Chapter Ten
Hostages
Hospitals may be quiet, but only by fortune of the moment are Maternity Wards so. They exist in one of only two states, placid calm and when one baby starts a chain reaction and sets off a din as loud as it is long.
The three blue smocked nurses, long used to the demands of the long fourth floor chamber, work quietly. Conversations are in gentle whispers and placid voices and no one other than staff enters the sanctum through the only door on the right end of the outer corridor. A long glass wall faces the line of mother's rooms. Not even mothers are permitted in this room. The babies are brought to them.
Therefore, when a black haired Asian woman in a long brown overcoat comes through the door without permission she is quietly but firmly intercepted.
"Excuse me," Marie Gelb whispers as Lesley White and Carrie Fontemos flank her, a wall of light blue and white, "you can't come in here."
This petite woman had better not claim to be a confused mother. Gelb knows the mothers of all nine babies in this room, there's only one Asian baby and that mother is Fong in 403.
"You'll have to leave now," Gelb says.
"Get out," the intruder says. Gelb, White and Fontemos exchange bemused looks; that's essentially what they'd been saying, albeit considerably more politely. But the woman's demeanor sets them on alert; there's seething anger and hate in the woman's brown eyes. White glances to the so rarely used alarm button on the wall to her left, hopes she won't have to -
The woman holds out her right hand and with her left pulls the plastic protector from the gleaming scalpel.
x
"Now just a moment," White says, holding her hand up in a gesture of conciliation and peace, "let's just not have any-"
The woman's hand moves too fast to see and White pulls back, clutching her hand with a hiss of pain. Even now silence conditioning wins out. Blood wells from between her fingers and Gelb moves to help, snatching a white towel draped over the side of the nearest of 9 cribs.
While the women work, Fontemos confronts the intruder. "I don't know what you wan-" The blade flashes upward and across; Fontemos actually feels the wetness at her throat a moment before the pain. She staggers back, barely able to believe she's been cut.
x
The intruder swings the blade again, again.
Before instinct can kick in - each woman had been quietly certain in her heart that she would lay down her life for her charges - they fall back before the fast slicing blade. The smaller woman gets around them and they're herded back toward the door, falling back before death.
All three women are cut at least twice each before the woman lets them retreat and hold the door closed against her.
Silence is no longer a concern and the three women set up a din such as the nine babies trapped within the room can't hope to manage.
xxx
Security guards, nurses, doctors, orderlies and mothers are crowded into the glass walled corridor between mothers' rooms on this side of the section, stymied into immobility by the woman holding a scalpel to the chest of the infant in the center crib.
The only entry to the chamber is the door at the right end of the corridor and no one dares approach it. The long glass wall, glass above regular painted material, shows each side a perfect view of the long chamber.
All nine infants, either sensing danger or due to other unmet needs, cry loudly and drive their restrained mothers on the other side of the glass to greater hysterics.
Word has already spread about the woman's speed and deadly resolve. The only thing that hasn't spread is the reason for the deadly standoff that's now in its first quarter hour.
"All right," a deep male voice fills the hallway from the double white doors at the left end, and the speaker wears the uniform of a Metro Police Sergeant, "I want everybody but Metro PD out of here right now. Clear this corridor. Security, move everybody out."
With such clear and definite orders, which have to be repeated four times with escalating levels of force, the crowd is eventually reduced to five uniformed officers.
Getting the mothers to abandon their weeping children almost made the hall into a battlefield but rational minds finally prevailed. Metro can do nothing while battling nine hysterical mothers.
The police know that in time other family will try to join these nine.
Inside the chamber all nine babies scream and cry at the full volume of new and unstrained lungs.
Through all this noise, the woman in the ward seems unaffected. She moves from crib to crib, trailing the scalpel's blade along newborn flesh.
x
The white double door at the end of the hall opens and a sixth officer enters. He's wearing a white shirt and gold Lieutenant's bars and he holds brief, quite conferences with the men.
"There's only the one door but if we move on her she'll stab one or more kids," the sergeant reports. "Can't shoot her, we'll shower glass all over those kids." He waves his hand to encompass the bad tactical situation.
