Upstairs, Pam and Bill emerged from the elevator. Pam carried the remaining grocery bag gingerly, away from her body. "We're only gonna be a couple minutes," Bill reminded her, holding the glass door open for her to precede him, much to her surprise.
"Bill, it's ninety degrees in the shade. I've got a half-gallon of pistachio ice cream here that I would like to serve tonight without straws." She stalked into the office, then paused, waiting for him to catch up. "Can I use your phone? I need to call the bakery and find out if the cake's ready."
"That's a federal phone," Bill protested.
"My tax dollars at work. I'll leave a quarter."
Bill motioned her to go ahead; Pam offered him another of her not-quite-sincere smiles and set the bag down on his desk. After a moment or two of digging, she found the bakery's business card in her wallet and began to dial from the United States Government Communications Device... otherwise known as a telephone.
There were a few other agents at nearby desks, one or two brown-bagging it, but it was lunchtime and many of the desks were empty. Bill followed Pam to his desk and grabbed a file from his out basket. He was crossing the room to file it away when Carlisle's voice pierced the relative quiet of the office, freezing him in mid-motion.
"Maxwell!" Lester Carlisle was a man of few words, that being one of his favorite curses.
Bill stiffened reflexively, sure he wasn't going to like whatever was about to happen. He turned slowly to face his superior. "Uhmmm... morning, Boss."
"That's right," Carlisle congratulated him. "That's exactly right. And do you know something, Maxwell? That's probably the only thing you'll get right today."
He knew. If Bill had had any doubts he could now put them to rest. Carlisle knew all about the fiasco downtown and the lost collar. He mentally counted to about two and a half, trying not to show his rising anger.
"My office, Maxwell, on the double. I want to hear your version of what happened this morning." He grinned smugly. "This should be good."
Pam, still on the phone, glanced Bill's way, as did everyone else in the immediate vicinity. She was amused to see Bill on the spot for once... it would probably do him good. The bakery picked up the line and she turned her attention back to her own business. "Hello, this is Pamela Hinkley; I ordered a birthday cake for my husband and I'd like to know when I can pick it up."
There was a sudden commotion at the entrance to the office as Rahim and his followers arrived on the scene. "Attention!" barked Rahim.
Bill, in Carlisle's office, was in no mood for interruptions. "Immigration's on the third floor, pal."
All four intruders displayed their handguns. Pam swallowed hard and whispered into the phone, "Um... I'll call you back..." She hung up the receiver slowly, careful not to make any sudden moves that could be misinterpreted.
"What is all this?" Carlisle asked, halfway between annoyance and nervousness.
"This building is now in the possession of the United Liberation Front," Rahim announced. "We require your complete cooperation and your..."
Bill took one aggressive step forward. "What kind of a..."
Rahim calmly adjusted the scope of his weapon to include Bill. "And your silence. This action is in the name of our captured warriors, who will be returned to us by eight o'clock this evening..." Rahim produced a hand grenade from the folds of his jacket. "Or we will all surrender our lives in the name of the oppressed."
Pam stared wide-eyed at the weapon. Bill's expression was more reminiscent of someone who'd just seen his vacation ruined by a hurricane. He looked more inconvenienced than anything else. "Oh, here we go..."
00o00
At Whitney High School, Ralph hurried along the corridor carrying the second grocery bag. A briefcase would definitely have added to his professionalism, but since he'd already failed tenure once so far this year, it wasn't as though he had a reputation to maintain. On the contrary, if Ralph Hinkley had anything in the way of a rep to hold up, it would be that of one of the most unreliable teachers Whitney High had ever had on the payroll. He sometimes felt that it was nothing short of a miracle that he still received a check every week. Once or twice he'd considered resigning, but upon reflection had come to the conclusion that his students were better off with a sometimes-absent Ralph Hinkley than many of the other instructors in the district who hadn't missed a day since Pearl Harbor.
He opened the door to his classroom and went in. Can't be that late, he thought, Tony and Paco haven't even started to mix it up with that basketball yet. As requested from the Audio-Visual Department, a television and VCR sat in front of the room on a cart.
As he walked to his desk, Ralph responded to the many and varied conversations in the room with a quiet, "Okay, settle down."
