A second season story.

 

 

No Phone Booth Required

by Lynn

 

 

“When I was a young boy I had my heroes like most boys; Superman, Spiderman, and Wonder Woman,” he added to soft chuckles from the rows of graduates before him and their families seated behind them.  “But my whole paradigm of what a hero is changed as I grew older and understood better the story my mother told and retold since I was a small child…”

 

* * * * *

 

The wind lightly lapped Lee Crane's dark wavy hair across his forehead as he drove his cherry red Shelby Cobra.  It was a beautiful summer day in Santa Barbara, perfect for riding with the top down on his convertible and enjoying the sunshine he got so little of while submerged for weeks at a time.  His sunglasses did little to hide the handsome lines of his face, indeed, it only added to the mystique as he sat at the light waiting for it to turn green.  The quick revving of the car next to him instinctively drew his attention as he glanced over to find a beautiful brunette in a silver 280Z convertible.  She blew a kiss and he managed to return a small smile before she waved as the light turned green.  Lee cleared his throat and proceeded on his way; he had the next three days off and a list of chores to take care of before returning to work to prepare for Seaview's next voyage. 

 

Unfortunately, there was very little time between voyages this time around.  He had already dropped his uniforms at the cleaners, and was headed for the bank.  Seaview had made port yesterday, and was scheduled to depart again in two weeks.  It was a fast turnaround for the busy marine research submarine that doubled as a Reserve vessel for the United States Navy.  A strange combination to be sure; made possible solely due to her owner and creator, Admiral Harriman Nelson.  The retired admiral was a businessman as well as a military tactician, having secured partial funding for the research vessel and negotiating the military's right to invoke her services from time to time.  It was a win-win situation, since SSRN Seaview was the most technically advanced submarine in the world. 

 

Much of her technology was proprietary and patented by the genius admiral; a good deal was secret advanced electronics being tested on behalf of the Navy, but it was her windowed bow that set her apart; especially since Seaview's specs noted she was dive worthy to 3,500 feet.  That was officially; off the records, her deep dive capability was an astounding 5,000 feet.

 

The quick turn-around of voyages didn't bother Lee; he loved the sea, and found his job as the captain of Seaview to be extremely satisfying. 

 

He pulled into the crowded parking lot and sighed; he was sure to find a long line inside the bank, but his business couldn't wait.  He found a parking spot and hopped out of the car wearing casual civvies; a white collared button up shirt that he bought off the racks, but was fitted perfectly for his wide shoulders and narrow hips; a pair of gently faded blue jeans, and leather slide-on deck shoes polished off his casual attire for the day.  He kept his sunglasses lowered until he opened the glass doors, holding them open for an elderly couple slowly making their way into the bank.

 

“Thank you, young man,” the silver-haired matron offered, as she walked on the arm of her husband.

 

“You’re welcome,” he replied with a polite smile, waiting patiently for the slower moving couple to clear the door before following them into the bank.

 

As expected, the bank was busy and the line indicated there would be a wait.  Lee casually checked his watch and mentally shrugged, there wasn’t anything to do but wait patiently.   Fifteen minutes later he was beginning to see the light at the end of the tunnel as the elderly couple in front of him made their way to the next available teller, leaving him next in line.

 

“Next please,” he heard and smiled pleasantly as he approached the window.  That was the last normal thing that happened that day, as the unmistakable sound of multiple guns cocking preceded orders spoken harshly.

 

“Hands up! No one moves and no one gets hurt!”

 

Lee turned instinctively upon hearing the sliding action of pistols as several muffled cries of shocked bank patrons was heard.  He obeyed, raising his hands with the other bank patrons and noted four heavily armed men, wearing black ski masks.

 

“All right, everyone on the ground, face down,” he further ordered, “you tellers, over here!” he shouted, herding the tellers to the other side of the counter with the rest of the customers in the lobby.

 

“Get the money, JD,” the bank robber obviously in charge ordered, as his smaller framed accomplice went to work behind the counter opening drawers and laughing at the haul he was bringing in.

 

Lee followed the movements of the four bank robbers as best as he could, noting the one called JD behind the counter; another armed robber watching over the customers on the floor; one who was apparently the look-out by the door; and the leader, about ten feet away, almost directly in front of him.

 

“Hurry up, JD,” the leader called, sweeping his gun across the room to discourage anyone’s movement.

 

“It’s like you said; like taking candy from a baby,” JD said, giggling disturbingly as he moved from drawer to drawer.

 

“You there,” the leader called, moving past Lee to someone behind him.  “You’re the bank manager?”

 

She nodded as he pulled her up by her elbow and pointed her toward the back.

 

“Open the vault,” he ordered, holding a gym bag to presumably stash the money.

 

“It’s locked,” she countered.

 

“Don’t lie to me!” he said, pushing her back against the wall and holding her neck menacingly in his hand. 

 

Lee instinctively moved into action; moving from his prone position to his feet to intervene on behalf of the frightened woman.  He was stopped cold, however, at the unmistakable feel of a rifle muzzle pressing against his back.

 

“Go ahead, be a hero,” another gunman taunted.  Lee had no choice and raised his hands, but kept his eyes locked on the branch manager as the leader released the hold on her throat and pushed her toward the vault.

 

“Now, open it.  We cased this joint already, and we know that the vault stays open so you can put the cash drawers away at night,” he yelled.

 

“Hurry, Jason,” the look-out at the door said.  “I think I hear sirens.”

 

“Open the vault!” the leader yelled again, as she nervously, but obediently keyed in the access code.

 

“Back on the floor,” the gunman behind Lee ordered. 

 

He complied, but as soon as he was in position the gunman put his boot down on his jaw, pushing the side of face into the tile floor.  “Move and I’ll kill you,” he threatened, before yelling toward the vault.  “Hurry Jason, I think I hear sirens too!”

 

The sounds of subdued sobs were heard in the background as the tension increased, irritating the gunman who pressed solidly on Lee’s face as he yelled to customers and bank employees on the floor.

 

“Shut up!  Just shut up!”

