Chris sat back and took a moment to evaluate what she had just heard and her position. She had only two years with the CIA and had few opportunities to shine, despite spending five years with the DEA on the front lines. She was uniquely qualified for this role; Jim Simpson and Matthew were friends and Yury had asked for her. She knew that no other person was in a better position to handle this assignment. Chris accepted the challenge, knowing full well that failure would destroy her career with the CIA. That was okay as long as the hostages were released safely.
She called her boss. “John, I just got off the phone with the leader of the terrorists that took over Shorewood High School. The team needs to hear this right away. He gave me a list of demands.”
“Why did he call you? What are the demands?”
“John, I’ll tell you why later. You need to hear the recording.” Chris knew that giving her boss the demands over the phone would only serve to start the posturing and delay the decision making.
“Okay, I’ll be in the conference room in ten minutes.”
“I suggest you notify the Director, this is big and time is of the essence.” Her boss might have called the Director anyway, but now he had no choice.
Chris hung up and immediately dialed a friend in tech support. “Gary, Chris Lewis here. I need someone to do a voice recognition analysis of the phone message that just appeared in your inbox. We need it in ten minutes, or less.”
“Come on, Chris, get serious, I can’t do it that fast.”
“Gary, if it helps, I think the voice belongs to a Yury Kulayev, the Chechnya terrorist that was involved in the 9/1/2004 school massacre in Russia. Also, see if you know where he is.”
“Yes, he might be involved. Ten minutes, Gary. I’ll owe you big-time. Call me on my cell, or better yet, come to the main conference room and tell the Director yourself.”
Chris noticed Gary slip into the conference room just as the replay of recording was ending. Chris had already briefed the Director and the 23 agents, starting with the phone call she received from Coach Simpson. Chris then allowed the recording to speak for itself.
The Director asked the obvious question. “Are we sure it’s Yury?”
Chris looked at Gary, who nodded yes. “Gary Choate has just done a voice analysis of the recording. Gary what did you find?”
It’s any employee’s dream to have an opportunity to perform directly to the top man in the organization; CIA agents were no different. It was particularly satisfying when the news you brought was vital. Gary did not disappoint the Director. “It’s definitely Yury Kulayev, I am 99% sure,” he said with confidence.
“How could it be Yury?” one of the pompous assistant directors asked. “He was sentenced to life imprisonment.”
“He was pardoned six months ago,” Gary replied calmly. “In fact, Homeland Security has a photo of him entering the United States, via LaGuardia airport, four days ago.” Gary had just earned a sizeable bonus and possible promotion.
The Director interrupted the murmurs and side conversations that erupted after this unsettling news. “Okay, it’s Yury. Now what are we going to do about it.”
“Let’s put together a negotiation team and see what else he really wants, $500M is ridiculous,” the pompous assistant director stated forcefully. He seemed to have forgotten that Chris Lewis was in the room.
“Homeland Security and the FBI will want to be involved,” another high level bureaucrat said.
“What about local law enforcement?” an agent asked.
Chris wanted to scream, but was distracted by her cell phone vibrating on the conference table. She recognized the number and held up her hand for silence. “Yury, what can I do for you.”
She waited for Yury’s response as the 25 men around the conference table sat in hushed silence. “Yes, the Director is here. I’ll put you on speakerphone if I can figure out how. Hold on a second.”
Chris depressed the mute button and looked at the Director. “Yury’s not stupid. He figures by this time we have verified his identity and are trying to figure out your next step. Do you want me to put it on speaker phone or should I tell him my phone doesn’t have speaker phone capabilities.” Chris wanted to give the Director the option of not talking with the terrorist directly – a negotiating and cover-your-ass ploy used frequently.
The Director understood. “Put him on speaker, we don’t have any time to waste.”
Chris’ respect for the Director was always good, but increased dramatically. Sitting behind a desk had not dulled his instincts. “Go ahead, Yury, you are on speaker.”
“Director Vance, I know you are a busy man so I won’t waste a lot of your time. You heard the tape of our phone call and listened to my demands. Be assured, they are non-negotiable. Agent Lewis asked me to release the dead and wounded. I’m doing that as we speak, and am happy to report that there are no dead.” Sighs of relief could be heard from around the conference table.
“It’s now 10:00 AM, which gives you three hours to produce Mathew Wilson. There will be no time extensions. Understood?”
The Director contemplated his limited options. No one else dared to speak. “Director,” Yury said waiting for a response.
Chris grabbed the cell phone from the table and depressed the mute button again. “Let me ask if we can trade 500 hostages for Matthew.”
The Director nodded his approval. It would diminish his stature if he personally negotiated the numbers.
“Yury, this is Chris, I have a proposal for you. As you know, Matthew is a personal friend of mine. That’s why he called me when this started.”
“What’s your point?”
“Matthew Wilson is the most famous and popular high school student in America. Asking him to voluntarily surrender to you is something I couldn’t support, unless of course, we received something of equal value in return.”
“Like what?”
“Matthew in exchange for all the hostages?” Chris said in a level tone, trying to ignore the looks of amazement from the Director and everyone else in the room. “What balls,” someone muttered.
