Chapter Two
"That G-man just took it," I tell Gin, and can't help smiling broadly. "Swallowed it whole and all." He reacts as stone-cold as before. A nod. And another cigarette butt is put into his pocket ashtray.
"No question to release a hostage? No question to talk to the senator?"
"Nope. They know JD and me. We never negotiate. Didn't you hear about our Norfolk operation?" I let him wait for a second. "We got away with three hundred K in two hours!" I nod to myself and in JD's direction. "They knew they could only save their sorry asses by letting us go."
"Five hours." Gin glances at his watch again, takes another sip of water. He obviously is not impressed. I don't like that, but I think it's because he already knows what we are capable of.
We hear the crushing of cornflakes outside. Immediately we raise our guns. JD swallows. He knows as well as we do that every time it could be the special squad, but I don't think that they'll risk the life of a senator, that here is safer than any robbery we did before, I can tell ya. So, I'm about to order the secretary up - would be such a nice sight; her hands bound and her frightened looks! - when Gin intervenes. "I'll take it." He hands me his gun, and I tuck it away. I don't understand, and his look means I'm a brick short of a load. Yeah, right, for the first time we don't agree, but I let him have what he wants. He smiles a little to make up for the look, but I got the message!
"No one says a word!" JD tells the hostages firmly. "Or I'll be happy to shoot!" They believe him. He got that look in his face that even I do believe him.
Gin nods to me.
"Put down the tray and step back!" I yell through the door, then point the gun at Gin's back, before he slowly unlocks the door to open it. He trembles! Wow, what a show, I can tell ya! Outside a man clad in white pants and white T-shirt, but truly from FBI or police, raises his hands and steps back, while Gin slowly, and with a frightened look over his shoulder back to the muzzle of my gun, lowers himself to the floor to pick up the big tray.
"Are you okay?" the man asks. Gin nods a little. "Is anyone hurt?" A headshake. Boy, Gin does this perfectly! "Don't be afraid, sir, we'll solve the situation. Please, remain calm." Gee, what a promise! I have to bite my lip and force that sinister look on my face again. Gin rises, shaking all over. He nods again to the man in white, than comes in backwards, and shoves the door shut with his shoe. Quickly puts down the tray to lock the door again. When he turns to me he wiggles his brow and let me see a real small smile.
"Piece o' cake." He takes the first sandwich from the tray, than shoves it with his foot closer to the waiting hostages. The senator looks at him.
"You're a monster, Mr. Stanley."
Gin bows like taking applause.
"The real Mr. Stanley would be quite disappointed with that opinion about him", he says, with his mouth full.
"You falsified your identity, you lied about your reputation, and now you're the head of these kidnappers!" Burne shakes his head angrily. "What has man come to?"
"Well, sir, I came up to killing the real Mr. Stanley to take his place." The information throws the rest of Mr. Burne's appetite down the drain. "I had to be convincing. And it wouldn't have been a success when the other Mr. Stanley appeared on your doorstep, right?" Gin licks his lips and smiles again, this time about the shocked expression on the faces of the hostages. If our entrance hadn't been enough to scare them all, Gin's confession makes up for it. The sandwiches rest in their hands, but no one eats. I like that. And I like the home-made salad sauce and the turkey on the real good white bread.
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"Sir, the search team came up with something." The nice little assistant reaches out over the table to hand me the note she made from a call seconds ago. "Seventy miles from here is a small, deserted landing spot and two parked cars in the near woods. A sedan and a jeep. Both reported stolen the day before yesterday."
I nod a 'thank you' in her direction because my mouth is full. The hotel kitchen served a light dinner for us working here, too, and I hadn't eaten more than breakfast. Enjoying a rye bread sandwich I walk over to Patterson to show him the information. He takes it in with a nod - as usual.
"Good, Agent Mulder. Send a squad out there, but they…"
"…shall stay out of sight," I end for him.
"Yeah. Any luck with the released inmates?"
