The Negotiator

  “He’s into looking for glory.”

  “Or power,” Dave offered. “This is quite a statement of capability.”

  Kate crinkled the can in her hand and watched the metal flex. The leads were fragmenting in too many directions—the passengers on board, ties to Marcus, her past cases. Which was the right direction? Soon they were going to have to list all the leads, prioritize them, and hope they didn’t go after the wrong one. Facts would be nice. She hated working with only speculation.

  She changed the subject. “What’s happening with your case in Washington, Marcus?”

  “We’re close to an arrest, maybe another ten days. It’s formality now, waiting for sign off by the deputy attorney general.”

  “You won’t be needed back there?”

  Marcus shook his head. “Quinn’s got it covered.”

  “How is your partner? Will he be coming out for the Fourth of July festivities next month?”

  Marcus shared a private smile. “Now why would he want to do that?”

  Kate smiled back. They both knew Quinn had a habit of tracking where Lisa O’Malley was and what she was doing. “Someday Lisa will notice him.”

  “Maybe,” Marcus replied, noncommittal. “I managed to catch her for a few minutes on my way in. She’s going to be working in the temporary morgue tonight, then will be downtown tomorrow if you need her.”

  “How’s she coping?”

  “Worried about you.”

  Kate grimaced at that. She was now safely behind the distance of papers; Lisa was still in the middle of the tragedy. “Someone needs to worry about her.”

  “I paged Rachel and asked her to touch base later tonight.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Lisa will be okay. She’s strong and angry that somebody did this. It will get her through the next few days.”

  “Sometimes I wish she wasn’t so good at her job; then she wouldn’t constantly get the tough assignments.”

  “I imagine she wishes the same about you at times.”

  Dinner arrived, and they took it upstairs for the group. The conference room had acquired more equipment during their absence. Kate set the food on the credenza. “What do we have, Ben?”

  “Copies of the security camera video from the gate terminal. And from a variety of sources—driver’s licenses, passports, family photos— pictures of the passengers.”

  “Facts. I love them.”

  Susan sorted through the pictures. “Here are the two brothers.”

  Kate studied the driver’s license photographs. They didn’t look alike, but then one man had been leading a very hard life, while the other had been living in comfort. “Do we have a photo of the retired judge or the oil executive?”

  “Here.”

  Kate laid the four photos side by side on the table and studied them. Was one of these four pictures the intended victim?

  “Let’s see the video, Ben.”

  It was two hours of tape, and they paused it frequently, linking pictures to the video. The retired judge and Ashcroft Young arrived early and took seats in the waiting area. Both had brought newspapers to read. The plane arrived from L.A., several passengers got off with Chicago as their final stop. Over time, the area filled with passengers crowding around the check-in counter. There was no audio, but it was clear when the flight attendant began with preboarding announcements. People gathered together carry-on luggage, threw away coffee cups, and businessmen shut down laptops and closed briefcases. The area cleared in an orderly fashion as the plane began to load.

  “There’s our late walk-on, Nathan Young,” Graham pointed him out. A tall man, wearing a suit and tie, carrying a briefcase. Two more passengers entered the walkway after him, and the door closed.

  Ben stopped the tape. The room was quiet. So many people, gone forever.

  “Did anyone see anything that looked suspicious?” Dave finally asked.

  No one had.

  Ben removed the tape. “I’ll go through it again, Dave, pull stills of faces we haven’t identified.”

  “Thanks, Ben. As you do it, pull the time each passenger arrived for the flight as well as what time they boarded the plane; the information may be useful later.”

  “No problem.”

  Dave glanced at his watch. “It’s past midnight. Do we keep working, or do we resume tomorrow morning?”

  Kate looked at the case files, the names on the white board, then sighed. “Time is not on our side. Let’s work another hour.”

  “No.” Marcus interjected quietly. “We’ll start missing information. They are setting up cots in a couple of the business lounges. Let’s get six hours of sleep and begin again at dawn.”

  She knew he was right, but it felt wrong to consider ending the day with so little progress. “Is there a safe place we can lock these files for the night?”

  Debbie picked up the lid of the nearest box. “Elliot made arrangements for the boxes to be sealed and stored in the evidence room. Graham, you, or I will be the only ones authorized to retrieve them.”

  Kate nodded. They efficiently packed the boxes and moved them to the cart. Dave retrieved the overnight bag that had been brought from her apartment and his own gym bag. He turned out the conference room lights.

  Marcus stopped her downstairs by the command center for a brief hug. “I’m going to see what has turned up on the judge. Let Dave walk you over to the terminal.”

  “Don’t stay too long.”

  “I won’t.”

  She squeezed his hand. “Good night, Marcus.”

  Dave held the door for her. The night had turned cool. She took a deep breath and tried to purge the memory of so many cases briefly relived.

  “We can take one of the shuttles,” Dave said.

  “I would rather walk.”

