Chapter Twenty-One
Trinity Sands Resort
Cabana 47
The phone rang again.
Jesse let go of Lanie’s wrist and fished the device out of his pocket. He checked the screen and didn’t recognize the number, which could be good or bad. The sudden knot in his stomach told him it was bad. His customary greeting was to answer with his last name, but this time he decided to go with a plain, “Hello.”
“Are you with HORNET?” a male voice asked. “And think about that before you answer because if you’re not, I’m going to shoot Gabe here in the head.”
Lanie touched his arm and he realized he wasn’t breathing. He sucked air into his lungs and met her gaze. Whatever she saw there—soul-deep fear, a consuming blaze of anger—had her eyes widening in response.
“I’ll get help,” she mouthed and took off running toward the cabana.
He limped as fast as he could after her. “I’m the medic.”
“Good. Good. In my experience, medics tend to be nice guys. They like to be helpful. You want to be helpful, don’t you? You like for everyone to live.”
He did not like where this convo was going. “Yes, I want everyone to live.” Up ahead, Lanie disappeared inside the cabana. A heartbeat later, Danny and Marcus raced out to meet him. As trained negotiators, they’d know how to handle this. Smart woman, sending them first.
Danny made a motion indicating Jesse should put the phone on speaker. He complied just as the hostage taker asked, “What’s your name?”
He looked to Danny, who nodded and rolled his hand, silently telling him to answer. “Jesse. And yours?”
“You can call me Paul.”
Marcus had a pad of hotel paper and a pen in his hand. He wrote, Keep calm. Active listening. Empathy. Rapport. Create sense of humanity. Find out demands. He underlined that last one.
Jesse took a breath. “Okay, Paul. What can I do to be helpful?”
“Well, let’s start with some cold, hard facts before we get to that. Fact: I have guns to the heads of three of your men right this very second. Fact: I have another of your men barricaded three floors above me. Fact: I have more manpower than you do and a hell of a lot more firepower. Fact: I have explosive booby traps rigged throughout this building. Fact: I have about twenty civilian hostages. Fact: I will shoot one hostage every hour until you give me what I want. Starting with your friend Gabe.”
It was like a cold fist grabbed his stomach and twisted hard.
Danny shoved his shoulder and made bug eyes at him. He realized he’d missed whatever Paul had said.
Wants to know he has your attention now, Marcus scrawled on the paper. Say yes.
“Yes,” Jesse choked out.
Paul laughed. “And we all know saving lives is what you do. It’s the code you live, eat, breathe, and shit, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” Jesse said again because he wasn’t sure he was capable of squeezing a more complex sentence from his throat right now.
“So,” Paul continued, “here’s what I want. There are two doctors somewhere at this resort. Tiffany Peters and Claire Oliver. Bring them to me, and I let everyone go. Simple as that.”
“Everyone except for the doctors, you mean. What if we don’t know where they are?”
Both Marcus and Danny started shaking their heads. Marcus flipped back to the first page of his notebook and underlined the word rapport.
“Then you’re fucked,” Paul said casually. “If you’re worried I’ll hurt the women, I give you my word I won’t.”
“Except you can kill a person without hurtin’ them.”
“Caught that, did you? You’re smarter than that redneck accent of yours led me to believe.” Paul laughed, but then got serious. “It doesn’t matter what I do with them once I have them. All that matters is I’ll start killing people if they don’t show their faces in the next hour.”
“Do you honestly think you’re goin’ to get away from this island with the doctors? You don’t have a boat.”
Danny silently smacked his forehead. Marcus tossed the notebook in the air with an expression of exasperation. Jesse ignored them both. No doubt their tried and true negotiation tactics worked in the average hostage situation, but nothing about this was average. They didn’t have the time to talk Paul down or wait him out or call his bluff. When he said he was going to start killing people, Jesse believed him.
“Yes. I believe I’m going to walk away with exactly what I want and you’re going to help. Otherwise, people you care about are going to die and you hate death, don’t you, medic? And if you think the local authorities will intervene before the deadline, you’ll be disappointed. They won’t be coming to the rescue. You may have Tucker Quentin in your corner, but we have friends in high places, too.”
He doesn’t know this is Tuc’s hotel.
That might be an advantage.
On the other end of the line, Paul made a tick-tock sound. “One hour and the clock’s already ticking.”
And he hung up.
“Well…” Danny said on a sigh. “Fuck.”
Jesse gave himself a second to calm down. The smugness in that bastard’s voice had sparked his temper, but he couldn’t lose control now. Not with so much on the line. He pointed toward the beach. “Get Ian. Is Seth still inside? We have less than an hour to come up with a plan of attack and put it into action.”
“So we’re going Full Metal Jacket on their asses?” Marcus asked. “I thought we all agreed that was suicide.”
“You have a better idea? I’m open to suggestions.”
Marcus thought about it. “Nope. I’ll get Ian.” He clapped palms with Danny—it was a thing they always did, like a see-ya-later without words—then ran for the beach.
Jesse pushed through the cabana’s door and found Seth offering water to one of his patients. He gazed around at the injured and swore under his breath. “We need to get these people out of here.”
Seth looked up at him. “Something happen?”
“Demands. And if we don’t comply within the hour, they’re going to start killing hostages, starting with Gabe.”
“Jesus Christ.” Seth’s curse was heartfelt. “What about the local authorities?”
“If the Tangos are to be believed, the locals are in their pocket. We’re on our own.” Jesse again assessed the room. None of his patients were immobile. They could move, and he wanted them as far away from the resort as possible. Shit had a tendency to roll downhill, after all, and if things went south on them in the next hour, he wasn’t about to hand more hostages over to the bad guys. “Does anyone here speak English?”
The thin man with steel-gray hair and pock-scarred face he’d helped down from the terrace earlier raised a bandaged hand. “I do. What do you need?” He spoke with a faint German accent, but his English was perfect.
Jesse walked over to him. “What’s your name?”
“Dr. Steffan Ostermann.”
“You were here for the virology conference?”
He gave a huff that might have been laughter. “I wasn’t supposed to be, but my schedule cleared and I jumped on the only available flight here earlier this afternoon.”
“Should’ve stayed home.”
He lifted his arm, which was bandaged and immobilized in a makeshift sling. “You’re not wrong.”
Jesse felt for the guy. To go on a trip you expected to be a work conference and end up in a hostage situation? It’d throw even the most stable man for a loop, but Dr. Ostermann seemed steady enough. Confused, angry, but steady. “The nearest hospital is seven kilometers away.” He’d mapped it before arriving on the island. Knowing his teammates like he did, it would’ve been negligent of him not to know. He swept a hand out, indicating the other patients. “Can you lead these people there?”
“Yes,” Ostermann said without hesitation and stood. “Shall I alert the authorities when we arrive?”
Won’t do any good, Jesse thought but replied, “Please. We need all the help we can get. Even better—alert the military.” The Tangos couldn’t possibly have the entire French military in their pockets as well as the local police. But as the thought crossed his mind, he knew that even if the French stationed on the island were inclined to help, they wouldn’t mobilize in time. It’d take Ostermann at least an hour to march his band of wounded into town.
Ostermann nodded. “We’ll get help.”
Jesse squeezed his shoulder in heartfelt appreciation. “Thank you.”