Hostage (24 page)

Which is to say: soon. In other words, ta-ta. I’m next.

The FBI usurped the
local cops because a federal crime had been committed.

Less than twenty-five minutes after the producer, Nan, called the Minneapolis police, three guys showed up, two white guys and a black man. They flashed their identification as they were ushered into the Channel 10 newsroom, and then the black man explained that he was Maurice Cochran, the FBI’s special agent in charge of regional affairs, and introduced the others.

“Earlier this afternoon the President directed the attorney general to treat this matter with the utmost urgency. Consequently Dr. John Ogden,” said Cochran, referring to the tall slim man on his left, “was brought in from the base at Quantico as the lead hostage negotiator. And Wayne Morrish, also from Quantico, heads up the HRT.”

These were foreign waters, and Todd said, “HRT?”

Morrish, a stocky man in his mid-forties, wearing a black polo shirt and khaki pants, said, “Hostage Rescue Team. Fifty of us flew in this afternoon.”

“Fifty of the best men in the country,” added Cochran. “They have assault, demolition, and sniper teams. If anyone can safely recover Congressman Clariton, it’s them.”

“Welcome to Minneapolis,” said Todd, who wasn’t surprised at how seriously this was being treated.

“We appreciate any information you can give us,” said Dr. Ogden. “So what’s this about a video?”

Great, thought Todd. This was all he needed in his life right now, the FBI and a crack team of FBI agents, endorsed by the President, no less.

“Come on, let’s go into the conference room,” suggested Todd. “You’ve got to see it.”

Nan and he led the way down the hall into a plain room with a low ceiling and light blue walls. Filing in, they and the FBI agents seated themselves around a large rectangular table that filled the center of the room.

“I came out here about fifty minutes ago and found this in my car,” explained Todd, holding up the tape. “As you probably already know, I was the one interviewing Clariton this afternoon when he was abducted. Just what the connection is and why I got this tape, I don’t know, but they’re demanding we broadcast it tomorrow morning.”

Without further word he got up and went to a VCR and monitor that sat in the corner. He popped in the tape, hit a couple of buttons, and the images of the blond woman and Congressman Clariton filled the screen. As the tape played, Todd glanced at the agents, who were as transfixed and horrified as Todd had been the first time he’d seen it. The woman told her story, Clariton offered his tacky comments, there were a few quips from behind the camera…

And Todd focused again on that distant noise, the soft, rolling rumble. He could hear it for a few seconds and then it faded away. Virtually no background noise for a minute or two. All in all he heard it three times over the course of the video, which lasted not quite ten minutes. It almost, thought Todd when the tape concluded, sounded like airplanes approaching a runway. Could that be where they were holding Clariton, in some hangar or something near the airport?

“Oh, my God,” moaned Cochran as Todd shut off the machine.

“When did you say you got this?” asked Morrish, taking out a small pad and jotting down a few things.

Todd glanced at his wristwatch. “Almost an hour ago.”

“And it was in your car out here?”

“Exactly.” Todd noticed that Dr. Ogden, whom he presumed to be a psychologist, was staring and silently judging him. “It was sitting right on the driver’s seat.”

Cochran leaned over and whispered something to Morrish, who nodded and reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a small device.

“Mr. Mills and…” began Cochran.

“Nan Miller,” volunteered the producer.

“Right. We’d like to ask you some questions. Would you mind if we tape-recorded our conversation?”

An informal interview, Todd knew, was what they wanted. He’d been through one of these before, of course. And he might as well just play it direct and concise. He just hoped he wouldn’t have to go back down to police headquarters or the FBI offices, at least not tonight. He was far too tired and exhausted for much more.

“Go ahead and turn that thing on.” Once the microtape recorder was running, Todd said, “My name is Todd Mills, and I’m an investigative reporter at Channel Ten in Minneapolis. I agree to a noncustodial interview. I am aware that this conversation is being recorded and I am speaking of my own free will.” He looked at his coworker. “Either you agree to speak freely or you have to leave the room, Nan.”

