Targeted (Hostage Rescue Team Series Book 2) (20 page)

“I will. In the meantime, I need you to do something for me, okay? Keep this phone line open so we can keep talking.”

The negotiations game was starting to wear thin on him already. Next she was going to try to get him to talk about why he was doing this, what he wanted, then offer ways to help him, all in a series of open-ended questions designed to keep him talking. Stalling for more time.

The HRT could deploy within four hours and head anywhere in the world. So they could definitely make the thirty minute trip here from Quantico in far less than that.

It was way too late for anyone to help him, and he wasn’t giving away anything more until he knew DeLuca was on scene. “Call me back when he gets here,” he said in a hard voice. “And not until.” He slammed the receiver into its cradle and stalked out from behind the counter toward his hostages.

****

The tension inside the command truck was so thick Celida could feel it pressing against her chest whenever she took a breath. She and Travers both wore headsets and they’d both heard the conversation between Agent Gunderson and Spivey.

Gunderson looked back at them and let out a low whistle. “I get the feeling he knows what I’m going to ask before I ask it, and I can tell me trying to get him to talk is already pissing him off. And it was only a two minute conversation.”

Yeah, her gut already told her that he wasn’t going to crack through negotiations. They were going to have to find another way to get him to surrender, otherwise a full breach was imminent, as were the deaths of all the hostages and likely several of the assault team.

No goddamn way she was letting that happen on her watch.

Celida folded her arms and looked at Travers, who was finally speaking to DeLuca, briefing him on what they knew so far. Was Spivey’s end game DeLuca? Was
he
the target?

The manifesto hadn’t mentioned anyone specific on the HRT, only that Spivey was out to take an eye for an eye and kill whoever’s bullet killed his wife and son. DeLuca had been the team CO that day in Denver, so it made sense, and he’d gone to great pains to try to emulate the same scenario.

Travers ended the call. “He’s here.”

Relief washed through her and the tension in the room eased. She busied herself reading everything they had on Spivey to pick apart his life, figure out what they could do to take him out before he blew the building or launched an attack on the HRT assault team if they were called in to make a breach.

She tried not to think about Tuck, what would happen here if his team had to make the assault, but it was impossible. He meant more to her than anyone, in some ways more than Zoe. She had to find a way to end this before the HRT got involved, protect Tuck and his teammates.

Heavy boots on the steel trailer steps sounded. An agent threw open the back door of the mobile command unit and Matt DeLuca strode up the steps leading into the trailer, dressed in a gray T-shirt and cargo pants, a San Diego Chargers ball cap on his head.

In his mid-forties, broad shouldered and with a minimal amount of gray in his light brown hair, he was an imposing man. There was no mistaking the aura of authority he wore, or the confidence in his movements and body language that spoke of a man who’d spent his entire adult life in uniform in the service of his country.

His bright green gaze swept around the group, then landed on Travers. “My sniper teams still don’t have any eyes in there yet and right now it’s zero visibility. You guys got anything?”

“Nothing,” Travers answered in frustration. “He’s still waiting for us to say you’re here. You two know each other personally?”

DeLuca shook his head. “I only know his name and face from the investigation after the Denver incident.”

“Any other reason why you’d be his personal target in this?” Celida asked.

DeLuca turned his gaze on her. “I was in command that day. I made the call to order the assault. I was responsible for my guys and everything they did, including the casualties they inflicted. He likely blames me for his wife and kid dying.”

Certainly appeared that way. “I started looking into the paperwork from the investigation before we were called here but I didn’t get through it all. I’ve got someone on it right now but mostly we’re focused on doing more background research on Spivey,” Celida said. “In his manifesto Spivey mentions a ballistics report proving who killed his family, and he accuses the agency of a cover up during the investigation. Who fired that fatal shot, and could Spivey know it?” Some of the investigation was public record but this hadn’t yet been released.

“He could, but it would’ve taken some serious digging because even though the ballistics report tells us which round killed those two hostages, the eye witness accounts and testimony make things murky.”

