CHAPTER FOURTEEN
eter sat in his home office studying laboratory reports on trace Psubstances found in a bomb that had exploded prematurely, killing two people. He had read the same paragraph at least three times.
Shoving his chair back from his desk, he keyed the volume control on the television in the corner. It was 7:42 a.m.
He had diligently watched each of Kate’s briefings live on CNN. So far, he gave her high marks for grace under fire. When 7:30 had come and gone without an update, he began to get restless. The reporter on the scene was filling air time, recapping what was already known and speculating on the reason for Kate’s tardiness.
At 7:49, Peter watched in stunned disbelief as Assistant Commissioner Paul Monroe stepped up to the microphones. The man looked exceedingly uncomfortable in front of the media mob. He held up his hands for silence.
“Katherine Kyle has been unavoidably detained. We hope to get you another update in the very near future. Please bear with us.”
He walked away from the microphones as a cascade of shouted questions rained down on him.
Peter thought he would be sick. Monroe’s appearance could mean only one thing: Kate was in some sort of trouble. Without a moment’s thought, he picked up the phone and called a private number at the airport.
“I need a charter. No, not for this afternoon. I need it right now.”
“Where are you going, sir?”
“The town of Attica, New York, or as close as you can get me.”
His next call was to Barbara. Without identifying himself he said,
“Have you been watching the news?”
“No, why?”
Lynn Ames
“It’s a long story, but suffice it to say there’s a situation going on at Attica, Kate is in the middle of it, and I have a horrible feeling that she’s in big trouble.”
“What can I do?”
“I need you to take Fred, for one thing.”
“Done. What else?”
“Kate hadn’t heard from Jay before she left. She asked me to pass along a message. Now I’ll ask you to do it if you hear from Jay.”
“Let me guess, you’re going to be out of range yourself.”
“Ah, you know me too well. My charter leaves in thirty-five minutes.”
“Peter, what do you think is happening out there, really?”
“My guess is Kate’s either been incapacitated in some way or she’s been taken hostage. I can’t fathom any other reason why she wouldn’t have done the update at 7:30 and why they would’ve put an inexperienced assistant commissioner in front of live television cameras.
Still, Barbara, I don’t want to jump to conclusions until I get out there and see things for myself.”
“Okay. If, and I sincerely hope you’re wrong, but if she’s been taken hostage, what are her chances of survival?”
“It depends.”
“On?”
“On who has her, why, and for how long. If they just selected her at random because she happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time, that’s one thing. But if they were targeting her specifically, it means they’ve got a game plan. Whether she lives or dies depends on what their goal is and how fast the good guys can find and extricate her. The longer the situation drags on, the less likely it is that she’ll walk out of it alive.”
He knew his words were less than comforting, but Barbara deserved to know the truth. As a doctor, she dealt with life-and-death situations every day. He understood that she didn’t want him to sugarcoat the facts.
“Okay. Thanks for being straight with me. When they get her back, and I have to believe they will, she’ll need medical attention. Should I come with you?”
He smiled briefly, appreciating her optimism. “I think it’s better for you to stay here. Jay is going to need someplace to call and someone to be there for her when she gets the news. I’ll try to keep you up to speed as best I can.”
“All right, please do. Peter,” her voice faltered momentarily, “come home soon and bring Kate back with you.”
“You know I’ll do everything in my power, Barbara. Everything.”
“I know. I just feel so helpless.”
The Cost of Commitment
“Taking care of Jay is what Kate would want you to do. To her, nothing would be more important than that.”
“You’re right. Good luck, Peter. I’ll be waiting by the phone.”
No sooner had he hung up the receiver than the phone rang again.
“Enright? Brian Sampson.”
“Yes, Commissioner.” The title rolled off Peter’s tongue out of long habit. While it was true that the man had resigned in disgrace, that fact did not change who he was to his staff, or, in this case, former staff. Peter had always respected and admired him. Despite the circumstances of his ouster, that hadn’t changed.
“Have you been watching?”
“Of course. I have a charter leaving in less than half an hour.”
“Good. I know you’re a friend of Kate’s and I figured you weren’t likely to sit idly by and wait to see what happens from afar.”
“Not my style.”
“I know. Governor Hyland called me after he heard from Redfield.”
“What’s the situation?”