 

“Got it!” Jason said, exiting the vault.  “Forget the drawers JD, let’s go,” he ordered.

 

“I’ve still got one more drawer…”

 

“Forget it, let’s go.”

 

Lee knew the next few minutes were critical.  He offered no resistance, knowing full well that it was always better to allow the perpetrators to get away with the money than to risk a hostage situation. 

 

“Everyone, stay down and you’ll live to tell your grandkids about this,” Jason, the leader, instructed stepping backwards towards the door.

 

Lee grunted as the gunman ground his foot in for good measure, before releasing his hold and taking a step back toward the door.  He thought they would be free and clear in just a few minutes; and if everyone just kept their cool, the gunmen would be in the getaway vehicle and gone. 

 

Jason watched out the window then turned toward his accomplices.  “Okay, here comes Pete, get ready.”

 

The gunmen backed themselves toward the glass doors as a blue passenger van pulled up to the curb.

 

Jason held the door open as his fellow bank robbers ran to the van’s sliding side door and jumped in. 

 

“Stay down and you’ll live,” Jason warned the bank patrons, before running for the van himself. 

 

He barely cleared the bank door when the security guard ran for the front door in an effort to conduct a lockdown to prevent the bank robbers from coming back in, but Jason turned at the sound behind him and fired, dropping the guard to the floor in agony.  Almost immediately, the driver of the van fell forward, the horn blaring as the weight of his body bore down heavily on the steering wheel.  Jason reached over and pulled him back by the shoulder to see blood running from a bullet hole in Pete’s head.

 

“Sniper!  Everyone back inside!” he yelled.

 

* * * * *

 

Lee saw the security guard make his way to the door and knew it was a bad move.  Jason wasn’t even in the van when the bank security guard reached to pull the door closed.  The subsequent bullet sent the guard flying back hard and writhing in pain as Lee crawled forward to pull him out of the line of fire, yelling over his shoulder above the screams of the frightened customers and bank employees.

 

“Everyone stay down!”

 

He barely made it to the guard, dragging him back only a few feet before Jason and the others filed back in.

 

“Nobody move!”  Jason yelled again, as the nightmare took a serious turn for the worse.

 

Lee reached for his handkerchief to apply pressure to the guard’s shoulder when one of the gunmen stopped him.

 

“Move one more time and you’ll be wearing a brand-new hole in your head,” he warned.

 

“He needs attention,” Lee countered.

 

“Shut up!” Jason yelled over all the screams and confusion of the botched armed robbery.  “Let me think!”

 

“They were on to us!” JD yelled frantically, moving from window to window and nearly bouncing off the walls in high, unchecked energy; frustrated that he couldn’t see beyond the van parked out front.

 

“Someone must have hit the silent alarm,” the gunman nearest Lee surmised.

 

“I know, I know,” Jason said, rubbing his hand over his mouth in thought.  “Get all those people up against that wall,” he ordered, pointing to the far side of the lobby with his gun.

 

“I can’t see anything with the van in the way,” JD said in a near panic.

 

“Calm down.  If we can’t see out, then they can’t see in,” Jason reasoned, before turning his attention to Lee and the security guard.  “You…Hero,” he said, addressing Lee mockingly.  “Get him over with the rest of them,” he ordered.

 

Lee stood, the gunman nearest urging him to move slowly with his dark eyes shining through the ski mask still in place.  The guard grunted uncomfortably as Lee picked him up by the shoulders and dragged him against the wall where he estimated at least twenty customers and bank employees were now sitting against the wall in various stages of distraught.

 

“Here,” one of the women called, guiding Lee her way.  “I’m a nurse.”

 

“Shut up over there!”

 

Lee settled the security guard next to her and she went to work right away adding pressure to his wounded shoulder.

 

“Is everyone all right?” Lee whispered to less than confident affirming nods, before turning his attention back to the nurse.  “How is he doing?”

 

She shrugged a shoulder in concern as she continued to apply pressure.  “The bullet is lodged in his shoulder, he’ll need medical attention soon, but the bleeding is slowing.”

 

Lee nodded his understanding and then settled in against the wall to face the bank robbers, knowing that the volatile situation could get worse at any moment.

 

* * * * *

 

Jason paced the floor as the other three gunmen stood near, waiting to see what their leader came up with to get them out of the tight situation.  He drew a hand across his mouth, becoming increasingly frustrated with the ski mask and pulled it off his head, revealing long brownish-blond hair that nearly reached his shoulders.  He was of average height and build, and held a decisive in-control air about him.

 

“Your mask!” JD noticed in a fluster. 

 

“Relax,” he said, taking on a new air of confidence while using his gun to point toward the far wall.  “These hostages are going to get us a free ride out of the country.”

 

“Hostages?” JD repeated.

 

“Yep.  Boys, we still got options,” he said with a half-grin.  “JD you take up look-out, but stay out of the sights of that sniper; Ted, I want you and Kyle to get the names of all our ‘guests’ over there.”

 

“Okay, Jason,” JD replied nervously, “but what about Pete?” he asked with a tilt of his head toward the van.

 

“There’s nothing that can be done for Pete now.  You just keep your heads and we’ll be sitting pretty with the loot we got, and a lot more before this is through.”

 

The three gunmen seemed to draw hope from their leader’s plan and each in turn pulled off their own ski masks.  JD was the youngest and barely out of his teens; the tall young man had sandy-blond hair worn in a crew cut and was awkwardly thin.  Ted’s dark hair was worn long, like Jason’s, but he was heftier and of obvious sturdy stock.  It was easy to see who the “muscle” in the group was, as Kyle, the last gunman, looked as though he spent a significant amount of time lifting weights.  He was a head taller than Ted and sported brown hair worn feathered back.  Both he and Ted were in their mid to late twenties and all three seemed to hang on Jason’s every word.  Jason was the oldest and carried a definite patriarchal-type influence over the younger men who accepted his orders with complete confidence, even though he was only ten years their senior.

 

“Empty their pockets,” Jason continued, “and take their purses too; I don’t want any more surprises from here on out.”