Rhonda, blonde pigtails sticking straight down her back like twin paintbrushes, raised her hand. "We gonna catch up on the soaps today, Mr. H.?" The rest of the class laughed, one or two of them whistled.
Ralph smiled his best patient smile, the one usually reserved for his most unruly students and Bill Maxwell. "No, Rhonda. This is a mass media course, and we're here to learn the fundamentals of journalism."
Speaking of unruly students, Tony Villicana spoke up. "You mean like the news and stuff?"
"News doesn't just appear on the TV screen every night, Tony. Didn't you ever wonder how news stories are conceived? Didn't you ever ask yourself, 'Hey, I wonder how that story was researched?'" The class gave him nothing but blank stares, and Ralph knew he was in danger of losing them. "Weren't you ever curious how Mike Wallace pulls the plug on all those shady businesses on Sixty Minutes?"
That sparked some interest. Ralph smiled and nodded. "Okay then, that's why we're here."
00o00
Rahim's first official act as the one in charge of the building was to disarm all the agents who still had their issue weapons on them. Bill handed his over with a dirty look and some reserve, but he did it quietly. Rahim moved on to Carlisle after disarming Bill, leaving the agent and Pam alone enough to converse in low tones without being overheard.
"I guess I can kiss that Rams game goodbye," was Bill's first insight into the situation.
"Gee, Bill, I bet they have no idea they're inconveniencing you this way," Pam said tightly. "Why don't you just let them know?"
"If Ralph gets a move on, maybe I won't have to."
Ralph… Pam thought wistfully. "Ralph doesn't even know we're here."
"Maybe he doesn't know it yet, but as soon as he can grab some vibes off something of yours, he'll be here like a shot. I just hope he makes it before kickoff."
Just like Bill to think of the operation he fondly referred to as "bag 'em and tag 'em", and it always involved Ralph and his holographic tricks. Pam turned away, exasperated. Out of the corner of her eye she saw the brown bag still sitting patiently on Bill's desk and remembered the party, and…
"My ice cream…" She crossed to the desk and opened the bag, for a moment too involved in her ruined party and melting dessert to consider the consequences should Rahim think she was making a move to escape. "Oh."
There wasn't any ice cream in the bag, in liquid or any other form. Pam did a double-take, unwilling to believe what she had found in its place. Bill noticed her expression. "For crying out loud, Counselor, it's only ice cream. I'm talkin' about missing the Rams."
Pam, bag in hand, returned to stand by the agent. "Ralph… Bill…"
"They're lookin' real good so far this year."
"Bill, Ralph isn't coming." Pam finally managed to put a complete sentence together.
"Whaddya mean, of course he's coming." Bill, as usual, wasn't listening.
Pam opened the bag and shoved it toward Bill. Under her silent urging he reached inside and pulled out a sleeve of Ralph's red suit. It took him a moment to fully appreciate what that meant. When he had it, he finally began to look worried. "Uh…"
They both looked toward the man adding Carlisle's sidearm to the steadily-growing pile of handguns on one of the vacant desks. Another of the terrorists was busying himself emptying out the ammo and dumping the shells into his pockets. Pressing his lips together, Bill assessed their predicament. "Uh oh…" was his final verdict.
Pam nodded, beginning to look more than a little scared. "Uh oh," she echoed.
At the other end of the office Rahim had commandeered the use of a telephone. "I want people from the news here," he instructed the person on the other end. "Yes." His face clouded with the speed of an oncoming freight train. "I will issue our demands to the press and only to the press! The choice is yours."
He slammed the phone down. From behind, his second in command spoke up. "If they do not come?"
"They will come," Rahim snaped, made angrier by the doubt in his lieutenant's voice. "We have what they want. We deal from strength."
Aram, an equally sinister-looking young man, was not deterred by his leader's sharp tone. "How long do we allow their stalls?"
"Patience." The way Rahim spoke, it was not a gentle word.
"We are only five," Aram pressed. "The element of surprise is vital to our plan of attack. We must strike soon."
Rahim drew himself up to his full height and waited for Aram's challenge to come to its conclusion. "Everything is well. Inform the police. Every floor but this one is to be evacuated."
"You would release those people? We should hold them all."
