"Why would he look to you for the ransom?"
"It's not a ransom," said the president. "It's blackmail, pure and simple."
"So the things I've been hearing are not just talk? There truly is some secret out there that could have made Phil Grayson the next president of the United States. And just as Jack was told in that e-mail message, the same bit of information could make me president, too, if I'm approved."
"All I can tell you is that it's bullshit. Trust me on this. I've done nothing wrong. I swear on my mother's soul, this is not about anything I did, anything I could have prevented."
"If it is bullshit, as you say, then how could it be that bad--to bring down the president of the United States, just like that?"
"I'm sorry, Harry. I'm simply not going to dignify any of it by repeating it to you tonight, tomorrow, or any time coming."
"I want to know what this is all about."
The president's gaze drifted back toward the television. "Then watch the show like everyone else. And see if Demetri tells you."
Chapter
45
If he doesn't answer this time," said Figueroa, "it's time to start thinking about a breach."
A breach meant a forced entry. Andie wasn't ready to go there yet, even if this was her fifth attempt to bring Demetri to the telephone.
"He'll answer."
She waited in the tense silence, watching the television screen. Demetri had just one operational boom microphone on the news set, which wasn't enough to pick up the sound of the ringing telephone in the business pods adjacent to the set. The on-screen reaction of the hostages, however, told Andie that they could hear it. Precious seconds ticked away with each hollow, unanswered ring on Andie's line. On the fifth one, the call went to the Action News voice mail. Andie disconnected.
Figueroa said, "How much longer do you intend to keep this up?"
"These things take time."
"He's watching the television," said Figueroa. "I say we tell Action News to go to a split screen. I'll go on the air and tell him to answer the phone or we're coming in."
"Let's hold off on the threats," said Andie.
"Look at this," said Schwartz, pointing at the television screen.
Andie watched as Demetri slowly crossed the set toward the desk phone at the nearest cubicle. The camera followed him, keeping him on-screen.
"He's picking up," said Schwartz.
Demetri appeared to punch two or three buttons, not enough to place a call. Andie hoped it was star-69--returning her call. Her hope materialized, and the phone rang. She answered in a cordial tone, speaking into her headset.
"Is that you, Demetri?"
He hesitated. Even though his image on the television screen was far from a close-up, Andie could see the confusion in his body language.
"Who is this?" he said. His voice played over a speaker, allowing everyone inside the mobile command center to hear.
"FBI Agent Andie Henning," she said.
Andie watched on-screen as he lowered the phone and shouted across the set.
"Hey, Swyteck. You're not gonna believe this. I got your girlfriend on the line."
Back in the command center, Figueroa made a face. "Girlfriend?"
Andie shushed him, then spoke into the phone. "Demetri, I want to talk to you."
"Go right ahead," he said.
"I think it would be best not to share our conversations with the television viewers. This should be between us."
"Sorry, nothing's off the air. You got something to say, just say it.
"All right. We can do this your way. But you know how this works, right? If I give you something, you give me a little something, too."
"I don't have time for your games."
"Don't hang up," she said, catching him just before he did. She watched him carefully on the screen, and he was awfully close to ending the call. It was time to change the subject.
"Are you guys getting hungry in there?" she said.
He laughed. It was totally forced, like a bad actor all too aware that the camera was rolling. Then he lowered the phone, looked into the camera, and spoke to the television audience.
"The FBI wants to know if I'm hungry. If I say yes, she'll probably offer to send us a sack of Big Macs or Whoppers. We call that product placement. All the reality shows do it."
Andie and her boss exchanged glances. A sense of humor could be a good sign. A man about to pull the trigger didn't usually crack jokes. But you never knew for sure.
"Demetri, talk to me," said Andie.
"No, we don't want any food," he said into the phone. "I just want my five hundred thousand dollars."
Andie had to handle this one carefully. She never promised anything she couldn't deliver. "I'm working on that," she said.
"You better work hard."
"You have to understand that I'm getting resistance on that. It would help if you showed us some goodwill by letting one of the hostages go."
"Get me my money and they all can go."
"Taking the hard line isn't going to do any of us any good, Demetri. I can't help you if you won't show us that you're willing to work this out."
"I'm not letting anyone go a minute before I get my money."
"I hear what you're saying, but let me be straight with you. This is not a threat. All I'm trying to do is give you an accurate picture of what you're up against. The police have surrounded the entire building. The FBI is here. Miami-Dade Police Department is here, too. They have shut down the entire area. It's going to be really difficult for you to escape with or without your money. So let's make a deal here and now, all right? You let one of the hostages go, and I'll tell the boys in the SWAT van to back off. We cool with that?"
Demetri didn't answer. Andie saw that as a good sign. Immediate rejection punctuated with profanity would have been a bad sign.
Andie said, "You just take a deep breath and think about letting one of those hostages go. It would count for a lot if you did, Demetri. A little goodwill goes a long way."
"Who the hell are you to be talking about goodwill?"
The sudden change of tone took Andie aback. "Take it easy, Demetri."
"No, you just shut up and listen to me. I know it was you who tried to set me up when your boyfriend went to the Smithsonian. I watched the whole thing go down. I saw you come running out to get Swyteck on the museum steps. I know who you are, and I know you're a liar."
