The Incident Commander appeared to bristle.
“It’s generally a good idea to keep the negotiators isolated and separate so we aren’t distracted by everything else going on and don’t inadvertently communicate anything to the hostage-takers about what the tactical team is doing. I mean we need to know what is going on, but it’s better if we aren’t part of that energy—we don’t want to communicate it to the hostage-takers.”
The IC relaxed. “There’s a couple of trailers in the parking lot just around the corner from the front door.”
“We’ll need comms set up there, along with any video feeds.”
The Incident Commander nodded. “It’ll be ready in an hour.”
“And if we can have accommodation in the same area? That way we will always be close to the action if needed?”
“There are two cabins there. One has a kitchenette, shower and bathroom facilities. We can throw in some mattresses, and you can rotate your people on shifts.”
“Just make sure the mattresses are unused. No offense,” Charlotte piped up with a smile that made the IC smile back in return.
Ava was surprised by the request and grateful. The woman seemed to charm everyone she met, but her attitude toward Ava had cooled considerably. Ava had no idea why.
“I’ll arrange it.” The IC puffed out his chest. “HRT will be billeted in an old aircraft hangar nearer the airport.”
The negotiators exchanged cell numbers with the Incident Commander.
Sheridan said, “If we could meet up with the Tactical Team Commander at eighteen hundred hours, we can discuss best options to proceed. In the meantime, I want to listen to the negotiator in there and see what the risk assessment is.”
The IC nodded. “I’ll send someone to fetch you at six.”
When he left, Dominic knocked on the glass and waited until someone let them inside. He held her gaze and pressed his finger to his lips before they entered. She understood. No talking.
She braced herself as she entered, knowing she was going to see and hear the voice of the man who’d murdered her father in cold blood and who’d smashed her across the face with a pistol before leaving her for dead.
She squeezed behind Dominic and found a chair in the corner of the room with a small desk. She sat down and drew in a long breath and settled herself. She’d faced the bastard in court, she could do this. But probably best if Gino Gerbachi didn’t know she was here—considering she was the reason he was serving consecutive life sentences and would die in prison.
*
Dominic checked his email as he listened to Joe Booker and saw that Mallory Rooney had written to him. He didn’t read it, just forwarded it to Kanas. He couldn’t afford to get distracted.
Joe—the Bureau of Prisons’ negotiator—was doing a great job, slowing everything down, telling the hostage-takers that “nobody wanted to hurt them” and asking “how can I help you?” over and over again.
Time was a negotiator’s friend.
Dominic watched on the TV screen as the hostage-takers paced the large kitchen area. Frank Jacobs and Gino Gerbachi took it in turns to rant their demands into the speaker phone but so far, Milo Andris hadn’t talked to them at all.
The four hostages had their hands bound behind their backs and sat on the floor beside the double-locked, heavy duty door that formed the rear exit of the kitchen. The rear exit led through a corridor to an exercise yard. There was the warden, a prison guard, a cook from a private company, and another inmate who clearly wanted nothing to do with this situation.
The trouble with prisons from a siege perspective was they were so secure it was hard to do a full-on tactical assault without a lot of people dying in the time it took for the security forces to gain access. No one wanted that to happen, but should the hostage-takers start hurting people then the authorities would have no choice except to act.
Dominic wondered what the Black Swans of this situation were—the unknown unknowns. Information so far outside expectations that no one even imagined they existed. Black Swans could give the negotiators the leverage they needed to end this thing, or it might cause the situation to blow up in their faces. The whole point was they couldn’t know what these Black Swans were until they were revealed and that was why the FBI had people digging into every aspect of the hostage-takers’ and hostages’ lives.
Dominic wrote a note to Joe. “Ask Gino to put Milo on the phone. We want to know what his demands are.”
“Hey, Milo, get your freak-ass over here,” Gino yelled after Joe relayed the message.
Joe held the headphones from his ear for a moment. Gino was an old-style, bullish mobster who used bullying and intimidation techniques to try to get his own way.
Milo ignored the guy and continued sharpening a kitchen blade on a wet stone. Every dull scrape of that blade was like a chalk drawn down a dry board and made Dominic’s teeth fuse.
Why Milo was sharpening that knife was anyone’s guess, but Dominic didn’t like it. Each of the hostage-takers carried a weapon and he noticed neither Frank nor Gino ever turned their backs on Milo.
“He doesn’t want to talk,” Gino said finally, moving closer to the speaker phone and talking loudly. “When do we get our helicopter?”
“Gino, I can’t even begin arranging for a chopper until I have assurances from all three of you that the hostages aren’t going to be hurt.”
Dominic watched Gino face Milo again.
The man pulled an ugly face that bunched up his mustache. “Milo promises not to hurt anyone as long as you get us what we want.”
A helicopter with enough fuel to get them to Canada.
Apparently Canadian authorities welcomed escaped felons much more readily than the US. Someone better inform the RCMP.
Joe looked at him, and Dominic circled his finger.
“Can you get Milo on the phone to confirm that for me, Gino? I need to hear it from him,” Joe persisted.