Chapter 10
TEN
Sandra tossed the stir stick into the garbage, took her coffee to her workstation next to Brice, and sat down. Maybe if she adopted an optimistic mindset, she’d be rewarded. She certainly wasn’t when she’d returned to the vehicle. No one had any updates to give her.
Kreiger had left them after eating to rejoin ERT. Brice and Monica continued pulling registrations and backgrounds on vehicles in the area. Luis’s efforts with the security company hadn’t paid off yet, so they were still without eyes on the situation inside.
Gibson raised his left arm in the air and snapped his fingers. Everyone looked at him. Neal came over, standing at their backs and literally breathing down Gibson’s neck.
Gibson didn’t say or do anything but lower his arm for the next few seconds. Sandra watched as a window flashed up on his computer screen. “Bingo. Okay, so there was just a transmission. Two parties. A man and a woman. Trajectory puts the communication inside the hospital.”
A thrill ran through Sandra. “What was said?”
“It was short and sweet, but the system automatically records activity.” Gibson took his headphones off and hit a button. The recording came over the speakers in his laptop.
“I just got some sweet insurance,” a man said.
“Stick to the plan,” a woman hissed. “And get off the radio!”
Short and sweet was right, but it confirmed that early 911 caller’s statement. “So there is an armed woman inside.”
“But we still have no way of knowing what floor she’s on,” Brice said.
“I’m curious about that man’s voice.” Sandra looked at Luis. “Did that sound like Hartley’s?”
Gibson played it again.
“Nah, I wouldn’t say so. Guy sounds about the same age, though.”
Sandra could hear that too. Or as she’d describe it, the voice belonged to a mature male. “So this could be the man from the fourth floor. Or someone else we don’t know about yet.”
“Well, if it’s the guy from the fourth, we know that Jordon Maddox was on that floor,” Brice said, turning toward her.
Her colleague’s implication chilled her. Maddox’s wealth and prestige would make him a target and provide the gunman with leverage. Or insurance, as he’d put it. The man would feel protected and invincible. “I need a walkie-talkie ASAP.”
Gibson reached overhead to a cabinet and pulled one out. He powered it up and twisted the dial to the right frequency. “You’re all set.”
As she took the walkie-talkie, she was blasted into the past.
“Peanut, do you copy? Over.” Sam’s young voice comes across the radio with my call sign.
It was Mom’s nickname for me because I was smaller than Sam when I was born.
When he uses it, I feel closer to her. It helps even more as I was lying awake in the dark, staring at the ceiling, feeling uncomfortable in this new place.
The house, the smells, and the foster parents are strange. All these things keep me up.
“I copy. Over,” I say back, wishing we shared a bedroom, but we’re not allowed with me being a girl and him a boy.
“What is your situation? Over.”
“I wish you were here. Over.” A hot tear splashes my cheek.
“I am here. Always. Now, sail off into Dreamland, and I will meet you there. Copy? Over.”
“Copy. Goodnight, Sam. Over.”
“Goodnight.”
The recollection replayed in less than a second, but the passing memory had left its mark. It didn’t feel like she’d ever get over the loss of her brother.
“Okay, so is everyone ready?” She looked at the team.
“Born that way,” Brice said. Not that his cocky response surprised her in the least.
Gibson and Neal all nodded that they were ready. Monica, the ever-diligent scribe, had her fingers over the keyboard of her laptop ready to record the conversation.
Moment of truth… Sandra was thinking this as she pushed the button on the walkie-talkie. She was on the air. “Hello there. Anyone on this frequency?”
The silence stretched out for a few seconds before there was a response. “Go away. This is a private channel.”
She nodded at the team, and Brice nodded back. That voice was the man they’d just heard on the playback. She was on with one of the perps. “This is Sandra,” she said, purposely not rushing to identify herself as FBI. “Who are you?”
“Not born yesterday.”
At least he responded. “Everyone out here is worried about you in there. Is everyone all right?”
“Everyone’s fine. Now get lost.”
“That’s great news. How many are with you on the fourth floor?” She paused, having a feeling she’d lost the guy. The urge was to rush in, but she remained silent, to give him a chance to speak. After a minute, she said, “Hello? Can you hear me?”
Nothing again for another minute.
“He’s gone,” Gibson said. “He either turned off his radio or switched frequencies.”
“I’ll let him be for a few minutes and try again.” While she wanted more details on his sweet insurance, negotiation was a dance. Coming out with the question would have gotten the man’s back up more than it already was.
“At least you made contact with one of the perps on the inside,” Monica said. “And he didn’t deny being on the fourth floor.”
“Still, it’s been a few hours and all we have is this.” Gibson scribbled on the markerboard and pointed at his takeaway. No injuries on the fourth. He wrote that next to the addition of perps using walkie-talkies to communicate.
Sandra’s mind stuck on perps. “This hostage taker isn’t the shot caller.”
Brice shook his head. “Not with the way that woman barked at him to stick to the plan and get off the radio.”
“If that woman is the shot caller, why didn’t she speak up just now with you there?” Neal asked.
Sandra could think of one explanation. “She’s not ready. If you think about it, they’ve gone to a lot of effort to shut down lines of communication. Not just with a Wi-Fi jammer, but in also wiping out the hospital’s phone system.”
“They’re obviously trying to accomplish something here, but they must realize they need to talk to us for that to happen,” Neal said.
“Unless they don’t,” Sandra served back. “Whatever they are after may be inside those walls. Going dark prevents us from interfering.”
“They can’t expect us to stand around out here forever,” Neal pushed out.
Sandra thought it best not to point out they were likely quite confident they’d be granted some time.
There were a lot of lives at risk and no law enforcement agency wanted anything rivaling the Waco Siege of ’93.
With that incident everything was handled wrong from the start, and eighty-two people paid with their lives.
“I doubt they do. My focus needs to be on how I can get the hostage takers to see that talking to us is their best course of action. I’m going to try again. ”
Her attempt was met with failure, and Gibson confirmed there was no radio activity whatsoever.
Changing frequencies wouldn’t help. With the clock steadily ticking forward, it was drilled in how the timeline was out of their hands.
Many people inside were already ill, in need of medical attention or medication at regular intervals, but they wouldn’t be getting the help they needed.
Just like how her brother had died because he hadn’t gotten treatment soon enough.
But if it wasn’t for those patients, all the innocent lives, she’d have a tougher challenge in holding off ERT officers from breaching.