 

“Right,” they agreed, taking their orders without question as they went about their business. 

 

* * * * *

 

“All right everyone, listen up!” Ted ordered, enjoying the power he was currently exerting over his charges, despite the fact that they were currently holed-up inside the bank with a sharp-shooter stationed somewhere outside searching for a target.  “Pull out your driver’s license and put your wallets and purses in here,” he ordered, holding an empty waste basket he had grabbed from a nearby new accounts desk.

 

“Move nice and slow,” Kyle added darkly, his angular face held sharply and more serious than Ted’s, as he carefully scanned their movements.

 

They waited as the hostages complied, reaching into their wallets and purses for their driver’s license and then waiting for the pair to collect them.  Ted started at one end, while Kyle walked beside him with his rifle held ready for action.

 

* * * * *

 

Lee watched as the two gunmen started closest to the teller windows, monitoring their movements and watching their interactions with the hostages.  The hostages, for the most part, were holding up pretty well, he had counted twenty-four, including himself.  There were, however, a few who were barely holding it together; two women, a blonde bank teller with an especially poofy hair style that matched her “Dallas Cowboy cheerleader” looks, and a heavy-set, middle-aged woman who was especially concerned about her large over-sized handbag.  The third was a man, also middle-aged with thick black-framed glasses and wearing a light grey business suit. He knew he’d have to watch them; things could very well spiral out of control fast if their nervousness turned to panic.  The female bank employees were easy to spot, since none of them had their purses on hand, and the three male employees all wore a bank pin on their lapel.  In all he, counted eleven employees, including the guard, who was trying his best to hold in his moans as the nurse attended him.  That left thirteen customers, including himself.  The branch was rather large, and he supposed they were lucky as many customers had cleared out before the bank robbers arrived.  Still, twenty-four hostages were far too much leverage for the bank robbers, especially if one of them lost their cool; but his biggest concern was the four-year-old, sitting on his mother’s lap with his head buried in her shoulder.

 

* * * * *

 

“Where’s your purse?” Ted asked harshly, assuming the bank teller was being uncooperative.

 

“Behind the counter,” she answered tentatively, as Ted looked up and down the hostage line assessing the situation.

 

“Okay, you,” he said, addressing the teller.  “Go get all the purses, and don’t try anything stupid,” he added darkly.

 

“I’ll make sure she don’t,” Jason said, following her closely as the brunette moved behind the counter, reaching for purses tucked under their drawers and out of sight.  “JD, pull those curtains closed,” he yelled over his shoulder.

 

“What about the look-out?” he asked, drawing a hand across his mouth to wipe the tiny beads of sweat that had formed there.

 

“Just close the curtains, the cops won’t be making any sudden moves.  By now, they know we got us a payload of hostages.  Their next move is to fortify the area, then we’ll be getting a phone call when they want to start bargaining.”

 

“What about that sharp shooter?” JD asked, clearly nervous at exposing his position in front of a window.

 

“Have one of the hostages do it,” Jason said, slightly irritated that he had to think every detail out for his young accomplice. 

 

Jason’s suggestion invoked a giggle from JD as he walked over to pick a hostage for the task.  He settled over the “cheerleader”, picking the youngest of the tellers.  She whimpered at his gaze, her eyes begging him to pick another.  He pointed his gun her direction, officially selecting her for the job.  “You, close the curtains,” he demanded.  She shook her head and whimpered, too frightened to move when the thirty-something brunette beside her spoke up.

 

“I’ll do it.  Can’t you see she’s scared?” she intervened defiantly.

 

JD looked from one to the other and then relented.  “Hurry then,” he ordered, still trying to appear in charge, but more concerned with the windows at this point.

 

“It’s okay, Becca,” she offered kindly, squeezing the frightened young woman’s hand as she stood and headed for the other side of the bank to draw the curtains.  JD followed her closely, but stopped to take one last look back at the blonde.

 

* * * * *

 

Lee sighed silently after watching the exchange and realized that the longer the hostage situation went on, the more volatile the situation would become.  He had already pegged Kyle, the muscular robber who had nearly left a boot print on his face, as probably the most dangerous of the group.  Even now, he was watching the hostages intently, looking to deal with the first person to get out of line.

 

“Put your purse in the trash can,” Ted ordered harshly.

 

Lee’s eyes moved toward the sound of the disturbance to see Ted standing over the elderly couple he had held the door open for when he first arrived.

 

“But you don’t understand,” the elderly woman begged, “my medications are in there.  I have to have my pills soon.”

 

Lee watched, hoping the situation didn’t escalate and studying Ted’s demeanor to determine how he might react.

 

Ted grabbed the purse from her hand, as Lee tensed, sure he’d have to act if things didn’t settle down soon.

 

“Please sir,” her husband joined in.  “Just take what you want and give us back her medications.”

 

“Shut up, old man!” Ted yelled. 

 

Lee acted instinctively, and moved suddenly, intending to get between the two.  His action was immediately met with the sound of Kyle adjusting the bolt of his rifle up and then down, the dangerous metallic clicks stopping him in his tracks.

 

“One more move, Hero, and you’ll be wearing a brand-new hole in your chest,” he threatened darkly.

 

Lee froze, both hands raised in front of him to show his compliance.  “Just give her the medication.  It won’t do your cause any good if you have a medical emergency in here,” he answered reasonably.

 

“Back off, Hero,” Kyle ordered darkly.

 

Lee had no choice but to settle back onto his place on the floor.  A quick glance over at the elderly couple revealed the two were no longer asking for the medications and were now huddled together, as Ted smiled victoriously and moved on. 

 

Upon seeing the confrontation, the heavy-set woman who Lee had pegged as dangerously nervous earlier, turned her over-sized purse over without protest, deeming the five-thousand dollars cash she had just withdrawn to buy a used car not worth her life.  Ted caught sight of the wads inside and held them up to show his fellow bank robbers with unrepentant glee.