When the ex-commissioner was done outlining the details, Peter whistled. “Sounds like a well-executed strike to me, not some random act.”
“I thought the same thing. Do you mind if I tag along?”
“Are you sure?”
“I know I can’t have any official role, but the governor called me for a reason. He doesn’t know Bill that well, and he said he’d be more comfortable if I wasn’t that far away. He wanted to offer me his plane, but it’s apparently already out there, and his helicopter has been dispatched to ferry David Breathwaite to the scene to handle the press.”
Peter’s eyes flashed angrily at the mention of Breathwaite’s name, and his gut started to gnaw at him. Aloud, he said, “Yes, the Albany team took the King Air out there at 0300. If you’re coming, we’d better get going. I’ll meet you at the Signature terminal in twenty minutes.”
“I’ll be there.”
From the air, Breathwaite looked down at the prison, the media across the street, the inmates in the yards, and the officers in their various posts.
They resembled little more than dots on a canvas from this height.
Everything was going exactly as planned. He expected that if the dyke bitch wasn’t already dead, she would be soon. He was very pleased.
Garston had informed him while he was waiting for the helicopter that the officer in Times Square had been recovered and taken to the hospital. Also, they were operating on the assumption that Katherine Kyle was a hostage. They were working to confirm this by reviewing the Lynn Ames
surveillance videotape from the Times Square cameras. The tape had been collected by the CERT team that penetrated the area once the tear gas had done its job. They would know more by the time he arrived on scene.
At 8:56 a.m. Breathwaite stepped into the makeshift command center on B block. Commissioner Redfield, Deputy Commissioner Garston, the prison superintendent, a staff duty sergeant, and the five CERT team leaders were all hunched over a small TV, watching the videotape shot hours earlier. On it, Kate’s struggle with her captors was clearly visible.
While the tape had no audio, none was really needed. When the eight inmates disappeared through the door to D block, dragging Kate along with them, Garston turned the tape off.
Breathwaite cleared his throat to announce his presence. “I need to go out and say something to the newshounds, before they make up any more rubbish.”
“Hello, David. Thanks for coming.” Redfield extended his hand, as if greeting someone he hadn’t seen a long time. “Have you been brought up to speed?”
“I believe so. Do you want someone to brief me before I go out there?”
“I’ll do it,” said Garston.
“No, Randy. I want you to take these guys and the tape and concentrate on identifying the eight inmates and locating the hostage or hostages. I’ll fill David in myself.”
After the rest of the room’s occupants had cleared out, Redfield said,
“All right. Let’s get down to business. That looked like an orchestrated strike to me and, I’m sure, to everyone else in the room. I don’t suppose you know what happened there?”
“I might.”
“God damn it, Breathwaite, what the fuck are you playing at?”
Redfield’s face was contorted with rage.
“We needed to get her out. It wasn’t happening. I made it happen.”
“You’ve lost your mind. You have lost your fucking mind! You arranged to have her kidnapped?”
Breathwaite looked at his nails disinterestedly. “No, actually, it’s a little more permanent than that.”
As his meaning sank in, Redfield stared openmouthed, an expression of horror on his face. “You realize that if she dies, you’re an accessory to murder.”
“Tsk, tsk, Willy. First of all, that’s only if it could be proved that I had anything to do with it, which it can’t. Second of all, you’re in this just as deeply as I am.”
“I most certainly am not.”
The Cost of Commitment
“Really? You think anyone will believe that when they put two and two together?”
“You’ve gone too far. You’re out of control.”
Breathwaite slammed his palms on the table. “I am in complete control, as it happens, and you are going to do exactly as I say.”
“Why in the world would I do that?”
“Because if you don’t go along with it, or if you try to double-cross me, I’ll take you down with me.”
“You’re crazy.”
“No, just ambitious like you. Now here’s what we’re going to do.”
“Sorry, sirs, I forgot something.” Max Kingston, the head of the Albany CERT team, poked his head in the office. “I’ll just be a sec.” He reached under one of the chairs around the opposite side of the conference table and picked up a sheaf of papers. “Thank you, sirs.”
When he had left, Breathwaite continued, “As I was saying, here’s what we’re going to do. When they pinpoint the dyke bitch’s exact location, you’re going to veto any plan they come up with to rescue her.”
“On what grounds?”