The window starts at the far left double doors, is set atop a waist high partition wall continuing the tan and maroon motif of the ward and runs thirty feet from double doors to his left to the entry at the far right end. "She's got the view of the whole place," he concludes the report of the obvious.
The woman will see any movement to draw a weapon, and they can't be sure a kill shot will prevent her from killing one or more babies. Too many cribs have been pulled together. They touch in one long line and the overcoated woman stares at them from its other side, the scalpel touching a pink blanketed baby's throat.
"Has she said anything? Demands?"
"Not a word." On this side of the glass wall the noise of nine screaming infants is muffled but "I wouldn't be able to think if I had to be in there."
The Lieutenant turns to one of his officers, points at the phone sitting on the counter on the far side of the woman inside and pulls out his cell phone. "Get me that number."
x
What he gets is the white double doors far to his left flying open with a bang against the walls and a brunette woman with a microphone bearing the ZNN logo leading a man with an oversized shoulder bourn camera. The cameraman maneuvers quickly to get a shot of the endangered babies and the woman menacing them.
"I'm here in the Maternity Ward now where the still unidentified woman is holding the infants hostage with a scal-"
"GET THOSE PEOPLE OUT OF HERE!" Lieutenant Robert Cotto commands. Two officers hasten to assist. They grab the pair and push them through the doors in front of them. "Idiot could have f*cked everything up."
Cotto checks the Ward. No blood. The commotion hadn't spooked the woman, but she's holding the deadly implement to the throat of a different wailing baby. A flailing of infant arms could cause a disaster.
"Lieutenant, I have the number."
x
Twenty rings with his standing at the middle of the long glass wall gesturing to her before she, with a display of heavy exasperation, pulls the middle crib close to the counter so she can pick up the phone without taking the scalpel far from the girl's chest. /What?/
The crying is now doubled, muffled through the wall and loud in his ear. He can only hope she can hear him. "I'm Lieutenant Cotto. Bob. I'm a Metro PD Negotiator."
/So?/
Not the most helpful attitude, but he's had worse. "I was hoping we could talk, find a nice way out of this." No change in expression. "What's your name?" Slow, teasing smile. "Okay. Is there something I can call you?" Smile gone, stone face stare. "Please?" He's fine with being polite if it'll keep a room full of screaming babies alive.
Good thing she's not a long talker; between what's filtering through the glass wall and leaping into his ear would cause him to miss most of it. He has to keep his cell phone turned half away and depend on quick reflexes.
The men watch as she slowly unbuttons her overcoat, alert for whatever weapon she's going to draw next. They're unprepared for when she pushes the long coat off her shoulders and lets it drop behind her, then brings the scalpel back to a girl's throat.
x
The red garment she wears barely qualifies for the name. Some of the men recognize it, most don't, but the twin scarlet bands of cloth which flare outward from her throat to somewhat cover her breasts are distinctive.
The clothes are those of the fictional Vampirella, the high white collar meeting in a gold ring to flare outward in too narrow scarlet bands to meet again at her crotch, while the lower half is less than a bikini bottom decorated with a stylized gold bat upon her crotch. Anachronistic calf high black leather boots contain more substance than the wet dream inducing scarlet outfit.
Cotto knows the response she was looking for with this stunt. He won't give it to her. "If you won't tell me a name, maybe you want to tell me what you want?"
/High Priestess.../
"Okay, High Priestess." Many people claim fanciful monikers, he only cares that he has a handle on her. But did it come with an odd tone of appeal, with a softening of her eyes? "High Priestess, what do you want?"
/Quiet.../
It's too soon to suggest making it quiet by letting the crying babies go - or is it? Most of this art is figuring out the clues and hints as he goes along. "We can have quiet."
/I know./ She raises the blade high, brings it down swiftly.
"NO!"
x
The silver blade stops a half inch short of the white chest, the woman looks up at him and giggles in his ear.
'You fuckin' bitch.' He doesn't dare say it with his face or lips. She thinks that was funny. She'd gotten him to break first; she'd scored a point. Important now that he doesn't give it to her. Can't let her perceive that she's scored any points.
