Things were going wrong, but Lark Barlow had always known there was a good chance that would happen. Good planning could eliminate a lot of unwanted possibilities, but it couldn't account for everything. Real life was full of flukes.
There were mistakes that could be made, too, and he wasn't egotistical enough to believe that he was perfect. Looking back on it now, he knew he should've had Jade---Brooke, there was no need for pseudonyms now.....kill Calhoun Weaver during one of the many times when she'd had the chance. Weaver had fallen for her; he never would've suspected anything until it was too late.
Barlow had been confident that he and his men could handle Weaver, though, and besides....
He wasn't sure Brooke would've killed the big son of a bitch even if he had ordered her to. He was starting to think that maybe he couldn't depend on Brooke as much as he believed he could.
For the moment, though, he had no choice but to depend on her, because he had two men down and only Brooke and two other men to help him keep dozens of prisoners under control. She certainly seemed like she was trying to play her role, holding her gun steady and keeping a menacing scowl on her face as she helped herd all the hostages together.
When they'd swept the whole floor and had everybody huddled together, trembling in fear, in the middle of the big room, Barlow took out his radio to check with the other floors. It still worked, although it was just a matter of time until the authorities jammed this frequency, too. He had heard what sounded like shots somewhere on the upper floors of the library, and he fervently hoped that meant Calhoun Weaver was dead.
"Bart," Barlow said into the radio. "Report."
"First floor's under control," Bart responded immediately, which made Barlow feel a little better. "We've got a campus rent-a-cop here, but he's not giving us any trouble. What happened down there? We heard a lot of yelling and shooting. I wanted to come help you, but...."
"But you knew better than to abandon your posts," Barlow interrupted him. "That's good, Bart. I knew I could count on you. We had a few problems. Weaver managed to give us the slip. He's loose somewhere in the building, so keep your eyes peeled."
"Weaver! Son of a---I knew that guy was gonna drop a heavy load of shit on us, Lark. We should've killed him when we had the chance."
Brooke was close enough she had to hear what Bart said. Barlow turned a little, not wanting to see her glaring defensively at him.
"We'll deal with it," he said calmly. "Just stay alert and keep your prisoners under control. They're going to give us what we want, you know that."
"They damn well better!"
With that, Bart terminated the connection.
Barlow grimaced and used the radio to call the second floor, saying, "Derb, check in."
"We're here," a voice came back. "No problems so far. We've got seventeen prisoners, and I'm pretty sure they're all accounted for."
"We need better than 'pretty sure,'" Barlow snapped. "Sweep the floor until you're sure."
"We've done that. I'm sure now." Derb's voice showed the strain they were all under. "It was just a figure of speech, Lark. You don't need to worry about us. I heard shooting up on the 3rd floor a little while ago, though. Something happened up there, and it didn't sound good."
"I know," Barlow said. Actually, he hadn't been able to narrow it down until now where the shots had come from, but he trusted Derb's reports that the trouble had been on the 3rd floor. "Is it still going on?"
"Nope. Quiet up there now. Should of us go...."
"No!" Barlow said. "You stay right where you are. We can't start running around all over the building. Things'll get crazy if we do. We need to stick to the plan."
"Got it."
Barlow broke the connection this time. He switched the radio to the band he had assigned to the men on the third floor and said, "Johnny? You there?"
This time there was no answer.
Barlow had sent three men to the 3rd floor to round up everyone who was in the Special Collections rooms. That had seemed like enough. He had to think for 1 second to remember who'd been with Johnny. When he did, he said into the radio. "Jeff? Doug?"
Still no response except science.
Barlow lowered the radio. It might not be working, he told himself. It was still possible that everything was all right up there.
But not likely, he thought. Not likely at all. And there was only one way to find out whether it was or not.
He looked at Brooke and said. "I'm going up there."
"We can't afford to lose you, Lark," she said as she shook her head. "Let me go. I---I owe it to you for letting things get out of hands earlier."
"You don't owe me anything," he told her. "You've done everything I've asked you to."
"I should have pulled the trigger as soon as I shoved this gun into Calhoun's side."
"He might have still been able to kill me if you had."
She couldn't argue with that, but she still said, "I want to go. I won't let you down."
It was true that, looking at the situation from a completely pragmatic viewpoint, he could afford to lose her more than any of the others. Even though she'd trained for this mission as hard as anyone else, she wasn't as good at handling violence as the men were.
