“Ms. Elliott?”
Theresa had almost forgotten that the woman was there. But then librarians were good at walking softly, and Ms. Elliott seemed versed in camouflage; her tailored suit gave only the slightest hint of what was, to judge from her shapely calves, an outstanding figure. No sense distracting male readers from their tomes. But even the resourceful librarian seemed perplexed. “I’m sorry?”
“Are there any windows in this building that open?”
“No. None.”
Theresa hated buildings like that-something to do with mild claustrophobia-but wondered why SRT snipers would show such concern for damaging library windows.
“The books need to be kept at a constant humidity,” the librarian explained. “Some are quite old. In our Rare and Antique Books section, we have some manuscripts that are two hundred and fifty years old and even in sealed display cases- I’m sorry, I’m digressing.”
“That’s all right.” Cavanaugh spoke warmly, but Theresa could see that Ms. Elliott was made of stern stuff and rather immune to dimples.
“It’s also a safety issue, since we’re open to the public every day but Sunday and holidays. But-”
Theresa broke in. “What about it? Don’t snipers go on the roof, anyway?”
“They’re too visible on a roof, silhouetted against the sky. They prefer windows, but then we have to open up every window in the building so that their positions are not obvious. They’ll just have to figure something out.”
“There are cutouts on the roof,” Peggy Elliott said. She spoke reluctantly, with a trace of guilt for suggesting a way to use her building of knowledge for violent purposes. “The roof is ringed with a short wall. It has slots at intervals, for rain and snow drainage.”
“Thank you. Jason, SRT has probably already found those, but make sure they know about them anyway.” Cavanaugh shook his head. “I don’t envy them having to be on a roof in this heat. What’s going on over at the Fed?”
“They’ve shut off the elevators and cleared the employee lobby. They have a team at the other end of the hallway, tucked around the corner.” Jason touched the screen, pointing out the area behind the hostages. “They’ll keep the two guys from getting into the elevators or reaching the employee lobby, which has entrances to the parking garage and Superior Avenue.”
“But they can’t approach that way,” Cavanaugh mused. “No cover. Any stairwells or elevators in the public lobby?”
“No.”
“So the only thing those two men can do is to go out the same way they came in. Except they’ve got no getaway car to step outside for, because we took it. Did we find anything significant in the car?”
“Registered to a Robert Moyers in Brookpark,” Frank told him. “No one answers the phone or the door; the house is locked up tight, with no signs of violence. We’ve got a guy sitting on it in case he comes home. The car has not been reported stolen. Theresa? You find anything?”
She swallowed. “Not really. Prints are going into AFIS right now. A cash receipt from Lakewood, dated yesterday. An empty Advil bottle. A smudge of blood in the trunk, but we won’t have DNA results until, I hope, this is over.”
“You’re Theresa,” Cavanaugh said to her, looking her up and down with such care that she wanted to squirm. “I was just hearing about you the other day.”
And he still had that trace of a grin, damn him. “Yeah?”
“I had lunch with Jack. Prosecutor Sabian, I mean. Don’t frown like that-he thinks very highly of you. Something about a murderous pediatric nurse and saving his baby’s life. Really, stop scowling at me.”
“I don’t care for being discussed behind my back.” Stop it, she told herself. Be smart. He’s going to want you to leave; he’ d be an idiot if he didn’t. Let him think one phone call to the county prosecutor could open any door in the city. “But yes, Jack and I are… old friends.”
His gaze grew even more appraising. “Well, I’m enchanted to make your acquaintance. Why, exactly, are you…?”
Time to wipe the smile off his face, and besides, better he hear it from her than someone else. Men never forgave the withholding of information. “My fiancé’s in that lobby, Mr. Cavanaugh.”
The grin did indeed disappear, if only for a moment. “I see. Pat-rick’s partner?”
She nodded, not trusting herself to speak. She stared at her hands, refusing to meet his eyes, though she could feel his gaze burning into her temple. Finally he said only, “We’ll get him out.”
She let a sigh of relief escape between her teeth. He hadn’t asked her to leave-yet.
A uniformed cop appeared. “I got someone you’re going to want to talk to.”
5
9:25 A.M.
“My name is William Kessler.” The man clutched at his tie as he spoke and nearly collapsed into the chair Frank brought for him. Finally, Theresa thought, someone who’s as nervous as I am. “I’m vice president of Supervision and Regulation. The president is in
D.C. right now. I had to shuffle cars around in my driveway this morning because my daughter had a late night-anyhow, I got caught in traffic, and that’s why I was late to work, and you’d already barricaded the building. Who’s in there? Is anyone hurt? No? Thank God. I tried to call the president, but the open-market meeting had already convened.” He began to wind down. “I really didn’t want to be late today.”
“Mr. Kessler-” Cavanaugh began.
“Are they terrorists? Do they have a bomb? What on earth do these men want? Can’t you get them out of there? There hasn’t been blood spilled inside a Federal Reserve bank since… well, ever, so far as I know.”
“Has one ever been robbed?”
“Robbed?” Kessler stared at Cavanaugh, then the rest of them, in dismay, either over their collective ignorance of the Federal Reserve Banking system of America or over his task of summarizing it for them. “You don’t rob a Federal Reserve bank. The Fed supervises and regulates banks, sets the discount rate-the rate at which we loan money to banks and other financial institutions-and controls the amount of currency in circulation, working with the Mint. We also process all cashed checks for our district, though that’s all going electronic now-”
Frank interrupted. “But you’re still a bank, right? You have cash in the drawers of those teller windows?”
“Some, yes. Savings-bond transactions are still conducted on the west side of the public lobby. The cages on the east side were left there for show.”
“Is the vault in the lobby?” Theresa asked.
The Fed’s vice president yanked at his tie once more, distorting the cords in his wrinkled neck. “The money vault is underground. It’s also three stories high, and they’d never be able to get into it anyway… This isn’t the neighborhood savings and loan-that’s what I’m trying to explain.”
“You asked about terrorists,” Cavanaugh reminded him. “So before I talk to them, has the Fed received any threats lately?”
“Every day. From the people who simply aren’t happy with the interest rate to the ones who think the Federal Reserve is a privately owned bank and/or a method for oppressing the American people and/or responsible for JFK’s assassination. I’m not kidding. Supposedly we murdered him over Executive Order 11110-”
“Recently,” Cavanaugh said. “Have there been any recent, specific threats? Any that mentioned today’s date or referenced the secretary of state’s visit?”
Kessler quieted a moment to think. “No. And I insist that PR make me aware of each and every one.”
“Okay. If there’s a political agenda, they’ll mention it as soon as they pick up the phone. Those types are never shy. In the meantime we’ll assume they came to rob the place.”
“But that’s ridiculous! We have tighter security than the White House. We have metal detectors, armed guards, and dogs protecting that lobby.” The level of Kessler’s voice rose with each word. “How could this happen?”