Born to Run

his hair out in frustration.

“You think you can take control away from me?” he said. “Is that it? Because if that is what’s going through your head, you need to give it up right now.”

“You have to trust me on this,” said Andie. “It’s not about control. I’m just trying to keep everyone on an even keel here. I can’t do that if you hang up on me. Just stay on the line till we figure out what happened.”

“I need to be on the air.”

“Like I said, we are going to do our best to make that happen.”

“You got ten minutes,” he said, and she could hear the anger in his voice. “Or Swyteck is the first to die.”

Chapter 52

President Keyes gripped the telephone tightly, biting back his anger. Harry Swyteck was still in the bathroom, leaving the president alone in the executive suite of Air Force One. But if Agent Madera had been there with him, the president probably would have slugged him.

“Who do you think you’re talking to, Frank?”

“The better question is who am I talking for.”

Like so many times before, the president held his tongue. Even though he was speaking on his encrypted personal phone line, he feared the mere mention of the name Joseph Dinitalia.

“I’m fed up with this,” said the president.

“It will be over before dawn.”

“I don’t mean the standoff. I mean this whole…arrangement.”

“It’s not going to change.”

“I’m sick and tired of you telling me what to do.”

“That’s not going to change either.”

“Did you hear what I said? I’m tired of it.”

Madera scoffed. “Do you think you’re the first politician in history to feel this way?”

“I think-”

“We don’t care what you think,” said Madera. “Listen to me. You need to assert yourself with the Critical Incident Response Group. Go straight to the director if you have to. No FBI SWAT. Get Swyteck’s father to sing the same chant.”

“I thought we wanted SWAT to go in.”

“Not ours. If the FBI unleashes its own SWAT, there is no guarantee that they’ll make the kill. I have the local SWAT on board. You need to rein in the FBI and make way for the Miami-Dade police.”

Keyes considered it, then answered in a firm voice. “No.”

“Excuse me?”

“I’m not going to do it.”

Madera said, “I can’t let FBI SWAT go in. I need a guaranteed kill shot.”

“That’s not my problem.”

“Yes, it is. I convinced MDPD to shut down the broadcast. Now, the FBI thinks he’s going to hurt the hostages. If you don’t rein them in, the only way to keep FBI SWAT from busting down the doors is for MDPD to put the Greek back on the air. And if that happens, there’s no telling what he might say.”

“I’m not going to strong-arm the FBI or do anything else that might put Harry’s son at risk. That’s where I draw the line.”

“That’s funny, because you sure seemed willing to draw the line differently when it came to Phil Grayson.”

“I’m going to ignore that,” said the president. “You’re on your own this time.”

“I’m losing my patience.”

“Join the club.”

“You’ve picked the wrong time to find a backbone.”

The president walked around to the other side of his desk, where there was a framed photograph of his mother and father looking back at him.

“Like I told you, Frank,” he said as he stepped toward the door, “I’m tired of you and everyone else telling me what to do. That’s the last I have to say about it.”

The door to the executive suite opened, giving Harry a start. The president hung up his phone.

“How long have you been standing there?” said the president.

“Not long.”

The president seemed unconvinced, but he stepped aside, allowed Harry to enter, and closed the door. He directed Harry to sit, which he did.

“Let me ask you again,” said the president. “How long were you standing out there?”

Harry shrugged. “Maybe a minute.”

The president walked behind his desk and took a seat. He looked directly at Harry but said nothing for about sixty seconds, as if to make his point. Finally, he said, “A minute can be a very long time.”

“Long enough, I suppose,” said Harry.

The president leaned forward, his hands folded on top of the desk. “Long enough for what?”

Harry also leaned forward in his chair-just enough to convey that he was not intimidated. Harry said, “Long enough to know that you were on the telephone with Frank Madera.”

The president tightened his glare, but Harry didn’t flinch.

“You said something about being tired,” said Harry. “And it had nothing to do with being sleepy.”

“Look, I don’t know what you think you heard, but things are not always as they seem.”

“You can say that again.”

The president was silent.

Harry said, “There’s something I want you to know, Mr. President.”

“Tell me.”

“I know so much more than you realize. Everyone from Marilyn Grayson to this Demetri character has pumped me full of suspicions.”

“Well, you’re wrong if you think for one minute that-”

“Please,” said Harry, halting him, “let me finish. There’s something else you need to know.”

Harry leaned closer still, resting his forearms on the edge of the president’s desk.

“I don’t give a rat’s ass about any of it. All I want is to get my son out of that newsroom alive. So I need you to tell me the truth. The whole ugly, stinking truth.”

Chapter 53

Jack felt Shannon’s body press against his. They were still seated on the floor in front of the news desk, and the cameraman was there, too. Pedro lay on his side next to Jack, coiled in the fetal position, recovering from the beating. He was so out of it that Demetri hadn’t even bothered to bind his wrists.

“Do you see it?” Shannon whispered.

She nuzzled against his chest, pretending to be asleep. Jack lowered his eyes. Tucked into her hair, the pointed metal nail file glistened beneath the studio lights.

“Yes,” he whispered back.

“Get it to Pedro,” she said.

Jack glanced to his right. Pedro was conscious but grimacing in pain. “He’s no help,” said Jack.

“Then cut yourself loose with it,” she whispered.

It was a huge long shot, but fighting back seemed like their only option now, with Demetri at T-minus-ten-