The Cost of Commitment - KJ2 (32 page)

From his own command post in a motel room several miles down the road from the prison, Peter could hear the discussion between Breathwaite and Redfield with surprising clarity. His recording equipment picked up both voices with ease.

When he had landed, he had placed a discreet call to a pager number.

His call had been returned almost immediately. Max Kingston, head of the Albany CERT team, had not even questioned the order. He had simply carried it out. After all, he owed his position and his life to Peter Enright.

Breathwaite shouted to be heard over the onslaught of questions.

“Where is Katherine Kyle?”

“Has something happened to her?”

“Are there hostages?”

“We’re hearing rumors that the violence has escalated. Is that true?”

“
Quiet
, and I’ll give you the latest update. If you continue to yell questions, I’m out of here and you’ll get nothing.”

Two of the more seasoned reporters grumbled, one of them saying under his breath, “I sure didn’t miss having to deal with you, asshole.”

“I know what you mean,” whispered the other. “At least Kyle was aboveboard and fair. This guy never gave us jack and acted like he was doing us a favor.”

“This is the situation at the moment.” Breathwaite rocked back and forth on his heels. It was good to be home; this was where he belonged.

“Several inmates in D yard banded together, overpowering five correction officers on the roof of Times Square, which is the juncture for four of the five blocks. They then breached Times Square itself, knocking an officer unconscious and taking one hostage.”

An excited buzz rippled through the crowd. “Is that Kate?”

“One of our specialized teams went in and resecured Times Square.”

“Is there only one hostage, and is it Kate?”

The Cost of Commitment

Breathwaite continued to ignore the questions. “A videotape of the Times Square incursion was recovered. It clearly shows Katherine Kyle being taken against her will by a group of inmates.” He took great glee in breaking one of the cardinal rules of engagement: a spokesperson never, ever gave out the name of a hostage before loved ones had been notified.

He thought,
I hope you’re watching this, Parker. And I hope you suffer.

Aloud he intoned, “Her whereabouts at this time are unknown. It is unclear if there are any other hostages. We are continuing to check with every duty station to account for all personnel.”

“Can we have a copy of the videotape?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because I said so. Are there any intelligent questions?”

“Where do you think they’ve taken her?”

“I believe I already stated that we don’t know that yet.”

“Did it appear from the tape that she was injured?”

“She was taken against her will.”

“Did she know her captors?”

“How should I know?”

“Have you identified the inmates involved?”

“We’re working on it.”

“Have the inmates made any demands?”

“No comment.”

“Do you know if she’s alive?”

“If we don’t know her whereabouts, how on earth would we know if she is alive? We are assuming that she is, and we are doing everything in our power to rescue her.”

Jay was basking in the early morning rays of the desert sun, absorbed in watching the process of natural materials being turned into the vibrant colors that would be used to create a sand painting. Several men and women were working in small groups, harvesting gypsum, yellow ochre, charcoal, and red sandstone. Cornmeal, crushed flower petals, and pollen were also collected in a practice as ancient as the tribe itself to increase the variety of possible color combinations. She had never seen anything like it.

She was just about to ask the singer a question about the significance of certain colors and their placement in the painting when she was overcome by a sharp, stabbing pain in her temple. It was so strong that it nearly knocked her to her knees. She swayed slightly, and the singer put out a hand to steady her.

“Are you all right, my child? You don’t seem well.”

Lynn Ames

“No. I—I’m sure it was nothing. Just a bit of a headache.”

The healer studied Jay for a moment. “No, I think it is more than that.

This is the second time I’ve seen you suffering today. You know, there are pains that we own ourselves and there are pains that belong to those that are important to us. I have watched you struggle over the past few days with a hurt that comes both from within and from without. You have been troubled by disharmony with one you love. I don’t need to be a strong medicine woman to see that. I sense that the discomfort you are feeling right now is something stronger, though, and comes from one who shares your soul. Do you understand what I am saying?”