 

Kyle continued his vigil watch, his eyes moving back and forth looking for the next hostage to get out of line.  There was a coldness about him, and Lee easily spotted an unchecked ruthlessness in his eyes.  He had seen it before, and he was in fact, the most heavily armed.  While all four robbers carried handguns, Kyle was the only one to carry a rifle; he knew at close range the survivability of taking a shot would be near zero.

 

Ted moved down the line, reaching the dark-haired nurse caring for the security guard.  She had retrieved the guard’s wallet for him, and presented it as well.

 

“Tracy Robbins.  We’ll ain’t that a pretty name,” Ted said, reading her name out loud and smiling at the brunette.  She looked briefly at him and then continued tending her patient as he walked past chuckling, moving on down the line. 

 

His chuckles turned to almost a growl when he reached Lee, who was sitting near Tracy with just one hostage between them.  Ted took his driver’s license, but stopped to stare him down, before examining his license and then returning his studious gaze at his face. 

 

“Do I know you?” he asked, his eyes narrowing in an attempt to remember where he’d seen the tall dark-haired man before.

 

“I don’t think so,” Lee replied, not quite able to keep the disdain from his voice as he started to drop his wallet into the waste basket, but his movement was interrupted by Ted’s next words.

 

“Give it here,” Ted ordered, reaching his hand out and snatching the wallet from Lee’s hand.  He opened it, spying his military ID right away and pulled it out.  “Well, well, well,” he said, turning to his accomplices.  “Hero is a soldier boy.  Navy,” he noted disrespectfully.  “And an officer, no less.  What do you think about that, Kyle?”

 

Lee remained expressionless as his eyes moved toward Kyle, who had tensed up considerably.

 

“You see, Kyle here is Army.  Aren’t you Kyle?”

 

“Shut up, Ted!” he fired back.

 

“Of course, Kyle here didn’t leave his military service on the best of terms,” he provoked, a mischievous grin spreading across his face as he moved on, clearly enjoying harassing his fellow robber.

 

Lee offered no reaction one way or the other when Kyle passed as well, but the muscular man’s hateful eyes bored deeply into his own as they moved to the next hostage.  Lee had purposefully positioned himself next to this particular hostage as Ted stopped in front of a young mother holding her four-year old tightly in her arms.

 

Ted stopped and scratched the side of his head before Jason interrupted him.

 

“Are you almost through Ted, I’m going to need those before the cops call.”

 

“Uh yeah, Jason, be right there,” he called over his shoulder, before squatting down to get at eye level with the boy.  “Don’t you worry, kid, nobody’s going to hurt you,” he said as the boy hugged his mother even tighter.

 

He finished his collecting then delivered the waste basket over to Jason who started sifting through them. 

 

“Ted, check through the purses and wallets.  Make sure there’s nothing that I need to know about,” he directed, just as the phone rang. 

 

All of the gunmen froze, each turning toward the phone as it rang loudly on the branch manager’s desk.

 

“Ain’t you gonna’ get it?” JD asked, fidgeting as Jason wrote, seemingly unconcerned, on a piece of paper.

 

“Not yet, JD, make them sweat it out first,” he answered without raising his head or stopping his writing.

 

The phone stopped ringing, leaving a palpable uneasiness among the other three gunmen as Jason went about creating a list from each of the driver’s licenses on the desk before him.  He reached the end of the pile and laid down his pencil decidedly.

 

“I got twenty-three hostages right?” he asked, looking toward his accomplices for confirmation.

 

“The kid makes twenty-four,” Ted answered.

 

“Okay, twenty-four.”

 

The phone rang again, this time Jason put his hand on the receiver, letting it ring four more times before picking it up to answer.

 

“Hello,” he answered almost business-like.

 

“This is Capt. Thompson, Santa Barbara Police Department; who am I speaking with?”

 

“Jason.”

 

“Jason who?”

 

“Just Jason.”

 

“Okay Jason, by now you know that we’ve got the whole area surrounded.  Now, why don’t we arrange for a surrender and nobody else gets hurt?”

 

“You just listen to me Captain Thompson, one of my boys is already dead thanks to that sharp shooter of yours, and if you think we’re going to walk out of here into that line of fire, you’re crazy!”

 

“Listen to me Jason, you fired first…”

 

“Shut up!  Just shut up!” Jason yelled, taking control over the conversation and now standing over the desk as he spoke heatedly.  “You listen to me Captain, I’ve got twenty-four hostages in this bank with me, so any sudden moves on your part and you’ll have a blood bath on your hands in here.  You got that!”

 

“Okay, okay Jason.  You’re in no danger from us.  Let’s just talk about releasing some of the hostages…”

 

Jason hung up the phone, his face full of rage with his hand still resting on the receiver, before he broke into a smile and started chuckling.

 

“All right boys, I just bought us some time,” he announced proudly.

 

“Time for what?” JD asked.

 

“Time to figure out how we’re going to get out of here with our dough, and on a plane out of US jurisdiction,” he said with a grin.

 

“You really think you can talk us out of this?” Ted asked, as JD and Kyle both leaned in for the answer as well.

 

“They’ve got twenty-four reasons to listen to me,” Jason said, looking over at the hostages as his grin widened.

 

* * * * *

 

“How is he?” Lee asked, moving carefully while the gunmen’s attention was on the phone call.

 

“He’s stable for the time being, but he needs medical attention,” the nurse replied, applying pressure to the security guard’s shoulder.  The guard’s head was tilted to one side in an uncomfortable sleep, while the red splotches on his cheeks signaled a fever.  “I’m Tracy by the way,” she added, her dark brown hair framing a delicate face sporting very little make-up.  Her natural beauty needed little help as her brown eyes filled with compassion for her “patient”.

 

“My name is Lee,” he answered, smiling in response, before addressing the other hostages.  “Is everyone okay?”  He motioned a finger to his mouth to indicate they should speak quietly, as the ones that could hear him nodded, some in weaker nods than others.

 

“Young man,” the elderly man called.  “My wife needs her inhaler.”

 

“I’m going to see what I can do about that,” he promised, “just be patient and let the police play this out.  They’re going to do everything they can to get us out of here,” Lee encouraged.  The group nodded back and Lee sank back into this spot when it looked as if the phone call was coming to an end, with the encouragement he’d given providing much needed comfort.  He was settling back into his spot when he heard a small voice.

