Hostage (12 page)

Hell, why not? And he lifted the gun up to Cindy Wilson’s head. She yanked back, cried out. One clean shot, he thought, and—

“No, Matthew!” screamed Tina, leaping out of the van.

“Shit, we don’t need her!”

“No!”

Matthew shrugged, pulled back the gun. Then punched Cindy in the head with the butt of the gun. Cindy staggered a half step and collapsed on the loading dock.

Tina stood there, dumbfounded. “I hope you didn’t kill her.”

He looked down at her still body. “Do I care?”

From the back of the van Elliot pleaded, “Guys, we gotta go!”

Matthew shrugged again, turned, and trotted over to the wall, where he punched in the code for the garage door. As the large door rumbled upward, he darted back to the van, jumped into the driver’s seat, and revved up the engine.

From the cargo space of the van Tina tried to keep things under control, saying, “Just stay calm, Matthew. Everything’s going fine.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah.”

He roared out, shooting over the curb and pulling onto LaSalle Avenue with a screech just as two fire trucks came bombing around the corner, their sirens and horns blasting. He was on a dead-on collision course with the first, and he twisted the wheel to the right.

“Matthew!” screamed Elliot from the back.

He swerved around the back of the first truck, kept going, and raced right in front of the second. Veering around a stopped car, he drove straight through the intersection without taking a look.

And then everything was remarkably calm, even quiet.

With each second the noise of the sirens grew fainter and more distant. With each second the traffic returned to normal. With each second it became more apparent exactly what had happened.

“Oh, my God,” exclaimed Matthew, “we did it!”

Elliot peered out the rear window, saw no one—not a single cop car—tailing them, and screamed, “Yahoo!”

Tina took a deep breath, slumped against the side. “Thank God…”

“Hey,” called Matthew from up front, “you better unbury our hostage before he suffocates.”

“Right, right, right,” muttered Elliot.

Digging through the linens with both hands, Elliot grabbed Clariton by one arm and yanked him up. Beet red and perspiring, his hands bound behind his back, Clariton emerged only to slump against the side of the cart.

“He needs some air!” shouted Tina. “Take off the tape!”

Elliot grabbed the congressman, holding his chin with his right hand, and said, “This may hurt, Johnny boy!”

With a quick yank he pulled the tape covering Clariton’s mouth. It came off with a quick ripping noise, and Clariton flinched and began gulping air.

“What… what…” he gasped, his lips bleeding. “What do you assholes want?”

“Be nice,” chided Elliot, “or I’m going to have to put the tape back on.”

“But… what…”

“I have AIDS,” called Matthew, steering around a corner and heading for the freeway.

“Me too,” said Tina.

“Me three,” added Elliot. “And it’s a real drag, man. I mean, I’m going blind by the day, which for your info is why I’m not driving, and trust me, we can all be thankful for that.”

“And your position on AIDS, frankly, sucks,” barked Matthew from the driver’s seat.

“Not to mention all the nasty things you’ve said about homo
theth
ual
th,
” lisped Elliot.

“I don’t… don’t understand,” muttered Clariton. “What do you want with me? What are you going to do?”

“Oh, you’ll find out soon enough, Mr. Clariton,” said Tina. “But I should tell you that we’ve kidnapped you because of your distinct lack of compassion.”

Matthew laughed. “Shit, if you become the President we’re all dead meat—every person with AIDS.”

Tina nodded. “If someone like you gets elected and pushes through all your stupid ideas on medical reform and assistance, what’s going to happen to people like us?”

Bobbing around in his bed of linens, Clariton’s eyes opened wide. “You people are crazy!”

“No, no, no!” shouted Matthew, the anger bursting out of him. “That’s just the point, asshole—we’re sick! We’re goddamn sick as hell!”

“And we want to teach you a lesson,” added Tina, looking him directly in the eyes.

“That’s right!” chimed Elliot. “A big lesson for Mr. Gay Public Enemy Numero Uno!”

“Don’t worry,” continued Tina. “In a few days we’re going to turn you loose, but first we’re going to tell you about our lives and make a few videos.”

“You see, we’re each going to record a little story,” said Matthew, actually eager to make his confession public.

“Right,” continued Tina, “and then we’ll send you back to Washington, where you’re going to take it upon yourself to make sure AIDS is treated with compassion and to push through new legislation to fight for the only thing that’s going to stop AIDS once and for all: a vaccine.”

“You think I’m going to cooperate with you?”

“Oh, but I’m quite certain you will. Once we’re done with you I’m quite positive you’ll talk to all the people in congress, corner the President, and work as hard as you can. And if you get everybody going, if you get everyone’s attention, then I’m sure someone will discover a way to end the AIDS epidemic once and for all.”

“You can forget about us—we’re as good as dead,” tossed in Elliot with a big moan. “But you, believe it or not, are going to be our great hope!”

“That’s right, we’re going to make a convert out of you yet!” shouted Matthew, knowing all it would take was one stick of a needle. “God, this is so unbelievably fucking great!”

Lest he jeopardize the
lives of Cindy Wilson and Johnny Clariton, half of Todd said he should just stay there, lying on the wet carpet with his hands bound behind his back, his mouth covered with tape. The other half said he and the others should just get the hell out of there before the whole building went up in flames. Todd twisted on his side, saw that the main doors were chained and padlocked, which meant that the only way out was through the same door they’d taken Clariton. And what if they really were right in the next room? Of course they wouldn’t hesitate to shoot either Cindy or Clariton. Or both.

Above the alarm and smoke and chaos, Todd heard something, worked himself around, and saw Lyle, his feet and hands bound, flapping madly about as he struggled to break free. Bradley was lying completely still, his head turned away from Todd, while Carol, Clariton’s assistant, was perhaps the only one dealing honestly with the situation. She was crying, tears streaming from her red eyes, rolling down her cheeks, and plopping onto the carpet.

