Tumbledown (36 page)

“Didn’t you see the photo?”

“I saw it.” She had to work hard to unclench her jaw. “That proved she was alive
then
. I want to know she’s alive
now
.”

“Fair’s fair,” he said affably. She heard something crunch as if beneath footsteps, and then his voice again, but faint, the words indistinguishable. Crackles sounded over the line, and a rub of friction as the phone was shifted.

“Alex?” Sarah’s voice, shaky and weak but unmistakably hers.

“Hey, sweetheart,” Alex whispered.

“Don’t come here,” Sarah said. “Please don’t come here.” She gasped and then groaned, the noises becoming quieter as the phone was taken from her.

“Three hours, Alex,” Deakin reminded her in a singsong tone, and the line went dead.

Sarah had been left on her own since the phone call. A hint of something savory drifted in from the next room, and every so often metal rang against metal as if someone there was eating or stirring a meal. Her stomach churned in response, torn between hunger and nausea. She drew her good leg toward her, bracing herself for what she was about to do. On a silent count of three, she grabbed hold of the pipe around which she was cuffed, and wrenched it as hard as she could.

Just as it had on her last four attempts, the pipe wobbled in its brackets but remained attached to the wall. She hadn’t noticed until Leah pointed it out, but the bottom end of the pipe wasn’t connected to anything. All she needed to do to slip her hands free was detach the lowermost bracket.

“Fuck.”

Forgetting that she needed to be quiet, she kicked at the floor, which made her dizzy and achieved nothing. Each time she hauled at the pipe, it was taking longer for her to recover, and every delay brought Deakin’s deadline closer. Her fingernails were ragged from using them as improvised screwdrivers; it was only when that tactic failed that she had switched to brute force. She had no plan for what she would do were she successful, but anything was better than sitting chained to a wall and waiting for Alex to surrender.

She bowed her head to wipe the cold sweat from her face onto her sleeve. Then she took hold of the pipe and tried again.

*

“No.”

The man standing in front of Alex was almost as tall as Castillo, and his biceps bulged when he folded his arms. It was a posture meant to intimidate, but she was too frantic to back down. As he turned in dismissal, she grabbed hold of his arm, not caring that he was the leader of the SWAT team, only that he was wasting time by arguing with her.

“What the fuck do you mean, ‘no’?”

“I mean I’m not going to allow an unarmed civilian to walk straight into the middle of a hostage situation,” he said. “You do that, and you double the number of people my team has to worry about.”

“I’m a
cop
.” She spat out the last word. “And if we don’t stop fucking around here, you’re not going to have
any
hostages to worry about.”

The first hour before Deakin’s deadline had elapsed. Every spare agent and officer in the area was out scouring the buildings around the second level canal, while the SWAT team was poised to leave for a rendezvous point.

Their leader relaxed his stance slightly, his expression losing some of its rigidity. “It’s too dangerous,” he said.

“So, what? Do I need to sign a waiver or something?”

His lips twitched upward, almost a smile. “Well, that would be a start.”

Castillo stepped forward, as if sensing that the man was beginning to relent. “Alex, think about this for a minute.”

She gave him an incredulous look; did he really believe she had spent the last eighteen hours thinking about anything else?

He ignored her expression and lowered his voice as if to exclude the SWAT leader from the conversation. “What you’re suggesting is tantamount to suicide.”

“I know,” she said, glancing away, “but I can’t…” She shook her head, struggling to voice something she had long since come to terms with. “If he kills her, I don’t think I want to be here anyway.”

“Jesus, Alex. You think she’d want you talking like that?”

She looked back up at him. “I just need to be with her, one way or another,” she said, pointedly ignoring his question. “If I go, he might at least take his time with us, giving you guys a chance to get us out of there. I don’t go and he’ll probably kill her outright.”

“He might have killed her already.”

She nodded. “It’s possible, but I think he’ll have something bigger planned, don’t you?”

Castillo didn’t answer, but his lack of denial conceded the point. A phone rang and they all reached automatically for their pockets, but only the SWAT leader pulled his cell out.

