Um, what?
“Yes, I agree, though I don’t expect there will be much of that,” Dodson says. “Given our student body—who their parents are—we drill them on this procedure every semester. Just this morning, we had a false alarm—but we take all possible threats very seriously until they are refuted or eliminated—and our students handled it perfectly. They may even think this assembly is related to that.”
I still don’t know what they’re talking about, but it’s clear Dodson is not afraid of whoever’s in the office. In fact, she seems almost hospitable, by Dodson standards.
“Very smart, ma’am. At this point, we believe there are two suspects currently on the campus, though we’ve not yet ascertained their location. We have units outside along the perimeter, and I’m sure these people know that. In case the suspects are already in the building, we don’t want to alarm them into doing something stupid by bringing heavy forces inside.”
I don’t need to see the woman to know who she is. That was total cop speak. My relief is almost overwhelming. I’m about to reveal myself, but Dodson asks a few good questions that make me hesitate.
“But why come here? Why not keep taking the road out of town, or up into the mountains? Or take the highway into Denver, where they could get lost in the crowd? You don’t think they’re here for one of our students, do you?”
“As far as we know, they aren’t after anyone here. They’re just looking for somewhere to lie low. We pursued them from that bank at the edge of town, the one just before Broadway turns into Highway Thirty-Six,” the officer says. “There isn’t much between there and here. Carlisle had the bad luck of being the place they decided to take cover in once they knew we were in pursuit.”
That explains why Dodson sounded so scared during the announcement—she must have just learned bank robbers were hiding out here. Or at least people who she believes are bank robbers.
I’m still holding out hope that’s who they really are. It’s a better scenario than what my gut is telling me.
“But they passed several homes on big sprawling acreages, even a few ranches, before Carlisle,” Dodson says, sounding tired, as though she realized the minute she said it that it didn’t really matter at this point.
“It’s the middle of the day, those homes are probably empty. And the ranches … Well, those places don’t offer what your school does.”
“What’s that?”
I know the answer before it’s spoken. It explains why the gunmen are holding my classmates in place.
“Hostages, and plenty of them.”
There is a collective gasp from Dodson and the staff, who have been silent until now. Dang. The officer could have lied a little, maybe said she didn’t know why they chose Carlisle, even if Dodson and the others no doubt expected that would be the reason. This situation calls for a softer touch. I sure hope this cop isn’t also the hostage negotiator.
“The students and staff may wonder about the change in protocol, since our normal procedure is to hold in place until the building is cleared by your people.”
“Yes, that is S.O.P.—uh, standard operating procedure, ma’am—but this case is a little different since there is the possibility that the suspects are inside the building,” the officer explains. “It would be safer to have the students in one place until we can find these men.”
“But there are only two of you, Detective Andrews,” Dodson says. “That could take a while.”
Good point, Dodson. If the police have tracked bank robbers to the school, and know they’re here, where’s the cavalry? Standard operating procedure is to move in immediately if a school is being threatened. The halls should be crawling with cops. Letting five hundred people move through a building hijacked by bank robbers without heavy police escort doesn’t seem right. The classroom doors are made of steel, and contain bulletproof windows, which Dodson has no doubt explained. She’s right. Everyone would be safer staying where they are until the building is cleared.
And about these guys being bank robbers. That might explain the gunmen’s infiltration skills and tactical gear—in the Hollywood version of a bank heist. In real life, the average bank robber does so on impulse and out of desperation, usually some loser meth-head needing a hit. He won’t wear a ski mask or even a ball cap pulled low over his eyes because he probably didn’t plan to rob a bank that day—the opportunity just presents itself and he takes it. He hits a bank where he can do just as Dodson suggested: get on the nearest highway and blend into the crowd long before the police arrive.
“My partner and I will accompany you and your staff to the auditorium and hopefully provide a calming presence as you explain that the school is under lockdown,” the officer says without really addressing Dodson’s concerns. “It would be best if we get there before they start moving. We want this assembly to seem as normal as possible.”
I hear movement in the office, and then Andrews says, “Oh, it’s best you leave everything here. I know you want to contact your loved ones, but we don’t want the suspects to intercept any phone calls which might give them information about our presence here. The faster we can resolve this, the faster we can all get out of here and home to our families.”
I know I’m only a year out of training, but this sounds like a pretty crap plan to me. I’m about to stand up and tell them so, when Andrews’s partner speaks.
“I recently lost someone dear to me in similar circumstance, Ms. Dodson. It weighs heavily on me today, so trust that I will not fail. Detective Andrews and I have situation under control.”
It isn’t what he says that keeps me crouched below the window. It’s how he says it. He’s trying to suppress it, but I detect an accent that explains why he didn’t say “a similar circumstance” or “the situation.”
It may be Russian, but my money’s on Ukrainian.
CHAPTER 9
Now it makes sense why that first cop, the one calling herself Detective Andrews, didn’t try to soften the hard news—because she isn’t really a cop. She’s a terrorist or black-market arms dealer, probably both, considering who her partner is.
It isn’t just the guy’s accent that seals it for me. It’s what he said about losing someone “in similar circumstance.” Marchuk Sr. was a traitor to his country and a longtime regular on Interpol’s most wanted list, so not a lot of people miss him. The only one who does is supposed to be dead.
It wasn’t a fluke that those hostiles chose my classroom to make their incursion. It’s not a coincidence the hacker is helping them.
That girl took my picture fifteen hours ago, probably posted it straight after. It went viral between first and sixth period. Only two hundred people had seen it before first bell. Marchuk must have been one of them, which means the whole time we assumed he was dead, he has been watching, probably from somewhere close, Canada or Mexico maybe. Hell, he may have been stateside the whole time. It’s a great place to hide from assassins who are even more afraid than he is to be caught on our turf. Playing dead and just waiting to pick off any member of our Ukraine team that he could identify. I must be the first.
Lucky me.