“Who was it, and are they still on the team?”

“The agent in question was cleared of all charges a year after the incident. He left the agency shortly thereafter and died on a contract job in Afghanistan about eight months ago.” He held her gaze for a tense moment. “There’s something more going on here.”

Before she could say anything else DeLuca strode to the back where Agent Gunderson sat at her station near the rear of the trailer. “Call him.”

The female agent didn’t ask questions, just got back on the phone as someone handed DeLuca a headset. A now familiar male voice answered. “He’s here?”

“Just arriving now,” Gunderson lied to buy them time, her well-modulated voice soft and calm, befitting her role.

“I want to talk to him.”

The negotiator shot a questioning glance at Travers, who shook his head in a flat-out
no way
. “I’ll see what I can do about that. In the meantime, can you tell me more about the condition of the hostages? With the electricity turned off it has to be hot in there.”

“I want food and water for them.”

“Okay, I’ll get to work on that right away, Ken.”

“I want twenty bottles of water and fifty protein bars. No wires, no bullshit like that in the boxes or bags they’re packed in or I kill a hostage.”

“I’m not going to do anything to jeopardize the safety of the hostages, Ken. I’ll get you the food and water.”

“I want something else too.”

“Okay, tell me.”

“Put DeLuca on the phone, and I’ll give you two hostages. A woman and her young daughter.”

Catherine and Marlee Bancroft, Celida thought, her attention riveted on Gunderson. Relatives had confirmed their identities from the surveillance feed prior to Spivey taking the bank. Apparently Spivey couldn’t stomach the thought of another child getting killed. If they came out it would be less of a burden on his conscience and he could be even more likely to set off his explosives. She glanced at Travers to see his reaction.

Travers shook his head again while DeLuca looked on, his eyebrows drawn together in a tight frown as he listened in. They couldn’t risk putting DeLuca on the phone yet—even if DeLuca was his intended target, letting Spivey talk to someone he blamed for all this might set him off. It could destabilize an already perilous situation and push him to act now, give him no reason to keep the hostages alive.

“Before I can let you speak to Agent DeLuca, I need something from you in return, in a show of good faith,” Gunderson said.

“I’ll give you the woman and the girl. No weapons, hands up as you approach. I want you and another female agent to bring the supplies and do the exchange. East door.”

Why another female? Celida wondered. Did he not think she or Gunderson had the skills or the guts to take him out if possible?
Screw you, asshole.

Gunderson blinked and looked up at Travers for confirmation. A muscle flexed in his jaw, but he nodded and turned his gaze on Celida. “You go with her.”

It felt like someone had cranked a vise around her ribcage.
Me?
Celida nearly blurted, but didn’t argue. She was the only other female agent handy and Travers clearly trusted her to handle herself in this situation.

Gunderson’s expression said she was less than thrilled by the order to make the exchange, but she took the special receiver off mute and spoke to Spivey. “All right, Ken, Agent Morales and I will bring you the supplies and take the hostages back with us. Give us twenty minutes to get everything ready.”

“Ten minutes. East door. Both of you come unarmed, hands up where everyone can see them. Don’t try to be heroes. The kid’s scared enough as it is without anything blowing up.” The line went dead again. Instantly the command vehicle erupted into a mass of noise and movement as everybody started talking at once.

Travers stuck two fingers in his mouth and let out a shrill whistle that froze everyone. “Listen up! Everybody at your posts to await further instructions.” His pale blue gaze landed on her. “You up for this?”

Now
he asked her? He’d already committed her so she wasn’t backing out, especially when she felt like she had something to prove to the rest of her fellow agents after the hotel attack. “Yeah.” She was afraid of being shot or blown up, but would never let him or the others know it.

“Get as much intel as you can when he opens the door. HRT’s gonna need everything we can give them. Somebody wire her up,” he added in a raised voice as he turned away to continue coordinating everything.

Feeling off balance, Celida took off her headset and raised her shirt while a fellow agent taped a wire up her bare stomach, securing the little microphone to the underwire where the cups of her bra met in the center.