“Anderson.” He listened without interrupting and hung up with a curt, “Wilco, ten minutes.”

“They’ve found him, haven’t they?” Alex asked. She could see the gleam in Anderson’s eyes, the eagerness to get his team in place and do his job.

“Yes,” he said, and nodded toward the door. “You’re coming with me.”

*

The tail end of Holyoke’s rush hour did not combine well with a convoy of emergency vehicles. Weary, heat-frazzled commuters darted out of the way at the last minute or, stunned by the cacophony of sirens and flashing lights, stopped dead in the worst possible position and forced the police drivers to waste time swerving around them.

Sitting between Castillo and Anderson in one of the lead vans, Alex caught glimpses of curious or angry faces, their eyes often the only feature visible in the gathering dusk.

“Deakin’s car was spotted parked between a couple of the derelict mills fronting onto the canal,” Anderson told her as he tapped off his radio mike. He had spent much of the journey barking orders into his cell or over the radio, but now seemed satisfied enough with his team’s preparations to fill in some of the blanks for her. “A number of the mills are marked with a red cross to warn the fire department that the structures are unsafe. Of the three mills closest to his car, only one is unmarked.”

“X doesn’t mark the spot,” she muttered.

He nodded. “Initial surveillance found no sign of activity in the main part of the building, but heat signatures have been detected in two of the rear rooms.”

“Any visuals?” Castillo asked.

“Not yet. The only access is via a metal door, got a small glass panel in it, but he’s blacked it out with something. The walls are structurally intact. We’re working on a window, but it’s high and boarded and we don’t want to spook him.”

The convoy slowed, all the beacons and sirens abruptly shutting off as if an invisible signal had been given. Beyond the van window, Alex could see the wide, straight line of the canal, overlooked by hulking, darkened buildings.

“City is working on a regeneration project.” Anderson craned his neck, taking stock of the area. “Guess they haven’t gotten this far.”

Perspiration made Alex’s skin slick and cold. In less than thirty minutes, she would walk into one of these mills, and she would probably never walk out again. Castillo had stopped trying to argue against her involvement, while Anderson seemed to have fixed on a strategy he found acceptable. However scared she felt, she could not begin to imagine what Sarah was going through, and that alone made her determined to play her part.

“We’re about ten minutes out,” Anderson said. “Well within time.”

Alex nodded, kept her eyes fixed on the water, and tried to remember to breathe.

*

There was no shame in giving up. Sarah drew solace from that fact. A bullet had fractured her leg and she was undoubtedly concussed. Also, she was cold and exhausted and she really needed to pee. That she couldn’t force a simple metal bracket from the wall should, she decided, in no way reflect badly upon her.

When she shook the pipe in one final burst of exasperation, a screw promptly fell away with a tiny, musical clink.

“Oh, you little git.”

She picked it up and twirled it, marveling at how something so small could have put up such resistance for so long. The bracket was now swinging at an angle, making it easy for her to manipulate the pipe out of it and slip the handcuff chain free. Her arms protested at the movement, unaccustomed as they were to anything but the twin options of either outstretched or bent double. An intense tingling sensation shot down from her neck as she attempted to warm up muscles rendered immobile for hours. As she did so, she scanned the ground for anything she might be able to use as a weapon. A few feet behind her, a hefty, solid-looking piece of material—wood or metal, she thought—stood out as a black lump against the concrete floor. In the next room, Deakin was speaking rapidly, his footsteps pacing back and forth but showing no sign of heading in her direction. She wasn’t going to get a perfect opportunity, and this was as good as any. Clamping her mouth shut, she pulled herself over to the object, grabbed hold of it, and carried it back to the wall.

For a few seconds, all she could do was lean on the bricks and watch the sparks dance in her eyes. They faded one by one, leaving her with another pounding headache and hands that were shaking uncontrollably. The bar of metal she had retrieved felt cool and weighty as she pushed it into the shadows behind her, out of sight. She arranged her hands back into position, looping the chain beneath the pipe and hoping Deakin would not spot what she had done.