 

“Pssst.”

 

Lee turned toward the four-year-old, who was watching him intently.  The young boy’s eyes were red from tears, but the small smile on his face was unmistakable.  He returned the smile, hoping to offer reassurance to the young lad.

 

“Glasses?” the boy whispered unsuccessfully, and talking a little too loudly for their situation.

 

“Shhhh,” his mother urged, gentling his face against her shoulder as Kyle noticed and looked over.

 

“Quiet over there,” he ordered, then peered at the mother and son for a moment before turning his attention back to Jason.

 

Lee was perplexed for a moment at the boy’s request, before it dawned on him what he wanted.  He reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out his Ray-Ban Aviator sunglasses.  He handed them over, placing a finger to his mouth to be quiet, then winked when the boy put his finger to his own mouth and nodded in agreement, then slid his thumb into his mouth.  His mother moved to stop his thumb sucking, a habit she was obviously trying to break, but thought better of it, snuggling him in closer and allowing the boy the comfort he was able to offer himself.  He rested his head against her shoulder, holding the folded sunglasses in one hand and sucking his thumb somewhat content.

 

The whole exchange only sealed Lee’s concern for the group.  Police were more and more, taking a stance of non-negotiations with hostage-holders these days.  Instead, they would seek to wear down the gunmen, seizing upon their weaknesses as they presented themselves, in an effort to curb the rash of bank robberies with hostages that had occurred as of late.  He could only hope the police were tuned into the fact that the gunmen had already shot the guard, clearly demonstrating their violent tendencies.  Furthermore, they had shown little concern for the injured man; no mercy for the medication the elderly woman required; and some subtle indications that he feared could turn very bad if JD continued to show interest in the young woman he had singled out earlier.  Add to that the fact that there was a child involved, and he knew a resolution needed to be worked out soon.

 

He leaned his head back against the wall silently working through several options, before settling on one in particular.  He’d wait to see what the police could negotiate, but he’d be ready to act quickly if things took a deep dive south.

 

* * * * *

 

“Do you think that was smart, Jason?” JD asked, his concern etched deeply on his face that their leader had hung up on the cops.

 

“You don’t get it, do you?  We’re the ones in charge, and the sooner they realize it, the sooner we get what we want.  How does living on a little island somewhere suit you?  The good life on the beach, being served drinks with umbrellas in them by a pretty girl in a bikini?” he added, sweetening the pot for his young friend.

 

“You really think so, Jason?  You really think they’ll give us a plane out of here?”

 

“They’ll call back soon, and I’ll lay it all out on the line, boys.  Trust me.  If they don’t, we’ll show them we mean business with one of the hostages,” he added darkly.

 

“I didn’t sign up for that, Jason,” Ted joined in nervously, displaying the first sign of any disagreement with the leader so far.

 

“Trust me, Ted, just trust me.  I got you out of tough times before, didn’t I?”

 

Ted lowered his eyes, expelling a long breath and nodded.  “Yeah Jason, I haven’t forgot what you did,” he agreed devoutly.

 

Jason placed an approving hand on Ted’s shoulder and then turned toward Kyle, who had turned sideways to keep a watch over the hostages while monitoring the conversation.

 

“What about you, Kyle?  You got any second thoughts?”

 

Kyle pursed his lips and shook his head slowly.  “No man; not me.  If it’s a fight they want, then it’s a fight they’ll get,” he said with confidence to the man who had given him a purpose again in life.

 

“And the hostages?” Jason probed.

 

“Every war has its casualties,” he answered with cold-blooded indifference, his answer sending a chill up the spine of many of the hostages who were listening to the exchange. 

 

The chill in the air produced by Kyle’s remark only heightened when the silence was broken by the shrill sound of the phone ringing once again.  Jason reached for the phone, resting his hand on it while looking toward his three accomplices, all nodding their devoted faith in their leader.  Jason smiled and answered on the third ring.

 

“Hello.”

 

“Jason, this is Capt. Thompson.  I’d like to talk.”

 

“Well now, that’s good, ‘cause I want to talk too.”

 

“That’s good, Jason.  We’d like to know…”

 

“This is my show, Captain,” Jason interrupted.  “Now, I’ve got twenty-four hostages in here with me, including a security guard with a bullet in his shoulder and a kid.  So, the first thing I’d advise is for that sharp shooter of yours to withdraw, because I’ll take out five hostages for any one of my boys that goes down.  If you don’t believe I’ll do it, check my record… I’m Jason Worley and if you check real hard, you’ll know I mean business.”

 

“Okay, Jason, I hear you loud and clear, but I want assurances that those hostages will be unharmed if I negotiate in good faith.”

 

“You keep your end of the bargain, and I’ll keep mine.”

 

“Fine then, let’s talk.  Face to face,” Thompson suggested.

 

“No way man, you think I’m crazy?”

 

“Okay, how do I know you have twenty-four hostages?” the captain asked, pushing the point in an attempt to get detailed information on the captives.

 

“I thought you’d say that,” he said with a grin, pleased that he had foreseen the question.  “I’ve got me here the names of each hostage, are you ready?”

 

“I’m ready, Jason,” the captain replied.

 

Jason began reading from the list he had made earlier.   When he read the last name, he laid the paper down and slammed the receiver onto the cradle deliberately.  “That should give them something to think about for a while,” he announced.

 

“I don’t like all this waiting,” JD said, pacing back and forth to use up some pent up nervous energy. 

 

“Relax, JD, we’re holding all the cards, and each one of those hostages is like an Ace in the hole.  You got to make them sweat it out; otherwise they think they’re in control.”

 

“Okay, I guess,” he answered, but continued his pacing while Ted took a seat on top of one of the desks, dangling a leg over the edge and seemingly unconcerned. 

 

Meanwhile, Kyle continued his vigilant watch over the hostages, his eyes moving up and down the line of men and women against the wall; his heartless gaze boring into the eyes of any hostage who dared look him in the eye.

