Into the Devil's Underground (3 page)

“We can go in without them,” Johnson said. “Done it before.”

“Not in a situation like this,” Nathan pushed the issue. “We’ve got too many people inside and out.” He gestured to the onlookers barely kept at bay by the uniforms. “This guy is volatile. If we can’t get him out peacefully soon, he’s liable to come out shooting.”

“What are you basing that on?”

“Gut instinct.” That wasn’t going to be enough, and he knew it.

“I don’t make decisions based on stomach acid,” Johnson said. “It’s too risky.”

“I’ve got armor on,” Nathan said. “We’ve got snipers, Chris has decent eyes on the door. I won’t get close enough for him to grab me. But if I can get face to face, maybe I can make progress. And we’ll have the hostage.”

“If it’s not a ploy.” Johnson looked away, sucking on the meaty part of his cheek. “Everything about this stinks, Madigan.”

He was giving in. Nathan saw it in the resigned set of his jaw. “Listen, boss. Something is off about this whole thing. Joe says the partner basically abandoned the plan as soon as they went inside. Why? They clearly knew they had very little time. It’s almost as if the partner wanted to get trapped inside.”

“That makes no sense.”

“That’s why we need a hostage. Find out what’s been going on.”

Johnson’s shoulders sagged. “Yeah, all right. But we take all precautions necessary. And under no circumstances are you to get close enough for him to get his hands on you. Make sure he knows you’re the go between. That’s it. Got it?”

“Absolutely.”

Sweat trickled down the back of Nathan’s neck as he approached the bank, hands in the air. His Kevlar protected everything but his head. He should have worn the helmet too, but he needed to make eye contact with Joe.

“He’s walking to the door with a male hostage.” Chris’s voice steadied Nathan’s nerves. “He’s got the guy in front of him, using him as a shield.”

Nathan stopped at the edge of the sidewalk, blocking out the noise of the city and the chattering in his head. He stared at the glass door, squinting at the reflecting sunset and wishing he could see inside.

“He’s sending the hostage to open the door,” Chris said. “We’ve got two guys on the roof. If he raises his weapon and they have a shot, they’ll take it. You doing all right?”

“Copy that.”

One of the glass doors cracked open. “Madigan,” Joe shouted. “You got guts, I’ll give you that.” The hostage was tall enough Nathan couldn’t see Joe’s face. His collar drenched in sweat, the pale hostage stared at Nathan with large, frightened eyes.

Nathan gave the man an encouraging nod. “I’m just trying to put an end to this situation, Joe. Why don’t you send this man out, and you and I can talk, face to face?”

Joe barked a laugh. The hostage winced. “So I’m in the line of fire, right?”

“Nope. You can stay right there, with the door cracked.”

“You know I can shoot you.”

“You could. And I guarantee you’ll never get out of this. But it’s your call.”

“This is all bullshit,” Joe’s voice carried over the hot gust of wind. “We were supposed to be in and out of here. Easy. That’s what he said. Now I’m stuck dealing with you because he screwed up.”

“I get it,” Nathan said. “Just let this man go, and we’ll figure it out.”

“Isn’t going to be that easy.”

The hostage went rigid. His eyes looked wide enough to explode out of his head. A large, tattooed hand appeared on his elbow, turning him enough so Nathan saw the gun pressed against the hostage’s skull.

“Joe, don’t do something stupid.”

“Not stupid. Smart. I’ll let the guy go. If you take his place.”

“You don’t want to do that.”

“Sure I do. You’re worth more to your buddies out there than this jackoff. They’ll move heaven and earth to get their cop friend out alive.”

“If I come in there, then there’s no one to speak for you.”

“You’ll speak from inside.”

“I can’t.”

The gun dug deeper into the hostage’s head, and Nathan caught the silhouette of Joe in the glass. “You switch places with him, or I kill him.”

“Please,” the hostage spoke for the first time. “My name is Tom. I have a wife and kid. They need me. My little boy’s only three.”

“Shut up.” Joe hit him with the butt of the gun. Tom stumbled and swayed but remained on his feet. “I’m not playing, Madigan. It’s you or this man’s death on your conscience. Can you live with that?”

Nathan had been living with that for over ten years. He’d be damned if he added to it.

“Give me a second, Joe.” Nathan reached for his shoulder mic. “Chris. I’m about to do something the boss won’t like.”

“What? No. You’re going to stick to the plan.”