Yury didn’t think it was funny. “You’re kidding, aren’t you?”
“No, I’m not kidding. It’ll make things easier for you. Right now you’re probably trying to pack everyone into the gymnasium like sardines.”
Chris knew this is what the terrorists had done at the Besian school.
“In the basketball hoop, there were three bombs taped up, and one on each backboard. There were wires going to a pedal on the floor that served as a detonator. One of the terrorists always had a foot on the pedal. People were stuffed into the gym like herring in a barrel.”
“300 hostages,” Yury countered.
“1,000,” Chris counter offered. “That leaves you with over 700 hostages,” Chris lied, stretching the truth to suit her purpose. “That’s more than enough.”
“800, take it or leave it, half now and half after Matthew Wilson is delivered,” Yury said, obviously tired of arguing. “And I want the $500M wire transferred to a Swiss account before any other hostages are released.”
Chris looked at the Director for his approval. “Agreed,” said the Director, “but you won’t get to spend the money if you harm Matthew Wilson or any of the other hostages. Understood?”
“Of course, Director Vance. Why would we want to harm the hostages if you give us what we request? You have less than three hours to produce Matthew Wilson. Caio.”
The call was terminated and Chris sat back, a shock of exhaustion overwhelming her. “Well done, Chris,” the Director said as Chris accepted congratulations from the other agents. Even the pompous assistant director profusely gave his congratulations. “I didn’t realize we already had a professional negotiator on the team; great job special agent.”
Coach Simpson was in for a surprise as he roamed the underground passageway that housed the plumbing and electrical grid for the school. It was almost pitch dark and he had no flashlight. He turned a corner and gasped as he ran sm
ack dab into the chest of another man. Fearing the worst, he stepped back and lashed out with the letter opener, but missed. He stepped in closer and thrust his weapon upward, hoping to find his attacker’s throat. Instead, he felt a vice-like grip on his wrist and a huge hand pressed against his chest, driving him back against the wall. He managed to drive his right knee into his adversary’s groin and received no small amount of satisfaction when his opponent groaned and released his hold on his wrist. Coach lashed out again, but his time his opponent stepped inside his arm and drove a fist into his stomach. The man was apparently done fooling around.
“Enough,” Coach gasped, “I give up.”
“Coach, is that you?”
“Matthew?” Simpson managed to gasp. “Why did you hit me so hard?”
“Cause you were trying to kill me,” Matthew answered, laughing as he slid to the floor next to Coach. Both men sat and enjoyed the moment, at least as much as you can enjoy a moment after a kick in the groin.
“What are we going to do, Matthew? I saw three of them and got the feeling there were a lot more. How about you?”
“I’m not sure, Coach. I was in the bathroom when they came and didn’t see anyone. I heard the gunfire and managed to get into the air conditioning ducts and slip into the tunnel before they found me.”
“Are they after you?” Coach asked.
“Yeah, they’re after me. I heard them talking through a grate.”
“They were all talking in some foreign language,” Coach replied. “Could you understand them?”
“Russian, specifically Chechen, the language of Chechnya,” Matthew answered. “I lived two years in Russia and speak Chechen well. Yeah, they are after me.”
“Well, at least Chris Lewis is working on it.” Coach told Matthew about the phone call.
“Let’s give her a call and see what she learned.”
Chris accepted the accolades from her peers and superiors that reached its zenith when television cameras showed hundreds of students being released from the school; the entire sophomore class as reporters soon learned. Chris was pleased but was eager to get on with the job. “Director, we have two good men loose inside the school, Matthew and Coach Simpson. They will help us if we can come up with a plan. I have an idea that might work.”
“Go on,” the Director replied leaning forward in his chair, not displeased by the assertiveness of this young agent. In fact, he was down-right proud that they were still producing agents with balls and creativity. He was tired of being surrounded by yes-men.
“I don’t know where Matthew is, but Coach Simpson mentioned he was heading for the tunnels. These tunnels run under the school and provide maintenance workers with access to the plumbing and electrical grids. That means he can probably kill the electricity. Gary is working on getting us the schematics,” Chris said, as Gary slipped out of the conference room.
“What does that get us?” an agent asked. “The utility company can shut off the power from the street or central office.”
“I know, but they can’t do it selectively or at exactly the right moment. Look, Yury has probably wired the building with explosive; doors windows, whatever. Let’s ask ourselves, how many ways are there to detonate the explosives?” Chris hesitated a moment and let her question set in before continuing. “Sure, they can light a fuse or toss a grenade, but I’ll bet most of the explosives …”
“are detonated by breaking an electrical circuit,” the Director interrupted, finishing Chris’ thought.
“Cell phones or radio waves could also be used as detonators,” a senior agent volunteered, but was interrupted by several men that completed his thought.
“but we can jam the signals,” several agents said in unison.
“It might work,” the CIA explosives expert agreed. “We really need to see the explosives and detonators to make sure. Chris, can we contact Coach Simpson?”