“On the grounds that it’s too risky and you don’t want to chance losing any more men or getting her killed.”
“Is she already dead?”
“If she’s not, she will be soon. I sent the message that the animals could have some playtime if they so chose.”
“How did you get them to do your bidding?”
“I showed them what a powerful man I am and assured them that I could see to it that they wouldn’t be punished for this.”
“And you intend to make good on that exactly how?”
“I have friends, Willy, in places you can’t conceive of. But who says I plan to make good on it?”
“You hired inmates to murder her.”
“Don’t you go getting holier-than-thou on me, Willy boy. You’re in this up to your neck. The plan was to get you installed as commissioner, just like you always wanted, then you were supposed to get rid of Kyle.
You weren’t able to accomplish that on deadline, and that forced me to take action. If you had just done what you were supposed to do, this whole thing wouldn’t have happened.”
“You orchestrated the entire riot?”
“Merely a distraction for the main event. The boys will call it off when the goal has been accomplished.”
“You’ve gone over the line, Breathwaite. Not only have you made us accessories to murder, you’ve put every staff member’s safety on the line. What makes you think your boys are going to have enough control over the situation to put an end to it?”
Lynn Ames
“Stop your whining. It will all work out according to plan. Oh, and if by chance we eventually have to kill those eight inmates, that would be fine, too.”
“You’re sick.”
“No, Willy, I’m efficient, and my plans work, unlike yours. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got a show to put on for the media.”
“What are you going to tell them?”
“Why, the truth, of course, Willy.” Breathwaite laughed on his way out the door.
From his own command post in a motel room several miles down the road from the prison, Peter could hear the discussion between Breathwaite and Redfield with surprising clarity. His recording equipment picked up both voices with ease.
When he had landed, he had placed a discreet call to a pager number.
His call had been returned almost immediately. Max Kingston, head of the Albany CERT team, had not even questioned the order. He had simply carried it out. After all, he owed his position and his life to Peter Enright.
Breathwaite shouted to be heard over the onslaught of questions.
“Where is Katherine Kyle?”
“Has something happened to her?”
“Are there hostages?”
“We’re hearing rumors that the violence has escalated. Is that true?”
“Quiet, and I’ll give you the latest update. If you continue to yell questions, I’m out of here and you’ll get nothing.”
Two of the more seasoned reporters grumbled, one of them saying under his breath, “I sure didn’t miss having to deal with you, asshole.”
“I know what you mean,” whispered the other. “At least Kyle was aboveboard and fair. This guy never gave us jack and acted like he was doing us a favor.”
“This is the situation at the moment.” Breathwaite rocked back and forth on his heels. It was good to be home; this was where he belonged.
“Several inmates in D yard banded together, overpowering five correction officers on the roof of Times Square, which is the juncture for four of the five blocks. They then breached Times Square itself, knocking an officer unconscious and taking one hostage.”
An excited buzz rippled through the crowd. “Is that Kate?”
“One of our specialized teams went in and resecured Times Square.”
“Is there only one hostage, and is it Kate?”
The Cost of Commitment
Breathwaite continued to ignore the questions. “A videotape of the Times Square incursion was recovered. It clearly shows Katherine Kyle being taken against her will by a group of inmates.” He took great glee in breaking one of the cardinal rules of engagement: a spokesperson never, ever gave out the name of a hostage before loved ones had been notified.
He thought, I hope you’re watching this, Parker. And I hope you suffer.
Aloud he intoned, “Her whereabouts at this time are unknown. It is unclear if there are any other hostages. We are continuing to check with every duty station to account for all personnel.”
“Can we have a copy of the videotape?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because I said so. Are there any intelligent questions?”
“Where do you think they’ve taken her?”
“I believe I already stated that we don’t know that yet.”
“Did it appear from the tape that she was injured?”
“She was taken against her will.”
“Did she know her captors?”
“How should I know?”
“Have you identified the inmates involved?”
“We’re working on it.”
“Have the inmates made any demands?”
“No comment.”
“Do you know if she’s alive?”
“If we don’t know her whereabouts, how on earth would we know if she is alive? We are assuming that she is, and we are doing everything in our power to rescue her.”
