Chapter 3
THREE
Sandra was still spinning from what Neal told her.
The Hanson family was being held hostage in their home, a place where they should feel safe.
Where they should be safe. They certainly had enough money to pay for the best protection as one of the wealthiest families in DC.
Had a weak spot in their security led to this?
She stopped in at the Washington Field Office, or the WFO, where she was assigned, before she made her way to the crisis incident.
After she filled in her boss, Elwood leaned forward. “On your week off, and you’re going? I don’t think there’s anyone as dedicated as you are.”
“What am I supposed to do? Turn Lieutenant Coleman away? The hostage taker requested me.” And five lives are on the line…
“You’re a good one, Sandra.”
She let her boss’s praise wash over her. “If I can help, it’s where I’m meant to be.” With that, she left his office and pulled out of the parking garage with a government sedan.
On the drive to the Hanson house, she decided she’d made the right decision leaving the family name out of her briefing to Elwood. It carried weight, and she didn’t want it exerting undue influence. Namely, having Elwood insisting that the FBI take over.
She presented her FBI credentials to the MPD officer at the barricade at the end of the street.
It was to prevent vehicle and pedestrian traffic.
It would also keep the press out for which Sandra was grateful.
They often had a way of complicating crisis incidents.
Though when it leaked the Hansons were being held hostage, the news would spread like wildfire.
The officer took a long, scrutinizing look at her badge. “Just go to the end of the street. You won’t be able to miss everyone.”
“Thanks.” She put the window back up and advanced slowly.
Ahead of her, the lights on a few police cruisers flashed in silent testimony to the dire situation underway. What was an ordinary Wednesday morning for most was a living hell for the people inside.
Upon spotting the mobile command vehicle, or MCV, on the road in front of a gated driveway, her mind served up memories of spending twelve hours inside it last month.
The recollections also resurrected the failings from the day, but she couldn’t allow herself to get buried under by them. That was then. This was now.
She parked near the curb a couple of houses down and texted Olivia to let her know she was called to a crisis incident and might not make it home for dinner. A reply came quickly.
Thought you were off this week
Man makes plans and…
Funny
Sandra was in the middle of putting her phone away when another text came in.
Be safe xo
Will do. Xo
She got out and walked to the scene. As she got closer to the property, the view from the road offered little aside from the silhouette of a roofline on a palatial home buried on the grounds.
Lieutenant Rick Kreiger was smoking a cigarette near the door and holding a coffee in a to-go cup. It gave her an instant flash of déjà vu.
“Vos,” he said while stamping out his cigarette butt on the pavement with a twist of his shoe.
“Kreiger.” She parroted his greeting. “Everyone inside?” She gestured toward the vehicle.
“You know it.” When he spoke, his silver mustache bobbed up and down, which was distracting sometimes.
She hadn’t expected a slew of small talk from the lieutenant. Kreiger wasn’t the type, and she appreciated that trait given the circumstances. She walked toward the vehicle, with Kreiger on her heels.
She rapped on the door before letting herself inside. There, she met with more familiar faces from last month. They churned the darker aspects from that day to the surface again.
“Hello, everyone,” she rushed out, trying to nix any regrets from taking hold.
Detective Monica Harding spun in her chair to face the doorway, her long brown hair back in a ponytail. “Sandra? It’s so nice to see you again. Not that there’s a situation, but, well, you know what I mean.”
“I do.” Sandra smiled at Monica. As the scribe, she made concise scripts from any discussions with the HT, or hostage taker. At thirty-two years of age, she was well along on her career track.
Detective Gibson Farmer offered a succinct, “Hey,” suiting his personality.
In his late forties, like Sandra, he had fine lines around his eyes that fanned out like starbursts even on his resting face.
Gibson was the information officer, responsible for noting relevant developments on a markerboard, and compiling backgrounds on the HT, hostages, and anyone within the scope of the incident.
He also interviewed any persons of interest on scene.