Aram was growing tiresome. Soon Rahim would have to demonstrate what happened to those who grew too tiresome. "You said yourself we are but five," he pointed out. "These federal agents are all the bargaining power we require. Do as you are told."
Aram gave him a grudging salute… almost a dare. "As you wish." He moved away, still regarding Rahim with the basic mistrust he had always had, but also a growing defiance. Perhaps Rahim was not so self-assured as he would have it known.
00o00
Ralph had managed to get the class more or less interested in the goings-on at the front of the room, namely his presentation. Rhonda gave the impression of paying close attention as she usually did, while Tony, Cyler and Paco were relatively involved if not rapt. Ralph knew that sooner or later one of them would make a sarcastic remark and that would be it… the class would be lost in wisecracks for the rest of the period. Not so bad as long as they learned something first.
"So," Ralph concluded, "in fact what goes on during the coverage of a news story can be as interesting and thought-provoking as the story itself. I have a tape here to show you of some footage…" Ralph trailed off and turned on the television set. The screen came to life as he searched for the On switch to the tape player, but before he found the Play button the kids were engrossed in the current live coverage of another story. The sound was off because Ralph was still having trouble with the controls. "Just a minute," he told the class, fiddling with yet another unmarked button on the console. "I think I've got it."
The kids were intent on the TV. "Hey, that's downtown," said Tony, pointing at the small screen on which a young woman reporter was standing on a street corner, microphone in hand, delivering a line of copy.
Rhonda perked in recognition. "That's Kimberly Welch. She does all those crime stories." She leaned across her desk to get as close to the TV as possible. "She's so together."
"Hey, turn it up, Mr. H.," Paco requested.
Ralph wanted to keep up the pace, but was fast coming to the conclusion that there was something wrong with the balky VCR. He reached up blindly to turn on the sound while continuing his losing battle. "Power on…" he mused to himself. "Right… now Play… wait a minute…"
From the TV came the voice of the newswoman. "At this moment it is still unclear," reported Kimberly Welch from her notes, "what they want and who they are."
"Darn this thing," Ralph added his own commentary. "I wish I had the instructions…"
The class offered him a group "shhhh!" which was less than appreciated by their teacher. On screen, Kimberly Welch continued to read.
"… and why have they taken control of the Los Angeles office of the Federal Bureau of Investigation?"
Ralph had been about to ask his students just what had caused them to gang up on him, but in that moment he not only had his answer, but was suddenly very involved as well. He gazed up at the screen from his crouched position.
That was the Federal Building over Kimberly's shoulder, no doubt about that. The camera zoomed in to catch a man with an automatic rifle standing guard at the front door. A shift to a wider angle, and blonde, tousle-haired Kimberly was back in frame. "Further developments as they occur… this is Kimberly Welch, KCNH News."
The station cut back to their studio, where a preppy-type with plastic hair began to reiterate everything their field reporter had just said. Cyler let out a low whistle. "Hey, get that."
"Hey, you were right, Mr. H.," Rhonda chirped. "This is pretty exciting."
Somehow Ralph didn't get the kick out of being right that he usually did. The VCR would have to wait. He jumped to his feet, and grabbed the bag off his desk. "You guys, I'll be right back." He started for the door, adding over his shoulder, "Keep it down, all right? I'll be right back." Clutching the brown bag, he sped out of the room and down the corridor. Behind him he could hear the rising sounds as the kids took full advantage of his absence. Books closed, conversations and basketball games began.
Hurrying down the hallway, Ralph remembered what he had told himself not an hour before. Nothing involving Bill was ever easy. And the agent had just proven it once again.
Ralph skidded to a halt in front of the men's room and hooked his arm on the frame on his way in. Thankfully he had the place to himself, so no time would be wasted on explanations. Stepping to the row of sinks against one wall, he tugged at the collar of his oxford shirt with one hand, while trying to open the bag with the other.
"Twice in one day…" he gritted through clenched teeth. The adrenalin hadn't started to flow yet; instead the butterflies reigned in his stomach. "I don't believe it. I've never seen anyone get into this much trouble." Because Bill had to be in the middle of it. There was no doubt in Ralph's mind that Bill Maxwell was dead center of this whole thing, probably pulling the swaggering Dirty Harry bit that had almost gotten him killed countless times before. He unbuttoned his shirt quickly and reached into the bag, expecting to pull out the red suit.