Jay was basking in the early morning rays of the desert sun, absorbed in watching the process of natural materials being turned into the vibrant colors that would be used to create a sand painting. Several men and women were working in small groups, harvesting gypsum, yellow ochre, charcoal, and red sandstone. Cornmeal, crushed flower petals, and pollen were also collected in a practice as ancient as the tribe itself to increase the variety of possible color combinations. She had never seen anything like it.
She was just about to ask the singer a question about the significance of certain colors and their placement in the painting when she was overcome by a sharp, stabbing pain in her temple. It was so strong that it nearly knocked her to her knees. She swayed slightly, and the singer put out a hand to steady her.
“Are you all right, my child? You don’t seem well.”
Lynn Ames
“No. I—I’m sure it was nothing. Just a bit of a headache.”
The healer studied Jay for a moment. “No, I think it is more than that.
This is the second time I’ve seen you suffering today. You know, there are pains that we own ourselves and there are pains that belong to those that are important to us. I have watched you struggle over the past few days with a hurt that comes both from within and from without. You have been troubled by disharmony with one you love. I don’t need to be a strong medicine woman to see that. I sense that the discomfort you are feeling right now is something stronger, though, and comes from one who shares your soul. Do you understand what I am saying?”
“Yes.” Jay nodded, her head still throbbing painfully. “Yes, I do.”
“Do you need to go rest, child?”
“Perhaps that would be a good idea.”
“I will come and check on you in a little while.”
Jay thanked the healer and retired to her quarters. She thought about what the woman had said. A spiritual and potential telepathic connection was something she and Kate had discussed before. In their worst times, each of them had felt the other’s pain. So was the medicine woman right?
Was the headache somehow connected to Kate?
She checked the time. 6:59 a.m. That meant it was 8:59 in Albany.
She dialed their home number and waited as the phone rang four times.
The answering machine picked up.
“Kate? Are you there? Hi, honey. I miss you so much and I’m so sorry about what happened the other day. I just want to talk to you, to tell you how much I love you, and to hold you in my arms. Well, I guess you’re not there. I’ll try you again in a little while. Bye.”
Jay intended to rest for a few minutes, then try Kate again. She noticed the television at the foot of her bed. It had been almost a week since she’d had a chance to watch the news. Although her head still throbbed painfully, she felt a need to catch up on the world’s happenings.
She flipped channels until she found CNN, mentally shaking her head at the incongruity of ancient tribal traditions mixed with the modern conveniences of cable television, heating, and air-conditioning.
Her attention was immediately captured by the urgent tone of the anchor and the flashing crawl across the bottom of the screen that proclaimed coverage of a breaking story. When she heard the word
“Attica,” she turned up the volume.
Over the next eight minutes she sat shell-shocked as David Breathwaite outlined the situation inside the prison. This couldn’t be real.
There had to be a mistake. When a picture of Kate flashed across the screen with the word “hostage” below it, Jay gasped and struggled for air. After several moments of stunned inaction, she reached for the phone again, punching in Peter’s number from memory. There was no answer.
The Cost of Commitment
“Damn it. Somebody tell me something.” She jumped up and went to her bag for her address book. “J, J, J...Ah, there it is, Jones.” She dialed Barbara’s unlisted number.
“Hello?”
“Barbara?” Her voice sounded tight.
“Jay, is that you, honey?”
“Yes.”
“Thank God. Where are you?”
“I’m on the Navajo reservation near Four Corners.”
“How fast can you get back?”
“It’s true, then?”
“Yes, honey, I’m afraid it is.”
Jay’s hands began to tremble, her legs suddenly unable to support her weight. “When? How? Is she all right?”
“Slow down, honey. It happened around 7:30 a.m. our time this morning. Some inmates jumped her while she was on her way out to give a briefing to the media. I just talked to Peter a little while ago. He’s out there.”
“Thank God.”
“He says he’s got a copy of the videotape from the control room that shows her being taken. He says she was definitely alive and fighting in the video. But, Jay, she got beat up pretty bad.”
Jay gasped, her free hand flying to her temple, which continued to ache. “Oh, Barbara. I’ve got to get to her.”
“I figured you’d say that, and so did the governor. Peter put him in touch with me to coordinate getting you to Attica. We just need to know exactly where you are, Jay. The governor gave me his private number and told me to call him as soon as we located you. He wasn’t sure, based on our description of where you were, whether you were going to be in Arizona or New Mexico. He has talked to the governors of both states, and both have agreed, as a favor to him, to make their aircraft available for you.”