“Plans change. I’m not going to let this man die.”

“Joe’s bluffing.”

“No way to know that. I’ll be fine. Tell the boss I’m sorry. I’m out.” Nathan turned the mic off. “I’m taking my vest and everything off.”

“You got any weapons hidden?”

“No.” Nathan let the vest fall on the ground and then raised his shirt, followed by each pant leg. “Nothing.” Sweat tracked down Tom’s face as he watched, knees bent, ready to bolt.

“Okay,” Joe said from behind him. “Madigan, you get up here and block the door. I’ll let Tom go, and you can come in and join the party.”

Nathan walked forward. “Keep your hands up,” Joe said.

Tom’s neck bulged against his shirt. Nathan stepped close enough to smell the man’s fear. Inches away from the partially opened door, he finally saw Joe’s face. Leathery, with a spotty, graying beard and small eyes that reminded Nathan of a great white shark’s.

Joe pointed the gun at Nathan. “Come inside.”

“Release him first.”

“You gotta have some faith in me, boy.”

He didn’t have a choice if he wanted to save Tom’s life. Joe might be bluffing, but the risk was too high. Slowly, hands in the air, Nathan slipped between Landry and the door.

Inside, the bank steamed, the heat combined with the smell of sweating, frightened bodies. Joe shoved Landry out the door and then slammed it shut, quickly locking it.

Nathan’s eyes took a minute to adjust from the glaring sunset. Finally, he saw two women sitting together at one end of the tellers’ counter. The young blonde’s nametag read Mollie, and she comforted a shaking customer. Both women looked at him in shock.

At the other end of the counter were the partner and Emilie Davis. Her dark-red hair fell around her face, and her pale complexion made the bruise on her cheek stand out like a purple stain. They locked eyes, her mouth open in astonishment. Nathan nodded once, hoping she understood why he was here.

Blinking, she cocked her head, as if she were trying to read his churning thoughts. Then she nodded, her high, tensed shoulders sinking away from her ears.

The man next to her—the silent partner dressed in black—didn’t move and didn’t question Joe’s motivation. Through his facemask, he glared at Nathan with the fire of a madman.

Joe clapped a heavy hand onto Nathan’s shoulder. “You’re with me.” The gun pressed into his ribs, Joe’s stale breath on his face.

“Whatever you say.”

Joe sat down in an overstuffed, grey chair across the lobby. He pointed the gun at the chair beside him. Nathan sat.

“So what’s your plan, Joe?”

He stretched out his legs, his bony right knee coming through a worn patch. He kept the gun on Nathan. “To get the hell out of here.”

“That’s not going to be easy.”

“Woulda been if he hadn’t screwed up.” Joe cast a hateful glance at the silent man, whose eyes remained on them. His body, however, leaned toward Emilie with the familiarity of a lover. She leaned away, looking sick.

“What exactly happened?” If he could establish some trust with Joe, Nathan might be able to end this thing peacefully.

“I told you already.” Joe pulled a wrinkled packet of sunflower seeds out of his shirt pocket and jammed a handful in his mouth.

“Why’d your friend take so much time? Panic?”

Joe spit shells onto the gleaming floor. “Ain’t my friend. And I don’t think he’s capable of panic. Or anything that takes energy. He’s on the same level all the time.”

“Makes for a good bank robbing partner.”

“You’d think. But Red’s got him all screwed up. Look at him guarding her like some rabid pit. If he thinks we’re leaving here with her, he’s got another think coming. I ain’t taking no hostage along.” He spit more shells out. A few landed on Nathan’s boot.

He shook them off, grinding them into the tile with his toe. “That’s definitely extra baggage to take along.”

Joe wiped the sweat off his forehead. “Why the hell you here?”

“You didn’t give me any choice.”

“Always a choice.”

“Not when someone’s life is on the line.”

“Maybe I wouldn’t have shot him.” Joe’s mouth twisted in a mocking grin.

“Maybe not. But that’s a risk I couldn’t take.”

“Hero complex.” Joe spit out the rest of his shells. “You got a lot to learn.”

Nathan shrugged. He didn’t regret the trade-off. Every life he saved eased the sting of the one he’d caused to end.

Casually, he glanced at Emilie. The partner now faced her, head moving slightly. Nathan guessed he was whispering sick versions of sweet nothings. Still leaning away from her tormentor, Emilie suddenly caught Nathan’s gaze.

