Some way to help! "OK, Ziggy, we're going to be Dr. Beckett's own, personal information source. We get the radio traffic a few minutes ahead of Sam, so let's gather our list. Tap all sources. I know the Senate office buildings have cameras all over the place, so let's review those from the subway platform. We need names and backgrounds on all of the hostages, including the guards at the guardhouse. Check the license on the box truck. We need to find out who the terrorists are. Any ideas, anyone?"
"If I had fingerprints I could check Interpol and all other fingerprint data bases," Ziggy suggested.
Gooshie's frowning face was replaced with a bright expression. "I can refigure the hand link to project a light that can enhance a print. The Observer just needs to shine it on a print we know to be one of the terrorist's."
"Do it," Donna said, starting to pace. "Sammy Jo, get ready to center on Al and check that out. Ziggy, find Dr. Beckett's station at the Command Post and hack into his line only. We're going to be his sole source of information. And be sure to delete any references to Al for now. He can't get focused on one person. We need to make this as easy as possible for him."
"Nothing about this leap has been easy so far," Tina quipped as her fingers flew over the console.
"Tell me about it," Donna mumbled in response.
PART FIVE
Sam got swept up in the hustle of setting up stations at the command posts. Computers! Something he knew something about! Although it was simple work, and didn't recognize some of the components he was working with, he figured everything out and savored the time. He'd already had a half dozen investigators report to him and he sent them out on fact-finding missions. The job of Intelligence was collecting information; he felt he could do that, especially with such a good team that worked with little supervision. His scribe, a pinch-faced man called Scanlon, recorded everything for him instantly, and gave him updates regularly, and even had a report ready for Sam to give the Commander at the requested time.
'This is almost too easy,' he thought. That idea made him especially cautious, and he looked carefully around him as he worked. Still nothing stood out for his attention, and he went back to his setting up.
Finally, he was able to sit at the computer station and fire it up. Scanlon placed a list of stations and their network locations next to Sam. As soon as he logged in, information started rolling in.
Scanlon gave the screen a double take. "Wow! Dispatch sure is on the ball today, Sergeant. But then again, with a high profile incident like this I guess they have to be."
"Yeah," Sam agreed. He was just sorting through the list of known hostages when a man in fatigues walked over, a hand held radio on his ear.
"Sir? The tactical field team is ready to feed the camera into the subway. The rest of your team is in the field, so they want to confirm that you'll be there."
Sam blinked for a second, having no idea what that meant. "Yeah, sure. Now?"
"Yes sir. I'll take you there." The man confirmed the information on the radio, the slipped it in his holder. "Let's go."
Sam glanced at Scanlon. "Cover for me here, OK?"
"Yes, sir."
As they walked out to the bustle of the outside, camera flashes went off by the dozens. Reports, held in a certain area outside, had erected scaffolds and platforms by the score. Vans with satellite dishes were everywhere. Questions were being thrown at him, dozens at a time, and he couldn't hear any one of them clearly. Sam's escort had ducked his head and grabbed Sam's arm. "This way," he said.
They left the demanding reports behind as they weaved their way between cars, using them as cover at the same time. Soon they were at an intersection that was cordoned off with bright yellow tape that said "Do Not Cross - Police Line". Sam saw a group of heavily armored men grouped together over a manhole cover.
Sam's escort briefed him. "We figured out that some of the suspects got access to the subway tunnel via the sewer. We found an abandoned catering truck down the road, stopped right over the top of one of the manholes. They staged a vehicle breakdown, and all the while were going through a trapdoor in the bottom of the truck into the maintenance tunnels. From there, getting to the subway tunnel was just like running a maze.
"We used sound equipment to pinpoint where the people are gathered, and are making a hole to insert the fiber-optic camera. Should be able to monitor what's happening, and get a good list as to exactly who's down there for you. We have a feed set up to go to your station and the head negotiator's station. We need you to approve the camera placement, but I think it's the best location we'll get."
"OK," Sam acknowledged. When the reached the manhole, the agents stood back and let them by. Sam carefully went down the ladder into the dark, dank cavern, followed closely by his escort. It was wet down there, and Sam's shoes were soon squishy with liquid. He tried not to think about what he was walking in as he trotted after his guide, passing heavily armed stationed at each intersection of tunnels. The smell didn't help, either.
They'd twisted through a few turns and passed under an open manhole above them. "This is where they came in. The truck's right up there," his guide stated as the cruised by.