"Two used to live in Washington. Police are searching for them. Most of the former inmates have been located by now and are being questioned." Another nod. "Sir, I was thinking about the raincoats and additional suitcases."
"Yeah?" He can be intimidating, but I wouldn't be here if he thinks I'm an idiot, so I go on.
"We have six hostages and two hostage-takers. I suppose they'll take some of the hostages with them. And - knowing that police helicopter will watch them, they'll use a disguise so nobody knows who's a hostage or a hostage-taker."
"Right." He empties his coffee mug and walks over to the machine to pour a fresh cup. "So, what do you make out of it?"
"They'll disguise themselves and the hostages. The possible choice will be the senator and his wife or the daughter - maybe another man or woman." I look on the list of photographs with names on the table. "The secretary, Mrs. Robertson, maybe."
"Why the secretary?" Patterson adds sugar to his coffee and stirs with a teaspoon.
"A woman is usually considered a smaller risk - she won't try to escape or fight, and in public opinion she is a weak victim." My boss agrees. Mean, I did my homework. And my head remains on my shoulders. At the moment. "I'm not sure they'd burden themselves with four people." I put the rest of the rye bread on the plate to concentrate again. And knead my lip between thumb and index finger. "Would they do it for distraction or have I missed a reason?"
"Distraction, Agent Mulder. And control again. They'll take four hostages. As you have written, the McIntyres don't do these robberies just for the money. They want the thrill. To my opinion it was only a matter of time until they changed their ways of operation." Oops, here comes the slap in the face. I know it, and Mr. Moore, to my misfortune, knows it, too. "They were too successful with the crimes committed. Now they found something new."
"Sir, the change is…" I break up. Sure, he's right. Who am I to argue? - Though I still feel uneasy about their drastic change of approach. I don't think they are very intelligent. That's the point. But I keep my mouth shut. If Patterson says the brothers put the stakes higher, and that the money is only a secondary motive, I better believe him. The kick is the abduction and the escape. "So you think they'll collect the money, jump on the helicopter with four hostages and fly away?"
"Right. And we can't see who's under the hoods. And it is too risky to only judge be the height of the persons." He sips his coffee and nods to no one specific. "It's a good idea." Looking up again, he adds, "It's only a question of how the goods and the money shall be delivered. By the way, will the money be here in time?"
Mr. Moore breathes deeply.
"Yes, sir, of course. The senator's brother has taken care of it. One of his men will deliver the suitcases in two hours."
"Very well." Patterson slightly nods his head toward the door, and I follow him through the lobby to the squad room. "Commander Hastings?" The man turns to face us. "There will be a delivery of money and everything else that is demanded. I want to know how we can pull the strings to our advantage."
Hastings stubs out his cigarette.
"They will ask one man up. Take one of my men. The moment they open the door, we throw in a smoke bomb, my team moves in, and we take 'em in twenty seconds flat. We rehearsed that before."
Patterson breathes, but doesn't look convinced.
"When one of your men brought up the sandwiches, the elder brother held a weapon straight to the back of the head of the man. I don't think a smoke bomb would light fast enough to avoid a gunfight."
Hastings nods.
"Perhaps, yeah. But if you give them the money it'll be harder to stop them on their way out."
"There are two of them and, if the situation runs as planned, they'll take four hostages with them."
"Sir, maybe this is the distraction," I join in the conversation, but Patterson looks at me like I broke the Holy Grail of his argumentation. "They might only take two - the senator and his wife."
"Well, Agent Mulder, why then should they ask for six raincoats?" His voice is all mockery. The squad team concentrates on me, and I feel sweat on my palms. Just swell, what have I done?
"They want to leave us in the dark about their purposes. They could have asked for ten raincoats." Patterson still stares at me. "All they want might be a big enough helicopter."
"For what reason?"
"Transportation of equipment."
"They won't carry anything besides the money."
