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That was her favorite Italian restaurant, and it was just around the corner from home. Its name essentially translated to “joy restaurant,” and their food lived up to the promise. She felt her spirits lift with every bite. Having that to look forward to would carry her through. “Actually, how about you pick it up and come to my place?”
“Ooh, I like the way you think.”
“Mind out of the gutter. Besides, Liv will probably be around. Though she likely won’t have any interest in hanging with us old folks for long before she retreats to her bedroom.”
“Liv? No big deal. I even like her. She’s not bad for a teenager,” he teased. “Then I’ll pick up dinner for three. The favorites. Your place tomorrow at six?”
She appreciated that Eric never took issue with Olivia. “Sounds incredible.” She’d hold on to the prospect of tomorrow night to get her through the negotiations. Speaking of, Corey’s Grocer came into view. “I’ve gotta go, Eric, but I look forward to our dinner.”
“Good luck. Though I know you make your own.”
She turned the radio off when they disconnected. The clock on the dash read7:57 PMwhen she pulled into the lot. It had taken an hour even to get here, fifteen minutes longer than the usual drive time, but that wasn’t bad considering she’d stopped for a bite to eat.
The grocery store was in a small plaza with a bank, a hair salon, and a doctor’s office. She was flagged down by a uniformed officer and directed to stop with a raised hand. A reporter beat him to her car and rapped on the driver’s window.
“Diana Wesson withPWC News,” she said through the glass.
“Go. Scram.” The uniformed officer came over and shooed her and her tailing cameraman away. Next, he gestured for Sandra to lower her window, which she did. “This vicinity is closed to the public,” he said.
“FBI Special Agent Vos, here to relieve the primary negotiator.” She held up her credentials and was told to park closer to the road.
Police cruisers peppered the lot, and several uniformed officers stood behind them, using the vehicles as cover. Special Weapons and Tactics officers were present and easy to spot. All of them were suited for war, earning them the nickname in negotiation circles of Neanderthals or knuckle-draggers because their default was a physical response. For the CNU, it was about resolving situations with dialogue, as was their motto. But there were times a balance of both was needed. But in this case, four hours into a standoff was far too soon to seriously consider a breach or physical response.
The MCV, or mobile command vehicle, was positioned closer to the storefront. There were also a few ambulances and medics to the right of the MCV.
Twenty to thirty civilian vehicles were in the lot too and were likely registered to the hostages inside. A van marked withPWCNewswas parked across the street, and the reporter from a moment ago was gesticulating as she faced her cameraman and spoke with her back to the unfolding scene. But they weren’t the only network.
Sandra would be more surprised if the media wasn’t already here, but they had to go. They could make negotiations a tougher job by raising the stress level in the HT. Considering hostage takers were already under a significant amount of pressure, it was her job to reduce it. Cutting out what was controllable was crucial.
A thin man in his fifties was standing outside the command vehicle puffing away on a cigarette. He crushed the remainder of the butt on the ground as she approached.
She’d put on her bulletproof vest from her go-bag in the back of her car, but it was the FBI embroidered windbreaker over it that would announce her before she said a word. Still, she introduced herself. “FBI Special Agent Sandra Vos.”
“Lieutenant Drew Garrison, team leader. I’m the one who put the call in to the CNU.”
As team leader, Garrison was responsible for overseeing everything from the location of the MCV to assigning duties on scene.
“So is that Vos with one ‘s’ or two?”
“One. It’s the Dutch spelling.”
“Ah. Wooden shoes, wooden head, wooden listen.” He smiled, but she wasn’t amused. She’d certainly heard that one before. “My apologies. I didn’t mean to insult you or really mean anything by it.”
“It’s fine.” And it was. She wasn’t someone who was easily riled. It was a trait that served her well, as a good negotiator was a calm one.
“Come on, then, before I put my foot in my mouth again. Let me introduce you to the team, and we’ll get you up to speed.” Heheld the door to the vehicle for her and the smell of coffee drifted out. “After you.”
Before going up the steps, she looked across the street again. “We need the media out of here.”
“They’re like cockroaches, aren’t they? I’ve already sent an officer over to get rid of them, but it’s hard to banish them from a public sidewalk. You know with all their constitutional rights and the ‘people have a right to know’ mentality.”
“Depending on how things progress, they might need to preach that all the way to jail.”
Garrison smiled. “I like the way you think.”
Inside, the command vehicle was outfitted with the latest technology. Computers and monitor banks were on the wall with a live video feed showing the face of the building. She could see that the front windows of the store were blocked inside with what appeared to be shelving, and it told her something about the HT. The action of barricading indicated he was prepared to settle in and protect himself from the line of fire. It demonstrated intelligence and forethought. It also told her that he existed in reality, was able to calculate risk, and didn’t have a death wish.
There were three workstations, and a table with a semi-circle bench surrounding it, which was ideal for discussions and briefings. The situation board was within plain view, and Sandra took it in quickly from where she stood. It only offered the basics.Unidentified Male HT, armed, hostage count approx. 30-40.