“Bobby, it’s me.” “You don’t sound anything like Eric.” Calm and nonjudgmental had been thrown out. “I have a cold, you idiot!” “Call back when the truck is here,” Bobby said. A clicking sound came from the phone’s speaker. “Did he hang up?” Eric Moyers asked. “I can’t say I’m surprised. Listening never was a specialty of Bobby’s.”
Cavanaugh rolled his head from side to side, stretching neck muscles. “It was worth a try. Maybe he’ll think about it. In the meantime I can’t stall them about the money anymore, and there’s no reason to try. There is the possibility that he’s telling the truth, that they’ll just take it and go.”
“Go where?” Moyers asked. “That’s the hard part.” Somewhere behind the books, Patrick heard the voice of a very young woman: “-don’t care. I don’t give a crap whether they like it or not. That’s my mother-” He hadn’t thought that the situation could get much worse. He’d been wrong.
Cavanaugh started to turn toward the noise and caught the look on Patrick’s face. “What’s the matter?”
Patrick pinched the bridge of his nose between forefinger and thumb. “If you thought Theresa was a handful,” he told Cavanaugh, “you’re not going to believe her daughter.”
25
2:10 P.M.
“Okay,” Lucas said, surveying his motley brigade. “Are we clear on this?”
Theresa stood in front of the open door, feeling the cruel heat and the even crueler glimpse of freedom. Flowing in as a wave of hot air that pricked her pores into sweating before her skin even felt the warmth, it beckoned to her, a slice of paradise more irresistible than a glittering canyon or a Caribbean beach. The street stood empty, her path unencumbered except by an armored truck and a group of armored men.
The blinding sun reflected from slowly moving automobiles along St. Clair, two streets over; the secretary of state’s luncheon had finally ended. Metal barriers along Rockwell kept back the curiosity seekers, people who had left their offices for lunch and wanted to see what would happen. People who were free to come and go. Free.
She could make it if she ran. The guards wouldn’t stop her.
I have to live, Theresa thought. Rachael might forgive me for this risk if I live. If I die, never.
But did that mean she should dart through the door in front of her if she saw an opening, leaving the other hostages to their own fates? Lucas would almost certainly start shooting, start a firefight with seven innocent people in the way.
Or should she stay calm, stay in place, pass him his money and hope he’d take it and run?
Out at the reception desk, the phone rang. Lucas merely nodded at Bobby, and by craning her neck she could see the other robber cross the floor to pick it up. Lucas, against the northwest wall, must have been out of the line of sight of the clear windows, or he would never allow Bobby to walk into it.
Bobby held a lengthy conversation, then put the receiver down with what sounded like enough force to break it. A minute later it rang again, but this time Bobby kept the chat brief and didn’t slam down the phone. He told Lucas that the cops were ready to start moving the money. Everyone in the lobby sighed.
“Missy, you have to unwrap all the money packs before putting it in the bags. No dye packs, no GPS, no booby traps. I’ll be watching you.”
Brad, behind Theresa, groaned. “Is this day ever going to end?”
“Sooner or later,” she told him. “Though the circumstances of ‘sooner’ might not make it the best choice.”
“Shut up,” Lucas told them. He had Jessica and Ethan Ludlow in front of him, against the wall on the other side of the door. He used them as human shields to protect him from invading security guards, but also, he explained aloud, because Jessica could not both hold her son and pass packages of money to and fro, and he didn’t want the little boy running around loose.
The phone rang again.
“Answer it,” Lucas called to his partner.
“I don’t want to. It’s some nut who says he’s my brother, like I’m going to believe that. Those cops must think I’m a total wack job.”
“I told you they’d try anything. But you’re right, stay where you are.”
Should she tell Bobby that she’d spoken with his brother earlier?
“Okay, Theresa.” Lucas gestured at her with the tip of the automatic rifle, which she really wished he wouldn’t do. “Step up to the opening. After that, your feet do not move, not even an inch, right?”
And there she stood. In front of her, there were at least ten aggressive, heavily armed men. Behind her, there were two aggressive, heavily armed men.
Theresa found herself face-to-face with a stocky guy of about thirty, with brown skin and an SRT uniform that had been crisply starched when he put it on that morning. It had since wilted in the heat, leaving circles of wetness under both arms.
“Hi. I’m Sergeant Filmore, CPD. Everything’s going to be all right.”
Part of her found that very sweet. Part of her thought that Sergeant Filmore might not be the best judge of future events.
“Mrs. MacLean?” he went on. They must have told the young sergeant her name. “You with me?”
“Yeah.”
“Everyone okay in there?”
“So far,” she told him. “How’s Paul?”
He blinked. “Who’s Paul?”
“Less chatting, Theresa,” Lucas called from behind Jessica Ludlow. “I want to see some money start changing hands.”
Sergeant Filmore turned, and most of the other guards did as well. Theresa followed their gaze to the open doors of the armored truck. A neat pile of plastic-wrapped squares occupied a space about five feet by five feet.
“Is that it?” she asked.
“That’s it. Let’s go,” the sergeant called, and the guard closest to the pile plucked the top package from its perch. He handed it down the line until Sergeant Filmore put it in her hands. She could see the green-printed pieces of paper through the thin wrap. It weighed about twenty pounds. She handed it to Brad, who trotted up the few steps to the main lobby floor to toss it at Missy and the duffel bag. Then Theresa accepted another from the sergeant.
She could only think of it as surreal, to pass down packets of money as if they were sandbags and the hostages were concerned citizens awaiting a flood.
But if the tenuous calm were breached and all the armed men in this city block began shooting, the room would be flooded-with the blood of people. The image sickened her. Better to concentrate on her actions, grab the package, hold it firmly. She couldn’t let it drop, didn’t know what might set Lucas off.
The phone rang.
“Don’t answer it!” Lucas shouted to, she assumed, Bobby.
“But-”
“He’s trying to distract us. Stay where you are.”
Lucas seemed to think Cavanaugh had an assault planned but needed to lure Bobby into the open. Would they try it with Jessica and her son standing in front of Lucas, his gun in her back? Theresa hoped not. Cavanaugh seemed too proud of his no-fa-talities record.
“We’re going to get you out of there,” the sergeant said to her, very quietly. “Just keep everyone calm. Did you see the explosives?”
“No.”
“But you think they’re behind the teller cages.” He spoke when he turned to accept another package from the man behind him, so Lucas could not see his lips move. If Brad heard them, he gave no sign.
“I’m guessing.” She kept her head down, as if focusing on the money, and chin pointed slightly away from Lucas and Jessica.