“The governor did all that?”
“Sure did. Says he has a weak spot for you and Kate. So get me the coordinates, and a helicopter will pick you up and take you to the airport.”
“Barbara, did Peter say how badly she was hurt?”
“It was impossible to tell, honey.”
“Okay.”
“One thing at a time, Jay. Let’s just get you out there. Then we’ll figure out what happens next.”
Lynn Ames
Kate slowly floated toward consciousness. The first thing she noticed was the smell: it was a powerful combination of dried sweat, stale urine, and mustiness. There was a constant din from above, and she tried in vain several times to open her eyelids in order to find the source of the noise. When she finally succeeded, she almost wished she hadn’t. The cell in which she was housed was ten feet by eight feet by eight feet, with a stainless steel sink and toilet bolted to the floor. The single mattress on which she lay was thin and threadbare. The concrete floor was dank and cold. The only light she could see was from a window across the gallery.
The sound she had heard was made by the large heating ducts overhead.
She took stock of her body. Her face felt like it had been used for a punching bag, which, she realized drolly, it had. Her ribs ached and every breath was agony. She tried to shift to a sitting position, but a sharp pain in her left arm made her collapse back onto her side. She looked down.
Her wrist was hanging at an odd angle. It could be worse, she told herself.
Gradually, she became aware of voices raised in anger nearby.
“I say we off her now and get it over with. That was the deal we made, we stick with it.”
“No way, man, I want to get me a piece of that bitch before we finish it.”
“What’s to say the man’s gonna come through in the end? I don’t trust him. Why is we doin’ his dirty work, anyway? Why didn’t he do her on the outside? I’s thinkin’ he’s gonna welch and we’s gonna get stuck with the rap.”
“You saw what he did for Tweety. Got him sprung in no time flat. I say we take our chances with him. We ain’t getting nowhere on our own.”
“You saw what he said on TV, they’re coming after her. And when they figure out we’ve got the three guards, we’re done for. He didn’t say he’d get us off for that.”
“They’re for negotiating purposes. We’ll let them go as a gesture of goodwill if it comes to that.”
“I don’t care about the rest of you, I’m gonna get mine.”
Footsteps began to approach. Kate could see a shadow fall over the bars.
“Unlock the cell, man, and let me have at her.”
A second inmate loomed in the darkness.
“Leave her be.”
“There’s nothing wrong with a little fun. Lighten up.”
“That is not our way.”
“Speak for yourself, you self-righteous, Sunni scum.”
The second inmate lunged for him.
The Cost of Commitment
“Stop!”
A smaller man with a goatee stepped between the two combatants.
“Fighting amongst ourselves will serve no purpose. We do not defile her. Until we can see the lay of the land better, she remains unspoiled.
Antoine, I will let you know if and when you may, as you so delicately put it, have at her. Now step away, both of you.”
Reluctantly, the two shadows receded. The man who seemed to be in charge approached the bars. “Ah, I see that you are awake.”
Kate said nothing.
“I want you to know that this is not personal on our part.”
“No, of course not.” Her words were somewhat mumbled, as she was unable to fully open her swollen jaw.
“This is not our battle, but as it affords us a potential way out, we must proceed.”
“By killing me? Fighting other people’s battles is considered a coward’s way where I come from.”
Kumar laughed. “Ah, I see you have some spirit. I cannot disagree with you, but when one is trapped in this land of the forsaken, one sometimes has to make choices and do things that are against one’s innate nature.”
“That’s a very high-minded rationalization for kidnapping and murder. Is it worth it?” She took notice of his appearance. It was obvious to her that he was a Muslim. In the prison population there existed two groups of Muslims: the Sunnis, who adhered to the traditional, more peaceful tenets of the religion and culture, and the more radical, angry Shiites. From his demeanor and choice of words, Kate figured him to be Sunni. “Do your teachings cover this sort of situation?”
“I will leave you now. Rest assured that as long as I am in charge, you shall not be used as a diversion. We will do only what we must. No more.”
“Thank you. That’s very comforting to know.”
Kumar walked away without a backward glance.