Lieutenant Neal Coleman, a redhead who didn’t show his temper often, was getting himself a coffee from the alcove when Sandra entered, but he abandoned the task and came to her with an extended hand. She took it, and shook it firmly.
“We’re all so happy you could make it,” he told her.
“Sure.” Her gaze drifted to an unfamiliar face sitting at the workstation next to Monica.
The man introduced himself. “I’m Sergeant Donny Mason.”
“Sandra Vos, with the FBI.” She offered the introduction, though she surmised Donny would have been told her name in advance of her coming here.
“Donny will assist you today, as your second.” Neal clarified his role while he swirled a stir stick in his coffee, then popped it into the trash can.
Hopefully, Donny wouldn’t feel usurped with her stepping up as lead negotiator.
The one who had been Donny’s secondary must have already left the scene.
“Well, nice to meet you, Donny. If you could fill me in on where we are before I make contact. That’s assuming we have a way to do so.
” The comment was an insider reference for those who had worked the hospital lockdown.
The gunmen had shut down all methods of communication, and they were without a means of contacting the gunmen inside for several hours.
“We do. Thankfully, this is nothing like Founders,” Neal said. “The HT wants to talk, only to you, mind you, but he is the one who called nine-one-one using the landline inside the home. Donny, start us off.”
Sandra was stuck on the hostage taker calling 911. There must be a strategic reason for that. Most HTs liked their time undisturbed with their hostages before the police became involved.
Donny pointed at a monitor mounted inside the vehicle.
It showed a live feed of the front gates.
“Let me welcome you to the Hanson residence, belonging to Edward Hanson, the sole heir of the Hanson fortune. That being the Hansons of Hanson Property Development Inc. As in, ‘We’ve been building homes, not houses, since 1941.’ I’m sure you’ve heard the slogan. ”
It was hard not to smile at Donny’s colorful overview. “Yes, I’m familiar with the Hansons.”
“Then you will recognize them.” Donny pointed at a markerboard where photographs of five people were attached with magnets. Their names and ages were written beneath them.
Edward Hanson, forty
Ashley Hanson, thirty-five
Sophie Hanson, thirteen
Brayden Hanson, nine
Abram Duke, thirty-seven
Sandra was certain she’d find out who Abram Duke was soon enough.
It was the children’s faces that arrested her attention.
Not just because their young lives were at risk, but more the grand picture.
The hostage taker had violated their safe place.
What happened today would stay with them for the rest of their lives.
On another markerboard were a few notes.
First contact with HT @ 9:15 AM, Founders’ primary negotiator requested, no reason given
HT is armed, late thirties or thereabouts – per Mario Dorsey
HT disabled control for the gates from the guard house
Property breach will result in deaths
Video surveillance to remain active, threatened harm to hostages if disconnected
Add Dorsey to the list of things she wanted to discuss, along with Duke and a few other notations.
It didn’t settle well the HT had already uttered so many threats.
But Sandra viewed them as a blatant attempt at control, which suggested the HT may lack confidence.
Not that she’d conclude he was all talk, no action.
In fact, the opposite. Hostage takers with low self-esteem were more dangerous than their confident counterparts.
They were less likely to be talked down easily as they were more fixed on proving themselves and their worth, no matter the cost.
“Now, the house is fifteen thousand square feet while the property is set on an acre. The only way in is what you see,” Donny said.
Sandra looked again at the monitor and large gates, also taking note of the tall fence.
“He’s right,” Kreiger put in. “ERT officers conducted a discreet sweep of the perimeter and confirmed there are no other ingress points.”
Emergency Response Team. “Okay, while that fence is wrought iron and must be at least seven feet tall.”
“It’s exactly that, and it surrounds the entire property,” Kreiger said. “And there’s only six inches between the bars. No way is anyone squirming through without cutting some bars.”
“Which we won’t do since the hostage taker has threatened harm if we breach.” She nudged her head toward the markerboard.