 

* * * * *

 

“Excuse me,” Mr. Harper said, raising his hand tentatively to get his captor’s attention.  “My wife needs her medication.”

 

“It’s okay, John,” she said, her breathing short and labored.  “I’ll be all right,” she urged, not wanting her husband to bring attention to himself.

 

Kyle made no move, but Ted answered from his spot on the desk.

 

“She looks fine to me,” he said with no concern whatsoever.

 

“Please sir,” Mr. Harper continued.  “It’s the inhaler; she’ll be fine as long as we…”

 

“I said, she looks fine!” Ted shouted, standing and taking heated steps toward them.

 

Lee just couldn’t sit and watch as the confrontation escalated, moving quickly to intercept Ted’s advance on the elderly couple.  His movement garnered instant attention from Kyle, however, as he leveled his already cocked weapon, while sounds of confusion and fear from fellow hostages added to the tense scene.

 

Lee stood his ground between Ted and the elderly couple with his hands raised in front of him, hoping to placate the gunmen.

 

“Sit down!” Kyle ordered as one of the other men had risen to try and help as well.  He sat slowly, but Lee remained standing.

 

“Listen, all she needs is her inhaler, you’ve got to know that if she gets worse you’ll end up with a medical emergency, and that won’t help your cause any,” he reasoned with his hands still raised in submission.

 

“Are you looking for trouble, Hero?” Ted asked, moving closer, his handgun drawn and pointed menacingly at Lee’s middle.

 

“I’m not looking for trouble, but she needs her medication.  What can it hurt to give her the inhaler?” he asked, appealing to Ted’s humanity, which he seriously doubted existed at this point.

 

“I ought to put a hole in you right now,” Ted threatened.

 

“Give it a rest, Ted,” Jason said from across the room.  “You pull that trigger and we’ll have the sharp-shooter picking out targets in no time.”

 

Ted took a step back.

 

“Here,” Jason said walking part-way over and tossing the inhaler to Ted.  “Give her the damn thing so I can think.”

 

Lee stepped aside as Ted tossed the inhaler to Mr. Harper, his disdain toward the old man abundantly apparent.

 

“Thank you,” Mr. Harper offered gratefully to Ted’s disgusted roll of the eyes.  “Here Martha,” he said, and then sighed with relief when she took the necessary dosage.

 

“All right Hero, back to your spot,” Jason ordered.

 

Lee turned, only too happy to comply with his only goal to secure the inhaler for Mrs. Harper fulfilled, but with his back turned, he completely missed the slight nod from Jason.  The next thing he knew, he was the recipient of a mean jab to his back, courtesy of Kyle’s rifle butt.  He ended up on his knees, gasping for his next breath at the heavy blow and barely hearing Jason’s words in the background.

 

“Don’t none of you think you can stand up to us again,” Jason threatened with his gun drawn as Lee was pulled to his feet by both arms, with Ted on one side and JD on the other.

 

“Now you’re gonna get what’s coming to you, Hero,” Ted said from his left side as Lee took a solid fist in the face from Kyle.

 

His head whipped to the left and then the right, before Kyle landed three consecutive blows to his gut that nearly raised him off his feet with each punch.  The muscular man followed up with an upper cut that buckled Lee’s knees as he hung limply between his captors.  JD’s disturbing giggles filled the air, as his perverted excitement over the beating escalated.

 

“That’s enough,” Jason ordered, stopping the assault before addressing the rest of the hostages.  “A word of wisdom to all of you, don’t mess with us if you want to get out of this alive.”

 

At that, Lee was dragged and dropped unceremoniously in his spot, where he crumbled to the floor struggling to put air into his lungs.

 

* * * * *

 

It had been a calculated risk to stand up to Ted, and though he was caught off guard by the jab in the back, he couldn’t say he was completely surprised by the attack.  It wasn’t the worst beating he’d ever received, but he was well aware of several fractured ribs, courtesy of Kyle’s iron fist.  The big man had put every pound of his ample muscle behind every punch and subsequently, he was now the recipient of dark bruises on his jaw, along with a swollen right eye.  He wiped a thin stream of blood from the side of his mouth with the back of his hand and concentrated on breathing shallowly, his newly cracked ribs protesting with every breath.

 

“Are you, all right?” Tracy asked, from her place, still watching over her patient.

 

Lee’s head rested against the back of the wall as he swallowed and nodded.  “I’m okay, tell Mrs. Harper, I’m okay,” he said, having picked up on her cries above the other hostages as he was dragged to his spot.

 

He closed his eyes to discourage further conversation; the last thing he needed was for Jason to start in on any other hostages.  A soft whimper from his left, reminded him that the young boy had witnessed the violence.

 

“It’s okay Timmy, time for your nap,” his mother urged, having not been completely successful in keeping him from seeing the attack.

 

Lee looked over to see Timmy staring back at him and smiled, hoping to show the boy that he really was fine.

 

“Ouchie,” Timmy said sympathetically, pointing toward Lee’s face.

 

“It’s all right.  Take your nap like your mommy says,” he whispered with a small smile and then rested his head back against the wall when Timmy nodded and closed his eyes.  The hostage situation was in danger of being on a collision course with disaster, and he could only hope that the police negotiator had sized the situation up right.  He had a backup plan if negotiations failed, but now wasn’t the time.  If the negotiator could bring this to a peaceful end, then he was all for it; but if not, he had his own ace in the hole to play.

 

* * * * *

 

Admiral Harriman Nelson rarely took days off, and even when he was home from the office at the Nelson Institute for Marine Research, he was still busy thinking through new ideas or reading reports.  Such was his current activity as he sat in his favorite chair reading through the many proposals seeking to secure Seaview and her crew for their projects.  His phone rang, breaking his concentration as he laid the folder on the coffee table reluctantly, and headed for table against the wall.

 

“Nelson,” he answered.

 

“Admiral, this is Chip.  Have you seen the news, Sir?”

 

“No,” Harry said, looking down at this watch and noting that at 1337 hours, it wasn’t even close to the nightly news hour.  “Is there something I should know about?” he asked, knowing that Seaview’s Exec wouldn’t have made this call without due cause.