Well, Kate thought, at least I have more information now than I did before. It’s clear that someone outside is calling the shots. And that it’s someone in a position of power, since he referred to an opportunity to get out of here as being the motivation. She snorted derisively. Let’s take three guesses who that might be.
Why on earth would Breathwaite want her dead? Wasn’t that a little extreme? Surely there were less drastic ways to accomplish his goal.
How did he hope to get away with this? Why was it so vitally important that he come back to DOCS? She wanted to ponder these things further, but her head hurt so much she was having difficulty focusing. As she closed her eyes against the pain and unconsciousness claimed her once Lynn Ames
again, she thought of Jay, her beautiful face shining brightly like a beacon.
The five CERT team leaders, the prison superintendent, Paul Monroe, Randy Garston, David Breathwaite, and William Redfield were packed into the tiny makeshift command center.
“Sir, we’ve ID’ed all eight inmates. They’re all from D block, ten company.” Max Kingston handed each man a folder with the eight dossiers in it.
“Wonderful. Four murderers, two rapists, one bank robber, and a kidnapper. Lovely crew.”
“We’ve also identified the three officers on that tier who haven’t responded to any radio contact.” A second set of folders made the rounds.
There were grim faces as the men looked at three young, fresh-faced officers, all with wives and small children.
“They are all relatively inexperienced. For two of them, this is their first posting.”
Redfield glanced once at Breathwaite, contempt and accusation in his eyes.
Garston picked up the briefing. “The Technical Services Unit is on-site. Now that we’ve narrowed down the hostages’ likely location we can send tech in with the fiber optic equipment to pinpoint the exact coordinates, then come up with a course of action.”
Unable to muster any good argument against the plan, Redfield gave the go-ahead.
“Report back directly to me at ten bells sharp. We’ll reconvene once I have all the facts.”
Governor Hyland arrived unannounced at 9:17 a.m. He did not go directly to the prison, stopping instead at a nondescript motel some three miles down the road.
“Brian, Peter.”
“Governor, sir.” Both men stood.
“I know it’s a bit unorthodox for me to consult with you two before my own team, but the truth is, this is no time for protocol. What we need are results. Redfield has been on the job for less than a month, and there are lives at stake.” He looked from his old friend to the technology expert on whom he had relied so many times during the course of his tenure in office.
The Cost of Commitment
Former DOCS Commissioner Sampson said, “Governor, sir, if I step in at this point, it will undermine Bill’s authority and add to the tension and confusion.”
The governor appeared chagrined. “Understood. I’ll ask you to stay here, though, so that I can continue to consult with you as needed.” When Sampson looked uncertain, Hyland added, “Brian, I chose you as my commissioner for a reason. That hasn’t changed. I trust your knowledge and judgment and I need you with me now.”
“I’ll be here.”
The governor turned to Peter. “My understanding is that you’re available for hire as a consultant. Is that not so?”
“It’s so.”
“In that case, consider yourself hired.”
“What is my exact role, sir?”
“I want you in charge of the rescue operation.”
“As you wish, sir.” To himself Peter added, Well, that makes things much easier.
“Let’s get going. There’s no time to waste.”
“I’ll be right with you, sir. I just need to gather my gear.”
When the governor had walked out the door, Sampson asked Peter,
“Are you going to tell him about the bug in the command center?”
“Not yet. I’m not convinced we’ve heard everything we need to hear yet. I’d like to keep that as an ace in the hole—see if there’s anything more to be gleaned from future conversations. I have a sneaking suspicion there’ll be more to this before it’s done.”
“In that case, I’ll keep listening and recording at this end.”
“Thanks, I’d appreciate that. The more evidence, the better. I’ll check in with you when I can.”
“Peter?”
“Yeah?”
“Bring them all out safely.”
“That’s my goal.”
“It’s against every policy we have. Absolutely not.” Redfield was sitting behind the sergeant’s desk in B block.
“You want those three officers out of harm’s way or not?”
Breathwaite leaned forward, his hands splayed on the opposite side of the desk.
“Of course.”
“The object here is to kill Kyle and extract them safely. I’m just giving you a way to get that done.”
Lynn Ames
“It will impact the way DOCS handles hostage situations for years to come.”
“At the moment, Willy, we don’t care about anything but this specific hostage situation, now, do we?”
