Terms Of Surrender

Chapter Four

“We believe at least three remote-activated explosive devices were placed in the area behind the bank. Possibly housed in magnetic boxes attached to the light poles here, here and here.” Special Agent in Charge Fenholt indicated the spots on a hand-drawn map hanging on the whiteboard, showing the back of the building. “They could have been placed there when the HT was scouting the location or even as early as this morning before he headed inside. A driver in an armored car used the distraction caused by the detonations to crash through barricades here—” she pointed at the corner on the street in back of the bank “—traveling at a high rate of speed. One local officer was hit and injured by the vehicle. Three others, including one of our agents, were killed in the blasts.”

There was a grim silence in the conference room following this piece of news. Dace stretched his legs out under the table, taking care not to brush Jolie seated beside him. The debriefing promised to last well into the night, and like the past several hours of the incident, the feds were running the show. He doubted he was the only one in the room braced for the inevitable blame game to ensue.

Extra tables and chairs had to be brought in to accommodate all the personnel in the room. The local SWAT/HNT unit was accounted for, as well as the FBI’s SWAT squad and Fenholt’s team.

“What’s the total casualty and injury count?” Metro City Police Chief Carl Sanders sat at the conference table flanked by his deputy chief, Robert Grey. The chief had an aging football player’s still-solid physique, fading gingery hair and a shrewd blue gaze that stripped through all defenses.

Fenholt walked back to her chair and consulted some notes bundled together on the table before her. “Forty-seven were taken to local hospitals for treatment, including the hostages inside the bank. They all suffered various lacerations from the flying glass when the windows blew out. Suffice to say, as a distraction, the explosives served admirably. Under the circumstances, the casualties were contained.”

Dace gave an incredulous snort. Picking up a remote, Fenholt turned on a large TV mounted in one corner of the room. “We’ve obtained this footage from KCHM, shot from their helicopter.” Silently, they all watched the HT exit the back door of the bank, with Tyler Mills on his shoulders. He wore a red backpack and was carrying bank bags. All eyes and weapons would have been on the man as he headed to the station wagon. With hindsight it was easy to see the subject duck at the last moment, seeking shelter behind the vehicle’s bumper just seconds before the explosions and the resulting pandemonium.

The video went grainy as the helicopter must have sought safety from a different position. Moments later the recording resumed, showing the armored truck barreling onto the scene. The HT was running toward it, and as the front passenger door swung open, bullets sprayed out of the back window at the law enforcement officers, who were returning fire. Dace watched as the gunman neared the moving vehicle, tossing the bags inside before reaching a hand to grasp the door handle. Then in the next moment he jerked as one leg crumpled, then the other. His grasp on the handle never loosened, but the vehicle was dragging him now, and Tyler rolled off his shoulders. A flak-vest-clad agent crawled over to grab the boy, pulling him to safety.

“We left the local SWAT snipers up there for additional coverage, and one had a better vantage point than our guys when this went down.”

“Nice shot, Carter,” Lewis said, satisfaction lacing his tone. Dace shot Ava a look of approval, and she inclined her head, her long dark hair swinging slightly. He felt a vicious stab of satisfaction that the only damn thing that had gone right in those few seconds could be attributed to their team.

He watched the TV screen as the rest of the drama unfolded. More shots were fired, and at least some of them hit their mark, before the HT was dragged into the vehicle as it sped away. A masked gunman leaned out the window and appeared to be shooting skyward, and the screen abruptly went blank.

“They ensured the media copter wouldn’t follow them,” observed Sanders.

“What about the boy? Tyler Mills.”

Dace stilled at the sound of Jolie’s voice. Details of the final minutes of the bank incident had succeeded in diverting his attention from the presence of the woman next to him, but his focus ricocheted back. Although he didn’t look in her direction, he was supremely aware of the strain in her voice.

“He was taken to the hospital with lacerations and a concussion, but he should make a full recovery,” Agent Dawson answered, speaking for the first time. “His mother was treated and released.”

Dace sensed the tension creeping from her and moved his shoulders, impatient with himself. It was as if he were hyperaware around her, attuned to the slightest shift in her moods. Which was a joke, since he’d failed miserably at reading her during the last months they’d been together. Or maybe he’d been turned too inward to try. Hell, he didn’t know. But he’d be damned if he’d allow her to walk back into his life and wield this kind of power the day she reentered it. The shock of seeing her again had knocked him off balance. He needed to regain his distance, fast.

“You’ve got the hospitals covered?” he asked. Not that he expected the HT’s accomplices to risk having him treated in a hospital. As well prepared as they appeared to have been, they’d certainly know that medical professionals were required to report gunshot wounds.

“Of course. And from the amount of blood left behind, the gunman appears to be seriously wounded, so we got lucky there.”

Luck hadn’t had a damn thing to do with it. Ava Carter hadn’t earned the call sign “Cold Shot” by chance.

“So including the HT, that brings the total team to at least three,” Mendel surmised. “The driver, the shooter in the backseat and the hostage taker in the bank.” Any one of them could have planned to pick up the explosive devices later, had they not been needed.

Fenholt used the remote to turn off the television. “Probably four or five,” she said. “Even though an alert was on the airwaves within seconds of the truck pulling away, it was only spotted momentarily before we lost it for good. Since it’s hard to miss an armored vehicle, and one hasn’t been found abandoned, we suspect they had a semi waiting nearby. The truck drove into its back, the semi pulled out.” Almost as an afterthought she added, “But that’s only a theory. We’re also checking out all the buildings in a two-mile area surrounding the last sighting to be sure it isn’t housed in a garage or warehouse.”

Fenholt looked at Dr. Ryder, sitting a couple chairs down from Dace. “In the meantime, we need to focus on the conversations with the HT. What can we glean from them?”

“You’ve got the transcribed notes of the exchanges,” he began.

“It’s not enough.” There was a snap in her voice, barely discernible, but there. The unflappable SAC was showing signs of stress. Dace wondered how much crap was raining down on her over this mess. “I want observations compiled from you and from the local HNT negotiators. Each of you will need to look over the transcript to see if it’s complete before we turn it over to a forensic psychologist. In the meantime, is there anything that struck you about this guy that will help us in the short term?”

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