He's so sure about everything he says. I'm just the young agent who should be happy to get information from the master of BSU first-hand. 'Well then, behave like a humble servant, right?' But that is something I can't do. I feel like being underwater when I don't speak my mind. I am like this. Sometimes it's like trying to get a square peg through a round hole, but I can't change it.
"Sir, tell me one reason why they would burden themselves with four victims who are much harder to keep under control than only two?"
"Enlarge the number of civilians to get away unidentified." He corrects his glasses on his broad nose. "Again, Agent Mulder, they know that we won't shoot…"
One more crack in the Holy Grail of his speaking: I interrupt him.
"They've never taken more than two hostages onto their escapes. One for each of them to be covered for the time the police chased them. Four people means that they have to go behind them to make sure nobody runs."
Patterson is pissed now. I see his nostrils widen in the flare of fury, and his lips tighten.
"Agent Mulder." Very sincere voice. Very slow. He puts all his weight into the next words. "There has been a change of operation; I think you'll agree on this. They have taken six hostages in a motel room. A senator is among them. They demand ransom. They have to escape via helicopter or won't leave the building. They need every cover they can get to reach the helicopter alive. They are out of their normal way of operation, so don't treat them like this is a bank robbery again, Agent Mulder." With this he turns away from me and speaks to Hastings again.
I feel the heat rising. I have to leave the room. Sure Patterson is right. Isn't he always? But I don't understand that he doesn't even listen to my argument. Even if it's wrong. Now I've insulted him, and he'll kick my ass from one hard stone to the next until this case is over.
Outside I catch a breeze of fresh air. My face feels like fire. I haven't had time yet to earn a reputation as a profiler, and it looks like I won't earn any medals for this one. I close my eyes for a moment, let out the air again. 'Patterson is the senior here, and you're just a greenhorn,' I tell myself, but it doesn't console me. I want to prove to him and me and the rest of the BSU that I can do it. The McIntyre brothers didn't seem to work on complex standards. They found out that some smaller banks lack in security. They found out that taking hostages is a serious threat to the authorities, and that no one wants to risk lives. They never escaped with millions of dollars, but the loot added up. They weren't in need for money so badly they had to kidnap a senator. So why? The explanation of just a kick in their lives feels weak compared with the high risk of being captured. They must know that neither police nor the FBI will handle the murders and the abduction lightly. It's a federal crime. And with their crime records, every agent in the country will search for them.
The thought of 'complex standards' makes my feet walk again. I ask for the hotel manager. He's a small, slender man in his forties, almost bald, and his glasses try to jump from his nose every ten seconds. He pushes them up again every so often. He's nervous; I see his Adam's apple rise and fall when he swallows.
"Who installed the detectors in the air-condition shafts?" I ask him. He looks puzzled. "Do you know what I'm talking about?"
"There was a man here four weeks ago. He showed us an order signed by the manager on duty - I'm just the deputy - saying that he had to check the shafts on this floor. I signed for it."
"But you don't know what the man did up there?" He shakes his head. "Do you recall what he looked like?"
"Average height and build, nothing specific. He was wearing the uniform of the corporation, so I didn't think about checking him. - Was that a mistake?" he adds anxiously.
"Did he look like one of these?" I show him the picture of Mike and JD McIntyre. He breathes, swallows again, but shakes his head. "Really, I'm not sure. The taller man - maybe, but, no, I can't say. - Is there anything else? I have to…"
"No, sir, thanks for your cooperation." He is eager to get away from me. No clear identification. I put away the pictures, still thinking about the brothers. They had prepared themselves for the robberies by checking the bank's interior, personnel, guards, and possible amount of money. They made one mistake and got away with only $ 12.000. The security transporter had changed routes and collected the money one day earlier than planned.
But would Mike be able to falsify a document and appear in the very hotel he would show up in again four weeks later? I would call this bold. Someone - even a bell hop who is trained to recognize guests - could remember him. And there had been more planning ahead of the crime.