 

“Turn to Channel 3, Sir.”

 

“Very well, but why don’t you tell me what I’m looking for,” Harry replied, becoming slightly irritated as he walked over to the television set in his den. 

 

“Well, I can’t say for sure, Sir, but… there!  Did you see it?” Chip said, interrupting his own explanation as the local news station continued its coverage having broken into regular programming.  The caption at the bottom of the TV screen read, “Stand-off in local bank as bank robbers takes hostages.”

 

“I see, something about a bank robbery and hostages,” Harry replied, his interest piqued knowing that Chip Morton wouldn’t have called unless this news had some sort of impact on him or the Institute.  The news reporter continued to report as the camera reduced its zoom of the bank, to focus on the news reporter standing at the back of the parking lot.  It was then that he spotted the cherry red sports car, unmistakably familiar.  “Is that Lee’s car?” he asked, leaning forward and keying in exactly on what had precipitated Chip’s call.

 

“I can’t say for sure without seeing the license plate, Sir, but there can’t be many red Shelby Cobras around here.”  Both men knew that was a given, the car had become an instant classic with only 3 years of production from ’65 to ‘67.

 

“I’m assuming you called his house?”

 

“Aye Sir, no one’s home and I know he had errands to run today.”

 

Harry studied the television screen, catching another glimpse of the red sports car as the camera panned once again.

 

“It’s got to be Lee’s car,” he muttered just under his breath.

 

“Sir?”

 

“I’m going to make a call to see what the police know and then I’m heading over there.”

 

“Permission to tag along, Sir?” Chip asked hastily.

 

“Granted.  Get over here quick, Chip.  I’m going to get to the bottom of this, one way or the other,” he answered resolutely, then hung up and dialed “0”.

 

“Operator, connect me to the Santa Barbara Police Department.”

 

* * * * *

 

Harry was still on the phone when Chip walked in the front door.  The TV was tuned into the news coverage, though the sound was turned down.

 

“Very well, Captain Thompson, we’ll be right over.”  Harry placed the receiver on the cradle and held it there a moment in quiet contemplation, before turning to face Chip.

 

“Captain Thompson confirmed that Lee is one of the hostages in the bank.  He’s agreed to give us clearance to enter the area.”

 

“How did you manage that, Sir?”

 

“You and I are the US Navy’s representatives monitoring an officer being forcibly held against his will.  In short, Washington pulled its strings to deem this a National Security issue.  It was a stretch, but it worked,” he added, opening a drawer retrieving the satellite phone and grabbing his tan lightweight jacket, before heading for the door.

 

“You’re car or mine, Sir?” Chip inquired, grateful that Admiral Nelson knew how to effectively wield his stars to his advantage, even in a civil emergency.

 

“Yours.  Let’s get going,” Harry replied, anxious to get to the scene and find out what was going on with his captain.

 

* * * * *

 

“We received a silent alarm from within the bank.  One of the tellers must have panicked, because the current policy is to allow the bank robbers to leave the bank to prevent this sort of thing.  Now, we were perfectly willing to allow the perpetrators to drive away and deal with them on the road, but one of them opened fire.  We took out the driver and they ran back into the bank.  Now, we’ve got twenty-four hostages, including a child, and a wounded security guard inside there.  The captors provided us with a list of their names, which was how we were able to verify your inquiry about Crane.  They’ve closed the drapes, and the van is currently blocking our view of the front door, so we don’t know any more about their status at this point,” Captain Thompson said, bringing Harry and Chip up to date. 

 

“What about the bank robbers themselves, how much do you know about them?” Harry asked.

 

“Their leader is a cold-blooded killer,” Thompson answered reaching for a mug shot in the police swat van, his make-shift Command Central in the bank parking lot.  “Jason Worley,” he said, handing the photo to Harry, while Chip looked over from the side, “He’s a convicted killer who escaped while on a chain gang about a year and half ago, killed a guard in the process.  He was in for double murder.  Robbed a highway diner and killed the cook and a waitress; witnesses testified they had cooperated completely.  He just pulled the trigger and emptied his gun on them before running off with two hundred and forty-three dollars.  He’s been on the lam ever since.”

 

The tension mounted as Chip blew out an incredulous low whistle at the barbaric act.

 

“What about his accomplices?” Harry continued affected, but keeping his cool to gather the facts.

 

“We counted four jumping into the getaway van,” the captain said, nodding toward the light blue Ford Club Wagon, a full-sized passenger van that was twelve years old and looked like it had seen a fair amount of abuse.  “The driver was taken out by the sharp-shooter when shots were fired.  Worley confirmed that the security guard was shot.  That’s all we have at this point.  Worley is playing it like he’s seen a dozen Hollywood movies involving bank robbers with hostages.   He talks to us, makes sure we know he’s in charge, and then hangs up.  But he’s going to have to get serious in negotiating, and he knows it, so I’m expecting our next call will produce some demands.”

 

“Thank you, Captain Thompson.  I appreciate you bringing us up to speed.”

 

“No problem, now if you’ll excuse me,” he said taking a quick look at his watch, “It’s almost time to make contact again.”

 

“Of course,” Harry said, stepping back and out of the way of the busy police captain and regrouping with Chip a few steps back.

 

“What do you think, Sir?”

 

Harry shook his head and pursed his lips tightly while watching the police activity around them.  “We’re just observers here, there’s not much we can do at this point.  Thompson knows his business, I’ve no doubt about that; and by the looks of how well they’re entrenched here, I think he’s expecting a full assault shoot-out.”

 

“He could be hoping for the best and preparing for the worst,” Chip offered optimistically.

 

“Perhaps, but Chip, I’ve seen it in more than one active war room by generals and admirals alike.  A good general knows his enemy and what he’s capable of,” Harry noted contemplatively.  “By now, Thompson knows everything about Worley.  He’ll negotiate in good faith, but I can see it in his eyes… he doesn’t believe this will go well,” he predicted as both men watched the heavily armed police officers dig in for the worst-case scenario.