When Todd moved his head again, he realized that one corner of the tape was peeling away from his mouth. He started rubbing his cheek on the wet carpet, and little by little the tape started coming more and more loose. Dragging his face as hard as he could, he kept at it until finally a third of the tape came free. He stretched his mouth, pulled his lips apart, then rubbed his cheek again on the carpet. With one more swipe the tape fell free.

Great, now what?

As the sprinkler continued to rain water down on one side of the room, he glanced up at a vent, half-expecting to see flames leaping out. Instead, the smoke had virtually stopped. Seconds later the water stopped too, and just after that the alarm ceased its screaming. After the chaos it was oddly quiet.

Like Bradley and now the others, Todd lay completely still as he tried to tell what was going on. Within seconds he heard voices and commotion from the main hall, but who was it: their assailants or a herd of firemen? When he was sure the sound was from many more than just three people, Todd didn’t restrain himself.

“In here!” he hollered. “Hey!”

Within moments someone was banging at the chained door. Todd shouted out again, and then there was this incredible banging. Not realizing there was another door into here from the dining room—one that was not locked—a handful of fire fighters in rubber coats and boots burst through the door, their axes drawn.

“What the hell?” said one of them upon seeing Todd and the others tied up on the floor.

“Get the police!” shouted Todd. “The congressman has been kidnapped!”

While one of them radioed for the cops, the other three guys put down their equipment and quickly started freeing Todd and the others. One of them helped Carol, removing the tape and cutting the plastic handcuffs, then aided Bradley, while one worked on Lyle and the other on Todd. As soon as he was loose Lyle burst up like a bull.

“They went through here!” he shouted as he charged out the small door and into the main dining room.

“Oh, my God,” said Carol, her blue suit and white frilly tie thing soaked, as she slumped in a chair. “There were three of them—two men, one of them bald, and a woman. You’ve got to stop them! They’ve got Congressman Clariton and… and another woman too!”

His wet suit hanging heavily from him, Todd clambered to his feet and looked around. Both the room and the situation were a complete mess. What a disaster. What an opportunity. His instincts seized the moment and went into overdrive.

“Bradley!” he said, turning around. “Get the camera going! Maybe we can catch up with Clariton!”

Bradley took a deep breath, exhaled, and with not quite as much enthusiasm as Todd, replied, “Yeah, right—the unblinking eye.”

Though a quick search of the building didn’t turn up Congressman Johnny Clariton and his kidnappers, it was only minutes before Cindy Wilson was found unconscious on the loading dock. An ambulance and paramedics were quick to arrive, and they administered emergency first aid, covering a bleeding wound on Cindy’s head, making sure her pulse was stable, and loading her onto a gurney. Less than five minutes later the ambulance whisked her away to Hennepin County Medical Center, the best trauma center in the Upper Midwest.

Meanwhile, Todd and Bradley reverted to their own training, taping the unconscious Cindy Wilson as she was first cared for, then carried away in the screaming ambulance. And once she was gone they returned to the chaos of the room where the aborted interview had taken place, getting shots of the water- and smoke-damaged room as well as the skyway filled with the cadre of fire fighters. While it was still perfectly fresh in his mind, Todd walked alongside Bradley, microphone in hand, and narrated each scene, explaining what they’d seen, what had happened. Later, back at the station, he’d go back and figure out how they’d present it all, but for now he just wanted to record the details.

Within minutes a great switch of tides took place as the fire fighters receded and a swarm of cops and detectives swelled in. By that time it was clear there had been no real fire, but that some sort of smoke bomb had exploded in the rear of Jerome’s restaurant and that Congressman Johnny Clariton had, indeed, been abducted. And, yes, everyone was quick to assume that the smoke had been part of one and the same thing, specifically a well-organized plan to seize the congressman. A more thorough search of the building, however, failed to turn up any clue as to his fate.

As the side dining room where it had all taken place was cordoned off and the crime lab people began to descend, Todd paused in the second-floor hall. Uniformed men and women swarmed all around him, shouting out orders, barking into walkie-talkies, and continuing to search for any relevant clues. Dear God, thought Todd as the magnitude of the incident began to sink in, did this really happen? Did this twister of a story—an unprecedented act of domestic terrorism—really descend right upon him?

Lugging his camera, Bradley came up behind Todd and said, “They want to question us all. Individually. They’re setting up in the main dining room.”

Todd wasn’t surprised, and said, “Of course. I’m sure this is just the beginning. I mean, the FBI is sure as hell going to be all over this one too.”

“Yeah, like flies on shit.” Bradley shook his head. “Man, I wonder what they’re really going to do to Clariton.”

“I don’t know, but I don’t think they’ll keep us waiting very long.” Todd looked up and down the busy hall, half-expecting to see one cop in particular, one who was sure to be worried about Todd’s well-being. “I’m surprised Rawlins isn’t here already. You haven’t seen him, have you?”

Bradley looked around and shrugged. “Nope, but then again maybe he hasn’t heard about it yet.”

That, Todd knew, couldn’t be. For something this major they’d page Rawlins and every detective on the force. After all, Minneapolis had never seen anything this big before, Todd thought, sensing that this might rate right up there with the Oklahoma City bombing.

Forcing away a shudder of worry, Todd added, “If he’s not already here, then Rawlins has got to be on his way. Trust me, only an act of God would keep him away from this.”

Lyle Cunningham, the bodyguard
hired to protect Johnny Clariton, made sure he was the first one questioned at the restaurant and then again at the police station in the Minneapolis City Hall, where they were all taken. And his credentials ensured that he was the first one released. Now leaving the huge granite building, a fortresslike edifice, he stepped outside and hailed the first taxi.