  Dave nodded and reached for her hand. She was weary to her soul, and it helped at this moment knowing she was not alone. His hand was firm, strong, and she had to stop herself from leaning into him. It was depressing, looking over the airstrip and seeing the debris highlighted in the bright lights. Activity had not slacked off with the coming of night; the men in orange and white jumpsuits were busy moving around the wreckage. The airport would reopen tomorrow if work tonight went as planned.

  “Are Stephen and Jack still out there?”

  “I hope not, but it’s possible. I’ve seen the disaster plans. The fire crews are the ones given the grim reality of removing the fire victims; they’ve got the extraction equipment. I saw both of them out there earlier today. It depends on which crews were released.” Over two hundred deaths, most of them by fire or smoke; it would haunt her brothers. And Lisa having to deal with the victims’ remains…She wanted to cry. There was no other way to describe the emotion as she looked at the burned-out wreckage. “So many children died.”

  “I know.”

  “There can’t be mercy in this case. Whoever did this deserves to die.”

  “He’ll face the courts and whatever the law decides.”

  “How can you sound so calm about it?” Her emotions had been stuck between shock and horror the entire day.

  “There’s a verse in the Bible where the Lord says, ‘vengeance is mine.’ I have to believe God can deal with this. It’s too big an atrocity otherwise.”

  “Your God let this happen,” she replied bitterly.

  He squeezed her hand but didn’t say anything.

  She sighed. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to attack you.”

  “It’s okay, Kate. I understand the emotion,” he said gently.

  “Will the bomber be found?”

  “You know he will be, Kate.”

  She needed to explain. “I’m scared that it really is someone who knows me.”

  “One of these cases you have worked?”

  “I don’t like the idea of someone who just killed 214 people focusing on me.”

  “I would say that is a healthy fear. Would it help to know you’d have a hard time getting more than a few steps aw
ay from either Marcus or me?”

  She smiled, too tired at the moment to register more than a token protest. “Gee, I would have never guessed. I’ve got bodyguards, huh?”

  He shrugged, but she saw the fire in his eyes and had a healthy respect for what that intensity meant. “Someone miscalculated. By going after you, they tweaked the tail of a tiger.”

  “Marcus?”

  “Actually, I was referring to me.” He shot her a wry grin. “Marcus is more like a silent black panther. He’s even a little more protective of you than I am.”

  She stopped walking for a moment, let the words sink in. She squeezed his hand. “Thanks. I needed that image. Because of the circumstances, I’ll let you tread on my independence for a few days. Please note the word few.” She started walking again. “We’re assuming the past refers to my days as a cop. What if the reference is older than that?”

  “You’ve got enemies that far back in time?”

  Her father, but he was dead.

  “Kate?”

  She shrugged her shoulder. “I don’t like making assumptions. ‘I haven’t forgotten the past’ could be anything. What past is he remembering? It may not be significant to me while being very significant to him. Something he considers a slight might be enough to create a fixation.”

  “Someone who takes a grudge out of proportion would probably not have the skill to pull off this kind of blast,” Dave reassured.

  “He put a bomb on board the plane—why?”

  “To kill someone.”

  Kate shook her head. “We’re back to that problem of overkill. It doesn’t make sense to kill 214 people in order to kill one. Buy a gun.”

  “To kill more than one person?”

  “Possibly, there were families traveling together. But what’s the motive? Insurance? Inheritance?”

  “Money is always a big motivator,” Dave pointed out.

  “It’s still a problem with overkill. And most cases that target relatives occur at the home or office. Comfortable ground for the killer as well as the victims.”

  “It would still be worth looking at who inherits what as a result of this crash.”

  Kate was quiet for a while, then speculated, “If Nathan Young and Ashcroft Young had not both been killed, I could see that kind of animosity in their family. Bad brother kills good brother for having all the money.”

  “Or good brother kills bad brother for ruining the family reputation.”

  Kate sighed. “What other reasons could lead to a bomb?”

  “It’s a strike against the airline. It could put the company out of business.”

  “Do you think there might be someone who hates the company that much?”

  Dave reached around her to open the door. “I know there is a team of agents at the airline headquarters digging to find that out.”

  They cleared security and entered the terminal, found it was quiet and almost deserted, with police walking the corridor. One of the airport employees quietly gave them directions. The area was roped off from the media, and general passengers had been turned into a Red Cross support area. The business club they were directed to had become a sea of cots. Kate chose an open one and sank down, weary beyond words.

  Dave pulled off her shoes. “I’ll wake you at six o’clock.”

  “Unfortunately, yes. When this is over, I’m going to need a month of sleep.” She buried her face in the pillow. “Thanks.”

  “For what?”

  “Not telling me not to dream.”

  “Today qualifies for a bad dream or two. I’ll be over there.” He pointed to an open cot.

  “Okay.”

  He hesitated. She saw something in his changing expression, as the work focus slipped away and she got a glimpse of his thoughts, which made her catch her breath.

  “What?” She struggled to get her eyes open again. She saw him start to say something and suddenly felt afraid. Dave, not now. I can barely think straight. If you say something nice, I’m going to cry.

  He brushed his hand across her hair as his face softened in a half smile. “It will keep. Good night, Kate.”