Slowly I walk back to our improvised HQ.
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To my surprise, Gin puts a big black leather bag on the desk and opens the zipper.
"When did you bring this in?" I ask him in a low voice. The hostages eye us; I feel their looks concentrate on what's happening. JD forbade them to talk. Now they are more frightened than before, and JD enjoys his power, plays with his weapon like a gunslinger. Gin doesn't approve of this, but hasn't said a word about it.
"Yesterday," Gin says flatly. Anger and arrogance show in his face. "I did all the preparation. You forgot that? Why, do you think, didn't the guards shoot you on sight? - I told them I expected you two. And why won't the FBI try to catch us through the shaft of the air-conditioning? Because I placed silent alarms there four weeks ago!" I clench my teeth, inhale deeply from my cigarette. Right, he's the brains of this whole operation, but he doesn't need to show off like this! I'm slowly burning. JD glances at me as if to say that he could shoot him on my order, but I slightly shake my head. Too much money is at stake, and I don't know how many aces Gin has up his sleeve. I realize that we depend on him -, a thought I hate. But I will work according to the plan. We part after this job and will never meet again. Gin hands me a gas mask after I stub out my cigarette. "You gonna need it." He throws a second one to JD. "Keep it with you. The FBI might try some tricks." JD shrugs and hooks it on his belt. I see the hopes of the senator sink. He still tries to believe the police will free him and his family. I don't see a chance for that. Gin is an asshole, but he's clever. So I keep my mouth shut, drink water, eat the last sandwich and chew while Gin takes out a small rectangular box.
"Another weapon against the police?"
"Smoke bombs." He smirks. "I said we need the masks." I swallow the bite I have in my mouth. He didn't say anything about this before, and it comes to my mind that he told us the least just to get us involved. Boy, I hate this!
"What's your plan?" I ask as polite as I can manage, but have to unclench my teeth.
"I'll let you know in private." He closes the bag again. "And tell the FBI, we want this Mulder up here with the money in…" He checks his watch. "…two hours flat."
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The tapes have arrived. I sit down, put the pair of earphones on and switch on the recorder. All negotiations were taped, and though I don't know exactly what I'm looking for, I hope to find the key to the McIntyre's operation on these tapes. Somewhere. But I have to be honest to myself - even if I find something that Mike said, what would this hint change? Surely not Patterson's conclusion.
He comes back into the room, heaves a sigh and takes two bites of bread before the telephone rings again. He checks his watch and points to me to take the call while he's on the second line, listening. I can't help showing my frustration, but Patterson ignores me. I pick up the phone.
"Mulder."
"Right, the man I want." I can clearly imagine Mike smiling on the other side. "You got our money?"
"Not yet."
"I'm sure you will. And y'know what? You're the delivery boy."
"You don't wanna come fetch it yourself?" I snarl before thinking. Patterson's nostrils widen again. Fine. He'll truly make my day.
"No, G-man, it's your pleasure. In your… underwear. No place for a gun, y'know? No shoes, no socks, got it? Nothing more than you and the money and the other stuff we ordered."
"That's too much for one man. I'm no Hercules. I need…"
"Then start training! You got two hours." He hangs up.
Patterson does the same with more force than necessary.
"Is this your new way of negotiation?" He snaps at me. "Do you want to anger him? Make him kill a hostage because you pissed him off?" He steps closer. I put my hands on my hips and consider taking his accusations lying down. I see my reputation going down the drain before I'm even able to gain one. Now Patterson will tell anyone who takes me in his team that I'm hot-headed and unable to stick to the rules. "The life of a senator, his family and his assistants are at stake, and you ask him stupid questions!"
"It was only one." I look up again. "What do you want me to do? Bring up the stuff or send one of the special squad team?"
He lifts his eyebrows, considers the situation.
