Exit Strategy - Jen J. Danna NYPD Negotiators

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And be sure to keep a low profile until we tell you other wise.”

      From Rowland’s furrowed brow to his clenched jaw, indecision was starkly outlined on his face. He was used to calling the shots in his city, and being blocked was evidently unfamiliar and uncomfortable.

      Gemma was willing to bet Garcia was happy to use Willan as specific leverage to buy the time they needed.

      “Fine.” Rowland snapped out the word. “But I want results from this. If not, then you”—he punctuated this with a finger jab at Sanders—“are going in and getting my people out.” Elbowing his way past Sanders and Logan, he strode toward the exit.

      “You better make this work.” Sanders leaned in to Garcia, as if to apply additional pressure by sheer presence. “You’re not the last word in the command structure. If the ESU decides we need to go in, then we’re doing it, no matter how much time you think you need.”

      “Understood.” Garcia’s tone was flat and emotionless, but the fist that tightened over the top of his chair spoke volumes about his frustration with that structure. “We’ll get the phone lines isolated, and then work on talking him down.”

      Prompted by Garcia’s words, Gemma bent over her phone to find the number to call the techs.

      When she looked up, Sanders and Logan were gone.

      CHAPTER 5

      Gemma walked back into the vault to find Taylor and McFar land, but not Garcia. “The techs are working on the phone lines now. They need some time because of the number of lines going into City Hall. But they can isolate that one line.” She tapped Garcia’s empty chair. “Where’s the lieutenant?”

      “He said he wanted five minutes to walk around the block to clear his head,” Taylor said.

      “That’s what he said, but my money is on punching a wall in the back alley,” McFarland said. “Totally called for, to blow off steam, in my opinion. Which he probably needs more than head clearing. Though Sanders usually makes me want to put my head through a wall, not my fist.”

      “There can be pitfalls in working with the tactical team,” Taylor said. “Some of them are overenthusiastic and prefer to shoot first and ask questions later during a high-stress situation.”

      Gemma thought of Logan, an officer who would not remotely fit that description. She’d rarely seen a cooler head or a steadier hand when everything went to hell around him. It was one reason he’d been so hard to beat.

      Garcia came through the doorway carrying a tray of extra-large coffees and a bakery box. He looked around at his officers and shrugged. “I needed a minute and had to walk over a few blocks to find anything open. The caffeine and sugar are also appreciated.” He set the box on the table and then pushed the tray of coffees into the center of the table. “We could all use both.” He sat down, selected a coffee, and took a long swallow. “Dig in. No contact yet, I assume?”

      “Nothing so far,” said Taylor.

      “I didn’t think he would call. It’s a good idea at this point to give him time to think and, hopefully, start to worry about how his plans are collapsing. If he’s off balance, he’ll be more open to compromise.” Garcia reached into the box and pulled out a chocolate-glazed donut. He pushed the box toward McFarland, who selected a Boston cream and jammed it into his mouth to take a huge bite.

      “When do you want to make contact again?” Taylor asked.

      “Now. This has been long enough. I don’t want him to forget we’re out here.” Garcia slid his headset back into place. “Everyone ready?” Affirmatives came from around the table. “Let’s get him back on the line.”

      McFarland dialed the phone, and they sat through it ringing again and again. After six rings and the click over to voice mail, he cut the connection, waited to a count of ten, and tried again. He was unsuccessful for a second time.

      They were just about to try again, but Kalani stopped short in the doorway. Her whole stance radiated restrained intensity at needing to speak, but not wanting to interrupt a call.

      Garcia gave her a go-ahead wave. “Sergeant?”

      “We made contact with someone inside, but it’s not one of the hostages. He’s on line three. He was in the mayor’s office and was on his way out with the fire alarm when the armed suspect came in. He hid in one of the back rooms, listening as the suspect rounded up all the hostages, but the guy doesn’t know he’s there. He called 911 and they patched him through to us.”

      “Getting him out without being captured or worse will be tricky.” Garcia pointed at McFarland, who punched the lit button for line three. “This is Lieutenant Tomás Garcia of the NYPD. Who is this?”

      “Rob Greenfield.” The name was just a wisp of sound Gemma had to strain to hear. She quickly jotted down his name and the time of contact.

      “Where are you?”

      “Under the mail table in the photocopy room.”

      “Can you see the suspect from where you are?”

      “No. He’s in the library and conference room next to me.”

      Garcia pulled the blueprints toward him, picked up a pen, then circled the conference room down the hall from the mayor’s office in blue ink. He put an X in the room next door. “He can’t see you either, then. Good. Rob, I’ve got a copy of the building blueprints. That places you near the end of a hallway in a closed room. Is that accurate? Or is there a window or door you could use to get out of the building?”

      Gemma leaned over the table to study the blueprints. Completed in 1812, the building was over two hundred years old and a designated historical landmark. There was no chance a new door had been put in recently and wasn’t on the blueprints. Still, it was a question Garcia had to ask, just in case.

      “No. That’s why I’m calling. I don’t know what to do. The only way out takes me right past the conference room door.”

      “You’re the first person in communication on-scene, Rob. Can you tell me how many people there are holding the hostages?”

      “I think it’s just the one guy. He’s the only one I’ve seen, the only one I’ve heard.”

      “Okay, let me talk to my tactical team. Now we know you’re there, it’s a new ball game. If you can’t move out unseen, then I’m going to have to ask you to hole up where you are for now. You’re safer if the suspect doesn’t know you’re there. And in the meantime, we’ll work on a plan to get you free. Maybe we can get the hostages moved, or can create a distraction just long enough for you to get out of there.”

      “Thank God.” Greenfield’s voice wobbled with relief.

      “Hang in there, Rob. Give me your phone number in case we get disconnected.” Garcia jotted down the number. “Do you want someone to stay on the line with you?”

      “Could you?”

      “Not me, I’m going to work with a team to get you out, but I’m going to give you to Detective Gemma Capello. She’ll stay with you.” Garcia made a hand motion to Gemma, indicating for her to go out into the main room to get on the line until they could get another phone set up in the vault for a direct line to Greenfield.

      Gemma nodded and rose, starting to slip the headphones off, when Greenfield suddenly cried out.

      “No! Get off me!”

      There was an earsplitting clatter Gemma guessed was the phone being thrown to the floor.

      Gemma froze, half out of her chair, her heart rate spiking and her horrified gaze locked on Garcia, who was on his feet as if he could leap through the phone to join the fray.

      Helpless, they listened to the sound of a struggle as furniture crashed and the combatants grunted and strained. Finally there was a cry of

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