Matthew Wilson always had that uncanny ability to seemingly read a person’s thoughts or do things just at the right time, like when he showed up at Coach’s house just when Chris was questioning how the ‘We Kick Ass’ money was being spent. They had no sooner sat down for dinner when the doorbell rang. There was Matthew inviting himself to dinner and later providing an Audit Report showing how the money was spent. The timing was uncanny. Chris’ cell phone vibrated and she wasn’t surprised to find it was Matthew.
“Where you been Matthew? People have been looking for you,” Chris started easily, letting the CIA people know it was him.”Are you okay?”
“I’m fine; Coach and I are just sitting here talking. What can you tell me?” Chris quickly brought him up to speed including the terrorist demand that Matthew surrenders by 1 PM.
“That doesn’t give us much time. Do you have a plan?”
“Wait, I’ll put you on speaker. I’m with Director Vance and a group of interested people. He can outline our plan. Okay, go ahead Director.”
“Matthew, a pleasure to meet with you although I wish it were under better circumstances. Are you willing to turn yourself in to the terrorists in exchange for the 800 hostages Chris negotiated?”
“Chris knows that I would exchange my life for one hostage. The other 799 are a tribute to her negotiating skills. Let’s use the two hours we have to good advantage. What can Coach and I do to help rescue the rest of the hostages?”
“Excuse me,” one of the CIA negotiators interrupted, “shouldn’t we consider giving them the $500M ransom and allowing them to go free?”
“It won’t do any good,” Matthew replied forcefully. “I know these people and believe me, this isn’t about money.”
“How can be sure?” the CIA negotiator continued. “Did you read their minds?” Chris and a few others gasped as they reacted to the rudeness of the man’s question and the obvious reference to one of the reasons the terrorists were here in the first place.
Coach Wilson tried to grab the phone from Matthew and respond to the question, but Matthew easily pushed him away and covered the mouthpiece with his other hand. “Coach, it won’t help the hostages to respond in kind. Let me handle this.”
“I understand your concern. We all want to find the best way to save these kids lives. You may change your mind after you hear some of the conversations I overheard. I’ll first state them in Chechen and then translate.” Five minutes later there was little doubt that the Russian terrorists intended to kill Matthew and all the hostages before escaping. “This will make the 9/1/2004 Besian, Russia massacre look like a picnic,” one terrorist bragged.
The CIA conference room was silent as they digested what they had heard.
The CIA negotiator wasn’t finished.“Nobody could be that cruel. Are we sure there isn’t another way? Maybe he misinterpreted the dialects? Chechen has about 44 vowels and up to 60 consonants, depending on the dialect,” he offered, trying to impress his boss with obscure information. “We can’t even find a translator at Langley.”
Chris had had enough and almost told this jerk to shut up, but wisely held her tongue. She knew that Matthew didn’t need her help.
“I know these people,” Matthew continued. “I lived in Russia for two years and traveled to Chechnya many times. I am fluent in Chechen. I understand how they think and what the Chechnya militants are after. They want notoriety, not money. They want the United States Government to put pressure on the Russian Government. They saw the President congratulate our school on the SAT scores and know President Bush will be personally involved in this crisis. They are using a five year old business dispute with my uncle as an excuse to take me and my high School hostage. They believe that embarrassing me and killing 700 hostages is their way to achieve Chechnya independence. Believe me; they will not hesitate to massacre these kids.”
The Director was convinced and responded quickly, effectively shutting off all discussion. He would deal with the negotiator later. “Matthew, are you and Coach in the tunnels beneath the school?”
“Yes.”
“Good,
this should you the ability to do some recon work. Can you get to the main electrical room?”
“Yes, Coach knows where it is.”
“Good, we are studying the circuitry now and might want to selectively cut the power to certain areas when the time is right. We’ll get back to you on this.”
“Okay, Coach will handle that. I might be tied up by then.”
“Is there any way you can get us a description of how the explosive charges are wired on the doors and wherever else they have them?”
“Better yet, I’ll upload pictures if I can get close enough.”
“Can you see where the hostages are being held? Are they tied up?”
“I’ll get back to you on that. I assume they’re in the gym, but I’m not sure if that’s all of them.”
“Matthew, this is Chris. Any suggestions as to how I should negotiate with Yury? Is there any way to get more hostages released, just in case?”
“Just in case what?” Matthew asked, feigning ignorance.
“Grow up, Matthew, you’re acting like a 17 year old,” Chris said with a grin. The words were harsh, but there was love and tenderness in her voice.
“There are a lot of 17 year olds here, let’s see how many of us can reach 18 or 19, and heaven forbid, thirty. Let me see if I can get another couple hundred people released before I turn myself in. I think you pushed him far enough and ought to concentrate on making sure that he doesn’t do anything stupid.”
“What do you think about storming the school just when you turn yourself in?” and agent asked. “They might be distracted.”
“Good thinking, but let’s wait. I might be able to get some kids released early and I also want some time to get the rest of them ready.”
“Ready for what?” Director Vance asked
“Ready to kick some ass,” Matthew replied softly.
Chapter 20 - Pressure Free Throws