Soon they met up with a cluster of five other men who were unraveling what looked like cable lines. One man had a small video screen in front of him which showed shades of grey and black lines. The man motioned Sam over.
"OK, we're running the camera around the various pipes hanging above the subway cars. It's a good thing those cars have open sides, or we probably wouldn't be able to see inside. A lot of the tunnel lighting is out."
Sam wasn't sure if he was making sense of what he saw, or his imagination was taking over. Eventually he was able to figure out what he was looking at. The tunnel had pipes running the length of the ceiling, and Sam could see the seats in the cars with a bird's eye view. The first two cars he saw were empty, but there was movement in the car coming up. Identifying anybody from the tops of their heads wasn't going to be easy, but if they could drop the cable down, maybe the darkness would conceal its presence.
The technician seemed to read Sam's mind, and the view on the monitor gradually changed to more of a profile image. "That's the last car, sir. The hostages are being held in one spot, it seems. There could be more of them further down the tunnel. I count three armed suspects so far," he touched the screen and Sam noted the masks and rifles. "And let's see...at least eleven hostages." He adjusted some dials, which affected the focus. "I recognize two Senators, at least. Four women. Hmmm..and I think one guy's in uniform."
Sam squinted at the screen. It was drifting in and out of focus as he studied it, but saw the dark patch pointed out by the agent. Everyone was sitting on the seats, but this guy standing with his back to the camera, his arms held out to his sides. The agent said it looked like a Navy Officer dress blues uniform, and by the way his arms were moving, looked like he was talking to one of the masked men standing just a foot or two in front of him. They watched as a fourth masked man stepped up from the darkness, his mouth working furiously under the mask. The Navy man did not back down. The agent gasped when the masked man suddenly raised the butt of his rifle and jabbed the Navy man in the chest, sending him flying backwards towards the camera. He landed on the floor, out of the camera's field of vision.
"Whoa, that had to hurt! I hope he doesn't antagonize the suspects any further," the agent commented, furiously working the dials.
Sam was transfixed by what he saw on the screen. All those innocent people! And where was the Observer to tell him what happens?
"Is this view OK for you guys up there, or do we need to run the cable to the other side of this group? We run the chance of the fiber being detected if I try to keep going over their heads, but it could give us an idea of who is in the tunnel ahead."
"No, no," Sam said distractedly. "This will do. Go ahead and run it to the Command Post." He stared at the monitor, watching the uniformed man slowly stand and brush himself off. His back was still to the camera, and the suspect that had pushed him was pointing at him, his mouth still working under the mask. Then he sharply raised the rifle to the level of the Officer's head, and Sam saw the hostage slowly put his hands behind his head.
"Oh, oh. This doesn't look to good," an agent whispered.
They all watched as the Navy Officer slowly turned towards the camera. He stood straight, chin up and jaw set, not showing any fear. His expression was one of defiance, the fire in his eyes clear even in the poor lighting.
Sam felt his heart leap up into his throat and he instantly broke out into a cold sweat as he watched his friend and Observer prepare himself to die.
By AJ Squaredaway
PART FOUR
I had a gut instinct that something about this leap wasn't right. Al was missing, the stand-in Observer, Dr. Fuller, had given me nothing the one time I'd seen her, and I'd been here for hours and was still without a clue as to why I was here. My gut instinct told me that this incident I was responding to was my reason for leaping here, whenever this was. I felt so unprepared for what lay ahead; I was glad I had at least perused the 'Elements of Hostage Negotiations' notebook in Chuck's car. Thanks to my photographic memory, I at least had some of the jargon available and the organizational chart in my head. I just hoped I wasn't the one listed at the top of the chart as the 'Incident Commander'; that sounded more like Al's place. I could only hope I'd see him soon.
Sam kept as close to Chuck as he could, but Chuck was as enthusiastic about driving as he was about teaching. They pastoral surroundings gave way quickly to city streets, and Sam finally saw a city he remembered: Arlington. He knew they were in the beltway of Washington DC at that point. Chuck had one of those detachable red 'bubble lights' on his dashboard, as well as a siren, and broke every driving rule in the book to get to the Command Post. Sam wasn't sure he could pry his own knuckles from the steering wheel when Chuck finally parked.