Redfield chewed his lip. He could not live with himself if those three officers were lost on his watch, but his options were severely limited. He had spent the last half hour trying to come up with some way to extricate them without bringing Kate out. It would look far too suspicious to allow the inmates to keep a member of the management team while letting the others go free.
But what if Breathwaite was right? What if he could position it to appear that the inmates would agree only to let the three guards go in exchange for sending in a reporter with a television camera? Maybe that would be a reasonable explanation.
“Okay. I’ll get the Inmate Liaison Committee in here to make it look legitimate. We’ll have them present the offer to the eight inmates. Do you have a way of contacting them directly?”
“Don’t go through the ILC. I have an ex-inmate I’m working with.
I’ll have him give them the instructions. I’ve got him stashed nearby. If he goes in there, they’ll know the order is coming from me.”
“If I don’t use the ILC, it might raise more questions.”
“If you do go through them, there’s no guarantee the eight will know where the order is coming from. Not only that, but it means involving more inmates in the plan. I don’t think that’s wise, do you?”
“I haven’t liked the plan from the beginning. This was your insane idea.”
“Insane or not, you’re stuck with it now, Willy. It would behoove you to make the best of it.”
Kate slowly became aware of her surroundings once again. This time the noise level was much greater. She could hear groups of inmates fighting amongst themselves, and she struggled to make out their words.
“Man, you keep your filthy hands off my shit. If I catch you in my cell again touchin’ my props I’ll kill you.”
“If you was any good at killin’, asshole, you wouldn’t be in here.”
She could make out the clear sound of a skull hitting concrete and other bodies running in the direction of the sound. There was shouting and a loud whistling noise.
“Cut the crap. We don’t have time for this.”
“Who died and put you in charge, Kumar?”
“Do you forget that it was I who liberated you? I could just as easily have let you rot in your little holes.”
The Cost of Commitment
“You got a plan for getting us out of this place?”
“I have gotten you this much freedom. The rest, I’m afraid, is up to you.”
Kate could hear footsteps coming closer; she closed her eyes and feigned unconsciousness again. The footsteps paused in front of her cell, then moved past and receded in the distance.
After several moments, when she was sure she was alone, she opened her eyes and surveyed her surroundings. Judging by the movement and sounds on either side, it was clear to her that she was in the middle of a tier. She knew from past visits to Attica that each tier had only one exit, located at the end opposite the lock box that controlled access to the cells. The exit, or go-round, was the only way out, as far as she knew, and she imagined the inmates had done something to barricade the door from the inside. It was hard to fathom how, even if she weren’t injured, she could get out of her cell, elude forty-two inmates, make it to the go-round, and escape the tier.
She could only hope that help from the outside was on the way. She thought about Redfield. Were she and Peter right? Was he working with Breathwaite? It was obvious that Breathwaite was not working alone and that Sampson’s coerced resignation was tied to bringing him back to DOCS. Installing Redfield must have been intended to clear the way for that to happen. Add that to the incident with Marisa, and the conclusion seemed a logical one.
Kate sighed. With Redfield and Breathwaite working together, was there any chance that she would be rescued? Or that an attempt would even be made? She thought about Jay, and her heart lurched wildly in her chest. Would an angry conversation be the last memory Jay would have of her? The idea made her nauseous. She would not allow her lover to know the kind of regret and guilt that she herself carried with her every day.
Kate had no concept of time or how much of it had passed since she’d been taken hostage. She stared at the shattered watch that hung loosely on her broken wrist. It didn’t matter in the end, she supposed. Whatever day it was, it was close to the holiday. If she were murdered during this siege, every Christmas for the rest of Jay’s life would be as painful as Kate’s had been after her parents had died.
It was an ache that neither died nor diminished over time. It was a scar that could never heal, because Kate could never change what had happened—could never reverse the clock and make it all turn out differently—could never bring her parents back. Just as Jay would never be able to change the tenor of their heated conversation and would likely blame and punish herself for it for the rest of her time on Earth.
Lynn Ames
Despairing, Kate ran her good hand through her hair. It came away covered in sticky, drying blood. She looked at it for a long moment, turning it over in the dull light from the barred window across the gallery. She would not die here. She could not let Jay carry such a burden with her. She would live to tell Jay how much she loved her and that nothing else mattered. She would find a way out, with or without help.
The Cost of Commitment