In the dusky light of the lobby, he couldn’t see the color of her eyes. He could only tell they were wide and staring at him, her chin set hard, like she’d bitten down on something and couldn’t unlock her jaw. Only seconds passed, but her fear leached across the tile separating them and penetrated Nathan’s bones until his anxiety was on high alert.

Emilie needed his help, and he didn’t have any idea how to give it to her without risking a bloodbath from Joe.

Emilie wished she could ask the hostage negotiator—his name was Nathan, she reminded herself—why he’d put himself in this position. Did he really think he could help them more as a hostage? How could he so easily decide to trade his life for a complete stranger’s?

Hope sparked in her frozen chest when Nathan came inside. Maybe he could save them. Creepy went rigid when Nathan entered, and Emilie swore she felt the rage rolling off her captor. But he never said a word to Joe or the new hostage, never made a move away from her.

“Have you heard of the devil’s underground, Miss Emilie?” If he felt threatened, Creepy’s voice revealed nothing. The words rolled off his tongue with ease, his faint accent making everything terrifyingly pretty.

“No.”

“It’s a dark, dark place. A place hope long ago abandoned. And yet some people choose to be there. Some even like the refuge, the freedom. It’s a place of pure ugliness and yet, there’s a beauty in the lives existing in the undergound.”

“Sounds charming.”

“In a strange way, it is,” Creepy said. “Sometimes, when I’m visiting the underground, I liken it to Dante’s journey.
‘Justice moved my supreme maker: I was shaped by divine power, by highest wisdom, and by primal love.’
” He nodded his head like a preacher deeply moved by his own sermon. “The underground is their path to hell. Because we all choose our paths, right?”

Emilie wished darkness wasn’t falling on the lobby. If she could only get Nathan to see her eyes, surely he’d realize how terrified she was of this man. She glanced at Creepy her stomach launching butterflies when she realized the hostage negotiator watched them. Somehow, maybe she could make him see.

“I’ll show it to you sometime.” Creepy snatched her thoughts back to him. Still, she stared back at Nathan.

“What?”

“The devil’s underground. I’ll take you there. Soon.”

The knot of fear residing in her stomach exploded, streaming its contagion into her blood. She tried not to cry out loud, forcing herself to look at Nathan as if he were Christ himself. He was her only shot at salvation.

“Here’s what I want you to do.” Joe broke his silence. He’d spent the last few minutes brooding, and Nathan kept his own mouth shut. Joe maintained his control, and Nathan had time to observe.

Mollie the employee continued to comfort the terrified customer: a portly, middle-aged woman who’d somehow managed to wrap her body around the petite Mollie. If she minded, the girl gave no indication. Comforting the customer probably helped her keep her mind off her own fear. Occasionally, Mollie cast a worried glance at Emilie and the partner. Emilie smiled weakly at her employee, but her body remained drawn rigidly away from her admirer’s. Knees held tightly to her chest by her fisted hands, she reminded Nathan of a sexual assault victim he’d questioned during his first year as a beat cop. In the hospital, the beaten teenager drew her body up as if she were trying to swallow herself. She refused to speak until the female Special Victims detective arrived.

Nathan needed Emilie to stay alert. He spoke loudly so that everyone in the lobby, including Emilie and the silent man, turned to stare at him. “What do you need me to do?”

Emilie’s right leg jerked. Her fist relaxed for a split second. A lock of hair slipped from its knot, the tendril curling around her taut chin. She barely nodded.

“Call your people,” Joe said. “I’ll tell them my demands. They can either get them done or pay the price.”

Nathan gave Joe his full attention. “You want my advice?”

“Nope.” He jerked his gun and got to his feet. Nathan did the same. Joe was smaller than he was but wiry and probably muscled. He carried an automatic weapon capable of killing everyone in the bank before Nathan could subdue him. And even if he could somehow outmaneuver Joe before he started firing, the partner also had a gun. If Nathan acted out, lives would be lost. His best option was to keep Joe happy and calm until SWAT made its entrance. Nathan’s presence inside the bank virtually guaranteed the teams were getting ready.

Joe waved his gun at Mollie and the crying customer. “You two just keep on being good and quiet. This’ll all be over before you know it.”

Silent partner watched, completely submissive to Joe.
No, submissive isn’t the right word
. The guy didn’t seem to care what Joe was up to, and that made about as much sense as sticking a live wire in a light socket.