He pulled his hand out fast when something cold and decidedly un-suitlike covered it. His fingers were sticky with melted ice cream. He tasted one of them… pistachio ice cream. But where…
"Oh no." Ralph groaned what had become his catch phrase for the day once again as he dug deeper into the bag. Birthday candles. "Oh, Bill." Ralph recalled what had happened in the back seat of the car that morning. "I think you're on your own this time."
Pam had the suit. And Pam was running all over town doing errands. She probably thought she'd had to run right home to get the ice cream into the freezer. And had probably been equally surprised to find she had the wrong bag in her possession. Hope you at least looked inside the bag before you put it in the freezer, honey. If the situation hadn't been resolved by three, Ralph knew he'd have to go home and collect the suit. It would be a lot more comfortable to put on if it hadn't been wrapped around TV dinners all afternoon.
Until then Bill would have to fly solo, as he was perfectly capable of doing. Didn't he say so constantly? Hadn't he worked alone for years before the green guys brought the suit into their lives? Bill Maxwell was not exactly a meter maid, after all.
And this particular scenario was all his, at least until school let out at three. Ralph washed his hands, and rinsed the package of candles which he tucked into his pocket… no sense wasting them, but the ice cream was a goner. He left the men's room and headed back to his classroom. A stab of guilt poked at him, which he tried unsuccessfully to turn aside. You just didn't leave a friend in trouble.
00o00
Three o'clock came and went, and Ralph pulled into his driveway at half past. The front door was locked; he took his key out to open it. "Pam!" he called the moment he was inside. Silence. He realized that all the curtains were drawn and flicked on the lights.
Streamers and balloons festooned the living room; a banner reading "Happy Birthday Ralph!" draped across the archway leading into the kitchen. Ralph couldn't contain a grin; so this was what she'd been so secretive about all week. "Pam?" he called again. "Honey?" She must have heard the car come up the driveway; she had to be hiding around a corner, ready to jump out at him.
Ralph entered the living room cautiously, determined to find her before she popped out wearing a funny hat and tossing a handful of confetti at him. "Okay, honey, this is real nice. Really. I wish I could appreciate it more, but…"
He clicked on the TV set after checking behind it for his wife. She wasn't there, either. "You're never going to believe what happened. Some terrorists took over the FBI office. I know Bill's got to be smack in the middle of it. I need the suit. I'll just go break things up and be right back. I promise. Where did you put the bag from the market this morning?"
Still no answer. Ralph crept stealthily through the living room, peering behind the sofa and all the chairs. "Honey? Pam, don't jump out at me, okay? This is serious."
Kimberly Welch had done her profession proud since last she'd appeared on the screen. She was inside the building with her film crew, again reading earnestly from her notebook. "… pending the release of several political prisoners now in custody," she intoned. "KCNH News has learned that…"
Ralph found his attention drawn to the set. "Pam, stop kidding around." He was beginning to get impatient.
On the screen the camera panned the room to show the group of hostages behind Rahim. Ralph froze. Pam. That was Pam standing there in the semicircle of people, nervously regarding the men with guns who surrounded her. "Oh my god…" escaped Ralph. "Pam!"
The camera moved awkwardly back to Rahim when he began to speak; obviously the camera crew was just the slightest bit nervous. "Our actions are in the name of the United Liberation Front," he announced. "We are holding these people pending the release of our own captured warriors. If they are not freed by eight o'clock tonight, we will make this building and everyone in it a sacrifice to the cause of the unjustly accused."
Ralph looked again at the banner across the kitchen archway. Happy Birthday. Sure. Happy Birthday, Ralph.
More bad news. The suit wasn't in the freezer. He grabbed for his car keys and raced out the front door.
He'd been hanging around Bill too long, he realized, when he jammed the station wagon into gear and peeled out of the driveway as if the flag had just gone down at Indianapolis. He skidded a little in the street, but that was okay under the circumstances. He righted the car without too much trouble and without nailing the row of trash cans that Bill had plowed through on a few occasions, and then careened down the quiet residential street in the direction of downtown.