“That’s the main thing keeping us out.” Kreiger met her eyes, reminding her his fallback position was the use of force.
She wasn’t getting into it with Kreiger.
Not yet anyhow. When working the Founders incident, Sandra found out through a third party that Kreiger had one case that haunted his career.
It was one where a family of four had lost their lives to a hostage situation in their home.
He blamed himself for not getting SWAT to move in sooner.
She hoped he had buried the past and wouldn’t be pushing for a breach all day.
Though she wasn’t sure she’d be that lucky with this incident mirroring the one that turned sideways for him.
“All right, given what you told me, the hostage taker only had one way in. So, how did he make it past the gates?”
“I’ll get to that, but first, did you hear about the passing of Timothy Hanson last week? I assume you have. The news is still everywhere,” Donny said.
“Yes, of course.” Sandra had glimpsed an article headline about Hanson under the Founders Hospital’s one that morning. Hanson’s Billions Pass to Sole Heir. The title said it all without even needing to read the story. But she had read one last week that covered the mogul’s passing.
“Well, our guy used this knowledge to get in,” Gibson began.
“He told Dorsey, the guard at the gatehouse, he was with the family’s law firm there to discuss something urgent about the will.
He told them he was Joe Buckley. I called the attorney’s office.
No employee by that name, and there wasn’t anything further that needed discussing about the will.
Dorsey described the man as being in his late thirties, possible forties, but wasn’t very helpful otherwise. ”
“He didn’t make a note of the man’s appearance?” Sandra found that questionable.
Gibson shook his head. “Says that’s not what he’s paid for. His job is to verify appointments, collect names, and if all checks out, let them pass.”
“Then asking for a license plate number would be expecting too much?”
“Guy couldn’t even tell me the make and model of the car. Dorsey claims cars aren’t his thing. Officers tried to get a better look through the fence, but there’s no clear line of sight to make out body shape of the vehicle or its plates. Hedges.” Gibson shrugged.
Sandra understood Gibson’s skepticism. Dorsey’s entire job was admitting vehicles onto the property.
One would think makes and models, if not people, would leave an impression, if for no reason other than to offset boredom.
“So that’s all it took to admit this guy?
He sold some story about having important business to discuss with the Hansons? ”
“He gave him a business card from the law firm, but yeah,” Gibson confirmed.
If the hostage taker was acting solo, he had taken a risk.
What would he have done if his ruse hadn’t worked?
His approach was opportunistic and wouldn’t have taken too much effort to devise.
The news article Sandra had read stated the name of the law firm as Walton Crane.
The HT would have just needed to go by their offices for a card.
Finding the Hanson estate would have taken a simple internet search.
But was he working alone? “Have we taken a good look at this security guard, Dorsey? Maybe he’s in on this. ”
“You can bet I did,” Gibson piped up. “Mario Dorsey. Clean record, and I talked with him at length. Nothing flags about the guy. He doesn’t seem to be guilty of anything but incompetence.
No criminal record on the security guard working on the inside either.
Though, of course, I haven’t had an opportunity to talk with him. ”
“He’s the fifth hostage?” Sandra pointed at the photograph of Abram Duke.
“That’s right. Duke’s been with the family for four years,” Gibson said. “Dorsey for seven.”
Sandra nodded. “And there are only the two security personnel on site?”
“Yes. I confirmed that with Dorsey,” Gibson said. “Duke’s record is clear too.”
On the surface, the security team was ruled out. “And what about other staff?”
“Housecleaners are off today, and the cook isn’t scheduled until tomorrow,” Gibson told her.
Small mercies that cut down the hostage count… “Is there any reason to believe this isn’t about money?”
Donny pressed his lips. “Nothing that’s come up about that so far, though it seems likely considering where we are.”
Sandra had to agree. “Let’s see if I can find out his demands.” She picked the workstation next to Donny, set her messenger bag at her feet, and put on her headset.