Her eyes large with seriousness, she glanced at Todd, then the FBI agents. “No. No, it’s okay.”

“Does that mean you agree to this interview?” clarified Cochran.

“Yes.”

“And your name is?”

“My name is Nan Miller. And… and I’m a producer here at WLAK TV.”

With the technicalities out of the way Todd went into detail about getting a lift out to Channel 10, then thinking he wouldn’t be able to do the late-night broadcast because he was too tired. He told them about walking through the parking lot and up to his car to use his car phone.

“What type of vehicle?” asked Morrish.

“A Jeep Grand Cherokee,” replied Todd.

The door was open, he continued.

“Open?” questioned Cochran.

Unlocked, Todd corrected. It was unlocked, which was weird. So he glanced in and saw the videotape just sitting there on the driver’s seat.

“Just the tape, not in a box or anything?” asked Dr. Ogden.

Todd hesitated for the first time. Did he, he wondered, glancing briefly at Nan, want to bring Rawlins into this right now? No, because what would she and Channel 10 do with that information, perhaps use it and Todd as broadcast fodder?

“No, it was just the plain tape sitting there.”

Nan interjected, “I saw him come into his office and put it in the VCR. And I was right there—a handful of us were—when he played it the first time.”

“And what was your reaction to seeing the tape, Mr. Mills?” asked Ogden.

“My reaction? What the hell do you think? I was and still am disgusted.” He knew what they were getting at, and so he laid it out. “Listen, I’m not a Clariton supporter by any means, but what happened today is totally wrong. If they really plan to inject Clariton with HIV-tainted blood, well, I’m appalled.”

“Everyone felt that way,” added Nan.

“Right,” Todd agreed.

So they went over it again, this time in more detail. Cochran, Morrish, and Ogden asked a host of questions, ranging from who gave Todd a ride out here—Todd told them it was a friend, and felt his entanglement draw a little tighter—to if he’d seen anyone else in the parking lot, to why his car was unlocked and on and on. Then they turned to Nan Miller, asking her to have the front-door guard draw up a list of who’d visited the station that night.

“You don’t have a surveillance camera on the parking lot by chance, do you?” asked Morrish.

“No, I don’t believe we do,” replied Nan. “We just haven’t had any security problems before.”

He turned to Todd and said, “I’m afraid, Mr. Mills, we’re going to have to impound your car.”

“What for, prints?”

“Exactly.”

Cochran said, “We’ll get a crime lab on it right away.” He paused. “And the tape—has anyone else handled it besides you, Mr. Mills?”

“No.” Todd thought for a moment and added, “Wait, one of our technicians handled it too.”

“Well, maybe we’ll be able to get some other prints off it.”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Cochran,” said Nan, drawing in a deep breath and taking a bold stand, “but if you’re thinking you can just have that tape you’re mistaken. That tape belongs to WLAK and you’re going to have to subpoena—”

“No, Nan,” countered Todd. “That tape does not belong to the station. It was in my car, I brought it inside the building. Therefore, unfortunately, it’s mine. Obviously the situation is very serious, so I’m going to have to do some thinking about whether or not to turn over the tape to the FBI.”

“Todd, think about what you’re saying,” she pleaded. “Think about what kind of precedent you’d be setting if you turned over the tape to the FBI or the police without a subpoena.”

“Listen, Nan, I—”

“No, you listen, Todd. Giving the tape to the authorities goes against everything we know about good journalism. It really is a dangerous precedent. And what about getting it on the air? What will the kidnappers do to Clariton if we don’t run the tape exactly as they say?”

She was right on all accounts, of course, but Todd made a snap decision. Screw subpoenas and all that. Screw the media’s freedom. Someone’s life was very much in danger.

