Page 8 of Every Last One
“Separate system, and the footage is sent directly to an offsite surveillance company that stores the video. Getting our hands on it is a priority too, and Monica’s on that. So far, she’s been bashing her head trying to get anywhere with them.”
So much for getting a look inside and having the chance of running facial recognition. It was hard to know if they were looking at professionals here, but it had the markings of a planned and coordinated attack.
“And who is Monica?” Brice asked.
“Harding. She’ll be acting as scribe today.”
The scribe made typed records of all conversations between negotiator and subject.
“Well, let’s get a move on. I’ll introduce you to the team.” Kreiger nudged his head toward the command vehicle and started walking toward it.
Sandra went to pick up his tossed coffee cup at the same time Brice did. She gestured for him to go ahead. If the brief interaction with Kreiger was any indication, he was a big personality she’d have to navigate. But he was the least of her concerns.
FIVE
10:41 AM
Most mobile command vehicles were the same. This vehicle had a round meeting table with a half-moon bench, and four workstations with computers and other electronic gadgetry. Whiteboards were secured to the wall, while an alcove was stocked with essentials to fuel long negotiations. There was a coffeemaker and a kettle for tea, cups, coffee condiments, and a small fridge.
Sandra looked at the markerboard, and the information was sparse and reminiscent of what she and Brice had already been told.
Two armed assailants—one man, one woman
Man believed to be positioned on the fourth floor
Lines of communication down—jammer and hospital lines
That last barrier was a huge problem and one that needed to be overcome as soon as possible.
“Neal?” Kreiger said, causing a man with red hair to turn around. He was standing at one of the workstations, watchingover the shoulder of a man wearing headphones. The scanner was on his work surface next to a laptop. The seated man must be Gibson, the intelligence officer. Kreiger went on. “I trust you can handle the intros, et cetera. These are the FBI negotiators. I’m going to follow up on those blueprints.” Kreiger left the vehicle.
So much for him introducing us…That was the first she’d heard about blueprints, but getting them was a standard request during a crisis incident.
Neal came over to them and eyeballed the coffee cup in Brice’s hand.
Brice raised the cup. “I assume you have somewhere this can go.”
Neal took it from Brice, shaking it to make sure it was empty before tossing it into the recycling bin in the alcove. “Let me guess? Rick’s?”
“It was,” Brice said.
“The logo gave it away. His favorite coffee shop. I shouldn’t say this, considering I don’t know either of you from Adam, but the guy’s a freaking litterbug. It irritates the livin’ hell out of me.”
Sandra smiled. “Special Agent Sandra Vos.”
“Lieutenant Coleman. Feel free to use my first name and call me Neal like everyone else. And you?”
“Special Agent Brice Sutton.”
Neal nodded. “Well, this is the dream team you’ll be working with.”
There were two other people in the vehicle.
Neal gestured toward the man. “That’s Gibson Farmer, our intelligence officer.”
The man turned around, offered a token wave, and smiled. He appeared to be in his late forties, like Sandra. She was forty-seven, but she liked to think the wrinkles around her eyes weren’t as defined as his. That might have been denial blendedwith wishful thinking. She was aware of the grays that kept creeping up in her blond hair.
“I can help you out, Gibson,” Brice said. “Whatever you might need. Pulling backgrounds, phone calls… As support for Special Agent Vos, part of the job is providing psychological profiles. Obviously, identities and backgrounds aid with that.”