She had barely managed to settle her breathing when the beam of a flashlight cut across the room and he strode in. There was no time for her to reach for the metal before he was kneeling by her side, grinning at the way she cowered when he raised his fist. Instead of striking her, he took a thick strip of cloth and secured it over her eyes.

“Your dyke bitch should be knocking on the door any minute,” he said, tightening the knot. “Figured it might be more fun if you have to guess what I’m doing to her. For a little while, anyways. Then I’ll let you watch.”

“You’re a fucking arsehole,” she muttered, and heard the swish of air a split second before his hand hit her cheek.

She was still trying to recover from the blow when a ripping noise made her jump; she realized it was duct tape just as he sealed a piece over her lips.

“Time to shut your filthy mouth,” he said, his spittle dashing warm and wet on her cheek. “Take either of those off and I’ll break your fingers.”

He walked away from her then, leaving her blind. She was already struggling to remember exactly how far away the doorway was, how best to maneuver her hands from the pipe, and where she had hidden her slab of metal. Despite his warning, she tried to pull the material down, but it was cutting into her eyes, leaving her no slack with which to work. Forcing herself not to panic, she felt methodically down the pipe and threaded the chain loose. With more freedom to move, she was able to find her makeshift weapon and draw it onto her lap. Neither of those small achievements made her feel any better. Tears began to soak the cloth. How could she help Alex when she couldn’t see a damn thing?

Using both hands, she tore at the blindfold, wrenching and stretching it until she glimpsed a hint of light below her left eye. It should have encouraged her to continue, but she was too worn out. Instead, she let her hands and shoulders drop and began to count: one-Mississippi, two-Mississippi, giving herself three minutes to rest before she started again, all the time straining to listen for a knock on the door.

*

Metal glinted in the glow of the fire. Vicious-looking blades, carefully lined up on a cloth, easily outshone the dull black of Caleb’s three handguns. With a surgeon’s precision, he had arranged them all on an old metal crate beside the roll of duct tape, a pack of cable ties, and his Taser. He had ordered Leah into a corner near the door, away from Sarah and the weapons. Leah wondered whether he had caught her staring at them, trying to figure out how the Taser worked or which of the guns she knew how to fire.

Feeling at peace for the first time in years, she tucked her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around them. In the end, it had been remarkably easy for her to reach a decision. There were no shades of gray in her mind, just stark absolutes of black and white that had brought her to one immutable fact: if she and her child lived through this, she wanted to be able to look her child in the eye.

*

“You knock, you step back. Try to angle toward here.” Anderson pointed to a red square on his sketch of the mill’s layout. “This piece of machinery is pretty solid, should give you decent cover.”

Studying the schematic, Alex nodded and made a noise she hoped sounded suitably compliant. The Kevlar vest they had given her to wear felt heavier than usual and the earpiece linking her through to the comms seemed to have been designed for a much larger person. She was aching and scared, and there were only seven minutes left on the clock, but Anderson still wouldn’t leave her alone. The mill, fifty yards away from where they stood, looked like a haunted house, all sinister angles and shadows, the tattered wooden boards that had covered its entrance now propped open and waiting for her.

“One shot,” Anderson said, as if it was the first time he had told her. “My guys are perfectly placed and they only need one shot. You—”

“I knock, bring Deakin to the door, step as far out of the line of fire as I can, and leave the snipers to do their job.” By now she could recite his instructions word for word, but the plan was bullshit. She knew it was bullshit, and from the look on Castillo’s face, she knew she wasn’t alone in drawing that conclusion. The only one who didn’t seem to perceive the limitations of Anderson’s plan was Anderson himself, and she certainly wasn’t going to point them out to him. If he began to consider the countless ways in which things could go awry, he might pull her out of participating. Time constraints or simple arrogance meant he had fallen into the trap of assuming Deakin was a redneck simpleton and no match for his team. She guessed he was only willing to accept her involvement because he was confident it would amount to nothing more than acting as a lure.

He patted her on the shoulder and marched across to confer with the remaining members of his team, leaving her alone with Castillo.