Exit Strategy. Jen J. Danna

was the voice they hoped not to hear.

      Hands braced on the edge of the table, Garcia hung his head. “Tomás Garcia.”

      “Garcia.” The word came out on a hiss. “Plotting behind my back, were you? Is this one of your guys? Were you thinking you could catch me off guard?” His laugh was dark and joyless. “Well, you failed. He’s a lousy cop. I could hear him whispering from outside the door.”

      “He’s not NYPD. He’s a staffer who got trapped when you took hostages in the office. He was just trying to do the right thing and get help.”

      “‘The right thing’?” The man’s voice rose to a dangerous pitch. “How could he know ‘the right thing,’ when he doesn’t know why I’m here or what I’m fighting for? I’m on the side of the angels.”

      “He doesn’t know that. If you send him out, we’ll guarantee you won’t be charged for his mistreatment. He wasn’t one of your original hostages. You don’t need him. And it sounds like he needs medical treatment.”

      “Not happening. Now he’s here, he gets to join the group. Whether I keep him remains to be seen. An extra hostage could be considered disposable.” His words dripped acid. “Hopefully, he won’t bleed out on the carpet while I decide what to do with him.” With a click, he was gone.

      Garcia ripped off his headset with a vicious curse, then slammed it down on the table hard enough to rattle the equipment.

      Unbelievably, the situation had gone from bad to worse.

      CHAPTER 6

      Garcia gave the team thirty seconds to react to the situation, and then held up a hand for quiet. “Everyone take a breath.” He took a long sip of coffee and then set the cup down with enough force that it rocked a little before steadying.

      The hand he lifted from the cup vibrated slightly, and Gemma realized Garcia, too, had been thrown off balance by Greenfield’s attack. To give her lieutenant a moment to steady himself, she took the lead. “McFarland, can you find anything on Rob Greenfield? We don’t know who he is, so we don’t know if this will exert extra personal pressure on the mayor.”

      “Sure,” McFarland said. “Give me a few minutes to run some searches.”

      Taylor sat back in his chair, adjusting his tie to loosen it slightly. “There’s additional pressure simply because of the increased hostage count, but the less personal pressure applied to the mayor, the better.”

      “From a first-response perspective, we don’t know what happened just now, or how injured Mr. Greenfield might be.” Gemma turned to Garcia. “Sir, what would you like to do next?”

      “We have to reestablish communication, which is going to be harder now. And we have to do it fast. We bought time saying the mayor was out of touch, but letting him know the mayor has resurfaced may be our only way now to get him to talk. He’s holding all the cards. We could have been satisfied with letting the situation drag out, letting him start to feel the walls closing in with no food or fresh air. But now there’s an injury that may or may not be life-threatening. Hopefully, he’s letting the other hostages help Greenfield, so he’s not bleeding out. If we’re lucky, we’ve got at least one person in the group who is willing to stand up and take the lead.”

      Take the lead. Garcia’s words jerked Gemma back to the day that changed her life.

      Cold marble under her legs as she sat on the bank floor. The stark white rotunda surrounded by towering columns overhead. Huddling beneath the faces of gods, pressing against her mother. Wanting to cry, but not daring to call attention to herself.

      Until her mother took all the attention.

      “It’s unfortunate we lost a witness who could have assisted with suspect identification.” Taylor’s voice jolted Gemma back to the present. “It’s exponentially harder to make progress in a negotiation when you don’t know who you’re negotiating with.”

      “Or what buttons to push,” McFarland interjected.

      “As I see it, we’ve only got one button,” Gemma said. “The mayor. But even if we got him back, you might not be able to convince him to talk to the guy.”

      McFarland stopped his search and looked up. “Or worse, what if he insists on going in?”

      “Prior to that,” said Taylor, “we need the hostage taker to answer our calls. We can’t offer a conversation if we can’t get through to him.”

      “I’ll go stand under the mayor’s window with a bullhorn if he won’t pick up,” said Garcia. “But I think we can get there without jumping through hoops.”

      “He said something that’s bothering me.” Gemma looked down at her notes and then across at Taylor’s. It was the last line he’d written as well. “He said he’s ‘on the side of the angels.’ Meaning he’s on the moral side of right? Am I reading him correctly?”

      “That’s how I took it,” said Garcia. “And it’s the first sign of what’s really driving him. This isn’t likely going to be ‘I’m annoyed by three hundred unpaid parking tickets,’ but more likely something in the neighborhood of ‘the homeless are dying because of a lack of social services.’ It’s going to be something personal, even possibly something not having anything to do with Rowland’s official role as mayor. We definitely need to make contact again. I also want to know what’s going on with the other hostages. Up to the time of Greenfield’s arrival, there was only one hostage who rated a mention, and that was Willan. He considers Greenfield disposable. But what about the other hostages? We need to find out.”

      It took them three rounds to finally contact the hostage taker.

      “Calling to find out how the new guy is doing?”

      Gemma was pleased to hear an underpinning of stress in the man’s voice. The calm wasn’t quite as pronounced this time around.

      “Yes,” Garcia replied. “I’d also like to know how everyone else is doing.”

      “And why would I tell you?”

      “Because that’s how this works. I scratch your back, and then you scratch mine. Tell me what you want? I’m listening.”

      A heavy exhalation came across the line. “I want the mayor.”

      “You can’t have the mayor.”

      “Why don’t you let him make that call.”

      “Because, for once, he’s not in charge, I am, and I don’t like giving him to you. If that’s what you need, I want something significant in exchange.”

      Silence ticked by for a few seconds. “Like?”

      “I want proof of life of the hostages. And I want to know the status of Rob Greenfield.”

      “You don’t ask for much, do you?” The voice was practically a growl.

      “You give me something, I give you something.” Garcia’s voice took on a note of steel. “In that order.” He looked over at Gemma and held her gaze. He was pushing it, but they were at a stalemate and something had to shift.

      “Fine.”

      Gemma hadn’t realized how tight she’d been holding herself until her muscles relaxed. She gave Garcia a thumbs-up and met McFarland’s grin across the table.

      “Define ‘proof of life,’ ” the suspect said.

      “Each person saying their name clearly so I can hear it, and reporting if they’re okay. Then the last hostage reporting on Greenfield as well, if he’s unable to speak for himself.”

      “Hang on, I’m putting you on speaker.”

      Garcia pointed first at Gemma, and then at Taylor. His message was implicit: Even though the conversation