“Yes.” Jay nodded, her head still throbbing painfully. “Yes, I do.”

“Do you need to go rest, child?”

“Perhaps that would be a good idea.”

“I will come and check on you in a little while.”

Jay thanked the healer and retired to her quarters. She thought about what the woman had said. A spiritual and potential telepathic connection was something she and Kate had discussed before. In their worst times, each of them had felt the other’s pain. So was the medicine woman right?

Was the headache somehow connected to Kate?

She checked the time. 6:59 a.m. That meant it was 8:59 in Albany.

She dialed their home number and waited as the phone rang four times.

The answering machine picked up.

“Kate? Are you there? Hi, honey. I miss you so much and I’m so sorry about what happened the other day. I just want to talk to you, to tell you how much I love you, and to hold you in my arms. Well, I guess you’re not there. I’ll try you again in a little while. Bye.”

Jay intended to rest for a few minutes, then try Kate again. She noticed the television at the foot of her bed. It had been almost a week since she’d had a chance to watch the news. Although her head still throbbed painfully, she felt a need to catch up on the world’s happenings.

She flipped channels until she found CNN, mentally shaking her head at the incongruity of ancient tribal traditions mixed with the modern conveniences of cable television, heating, and air-conditioning.

Her attention was immediately captured by the urgent tone of the anchor and the flashing crawl across the bottom of the screen that proclaimed coverage of a breaking story. When she heard the word

“Attica,” she turned up the volume.

Over the next eight minutes she sat shell-shocked as David Breathwaite outlined the situation inside the prison. This couldn’t be real.

There had to be a mistake. When a picture of Kate flashed across the screen with the word “hostage” below it, Jay gasped and struggled for air. After several moments of stunned inaction, she reached for the phone again, punching in Peter’s number from memory. There was no answer.

The Cost of Commitment

“Damn it. Somebody tell me something.” She jumped up and went to her bag for her address book. “J, J, J...Ah, there it is, Jones.” She dialed Barbara’s unlisted number.

“Hello?”

“Barbara?” Her voice sounded tight.

“Jay, is that you, honey?”

“Yes.”

“Thank God. Where are you?”

“I’m on the Navajo reservation near Four Corners.”

“How fast can you get back?”

“It’s true, then?”

“Yes, honey, I’m afraid it is.”

Jay’s hands began to tremble, her legs suddenly unable to support her weight. “When? How? Is she all right?”

“Slow down, honey. It happened around 7:30 a.m. our time this morning. Some inmates jumped her while she was on her way out to give a briefing to the media. I just talked to Peter a little while ago. He’s out there.”

“Thank God.”

“He says he’s got a copy of the videotape from the control room that shows her being taken. He says she was definitely alive and fighting in the video. But, Jay, she got beat up pretty bad.”

Jay gasped, her free hand flying to her temple, which continued to ache. “Oh, Barbara. I’ve got to get to her.”

“I figured you’d say that, and so did the governor. Peter put him in touch with me to coordinate getting you to Attica. We just need to know exactly where you are, Jay. The governor gave me his private number and told me to call him as soon as we located you. He wasn’t sure, based on our description of where you were, whether you were going to be in Arizona or New Mexico. He has talked to the governors of both states, and both have agreed, as a favor to him, to make their aircraft available for you.”

“The governor did all that?”

“Sure did. Says he has a weak spot for you and Kate. So get me the coordinates, and a helicopter will pick you up and take you to the airport.”

“Barbara, did Peter say how badly she was hurt?”

“It was impossible to tell, honey.”

“Okay.”

“One thing at a time, Jay. Let’s just get you out there. Then we’ll figure out what happens next.”

Lynn Ames

Kate slowly floated toward consciousness. The first thing she noticed was the smell: it was a powerful combination of dried sweat, stale urine, and mustiness. There was a constant din from above, and she tried in vain several times to open her eyelids in order to find the source of the noise. When she finally succeeded, she almost wished she hadn’t. The cell in which she was housed was ten feet by eight feet by eight feet, with a stainless steel sink and toilet bolted to the floor. The single mattress on which she lay was thin and threadbare. The concrete floor was dank and cold. The only light she could see was from a window across the gallery.