Chaos reigned the streets where they stopped. Cars were everywhere, and everyone in sight had a uniform, badge, gun, or bulletproof vest over their clothes, or any combination of those items. Sam had tried to listen to the police radio, but it was all gibberish to him; too many codes, too many voices. He didn't even have a car radio to listen to the news.
Chuck had pulled over a curb and slammed on his brakes on a patch of grass not meant to be a parking lot. He was completely professional as he got out, donned his fatigues and vest, and clipped his badge to his belt. Sam followed suit, always feeling like he was playing catch-up with the big man. He also couldn't help but noticed the large number of officers that respectfully acknowledged them. Sam hoped he wouldn't damage Sgt. Takeshta's reputation.
They strode off together towards a large, white bus bedecked with antennas and satellite dishes in the distance. They had parked as close as they could get in all this mess. Sam saw a large contingent of military men patrolling the area; he couldn't see the White House yet, but could tell the direction it was in by the increasing numbers of soldiers. Nervously, Sam licked his lips and wiped his sweaty hands on his pants. He sure could use some help, here; the closer he got to the Command Post, the less sure he was about pulling this off.
When they arrived at the bus, there was little backslapping and hearty greeting; everyone knew the bleakness of the situation. When their number reached about a dozen, a man with great command presence raised his hand and they were all quiet. The only noise he couldn't control was the 'whup-whup' of the helicopters overhead, distant sirens and muted police radios.
"OK, troops, I'm your Incident Commander, Captain Burroughs."
Sam let out a big sigh, and relaxed slightly.
"I'm passing out a sketch of the area, and the blocked off streets. We have commandeered the lobby of that building behind you," everyone turned and noted the office building, "and it will be the Command Post. I've penciled in some unit leaders at the bottom. If your name is listed, follow me to the lobby now. The rest of you stay here until you're called to your particular unit. There's no big surprises here, folks. I'm not taking this time for training, so you will all be in familiar units."
'Yeah, right,' Sam groaned to himself. He looked at the paper and wasn't surprised to see Takeshta's name written on the bottom. He whispered softly to the heavens, "Al, where are you??"
The lobby of the Command Post was a busy place. Tables were being set up around the perimeter, and loaded with equipment. Captain Burroughs herded them to the quietest corner. "OK," he started. "Most of you probably got the low-down on your radios on the way over, but I'll go over it again to clarify our part in this.
"Since we paged you, another situation has arisen, and the first thing we have to do is verify a connection. At approximately 1425 hours, a dark skinned male believed to be of Iranian descent drove up to the northeast White House guard shack in a white panel truck, and took the two guards there hostage. He claims the truck is loaded with explosives. He appears calm and in no hurry at all, and had duct-taped the guards' hands and feet. They are still in the guard shack, and the suspect is sitting in the truck. As a result, Level 1 security measures were enacted with shut down all access to the White House, the Capitol Building and all the Senate and House office buildings. This includes the underground trolley that runs between the Capitol Building and office buildings.
"At approximately 1500 hours, word came me that the Senate trolley line, which is underground, has also been seized by an unknown number of suspects in the section that connects from the Senate Building to the Russell Senate Office Building. I have that area noted on your maps.
"We believe that the first event was a diversion for the second event, allowing the armed suspects to move about freely in public, armed to the teeth, so to speak. There have been no demands made yet."
He paused to allow the group to chat amongst themselves for a few minutes. Sam was shocked at the news, and tried to absorb what he could from the people around him. Chuck was very animated in his discussion, and Sam tried to hear every word. Sam saw the Captain consult with another man, who handed him a paper, then he motioned for silence.
"OK, here's the line up: Incident Commander, me. Negotiation Supervisor: Chuck Crossman." Chuck raised his hand so everyone could see him. "Tactical Supervisor, Bob McMartin." A man near Chuck raised his hand. "Primary Negotiator," Sam felt butterflies in his stomach. "Tom Williams." Sam sighed. "Secondary Negotiator, Sandy Allen."
A short haired woman yelped, "Here!" and everyone laughed briefly.
Burroughs continued, "Dr. Carlson is here for Mental Health and brought his team, and Communications Center Lieutenant Axall will head up Support, and the Intelligence Officer will be, of course, Sergeant Takeshta."
Sam didn't say anything, but many heads turned his way. He felt himself blush, and tried to find his position on the chain of command diagram in his head. He was pleased to find he was in the third row from the top, and exhaled gratefully.