DeLuca was on the phone, to his superior or maybe Tuck, she guessed as she shrugged into a Kevlar vest. Someone handed both her and Gunderson a backpack full of water and protein bars.

Ignoring the wild thump of her heart, she put the pack on, a little surprised that her hands were so steady as she fastened the Velcro straps around her torso. The weight of the vest was reassuring but it didn’t take away the awful grinding dread in her stomach.

“One minute,” Travers called out, lowering his phone as he met her gaze. He gave her a nod she guessed was supposed to be reassuring. “Snipers are all in position. We’ve got you covered the whole way there and back.”

Pulling in a deep breath, she faced Gunderson. “You ready?”

The woman gave a short nod. “Guess so.”

Travers all but herded them outside. Stepping out of the dim, air conditioned trailer into the bright midday sunshine, the heat and humidity was like a slap in the face.

Celida glanced around, noted the news vans parked around the exterior perimeter and all the cops and Feds lining the interior one. She rounded the back of the command trailer, her gaze darting from the metal side door of the bank to the rooftops of the surrounding buildings where sniper teams were already positioned.

It still didn’t make her feel any less secure about this exchange. But if she could free two hostages and maybe save the lives of the HRT members with some intel she could pick up with a look inside… Her fear meant piss-all in the face of that.

“You ready for this?” Gunderson asked her, as though she couldn’t quite believe they were doing this.

“Yes,” she answered with a hell of a lot more conviction than she felt. The plan was to follow Spivey’s directions exactly, but if shit went sideways Celida was to immediately get her and Gunderson as far away from the building as possible, or, if not, hit the deck and do what they could to shield themselves against a possible blast.

Hopefully with the woman and little girl in tow.

“Just get as much of a visual as you can inside so we can get it to the tactical team.” Spivey was a pro. If the HRT really was his target, Tuck and the boys were gonna need as much help as they could give them for this one.

The anxiety in her gut congealed into what felt like a hard ball of concrete as they crossed the empty parking lot together, their shoes sounding loud on the hot, cracked pavement. High above them, a police helicopter circled the area.

A trickle of sweat rolled down Celida’s side. When the exchange happened, and hopefully Spivey was right about being able to disarm the door he was about to open, she had to do her recon carefully. If she made it too obvious that she was gathering intel, who knew how Spivey would react.

She kept her head held high as she walked beside Gunderson, breathing steady, raising her hands once they came closer to the building. No one else needed to know about the panic she was fighting.

The steel door on the east side of the bank loomed before them. Despite her resolve to stay mentally strong, her vision tunneled, her mind instantly yanking her back to that day in Rachel’s hotel room. Taking another deep breath to combat the fear clawing at her, she kept her eyes pinned to the metal doorknob.

He’s going to shoot you, just like they did
, her mind whispered.
The same as before, right through the door before you’re ready, and this time you have nothing to fire back with
.

Stop it,
she ordered herself sternly.

More sweat trickled down her sides, down her temples. She could see the dents in the steel door now, the rough, rusted patches around the edges of it. When they were a dozen yards from the door, the knob began to turn.

Celida faltered, fear turning her legs wooden. She felt naked and vulnerable out here with her hands up and no weapon, even with the vest. As she stared at the knob part of her cringed, bracing for either the impact of a bullet or the concussion of a blast. But the seconds ticked past and there was only silence.

“Step forward and knock twice,” Spivey called from somewhere inside, his muffled voice telling her how thick the reinforcement was in the walls and that door.

Forcing her feet forward, Celida cautiously walked with Gunderson over the remaining distance. At the door she paused. If the perimeter of it really was wired, Spivey had hidden them well. She glanced at Gunderson, who met her gaze for a moment and nodded once.

Go time
.

Raising her hand, Celida knocked twice, the sound seeming to echo around them.

A second later the door cracked open. Celida took a hasty step back, her right hand twitching, wanting to reach for the weapon that wasn’t there. Her heartbeat was loud in her ears over the expanding silence.