"Things are going to be handled different this time."
"No they aren't. You are no different from any cop I've ever met. You will lie to get whatever you want."
The mood swing was startling. Despite that brief display of humor at the top of the phone call, Demetri was obviously starting to feel the pressure.
Andie said, "I won't lie to you."
"Like hell you won't. Liars always lie. And you are a fucking liar!"
"Demetri, calm down."
"Don't tell me to calm down! I'm in control here, not you. Just get me my money, and stop stalling."
"I'll call you in an hour."
"Don't. Just don't--unless you're calling to tell me you got my money."
"Let's work this out together. You've got two hostages. Why not let one go?"
"I ain't letting nobody go."
"Demetri, listen to me. Let one of the hostages go. You don't need three. You only need one."
"That's exactly right. All I need is one. So get me my money, or somebody's gonna die--live on television."
Demetri hung up.
Andie breathed deep and let it out.
"You okay?" said Schwartz.
Andie felt her hand shaking just a bit as she put the phone down. "Yeah, I'm good."
Figueroa said, "It's time to consider a breach."
"No," said Andie.
"He's this close to snapping. Can't you hear it in his voice?"
"It's his accent. Greek uses a narrower pitch range than English, and to our ear, he can sound angrier than he really is."
"How do you know that?" said Schwartz.
She'd learned it while watching the 2004 Summer Olympics from Athens on TV, but that wouldn't have impressed anyone. "I just know these things," she said. "Just like it's time to work something out with the money."
Figueroa said, "The director has made MDPD's position on this crystal clear: We don't give money to hostage takers. Period."
"Why not, if it gets the hostages released? We have two SWAT teams here. He isn't going to leave the building with it."
Figueroa said, "We can't let the entire television world see us hand over a half million dollars in exchange for three hostages."
Andie looked at her boss. Schwartz said, "He has a point there, Andie. We don't want copycats across the country."
"Use marked bills. That won't encourage copycats."
"It just won't work," said Figueroa.
"We have to try," said Andie. "He's already killed a security guard, at least one and maybe two Russian mobsters, and two sisters in Washington. He has absolutely nothing to lose by killing again. If we can get the hostages out of there in exchange for a suitcase full of marked bills, I say that's a good deal."
Figueroa looked as if he were going to explode. "You think maybe your judgment is clouded because your boyfriend is one of the hostages inside? The FBI conveniently failed to mention that little detail to me."
"Nothing is clouding my judgment," said Andie.
"If you think that, I say you're out of your mind."
"I say it isn't your call," said Andie.
His eyes were like lasers.
"We'll see about that," he said.
Figueroa turned on his heel and slammed the door on his way out.
Chapter
46
"Swyteck, get over here," said Demetri.
Jack was sitting alone on the floor in front of the news desk. Shannon had talked Demetri into letting her use the nearest bathroom, which was just off the back of the set. Two untied hostages--the anchor woman and the cameraman--were clearly making Demetri edgy, not to mention the constant threat of SWAT bursting into the newsroom at any moment. He stood by the weather-forecast green screen, where he could keep one eye on the barricaded entrance to the newsroom and the other on the bathroom door behind the set.
"What do you want?" said Jack.
"I said come here."
Jack climbed to his feet and walked to the back of the set. Demetri had been extremely quiet since his last performance in front of the camera, and as 2:00 A
. M
. approached, he was looking tired. He'd been mumbling about his back hurting until he found a first-aid kit with some pain reliever inside. The red box was sitting on the news desk. Jack wondered if there was a pair of scissors or maybe a knife inside.
"What now?" said Jack.
Demetri turned off his wireless microphone. Whatever he was going to say, it wouldn't be for the television audience.
"I need your help," he said.
"My help?" said Jack, almost smiling at the absurdity of the situation. "Look, you've got three guns by my count, which clearly puts you in the driver's seat. But I'm not interested in helping yo
u d o anything that could get someone killed. Especially me."
"This isn't going to hurt anyone. I just need you to help me draft something."
"You mean like a demand letter?"
"No," he said, pausing for a moment. "It's something legal."
"A confession?"
"No--hell no. I need a will."
"You're kidding, right?"
"Do I look like I'm kidding?"
Jack studied those dark, piercing eyes. Being held hostage was bad enough. Getting stuck with a hostage taker who was so prepared to die that he seriously wanted a will was enough to ruin your whole damn day.
"I'd have to say you look pretty serious to me."
"You're a lawyer. I assume you do wills, right?"
"Well, not really. I'm a trial lawyer."
"Are you trying to tell that me you've never helped anyone with a will?"
Jack could have told him about the time he'd represented Theo's older brother Tatum--a reformed hit man who had stood to inherit millions in a six-way battle of survival of the greediest--but that probably wouldn't have helped matters.
"I could do a will if I had to," said Jack.
"You have to," he said, pointing the gun at Jack's forehead. Demetri called down the hall to the bathroom. "Hey, hurry it up in there, princess."
The toilet flushed. A minute later, the door opened, and Shannon emerged.
Demetri said, "Hands up over your head where I can see them."
She complied, walked straight to Demetri, and stopped.
"Facedown on the floor," he said.
She did as he told her. Demetri quickly retied her hands behind her back, and then he directed both her and Jack back toward the news desk.