However, she had an advantage none of the rest of them did: Barlow knew good and well that if she ran into Calhoun Weaver, he would hesitate before pulling the trigger on her. That hesitation, even if it was just a split second, might be enough to make all the difference.
"All right," he said. "Go ahead. But be careful. And if you see Weaver...."
"Don't worry. I know what to do."
He just hoped she could actually do it.352Please respect copyright.PENANAAuz3iuInYt
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A middle-aged woman with graying brown hair rushed at Calhoun as soon as he stepped out of the stairwell. He had to restrain the impulse to point the pistol at her. It was like one of those drills where you m oved through a fake village and cardboard cutouts popped up without warning, giving you only a second to decide if they were innocent civilians or legitimate targets.
He lifted the gun in both hands and pointed it toward the ceiling, giving the woman the chance to rush up to him and throw her arms around him.
"Oh, thank God, thank God!" she said. "I thought we were all going to die!" After hugging Calhoun tightly for a moment, she leaned back a little and went on, "Are you a cop? A soldier?"
He smiled and said, "A grad student, ma'am."
She started at him in amazement. His answer clearly seemed unbelievable to her. Finally, she said, "You're not one of those----terrorists?"
"No, ma'am." He looked around, saw several more people peeking over drinks. "Are any of you hurt?"
"N--no. When that man showed up, all of us cooperated with him. Maybe we shouldn't have...."
"No, you did the right thing," Calhoun told her. "You're not trained or equipped to deal with people like that."
"What's happened? We heard shots, and what sounded like an explosion....." She shuddered. "That horrible man said he and his friends were going to kill all of us if they didn't get what they wanted."
"That was the idea," Calhoun said, "but we all have something to say about that. The bad guys don't win unless we let 'em."
The woman frowned and commented. "I must say, that doesn't sound like what I usually here the students here at Stonewall talking about."
"I'm not the usual student." Calhoun motioned with his free hand to the other office workers who had been terrorized. "Come on, folks." He turned his head to look at the door to the stairs. "You, too, Donald."
Donald came out of the stairwell and asked, "What are we gonna do now, Cal?"
Instead of answering him, Calhoun asked the older woman, "Is there a way to get to the roof from in here? Guys have to be able to get up there to work on the air-conditioning system and such."
She shook her head and said, "Not from in here, I'm afraid. Maintenance workers have to bring in one of those tall lifts if they need to work on anything on the roof. I've seen 'em do it many times."
Calhoun bit back a curse. He'd been hoping that he could take all the hostages from the third and fourth floors up to the roofs and signal for the cops to evac them with a chopper. Evidently, though, that wasn't going to happen.
"All right, you'll all stay here. Find someplace to hole up. A small office, maybe, or just move those desks and filing cabinets around and make a shelter from them. Donald, you'll be staying here, too."
"I thought I'd stick with you and help you," the young man objected.
"You've been a big help already," Calhoun told him. "I need somebody I can trust to leave here and look after these people."
"You trust me? We don't agree on much of anything, Cal."
"You talking about politics?" Calhoun waved his free hand dismissively. "You've heard the old saying about how there are no atheists in foxholes?"
"What's a foxhole?" Donald asked with a puzzled frown.
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"Never mind. Just know that labels like liberal and conservative don't mean much when you're fighting for your life and the lives of innocent people. So yeah, I trust you. I've seen what you can do."
Donald nodded. He glanced at the gun in his hand and still seemed to find it hard to comprehend he was holding a weapon, but he said, "I won't let you down, Cal. But what're you going to do?"
"Nothing left for me to do except head back down. I'd hoped to get some of the hostages out of the building to safety, but I don't see any way of doing that now." He shrugged. "At least I've whittled down the odds quite a bit. Now's the time to go after Barlow, while he's weakened."352Please respect copyright.PENANAQr2IRD3tYL
"He's not alone, though," Donald pointed out. "He's still got gunmen around himn.
Calhoun nodded. He was all too aware of the truth of what Donald was saying.
And one of those allies Barlow still had on his side was Brooke Tucker---or Jade, as Barlow had called her. Calhoun couldn't help but wonder how he had gotten her to fall for his line. Then he realized it didn't matter. No matter what had happened in the past, Brooke was the enemy now. He had no doubt that she would kill him without hesitating if she got the chance.
The question was, could he do the same?
He honestly didn't know the answer.
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