“Nan, this is my tape, and I’ve got to do what I think is best not for the station but for someone else,” he said. “While we were waiting for the FBI to get here, I had a proBeta copy made, which I will keep in my possession. The FBI gets the original. What you, Mr. Cochran, Mr. Morrish, and Mr. Ogden, have to decide is if we should broadcast that tape tomorrow morning at nine. And I suggest you decide soon, because who knows what they’ll do to Clariton if we don’t follow their instructions.”

“Todd, I wish you wouldn’t do this.”

“I’m sorry, but that’s my decision.”

Quite determined that Channel 10 not be cut out of the deal, Nan shook her head and interjected, “You know, management is going to have a shit fit. Todd, at least let us air your copy tomorrow morning. I really don’t think we have any choice but to show it.” Looking at him quite sternly, she added, “I’m certain that your job depends upon it.”

He glanced from Nan to the FBI guys and said, “Actually, I don’t think we have a choice either. After all, who knows how many other people are involved and who knows what they’ll do if they don’t get their way?”

“Given the level of stress in their voices,” advised Ogden, “I would say that we’re dealing with some very serious and desperate people. They are dangerous, no doubt about it.”

“Exactly,” said Todd. “And if we fail to broadcast the tape, perhaps they’ll kill Clariton right on the spot. Or perhaps—who knows?—they’ll attack other public officials with syringes of blood.”

Morrish shifted in his seat. “No hostage has ever been killed on a deadline in the United States.”

“Now there’s something reassuring.” Todd shook his head and leaned over the table. “But let me ask you this: Have you ever dealt with any kidnappers who are terminally ill and close to death? These people have nothing to lose, you realize. They’re desperate. And if they’re willing to use their own blood as a lethal weapon, there’s no telling what they’ll do.”

Cochran thought for a moment, put a hand to his forehead, and took a deep breath. “I’m going to have to make a couple of calls to Washington and see what we’re going to do on this one. It’s going on eleven right now, but I should have an answer within the hour.”

“Good. For now we’ll plan on showing Todd’s copy of the tape at nine.” Nan’s mind was obviously spinning with producerly orchestrations, and she added, “Todd, that’s when I want you to introduce the tape. By then we can drum up a hell of a lot of interest and you’ll have viewers from around the globe.” She leaned toward him and whispered, “I guarantee you, Todd, it will be the best thing for your career.”

It was true, they were going to have to broadcast the tape at some point. And it would be seen all over the country and around the world. But was this a horse he really wanted to ride? No, not at all. Yet he had no choice, not really. Better he, a gay person, should do this. Better he should put the right spin on it.

“Okay.”

“Unless Washington has any problems, that’ll work for us. I agree, I don’t see that we have any alternative,” said Cochran, glancing at Morrish and Ogden for dissent.

“No, at this point I think the best thing we can do,” advised Ogden, “is keep them engaged. We don’t want to start out by alienating them.”

Morrish said, “Mr. Mills, do you have an envelope or something?”

Todd looked up and pressed his hand over his coat. Holy shit, how did they know about that?

“What?” said Todd.

“My evidence-collection kit is in the car—do you have an envelope?”

“Oh, sure. Of course,” he replied, wondering if his relief was too obvious. “I’ll go get one.”

Rubbing his eyes as he left the room, Todd retreated down the hall to his office, where he fumbled around in his desk drawer for an envelope. Finding one, he started back to the conference room. With any luck there would be no more questions, not tonight at least. Yet as much as Todd wanted and needed to head home for some rest, he wasn’t going to. No, instead he was going to have to borrow one of Channel 10’s vehicles and head downtown, for there was just one more person he had to talk to tonight.

Rawlins leaned against a
wall and sank to the floor in the main room. He bowed his head, took a deep breath. Everything was such a blur. All of this, every moment since the doctor had pronounced him all but dead with “unfortunate news.” And now he was hidden in some underground chamber, while just across the room was a woman’s body wrapped tightly in some heavy-duty plastic bags.