"Refer all press inquires to Lieutenant Dann; No press inside the inner perimeter on you maps, and I want updates in one-half hour. If you have any questions, ask me now. Dismissed."
Project Quantum Leap
They all watched the scenario unfold before them on the television screens, narrated by Ziggy as she relayed the police radio traffic. Everyone felt helpless and useless.
Donna's mind was flying beneath her calm façade. 'How can we help Sam?' she thought. 'What can we give him that he can use?' Finally, a thought occurred to her. "Ziggy, ask Dr. Beeks if our Visitor is usually assigned to a particular position on the negotiation team, and what that job entails. Maybe we can do Sam's work for him."
There was a slight pause before Ziggy replied. "I've already researched Mr. Takeshta's records and have deduced a pattern. There is a 95.22% probability that Dr. Beckett will be the Intelligence Officer. The Intelligence Officer gathers and assembles all background and information on both the hostages and hostiles. The information is used to bargain with, and to determine who will be the strong and weak links in the hostages. As they say, there can never be enough information."
"True," Donna smiled. "I also assume Sam will have his own computer terminal at the Command Post?" she inquired further.
At this question, all heads raised and faced her, realizing what she was building up to.
"Yes. That assumption is correct."
Donna burst into a huge smile. Finally! Some way to help! "OK, Ziggy, we're going to be Dr. Beckett's own, personal information source. We get the radio traffic a few minutes ahead of Sam, so let's gather our list. Tap all sources. I know the Senate office buildings have cameras all over the place, so let's review those from the subway platform. We need names and backgrounds on all of the hostages, including the guards at the guardhouse. Check the license on the box truck. We need to find out who the terrorists are. Any ideas, anyone?"
"If I had fingerprints I could check Interpol and all other fingerprint data bases," Ziggy suggested.
Gooshie's frowning face was replaced with a bright expression. "I can refigure the hand link to project a light that can enhance a print. The Observer just needs to shine it on a print we know to be one of the terrorist's."
"Do it," Donna said, starting to pace. "Sammy Jo, get ready to center on Al and check that out. Ziggy, find Dr. Beckett's station at the Command Post and hack into his line only. We're going to be his sole source of information. And be sure to delete any references to Al for now. He can't get focused on one person. We need to make this as easy as possible for him."
"Nothing about this leap has been easy so far," Tina quipped as her fingers flew over the console.
"Tell me about it," Donna mumbled in response.
PART FIVE
Sam got swept up in the hustle of setting up stations at the command posts. Computers! Something he knew something about! Although it was simple work, and didn't recognize some of the components he was working with, he figured everything out and savored the time. He'd already had a half dozen investigators report to him and he sent them out on fact-finding missions. The job of Intelligence was collecting information; he felt he could do that, especially with such a good team that worked with little supervision. His scribe, a pinch-faced man called Scanlon, recorded everything for him instantly, and gave him updates regularly, and even had a report ready for Sam to give the Commander at the requested time.
'This is almost too easy,' he thought. That idea made him especially cautious, and he looked carefully around him as he worked. Still nothing stood out for his attention, and he went back to his setting up.
Finally, he was able to sit at the computer station and fire it up. Scanlon placed a list of stations and their network locations next to Sam. As soon as he logged in, information started rolling in.
Scanlon gave the screen a double take. "Wow! Dispatch sure is on the ball today, Sergeant. But then again, with a high profile incident like this I guess they have to be."
"Yeah," Sam agreed. He was just sorting through the list of known hostages when a man in fatigues walked over, a hand held radio on his ear.
"Sir? The tactical field team is ready to feed the camera into the subway. The rest of your team is in the field, so they want to confirm that you'll be there."
Sam blinked for a second, having no idea what that meant. "Yeah, sure. Now?"
"Yes sir. I'll take you there." The man confirmed the information on the radio, the slipped it in his holder. "Let's go."
Sam glanced at Scanlon. "Cover for me here, OK?"
"Yes, sir."
As they walked out to the bustle of the outside, camera flashes went off by the dozens. Reports, held in a certain area outside, had erected scaffolds and platforms by the score. Vans with satellite dishes were everywhere. Questions were being thrown at him, dozens at a time, and he couldn't hear any one of them clearly. Sam's escort had ducked his head and grabbed Sam's arm. "This way," he said.