The sound she had heard was made by the large heating ducts overhead.

She took stock of her body. Her face felt like it had been used for a punching bag, which, she realized drolly, it had. Her ribs ached and every breath was agony. She tried to shift to a sitting position, but a sharp pain in her left arm made her collapse back onto her side. She looked down.

Her wrist was hanging at an odd angle. It could be worse, she told herself.

Gradually, she became aware of voices raised in anger nearby.

“I say we off her now and get it over with. That was the deal we made, we stick with it.”

“No way, man, I want to get me a piece of that bitch before we finish it.”

“What’s to say the man’s gonna come through in the end? I don’t trust him. Why is we doin’ his dirty work, anyway? Why didn’t he do her on the outside? I’s thinkin’ he’s gonna welch and we’s gonna get stuck with the rap.”

“You saw what he did for Tweety. Got him sprung in no time flat. I say we take our chances with him. We ain’t getting nowhere on our own.”

“You saw what he said on TV, they’re coming after her. And when they figure out we’ve got the three guards, we’re done for. He didn’t say he’d get us off for that.”

“They’re for negotiating purposes. We’ll let them go as a gesture of goodwill if it comes to that.”

“I don’t care about the rest of you, I’m gonna get mine.”

Footsteps began to approach. Kate could see a shadow fall over the bars.

“Unlock the cell, man, and let me have at her.”

A second inmate loomed in the darkness.

“Leave her be.”

“There’s nothing wrong with a little fun. Lighten up.”

“That is not our way.”

“Speak for yourself, you self-righteous, Sunni scum.”

The second inmate lunged for him.

The Cost of Commitment

“Stop!”

A smaller man with a goatee stepped between the two combatants.

“Fighting amongst ourselves will serve no purpose. We do not defile her. Until we can see the lay of the land better, she remains unspoiled.

Antoine, I will let you know if and when you may, as you so delicately put it, have at her. Now step away, both of you.”

Reluctantly, the two shadows receded. The man who seemed to be in charge approached the bars. “Ah, I see that you are awake.”

Kate said nothing.

“I want you to know that this is not personal on our part.”

“No, of course not.” Her words were somewhat mumbled, as she was unable to fully open her swollen jaw.

“This is not our battle, but as it affords us a potential way out, we must proceed.”

“By killing me? Fighting other people’s battles is considered a coward’s way where I come from.”

Kumar laughed. “Ah, I see you have some spirit. I cannot disagree with you, but when one is trapped in this land of the forsaken, one sometimes has to make choices and do things that are against one’s innate nature.”

“That’s a very high-minded rationalization for kidnapping and murder. Is it worth it?” She took notice of his appearance. It was obvious to her that he was a Muslim. In the prison population there existed two groups of Muslims: the Sunnis, who adhered to the traditional, more peaceful tenets of the religion and culture, and the more radical, angry Shiites. From his demeanor and choice of words, Kate figured him to be Sunni. “Do your teachings cover this sort of situation?”

“I will leave you now. Rest assured that as long as I am in charge, you shall not be used as a diversion. We will do only what we must. No more.”

“Thank you. That’s very comforting to know.”

Kumar walked away without a backward glance.

Well,
Kate thought,
at least I have more information now than I did
before. It’s clear that someone outside is calling the shots. And that it’s
someone in a position of power, since he referred to an opportunity to get
out of here as being the motivation.
She snorted derisively.
Let’s take
three guesses who that might be.

Why on earth would Breathwaite want her dead? Wasn’t that a little extreme? Surely there were less drastic ways to accomplish his goal.

How did he hope to get away with this? Why was it so vitally important that he come back to DOCS? She wanted to ponder these things further, but her head hurt so much she was having difficulty focusing. As she closed her eyes against the pain and unconsciousness claimed her once
Lynn Ames