Born to Run (33 page)

"Make sure of it," said Demetri.

The television screen flickered, and Jack thought for a moment that they might be going off the air again. Action News was simply resuming its split screen broadcast. This time, however, it was a different reporter with a live update from just outside the traffic -
control perimeter.

"This is Haley Vacaro, Action News. I'm standing about a mile from the Action News studio, which is now as close as police will allow traffic to approach on Frontage Road. Police have actually set up a second perimeter of traffic control here to prevent the crowd around the studio from swelling to an unmanageable level. With me is a close friend of Jack Swyteck, one of the three hostages. Sir, if you could step right over here, please, and give us your name one more time."

"Theo Knight."

Jack's jaw dropped, but that was definitely the one and only Theo Knight on television, wearing a T-shirt that read BRINGBACKPORN
. C
OM.

"Mr. Knight, how is it that you know Jack Swyteck?"

"Jack's a dude, man. He was my lawyer when I was on death row, and we been hangin' ever since. No pun intended."

The reporter stepped away. "Well, obviously this is someone's idea of a joke, and I apologize to our viewers for--"

"It's true," said Theo as he stepped back into the picture. "Look at this," he said, holding up a key.

"What is that?"

"A key to a 1968 Mustang GT-390 Fastback. That's the green car that crashed through the front door to your studio. I was with Jack when he bought it, and I kept the extra key."

You kept my damn key? thought Jack. He'd been looking for the spare.

The reporter put a finger to her earpiece to receive a message. Whatever her producer was telling her, it seemed to satisfy her.

"All right, Mr. Knight. What can you tell us about this hostage standoff? Any idea what it might be all about?"

"I really couldn't tell you, but I have someone with me who definitely knows the story. Her name is Sofia, and she used to be married to that dude with the gun inside the studio."

The reporter's eyes lit up, as she'd just hit the jackpot.

Demetri screamed at the top of his lungs, "Nooooo!"

Jack understood the Greek's reaction immediately, but he also realized that Theo had no idea how much danger he was putting Sofia in.

Demetri moved faster than Jack had ever seen him move as he cut across the set, grabbed the phone, and punched star-69 to get the FBI command center. He shouted his demand in a voice that was more than loud enough for Jack to hear.

"Henning, get Sofia protection, or all bets are off! Do you hear what I'm saying? The same thugs that want me dead also want her dead. You get her some protection right now!"

Agent Frank Madera was in a conference room inside the Action News complex. The business-office wing was a new two-story building that ran perpendicular to the studio, and at Madera's suggestion, Sergeant Figueroa had moved the Miami-Dade SWAT unit there from the coffee shop. It would serve as their staging platform into the newsroom--partly for logistical reasons, but mostly because it was on the opposite side of the building from the FBI SWAT staging area.

The tactical team was suited up in black gear and ready to deploy, eight contemplative men leaning against the wall in silence. A ceiling-mounted television in the corner was tuned to Action News, keeping them apprised in real time. Madera stood at the head of the conference table, an architect's blueprint of the newsroom spread out before him. At his side was Officer Sam Reed, MDPD's top-rated sniper.

"You'll move in through the main air-conditioning duct," said Madera, pointing to the blueprint. "There's a large intake vent here, which provides access to the catwalk over the newsroom."

"I wouldn't be surprised if the perp has already sealed off the A-C vents," said Reed.

"You'll need to be careful," said Figueroa. "He did say in his first communication that he had a surprise for anyone who tried to come in through the A-C ducts."

"If it's impassable, radio us," said Madera. "Sergeant Figueroa will have to waive off the sniper shot and breach with his tactical team."

"Got it," said Reed.

Figueroa said, "What's the likelihood of success on a sho
t f
rom up there?"

Reed processed it aloud, his mind a human calculator of angles, percentages, and timing. "Subject on an open news set. Distance about a hundred feet. Possible obstructions--lighting fixtures, hanging cameras, other equipment. Elevated shooting platform should have only minimal adverse impact on bullet trajectory. No wind or other elements to worry about. If that vent isn't blocked, I'd say we're looking above the ninety-ninth percentile."

"For a kill shot?" said Madera.

"T-zone," said Reed.

A shot to the T-zone--the imaginary area that covered a person's eyes and nose--was exactly what Madera wanted. It shut a man down like the flip of a light switch, no reaction.

Madera said, "SWAT will breach at the crack of sniper fire. If for some unknown reason the head shot doesn't take him out, the team does."

"Roger," said Figueroa.

Madera turned to address the tactical team as a group.

"Gentlemen, I want to thank each of you for your willingness to serve in this crucial matter of national security. You heard the gunman's latest demand to speak to the president of the United States. While I cannot go into details, I can assure you that this latest demand is not just another delusional request from a crazy man. This subject has already shot and killed a security guard. He has nothing to lose by killing again, and he has no intention of releasing these hostages alive. Most important, he has put himself on television for the sole purpose of compromising this country's vital national security interests. We've done everything we can to avoid loss of life, even literally pulling the plug on his television broadcast. The gunman's response was to guarantee the execution of a hostage if he did not get back on the air. Our only option was to resume broadcasting, but that concession cannot stand. Again, on behalf of the president, I thank you. I don't have to tell you what needs to be done. Each of you is a trained professional. You know the assignment."

"We do," said Figueroa.

"Good," said Madera. "Then let's get it done."

Madera checked the television for a quick update. It was a split screen, and an Action News reporter was interviewing a big, muscular black guy dressed in civilian clothes. Madera wasn't really focused on the interview, but even with divided attention he was able to pick up the important part.

" . . . but I have someone with me who definitely knows the story. Her name is Sofia, and she used to be married to that dude with the gun inside the studio
.