  Dave shifted the small pillow again. There was no way to get comfortable on one of these cots. Kate must have really been exhausted to fall asleep as soon as she was down. He stared at the ceiling, listening to the quiet sounds around him as people slipped in and out of the room, taking turns catching a few hours of sleep.

  Hearing that tape had changed things. He couldn’t deny the truth any longer. He cared about Kate. More than as a friend. More than as a woman in trouble. He wanted to protect her, keep her safe, to see her laugh and smile…to free her from the shadows he saw behind her eyes. Kate tried to hide the intense emotions trapped inside her, to show only logic and unshakable control, but the emotions showed through on occasion in breathtaking fashion. She so easily pulled the oxygen in a room toward her, having the confidence, the presence, to make a lasting impression on the people she met. Unfortunately, in her job, she had been making that impression on both the good and the bad guys.

  He was finally beginning to understand her. Reading the cases she had worked had been informative, tense reading, but informative. Most of the files had partial negotiation transcripts attached. Kate’s ability to deal calmly with violent men surprised him, even though he’d seen her do it. It was as though she became someone else in those moments of time. He had read the cases and seen a remarkable similarity. Nothing seemed to ruffle her. There was an extra terseness in her case notes when it was a domestic violence incident, but it was the only change he had been able to find.

  Her unflinching ability not to step away made it possible for her to resolve situations no one else would go near. He saw in those case notes a cop whose compassion made her long for justice.

  He closed his eyes, fighting the emotion stirring within him. If he had intentionally defined the traits he hoped to find in a woman—in the woman he would love—he could not have done better.

  But she didn’t believe. Might never believe after this.

  Lord, why this? How do I explain to Kate a plane blowing up? I saw it in her eyes, the image of every victim. How does she ever believe when this is what You ask her to accept?

  He’d thought often about her comments about God, trying to find the right words to deal with her questions. Kate had a reasoned disbelief, and he felt helpless to overcome it, especially now. Her own statements showed more careful thought than most people gave to God: “Does it seem logical to pray for God to stop a crisis that, if He existed, He never should have let begin?

  “My job is to restore justice to an unjust situation. If your God existed, my job should not.

  “I see too much evil. I don’t want a God that lets that kind of destruction go on.”

  They were good questions.

  It took a strong faith to face the violence and still believe the sovereign hand of God had allowed it for a reason—a reason the human mind might never comprehend—not as a capricious act of fate.

  Lord, couldn’t You have stopped this? So many families are grieving tonight. How am I to understand this? How am I to explain it to Kate? It’s as though You’re pushing her away rather than drawing her closer to You. It makes no sense. She may close the door to considering the gospel because of this, and I don’t know what to do. This situation has become a turning point.

  Words flowed through his mind then, but not what he’d expected.

  “O the depth of the riches and wisdom and knowledge of God! How unsearchable are his judgments and how inscrutable his ways! ‘For who has known the mind of the Lord, or who has been his counselor?’”

  Being reminded God didn’t often explain himself didn’t help. Dave sighed and punched the pillow into a ball. He was drawn to Kate, and it was an uncomfortable reality. He did not want this kind of complication in his life. He simply wanted a chance to be her friend, present the gospel, and keep his heart intact in the process; instead, he had someone threatening her, his protective ins
tincts humming, and his emotions entering a freefall.

  Lord, if someone gets to her before she believes…

  Eleven

  Sleep well?” Dave was leaning against a support post when she came back from washing her face. Kate looked at his alert face and sighed. She borrowed his cup of coffee.

  “That bad?” He dug sugar packets out of his pocket and smiled. “Finish that and I’ll get you its cousin.”

  “You better find its double cousin. I need a transfusion of caffeine.”

  “Bad dream?”

  She shook her head. “My couch is more comfortable.” The bad dreams had been there in full force last night. It had been the bomb in her hands exploding, becoming the plane exploding—then a scramble to pull out victims at the bank, pull victims out of the wreckage.

  Dave turned her around and set about rubbing the kinks out of her neck. She leaned into the warmth of his hands, sighing with relief. “Better?”

  She rolled her neck and for once it didn’t pop. “Much.”

  “They’ve moved the update meeting in the east conference room to 7 A.M.; Marcus said he would meet us there.”

  “They made progress last night.”

  “Sounds that way.”

  They walked to the administration building. Kate stared across the tarmac. The water used the day before had created an area of low rising fog that shrouded the wreckage. It was an eerie white cloud given what she knew was behind it.

  “I’m sorry you had to see it happen.”

  “It’s hard to brace for something like that. I was watching the clock, knew something might happen, but I never imagined it would be the plane landing.” She worked on the coffee. “It was a bright orange flash in front of the wing, and then it seemed to walk back to the engine and the big explosion hit; the plane ripped apart. It shook the tower.”

  “Are you going to be able to forget it?”

  “You know, I probably will. It’s too hard to retain an image that shocking. The image of the kid that gets shot is harder to erase.”

  “How are you holding up?”

  “No better or worse than anyone else here. What about you?”

  “A bit terrified when I heard you were mentioned on the tape.”