"You take it. He might recognize you from your voice. And you have profiled them. You might be able to give us useful information." He smacks his lips, goes back to his coffee mug. "We'll equip you with a small mic and listening device in your ear. It can't be seen from the outside." With the mug in his hand he breathes deeply. "Get me Hastings," he orders the young assistant, and she rushes out. "Maybe there's more we can do."
I'm the one who might be able to solve the hostage-taking situation without anybody being harmed.
Me.
I can't think. I order my brain to work, but nothing productive comes out. I have only been here several months, and now I shall deliver a bag full of ransom and… myself to a pair of hostage-takers. Maybe not a real delivery. Maybe they take the money and throw me out again, but I don't believe it. I shouldn't be afraid, though. After all, this is part of my job, but I can't calm my heart down or convince myself that this will be over in a few hours. My memory is very accurate in telling me that they have killed five guards during their robberies and didn't show mercy to their other victims. That no one else died was not because of their consideration. Now I take my life in my hands. I can't bail out. No assurances. No security.
My palms are damp. I force myself to sit down on the edge of a table when Hastings enters. Patterson explains the situation, and Hastings glances at meas ifI would never be ready to roll.
"So you're the big enchilada then, hm?" He nods in my direction. "Okay, let's see what we can do for you." He weighs his head and steps closer. "Listening device is fine, but it doesn't give you any chance of defense. My man who brought the tray said this Mr. Stanley wasn't handcuffed, but from experience I'd say that they can't control the hostages without binding their hands - at least. He had no chance seeing the others. Would you dare to take a small knife with you? It's up to you. I don't know if they're gonna search you." I nod. If I'm going into the lion's den I better do it prepared. "Fine. I'm gonna get you one. And me and my men have made up a plan for this situation."
"Tell me," Patterson says.
Hastings outlines the preparations, and when time's up I take my dress shirt, shoes, and pants off. I don't mind showing my boxers, but I'd have preferred another audience. Hastings fastens the small, flat knife with adhesive band in the middle of my back, right above the waistline. The T-shirt falls loosely over it so I might get away with it unnoticed. The brothers were never described as thorough searchers. Only quick at shooting. Isn't that comforting!
Patterson doesn't say a word, doesn't even give a hint about what he's thinking. He just stands there with crossed arms, and waits for me to get ready. I don't want to think that he's sacrificing me, but the thought is clearly on my mind. I'm the youngest here, and he doesn't risk anything by sending me up. And I was the one who spoiled his day with greenhorned assumptions. On the other hand, I know that Patterson is a professional who wouldn't do something like that as cheap revenge.
Well, I hope he wouldn't.
The assistant shows up again and hands me a piece of paper, not without checking the pattern of my boxers, and probably thinking about the contents. Bad timing.
"Police found another location with stolen cars. Convenient for a copter to land, too." She frowns, trying to look older and concerned. Well, maybe she is.
"Another distraction." I hand the sheet to Patterson.
"We'll check them both," he says, and tucks the piece of paper into his jacket pocket. "If they make it this far after all."
"It's unusual," I add. Patterson is already angry with me. I can't make it worse. "Normally they have one place and no other distraction in use." Patterson just purses his lips.
"We get them," Hastings says and at least he tries to cheer me up. "Just stick to what I told you. And don't try to be a hero. That's our job, okay?"
"Do I look like a job killer?"
"Nope." He finishes his work, grinning. "Sound check was okay?" I nod. "Fine. You hear us, and we hear you. So if it comes that we can't solve the situation right away, stay cool and let us know what it's like inside. We'll work something out. They won't get away with the copter, and they won't kill anybody."
It sounds convincing, but I'm far from being arrogant when I enter the floor. The cornflakes are crushed, but still make enough noise to announce me. My heart's in my throat, and the heavy load in both hands makes me sweat - at least I pretend it's just the weight. I cite all the reasons why I entered the FBI, forced myself through the training and finally made it to the BSU, as means to learn from the master, Patterson. Well, today's the day he drops me. I know it.
I use the edge of the suitcase to knock.
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