Madera nearly choked, and the scream he heard from Demetri over the television--Noooooo,
was his sentiment exactly. His cell rang almost immediately, and he checked the number. It was not a call he could ignore.

"Team, hold your position," said Madera. He stepped out of the conference room and closed the door, making sure he was alone in the hallway. Joseph Dinitalia was on the line.

"You heard?"

"I'm on it," said Madera.

"We need them both out."

"I said I'm on it."

"You need help?"

"No. The Greek is all lined up."

"What about Sofia? Do I have to send someone?"

"You mean like the idiots last night with the machine gun who shot up everything but the Greek? Thanks, but no thanks."

"Then who's got the old lady?"

Madera drew a breath. "You know what they say: If you want something done right . . ."

"You got this one?"

"Send a couple men to help me look for her. But when we find her, then yeah," he said, "I got it."

Chapter
55

"Where the hell did she go?" said Theo.

A crowd of onlookers, some of them press, had gathered around the camera and lighting crew. The Action News reporter appeared on the verge of losing her patience.

"Mr. Knight, we are still on the air."

Theo looked out beyond the crowd, up and down the dimly lit parkway. A couple of stray dogs ran loose, and a homeless guy was pushing a shopping cart toward the overpass. Theo was in a neighborhood of two-bedroom ranch-style houses, each with five or six beat-up cars parked in the front yard--a family of four, as far as the U
. S
. Census Bureau was concerned; more like twelve or fifteen, if everyone had been accounted for. At four o'clock on a Sunday morning, many of them were either coming from or heading to a second or third job, which explained the crowd's steadily growing numbers.

Sofia was nowhere to be seen.

"She was standing right here a minute ago," Theo said into the microphone.

"I'm sure she was," said the reporter.

A squad car passed on the street.

"The cops must have spooked her," said Theo.

"This is live television, so perhaps you could tell us what she would say, if she were still here."

Theo ignored her. He was getting concerned.

"Mr. Knight, can you please--"

"Sofia!" he shouted, as he sprinted away. A woman was standing at the street corner a block away. She turned, saw him, and ran.

Definitely her.

Theo gave chase for about fifty yards, then thought better of it. He'd already seen one MDPD car cruise the area, and a former death row inmate chasing an elderly white woman down the street definitely wasn't cool. He walked briskly and kept an eye on her, confident that she would soon tire.

His cell rang. It was Andie.

"Finally, you return my call," he said.

"I've been a little busy. How was I to know you have the gunman's ex-wife with you?"

"You mean 'had,' " said Theo.

"Don't tell me she's gone."

He rose up on his toes and looked ahead. He spotted Sofia cutting across the parking lot in front of a convenience store. Her gait was short, as if the run had already given her a side stitch.

"Not gone," he said into his phone. "I got a bead on her right now."

"Where? I'll send a squad car to pick her up."

"Don't. She doesn't want to talk to the cops. I think that's why she snuck away from me in the first place."

"I need to get her under police protection. That's what Demetri wants."

"I'll call you when I catch up with her, all right? We'll go from there."

"I don't have time to waste."

"Let me handle this," said Theo. "Five minutes ago she was willing to go on television and ask Demetri to let the hostages go free. I'm not exactly sure why she doesn't want to go to the cops, but she doesn't. If you send a bunch of squad cars into the area, you can kiss her help good-bye."

"You don't understand," she said. "There are mob connections here. She wasn't running from the police. She's running for her life."

"I understand plenty," said Theo. "I'll call you in two minutes. Tops."

He closed his flip phone and started after Sofia, gaining ground quickly. Sofia was tiring. As Theo cut across the street, she checked over her shoulder, and their eyes met from a distance. He expected her to run, but she'd already blown through her second wind. She sat on the curb outside the entrance to the convenience store, and Theo caught up with her there.

"My friend Jack needs you," he said. "Why did you take off?"

She was still trying to catch her breath, and her response came out in bursts. "I--saw them."

"You mean the cop car?"

She shook her head, pausing to take another breath. "The black car."

"What black car?"

Her eyes widened with fear, as if she'd just seen death itself. "That one," she said as she jumped to her feet. "They want to kiil me!"

Theo looked toward the street. A black sedan rolled past the entrance to the parking lot and then hit the brakes. The driver threw it into reverse, and the car backed up so fast that the tires squealed. Obviously, Sofia wasn't blowing smoke.

"It's them!"

Theo picked her up in his arms--he was at least double her weight--and ran inside the store. They ran past the cookies and knocked over a tray of snack cakes. The sight of Theo moving that fast was enough to push the skinny white kid mopping the aisle to the brink of cardiac arrest.

"Don't hurt me!" he said as he dove behind the malt-liquor floor display.

Theo stopped, glanced back through the storefront window, and saw two men jumping out of the black car. Hiding was futile. He turned, Sofia still in his arms, and ran past the beer coolers into the stockroom.

"Hey, you cant go in there!" the cashier shouted.

Theo headed straight for the store's emergency exit in the back. The alarm sounded when he pushed the door open, and Sofia shrieked at the shrill noise. Theo carried her into the alley, not sure which way to go. It was a narrow block of barred doors and windows, the back entrances to restaurants, bars, and Laundromats that had closed hours earlier. The glow of high-voltage crime lights gave the night a yellowish tint. The alley was actually bright enough for Theo to read the graffiti on the walls--not a good thing, when you were trying to disappear. He sprinted to the left, past a mound of green garbage bags, past a pickup truck that had probably been there since the Clinton presidency. Thin as Sofia was, she was feeling heavy in his arms, and outrunning these goons was not a winning strategy.