Exit Strategy. Jen J. Danna

somewhere else. I don’t care if it’s a temp from the typing pool, someone has to know where the man running the city is.”

      “There aren’t actually typing pools anymore, Lieutenant.”

      If looks could kill, McFarland would be lying on the floor in a dismembered pile from the irritation burning in Garcia’s eyes. “Thanks for the tech lesson, McFarland. I actually already know that.” He swiveled toward the open doorway. “Sergeant Kalani!”

      Ten seconds later, Kalani stepped into the doorway. “Lieutenant?”

      “Is there any news on Rowland’s location?”

      “No, sir.”

      “The perp doesn’t have him. In fact, he doesn’t know where he is, because he wanted us to pass on a threat to First Deputy Mayor Willan’s life. We need to find Rowland and we need to get him in here. He may know this guy.”

      “Yes, sir.”

      “And have someone get me Sanders. Either on the phone or in person, but he needs to know about the threat to Charles Willan, and I can’t go out and find him myself.”

      “Yes, sir.” Kalani left the vault.

      Garcia drew in a slow breath and then huffed it out. “Okay, we don’t have much time, so let’s regroup. Give me your first impressions.”

      “It was a short conversation, but he presents as older, so we’re not dealing with someone who’s twenty-five,” Gemma said. “Fully structured, likely first-language sentences, spoken in a Bronx accent. And I don’t think he’s in the mayor’s office, but in one of the side rooms. The space sounded too . . . small. And like there were no bare surfaces.”

      “Like a window?” McFarland asked. “None of the snipers can see him, so that would make sense if there’s no window in the room. Totally internal.”

      “That type of planning, or at least that kind of strategic placement, is indicative in itself,” Taylor said. “Perhaps we’re looking at someone who is ex-military. Even with field experience.”

      “That’s a good possibility,” said Garcia. “What else?”

      “He’s one cool customer,” said McFarland. “Steely nerves. Some suspects take hostages and are either scared by their own bravado or get high on the power. This guy is neither.”

      “On the surface, it appears as if he’s playing a long game,” added Taylor. “I’ve never experienced a hostage taker like this. Usually, there is something they want, or some revenge scheme they’re enacting. This scenario reads more like cat and mouse.”

      “I think you’re right that he’s playing a long game.” Gemma looked down at her notes, considering the precious little they knew so far. “He’s not young and he’s well spoken. There’s zero panic in his voice. I know we’ve hardly talked to him, and he’s holding his cards close to his chest, but the one overriding characteristic he’s putting out there is control. He has it, and he’s not going to want to relinquish it. He dropped a bomb and hung up, just to make that point.”

      “And we have no idea how much longer we can negotiate with him,” McFarland said. “He threatens to kill Willan, but doesn’t apply pressure by laying out a timeline or specifying something he wants in exchange for Willan’s life.”

      “He makes it sound like there isn’t anything he wants.” Gemma tapped her pen beside the single sentence she’d underlined on the notepad. “ ‘Tell him his first deputy mayor is going to die, and it’s all his fault.’” She looked up from her notes. “There’s no hesitation, no room for negotiation in that sentence. He’s not asking for safe passage in exchange for Willan’s life. He’s planning to take it, end of discussion.”

      “But why?” McFarland’s gaze was fixed on his screen as he hunched over his laptop, alternately typing and clicking. “I’m not seeing anything political that Willan or Rowland is involved in that might lead to this kind of deadly animosity.”

      “The same issue that incites motive in one man won’t seem important to another. You may not be seeing it in the same light as the suspect.”

      “Could there be an upcoming issue or event?” Taylor suggested. “Something the suspect thinks he can stop?”

      “Or influence,” said Garcia. “Look for something Rowland is pushing that needs Willan’s support. Maybe if Willan is out of the picture, some process or new law falls apart? It could point us to the hostage taker’s ID.”

      Gemma continued to stare at the last part of the sentence she transcribed: and it’s all his fault. “Maybe, but that’s not playing for me. What if the more important aspect is their relationship?”

      McFarland looked up. “You mean as mayor and his administrative right-hand man, the first deputy mayor?”

      “No, I mean about their background. They’ve been friends since high school. Were in the student union together and ran against each other for class president. Willan won that time around. But then they got into New York City politics and have been friendly rivals ever since.” At Garcia’s raised eyebrows, Gemma explained, “In the early days, they used to bump into my dad occasionally at his favorite pub, and they’d have a beer together. He’s always had an interest in them, because he got to know them personally, not just as politicians. So threatening to take Willan out isn’t just a threat to an employee—it’s against a lifelong friend. That says personal revenge to me.”

      “If that’s true,” Garcia said, “then his reason for the threat is to torture the mayor and to milk his panic for as long as he can.”

      “The culmination of which could be an actual death.” Taylor’s gaze dropped to the clock. “In which case, we need to move faster before he crosses any lines.”

      “Unless we tell him we can’t find the mayor.” Gemma held up a hand when Garcia started to cut her off. “Hear me out. This could be a test of whether we’re on the right track or not. We call him back and tell him we can’t find Rowland. If he wants Rowland pressured with the possibility of the death of his friend and colleague, it doesn’t work if Rowland’s in the dark. We may be able to tell from his reaction if that’s his plan. Without any overt message, he’ll be telling us more than he’d want us to know.”

      Garcia nodded slowly. “I like it.” He slid his headset back into place. “And if we’re lucky, by the time we’re off the phone with him, someone will have figured out where the hell Rowland is. Ready?” Everyone nodded and McFarland put the call through again.

      One ring.

      Two.

      Three.

      Four.

      Just when Gemma was sure the call would go unanswered, a male voice came over the line. “You can talk all you like, but I’ve already made up my mind.”

      “Every man has something he wants,” Garcia said. “Maybe we can get it for you.”

      “I have what I want.”

      “A chance to kill First Deputy Mayor Willan.”

      “I’m a man of few needs.”

      “That seems like a big one.”

      “But the only one.”

      Gemma closed her eyes, concentrating on the voice on the other end of the line, weighing not just his words, but his tone of voice and attitude. So much of human language wasn’t conveyed by words. She always preferred a visual of the suspect to give her more to work with, but in the absence of sight, she’d make use of every clue possible to gain an advantage.

      Lives depended on it.

      “Why is it Mayor Rowland’s fault?” Garcia continued, his tone light and mild. Casual, as if they were discussing last night’s Mets game. “He’s completely out of touch, so I haven’t