They left the demanding reports behind as they weaved their way between cars, using them as cover at the same time. Soon they were at an intersection that was cordoned off with bright yellow tape that said "Do Not Cross - Police Line". Sam saw a group of heavily armored men grouped together over a manhole cover.
Sam's escort briefed him. "We figured out that some of the suspects got access to the subway tunnel via the sewer. We found an abandoned catering truck down the road, stopped right over the top of one of the manholes. They staged a vehicle breakdown, and all the while were going through a trapdoor in the bottom of the truck into the maintenance tunnels. From there, getting to the subway tunnel was just like running a maze.
"We used sound equipment to pinpoint where the people are gathered, and are making a hole to insert the fiber-optic camera. Should be able to monitor what's happening, and get a good list as to exactly who's down there for you. We have a feed set up to go to your station and the head negotiator's station. We need you to approve the camera placement, but I think it's the best location we'll get."
"OK," Sam acknowledged. When the reached the manhole, the agents stood back and let them by. Sam carefully went down the ladder into the dark, dank cavern, followed closely by his escort. It was wet down there, and Sam's shoes were soon squishy with liquid. He tried not to think about what he was walking in as he trotted after his guide, passing heavily armed stationed at each intersection of tunnels. The smell didn't help, either.
They'd twisted through a few turns and passed under an open manhole above them. "This is where they came in. The truck's right up there," his guide stated as the cruised by.
Soon they met up with a cluster of five other men who were unraveling what looked like cable lines. One man had a small video screen in front of him which showed shades of grey and black lines. The man motioned Sam over.
"OK, we're running the camera around the various pipes hanging above the subway cars. It's a good thing those cars have open sides, or we probably wouldn't be able to see inside. A lot of the tunnel lighting is out."
Sam wasn't sure if he was making sense of what he saw, or his imagination was taking over. Eventually he was able to figure out what he was looking at. The tunnel had pipes running the length of the ceiling, and Sam could see the seats in the cars with a bird's eye view. The first two cars he saw were empty, but there was movement in the car coming up. Identifying anybody from the tops of their heads wasn't going to be easy, but if they could drop the cable down, maybe the darkness would conceal its presence.
The technician seemed to read Sam's mind, and the view on the monitor gradually changed to more of a profile image. "That's the last car, sir. The hostages are being held in one spot, it seems. There could be more of them further down the tunnel. I count three armed suspects so far," he touched the screen and Sam noted the masks and rifles. "And let's see...at least eleven hostages." He adjusted some dials, which affected the focus. "I recognize two Senators, at least. Four women. Hmmm..and I think one guy's in uniform."
Sam squinted at the screen. It was drifting in and out of focus as he studied it, but saw the dark patch pointed out by the agent. Everyone was sitting on the seats, but this guy standing with his back to the camera, his arms held out to his sides. The agent said it looked like a Navy Officer dress blues uniform, and by the way his arms were moving, looked like he was talking to one of the masked men standing just a foot or two in front of him. They watched as a fourth masked man stepped up from the darkness, his mouth working furiously under the mask. The Navy man did not back down. The agent gasped when the masked man suddenly raised the butt of his rifle and jabbed the Navy man in the chest, sending him flying backwards towards the camera. He landed on the floor, out of the camera's field of vision.
"Whoa, that had to hurt! I hope he doesn't antagonize the suspects any further," the agent commented, furiously working the dials.
Sam was transfixed by what he saw on the screen. All those innocent people! And where was the Observer to tell him what happens?
"Is this view OK for you guys up there, or do we need to run the cable to the other side of this group? We run the chance of the fiber being detected if I try to keep going over their heads, but it could give us an idea of who is in the tunnel ahead."
"No, no," Sam said distractedly. "This will do. Go ahead and run it to the Command Post." He stared at the monitor, watching the uniformed man slowly stand and brush himself off. His back was still to the camera, and the suspect that had pushed him was pointing at him, his mouth still working under the mask. Then he sharply raised the rifle to the level of the Officer's head, and Sam saw the hostage slowly put his hands behind his head.
"Oh, oh. This doesn't look to good," an agent whispered.
They all watched as the Navy Officer slowly turned towards the camera. He stood straight, chin up and jaw set, not showing any fear. His expression was one of defiance, the fire in his eyes clear even in the poor lighting.
Sam felt his heart leap up into his throat and he instantly broke out into a cold sweat as he watched his friend and Observer prepare himself to die.