He'll let her score points - later, but small ones and on his terms. Not that one.
x
The doors at the end open again, Cotto only wants to see uniforms enter but the wrong ones do. Two men, one older, the younger flanking him while the woman on his other side looks younger still, but he sees that look of eagles in their faces. All three wear gold shields at their belts, but they're too far away for him to see IDs. With the white lettering on black caps and the gold reproductions of shields on black jackets he hardly needs to. He also doesn't want to take his eyes off the woman inside the ward.
He holds his cell pressed against his chest. "What the hell are you doing here? We don't need Feds here."
"Yes you do."
"She Navy?" he demands, sparing only an instant's glance at the trio. She's certainly not dressed as a credible Service woman.
"She's an Agent."
x
Gibbs would have wanted to do anything other than avow Palmer.
He's barely slept, only his watch insists he's had a few brief bouts. Yesterday Tony died, victim of vile poisoning administered by two truly evil women he won't confront again for fear of killing them where they sit. Less than an hour later Abby and her friend died in a horrific highway crash. This morning his broken rest was shattered by a call from McGee who passed on an incredible message from his wife.
They'd rendezvoused at the hospital and he only thought then that he'd seen the worst of his day.
Even now, looking at the reality, he can barely believe it. Beyond the stunning garment she doesn't quite wear - he heard enough from Tony about the pictures posted from that Haunted House Grand Opening - she's holding a scalpel to a baby's chest.
He doesn't have to wonder what Tony would say upon being presented with this sight, something he'd so often expressed a longing to see in reality - if the reality weren't so surreal.
Gibbs would willingly - gladly - surrender his next ten years pay to hear some inappropriate remarks from his Agent, or declarations of outrage from Abby. But Tony and Abby are dead and there's been no time to mourn because he has to deal with this outrageous madness.
x
They had come in as a result of McGee's wife's shocking call, met with her in the Pastoral Care office, then the four of them had seen Jimmy Palmer in the Recovery ward. They'd expected to find Michelle there, had lost track of her when they hadn't. They spoke to Jimmy, he hadn't seen his wife but the Nurse in Charge had confirmed she'd been there.
Palmer, for all his horrific injuries, refused to press charges against Michelle. For as far as it went, that mercy will be no help for the woman. First the assault upon Christina Larsen, then the attack upon Ziva, then going UA, then last night's attack on her husband; Michelle Palmer's career in NCIS was pretty much over. If she were very fortunate, she might have wound up with a Commitment to Bethesda or some long-term care facility somewhere. But in all that, they might have kept the matter In House.
Now she's very publicly, even if she hadn't been filmed by ZNN, crossed a line over which there's no crossing back. Arrest is now certain, imprisonment almost so
x
Originally the Agents had determined to find her after leaving Jimmy but then the hospital had gone into Lockdown, the level of tension had skyrocketed and a search for the missing agent became moot. Breaking through the outer barriers of Administration and Security into this ward had been easy, but that hadn't helped when they walked into this incredible scene.
Mother McGee had tried to enter with them, but the legend upon her badge reads 'Chaplain', not 'Special Agent'. Yet in the nine restrained and hysterical mothers she'd found more than enough to occupy her.
"Let me talk to her," Gibbs commands.
x
Under ordinary circumstances Cotto would tell anyone attempting to break into a Negotiation 'No', but seeing the expression on the face of the woman holding a scalpel to a baby's throat, seeing some so far undetermined combination of hatred and desperate longing, he recognizes this is no ordinary circumstance.
It's true that no circumstance in Hostage Negotiation is ever ordinary, but as in so many occasions this art is a matter of tactics and gut. The woman is most certainly disturbed, perhaps she's crossed over the edge into full blown insanity, but these people know her better than he does.
This time he turns on the speaker, bringing the thought rattling cries to this side of the wall while retaining some control as he hands over the phone. He hopes these people aren't the ones who'd pushed her over that edge.
x
They turn to the room, the wailing of nine infants through the glass wall and the phone a din that makes hearing the woman arduous, but it's something that must be done.
