“I shouldn’t have to tell a Quantico-trained negotiator that you don’t let the hostage taker set the timetable, that you never agree to deadlines. I’m beginning to think that your initial reluctance to get involved has some validity. Maybe you are too personally invested to exercise proper judgment.”
“Jack is not the issue,” she said.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes. My concerns are based solely on maintaining credibility as a negotiator. Demetri is holding the future vice president’s son hostage, he’s broadcasting the whole thing live on television, and he must be thinking that he’s dealing directly with the president. He isn’t going to accept an excuse as lame as ‘Sorry, the bank is closed.’”
“Then lower his expectations. You have to convince him that the president isn’t watching and doesn’t care. Television or not, you can’t let him believe for a minute that he has a direct line to the White House.”
Tires screeched as a Florida highway patrol car flew around the perimeter-control barricade and cut toward the mobile command center. The brakes grabbed, and the front bumper nearly kissed the pavement as the car came to an abrupt halt just a few feet away from Andie. The trooper jumped out of the car, and the single gold bar on his uniform told Andie that he was a lieutenant.
“I just got word that Air Force One touched down at Miami International.”
Schwartz said, “That’s not possible. There’s no way Air Force One would fly into Miami without the FBI knowing about it.”
“Well, maybe the rest of the FBI just didn’t bother to tell you folks. All I know is that I have to take about half my troopers and my entire tactical response unit off this site to assist with the motorcade.”
“Is the president on board?” said Andie.
“That’s what I’m told,” said the lieutenant. “Harry Swyteck is with him.”
“How do you know that?” said Schwartz.
“That part was on the news.”
“The news?” said Schwartz.
Andie raced inside the command center and checked the television monitor. Jack and the anchorwoman were still on the left side of the
Schwartz came up behind her, and Andie’s heart sank.
“So much for convincing Demetri that the president isn’t watching.”
“The hell with that,” said Schwartz. “I wasn’t just puffing my rank when I said Air Force One couldn’t land in Miami without me knowing about it.”
“So what do you make of that?”
“I want to know who’s keeping you and me out of the loop,” he said. “And why.”
Andie paused. Thursday’s telephone conversation with Stan White, the ASAC from the Washington field office, was replaying in her mind-when he told her “there is something you need to understand about Harry Swyteck.” It suddenly made perfect sense to her that Miami was “out of the loop,” so to speak.
“Were you about to say something?” said Schwartz.
Again she paused. If Schwartz didn’t know what Washington knew about Harry, it wasn’t her place to tell him.
“No,” said Andie. “I wasn’t going to say anything.”
Chapter 49
Jack glanced across the news set to see him standing in front of the flat-screen television mounted on the wall.
Shannon leaned closer to Jack and whispered, “Is that Air Force One?”
The television was a good forty feet away, too far for Jack to read the news banner at the bottom. But the red, white, and blue Boeing 747 was unmistakable.
“It sure is,” said Jack.
“Do you see that?” said Demetri, as he stepped toward his hostages. “You see how seriously they are taking this?”
Shannon whispered, “He’s delusional.”
Jack knew that he wasn’t, but he didn’t argue with her.
Every half hour or so, Demetri had been doing fifty push-ups at a time to keep alert as the night wore one, and he definitely had renewed energy in his step as he crossed the set and looked into the camera.
“All you doubters out there who have been watching on your televisions at home, do you understand how important this is? How important
Shannon said, “If he thinks the president flew down here to negotiate with him, we’re in bigger trouble than I thought.”
“Just don’t panic,” said Jack.
Demetri’s television address was gaining momentum, his excitement growing. “
Shannon leaned closer and whispered, “I have a nail file.”
“What?” said Jack. He was trying to hear Demetri talk.
“It’s the metal kind with the pointy tip, like a knife. I found it in the bathroom and hid it in my hair.”
Jack checked her hairdo. It was full enough to hide a machete.
Shannon said, “All we have to do is get Pedro to step out from behind the camera and come over here. He can take it from me and then he can-” She paused, as if it were difficult for her to speak of such things. “Pedro can slit his throat.”
“That’s a suicide mission.”
“You got a better idea?”
Jack’s gaze swept toward Demetri, who was still speaking to his television audience.
“A word of warning,” said Demetri, almost shouting with renewed energy. “If sending down Air Force One is part of a strategy to stall, I got no sense of humor for it. That money-all five hundred thousand dollars-still needs to be here at six A.M., period. No extensions.”
Jack whispered, “Okay, let’s assume we can get Pedro over here and that he can get it out of your hair without Demetri noticing. Do you have any idea how hard it is to overtake an armed man and slit his throat with a nail file?”
“No, do you?”
“It’s hard,” said Jack.
“But not impossible?”
Jack’s thoughts suddenly flashed back to Eddie Goss, a former client on death row who had decapitated one of his victims with nothing more than brute strength and a nylon stocking.
“No,” said Jack. “Not impossible.”
“Then we have a plan. You got a problem with that?”
Jack glanced again at the Greek. He was down doing push-ups again, this time for the television audience.
“Is Pedro a former navy SEAL?”
“No,” she said.
“Green Beret?”
“Pedro? Heck no.”
“Then yeah,” said Jack. “I got a big problem with that.”
As the ground crew tended to Air Force One, Harry ducked into the bathroom and placed another call to his
