To act out of urgency could be the worst mistake possible. While the situation was far removed from baseball, Jake knew the importance of impulse control. On the mound, urgency would cost him mechanics and control. Here it could cost lives. No other approach but patience would work. But holding still was pure torture. Jake was aggressive enough to go after these mongrels, and relentless enough to pursue them all to their graves, but what he needed right now was control.
Jake knew the stages of diabetic crisis the way he knew his guns and his pitches. His son’s blood sugar level was below fifty. Maybe as low as thirty. Maybe lower. Andy was probably past the stage at which the liver released its stored glucose and various hormones started to activate.
“Wake up, Andy!”
It sounded to Jake like his son had lost consciousness only recently. Either way, Andy was in insulin shock now. His body systems were breaking down. How long could he hold on? Minutes? An hour? Jake came in here thinking there would be some way to get Andy his medicine. He had more thinking to do.
There was time, but not much time.
If Andy had anything, however, it was an indomitable spirit. What else had made his son stand up to confront the foremost expert on EMPs? What else gave him the courage to go head-to-head with Ryan Coventry? He had demanded that Jake dismantle his bug-out location. He had made his own arrangements to meet his estranged mother. These were signs of a boy becoming a man, and Andy had a strong will. Jake knew this about his son.
Ultimately, Jake had no recourse left but to believe Andy could endure for a while longer. When the moment was right, Jake would strike. But not yet. No, it would endanger too many lives.
Hidden belowground with his camo-painted face and a headlamp strapped to his forehead, Jake looked something like a bedraggled coal miner up on those movable stairs. He took in every scream, every shout, all the garbled chatter.
A bellow rose above the other sounds, a holler of sorts, a true warrior’s cry. A cacophony of noises erupted again before a man’s voice cut through the din, loud and clear, chilling, almost gleeful.
“The little one is kicking your ass, Inigo,” the man said.
Laughter and grunts and other noises continued for a while longer until three loud claps, short bangs, put a stop to the bedlam. Jake knew a gunshot when he heard one. His throat seized and his vision went dark. They killed them, he thought. Somebody just got shot. Jake pressed his shoulder against the underside of the trapdoor, and made sure the safety on the AK-47 was off. This was it. Guns would blaze and he would do everything in his power to save these kids or die trying. No choice. He’d been shown his call to action, all right.
Jake took in a deep, readying breath and he counted.
Three… two… one…
The man spoke again. Instead of charging, Jake held his ground.
“Everyone, get back in your seats, right now! I want the kids in the front row. The games, this fun, it is all over. I am going to tell you now why nobody is coming to your rescue. And why you are all about to die.”
Every organ in Jake’s body seemed to deflate. They were alive-the kids, everyone, even Andy. For now. Those shots were meant to get their attention and nothing more.
Jake slung his rifle over his shoulder to free his hands, and put his ear up against the trapdoor, not wanting to miss a word. For a few moments, all he heard were footsteps as orders were followed and people took their seats. How many people? How many good guys and how many bad? Couldn’t say. Right now, he suspected that Pixie, Andy, Rafa, David, and perhaps Hilary, the “chica” the man had mentioned, were all captives. Jake remembered another kid in that group, a boy named Solomon. Perhaps he was in the auditorium as well. As for the captors, Jake heard only one voice clearly, the rest hard to distinguish. Could be three, could be five, could be more.
The sound of footsteps and creaking chairs gave way to a hollow silence. The familiar voice spoke. Jake believed he was the alpha.
“What did you do to that boy?” “Alpha” asked.
A girl said, “I gave him a glucagon injection. He was dying.”
Relief washed over Jake. The girl who spoke had to be Hilary, he was certain. Jake didn’t know how she had done it, but he suspected whatever it was had taken tremendous courage. The injection would stabilize Andy.
Jake would backtrack and alert Ellie to the location of the hostages. He could even give them the location of the kids inside the auditorium-“front row,” Alpha had said. It would be valuable intel for the police and rescue teams. Jake didn’t trust the police or the FBI at all, not one bit, but his options were limited. He was outmanned and heavily outgunned. The right thing to do was stand down, but he would not vacate the premises. No. Never. Jake would remain underground, and operate as an asset for the police to utilize as they saw fit. With the correct frequency and channel information, he could sneak aboveground to use his two-watt Motorola radio for communications.
Alpha spoke again. “So fine, he’s not dead. Not yet. But listen. This was not how things should have gone. Este no era el plan. We should have been alone. This place should have been-what is the word in English-evacuado-”
A different voice spoke up. “Evacuated.”
The first man said, “Ah, yes, ‘evacuated.’ Good word. We should have been alone, in this evacuated school long enough to get the money you stole, or kill you all and we get away. Then we had the little problem. A woman shows up here and she’s the one who gets away.” Alpha sounded incredulous, as if meeting God would be a more conceivable outcome. “I lose my temper, and then I lose some men, and, well, here we are together in this big room. And maybe you think you stay quiet long enough, you get rescued. But nobody is coming to your rescue. Now, you may ask yourself, ‘Fausto, why is this? Why no rescue?’” A lengthy pause ensued, like a question posed to a classroom of students who did not know the answer. “The reason is because I have lied to them.”
Jake had another new piece of information of potential importance to share with the authorities. He knew Alpha’s name.
Fausto.
A thought came to Jake. These blood-soaked corpses must have been killed over some failure on their part. Somehow they had caused the master plan to go awry; and for that, they had paid a dear price. The woman Fausto mentioned had to be Laura. Jake guessed that Laura had seen what was happening inside the auditorium. Perhaps she came looking for Andy and somehow managed to escape. During a pursuit, they shot her, but she had already reached the woods and they couldn’t confirm the kill.
Listening to Fausto speak at length gave Jake a better sense of his accent, too, which he thought was from Latin America, maybe Mexico? His native tongue was Spanish, for sure.
“Do you not believe me?” Fausto asked. “Do you think I lie to you?”
There was no response. This was a lecture, not a conversation.
“I promise they will wait and not come charging in,” Fausto said. “They will try to find the dirty bomb, but there is no dirty bomb. We will… vamos a darle atole con el dedo.” Fausto made a frustrated noise. “Oh, what is the meaning in English? To make them think… to lead… to… to…”
“To string them along.”
The sharp-edged voice that spoke was Hilary’s.
Jake heard Fausto say, “Yes! That’s good. String them along while we torture you like Javier and kill you, unless you give me what I want. Even if I don’t live, which is a very good chance now, you see, I get my boss his money. I do my duty. Now you must do yours. Give me the money you took and maybe we come to some other arrangement. Maybe we just leave you here alive and we try to get away. Okay? But no money, no live. This, my young friends, is the choice you now face.” Fausto clapped his hands. “Now, who the fuck has my money?”