"Michelle."
/What do you want?/ The demand is barely distinguishable through the wailing.
"To talk."
/You think I ever cared what you have to say?/
"Yes." He sees in her eyes that he's gotten through, but that look is gone in an instant. He needs it back. "Talk to me now."
/High Priestess./
"She wants to be called that," Cotto says over the screaming and wailing. He wants the phone back, but has the feeling the Fed isn't going to surrender it.
Gibbs looks to him. "No, she doesn't."
x
For all Gibbs knows of her, though little do they talk about more than work, he knows she doesn't aspire to such a position, but that the one who holds it is her lawyer. He decides she'll need such a person more than some mythical figure, but either way "McGee, get on with her lawyer."
"Kendra Little. On it, boss."
"Lawyer?" Cotto protests too low for his phone to pick it up.
x
McGee moves a few steps away, to a point where he can hear a cell conversation yet still see his partner through the long window. He can't imagine what's driven Michelle to this, but if he can get her any kind of help...
A Google search yields quick results, and after a brief conversation he steps near Gibbs. "I spoke to her Secretary," he says sotto voce, "Little's already on her way." This gets Gibbs to look at him. "ZNN was on, she took off when that Reporter Margot Burnette got in and Michelle appeared on the screen."
Gibbs just nods, returns his attention to the drama within. He expects NCIS, even without Gibbs' report, is as mobilized and that Jennifer Shepherd will very soon call each of their phones until she gets through.
McGee reluctantly takes a step back, not daring to be a distraction. He wishes Shav were here, rather than blocked outside. He can't act and doesn't feel his prayers are enough.
Gibbs is focused on Michelle and Tim holds his breath. Gibbs is the NCIS' best Agent but he's not 'Mister Sensitivity'.
Then again, he won't give the order to shoot.
x
Gibbs watches his agent within the room of screaming babies carefully. She's pacing the line of touching bassinettes like a caged tiger. The question is: does she feel trapped enough to do something desperate? "Palmer, talk to me."
She whirls on him. /NO! NOT ANYMORE!/ The yell makes hearts jump and sets a greater round of wailing.
"What do you want?"
She brings the scalpel to the throat of the weeping infant before her. None of the nine perceive their danger, the adults outside of the glassed chamber can think of little else.
/Blood./
"You've had plenty of blood." She looks up from the throat, meets his eyes. "Your husband." Blank look. "Jimmy."
She steps to her left, crouches low, most of her body concealed behind a crib, her scalpel at the boy's throat. Six pink blankets, three blue in that now touching line, too many to lose.
/Not enough,/ she says, her head too close to the boy's. He'd cried himself out, for the moment quiet, though few others are winding down or for long. /Want more./
"Blood?"
/Yeah./ She rests the blade upon his throat. /This one./
"You don't want to do that."
/DON'T TELL ME WHAT I DO OR DON'T WANT!/ she screams, making all the babies start and setting up a new round of wailing.
Gibbs hears Cotto's voice beside him.
"She wants them scared, crying. What does she feel?"
x
It's a reasonable question so he goes with it. He can still hardly believe this is the agent he's worked with through yesterday. The Michelle Palmer he knows would feel a mothering instinct, not
/Hate./
She says it with such intensity he has to go further. "What?"
/I hate them,/ she says with such incredible passion, looking up and down the row of infants, sharp teeth bared as though she'd bite them. /I hate them all./
"Why?"
/'Cause I do. Don't need a reason. Hate them, that's enough./
"No, it isn't. "
She clutches the scalpel, brings it up high and six guns clear holsters.
"STOP!" Cotto's command to the Metro Officers is faster than Gibbs' and more readily obeyed.
x
Cotto reaches out, takes back his phone and fortunately the big man relinquishes it. The Fed probably doesn't know what to make of the woman; she's evidently not the agent he thought she was.
The woman, Palmer, has played this same feint too many times. He's learned her trick. However, he can't be certain that next time will be another fake.
Yet the woman has to know that if she harms any of those babies, she dies in a barrage of bullets.