 

* * * * *

 

Ted had returned to the desk, sitting with one leg dangling over the corner as he watched over the hostages.  Jason was sitting by the phone at the bank manager’s desk as JD paced nervously in front of him.

 

“Sit down and relax, JD,” Jason said, without lifting his eyes from the paper he was writing on.

 

“I’m bored,” he complained, close to a whine.  “Whatcha’ working on, Jason?”

 

“Our demands,” he stated evenly.

 

“Yeah?  Like what?” he asked, leaning in with renewed interest.

 

“Four hundred grand in unmarked bills…”

 

JD eyes lit up.  “That’s a hundred grand a piece!”

 

“Yep, and safe passage to a private jet with instructions to fly us wherever we want to go.”

 

“What’s to keep them from storming the jet once we let go of the hostages?” Ted asked from the desk.

 

“Nothing, that’s why we each take one with us,” Jason said with a grin that revealed a gold tooth on his lower left incisor.

 

JD stopped his pacing and smiled lewdly, turning toward the hostages and keying his attention squarely on Rebecca Farmington, the young blonde “cheerleader” he had noticed before.  “Yeah, and I know just who’s going with me,” he said, biting his bottom lip and chuckling to himself.

 

Rebecca shuddered at his gaze and lowered her eyes, breaking the terrorizing connection and sniffing back tears that had formed and fallen many times since the nightmare began.  Her co-worker held a protective arm about her, lending strength to young woman’s frazzled nerves.

 

“It’s all right Becca,” she comforted quietly as each of the twenty-four hostages cringed at Jason’s revelation.

 

* * * * *

 

Kyle started from one side, walking a purposeful sentry in front of the hostages, his rifle shouldered by a strap and pointed downward, but ready to move into position at the slightest hint of trouble.  He slowed his walk to stop in front of Lee, who was keeping tabs on all of the captors in the bank lobby.

 

“I haven’t got any use for officers,” he stated darkly, emphasizing his last word as if it had left a bad taste in his mouth.  “I’d just as soon shoot you, as look at you,” he announced with heated emotion that was just barely kept in check.

 

Lee kept strong eye contact, silently defying the mass of muscles in front of him, but not rising to the bait.  His lack of response greatly annoyed Kyle, who responded by kicking his extended leg.

 

“What’s the matter, Navy?  Are you afraid of me after what I did to you?”

 

Lee’s returning gaze offered no doubt of his opinion of the man in front of him, but kept silent.  Kyle laughed and started to continue his sentry when a low dangerous voice stopped his progress.

 

“Any time you want to go for round two without your boys holding me back, just say so.”

 

Kyle turned sharply, pointing the rifle squarely at Lee’s chest, and getting little reaction from his hostage for the obvious intimidation.

 

“I ought to plug you right now,” Kyle threatened, his nostrils flaring as his face reddened in anger.

 

Lee continued to stare him down, his eyes relentlessly boring back, while the mood thickened into something decidedly dangerous.

 

“Come on, Kyle,” Ted stepped in with a cautious hand to his accomplice’s arm.  “Jason wants to talk to us.”

 

Kyle stood in place a moment longer, neither man backing down, before he turned to join the others at Jason’s desk.

 

Lee watched the large man walk away, relaxing inwardly that the confrontation hadn’t escalated any further.  He didn’t have a death wish, but he also knew that Kyle was full of unchecked anger; keeping himself in his crosshairs might just protect his fellow hostages from his violent tendencies.  He wasn’t sure why Kyle hated officers so much, but he figured it had to do with the probable Dishonorable Discharge that Ted alluded to earlier when he said the Army and he hadn’t left on the best of terms. 

 

“Pssst.”

 

Lee turned toward Timmy’s small voice to see him reaching in an effort to return the sunglasses to their owner.

 

Lee softened his expression and smiled.  “You keep them for me,” he whispered back.  Timmy thought a moment and then pulled the glasses back and nodded, apparently taking his new job of protecting the glasses very seriously.  Meanwhile, Lee turned his attention back to the bank robbers who were huddled together talking amongst themselves.

 

* * * * *

 

“We should be getting a call pretty soon now, and we’re going to have to show a little give and take,”

 Jason said, explaining the process.

 

“Why?  I thought you said we were holding all the cards?” JD questioned.

 

“Because, that’s how it works.  We give a little… and then we take a lot,” Jason answered with a small smile.  “Now, here are the demands,” he continued, handing the paper to his fellow bank robbers to read over.

 

“You really think they’ll give us what we want?” JD asked hesitantly after looking over the list.

 

“They’ll know we mean business all right,” Jason replied with a toothy grin.

 

“How?” Ted asked, leaning in closer.

 

“One look at what Kyle here did to Hero over there, and they’ll be falling all over themselves to give us what we want,” Jason explained.

 

“What do you mean?” Ted asked, his brow tightening in question.

 

“We let Hero there take the demands out to the cops.”

 

“But what’s to keep him from delivering the demands and then skipping out on us?  We’d be down one hostage,” Ted asked, crossing his arms in displeasure.

 

“No way, just look at him.  He’s come to the defense of that old lady twice already.  Nah, he won’t run out on them,” Jason argued.

 

“But why?” Kyle joined in, not happy with the plan.  “Why not just give them the demands over the phone?”

 

“It’s part of that give and take thing.  They get a chance to see a hostage up close, he tells them we mean business, and they work all the harder to make it happen.”

 

“Why only four G’s?” Ted asked.  “Why not a cool million?”

 

“Have you ever seen a million dollars in cash?” Jason asked sarcastically with a shake of his head.  “Besides, it will only take them a few hours to rustle up the four hundred thou’.  The sooner we get on our way the better.”

 

“Yeah, Jason knows what he’s doing,” JD jumped in, backing up their leader with steadfast devotion.  “I say we do it.”

 

Kyle took another look over at Crane, his face darkening in thought.  “Okay, fine, but if things go wrong, he’s the first one to get a bullet.”

 

Jason shrugged a shoulder, not caring one way or the other.  “What about you, Ted?”

 

“I’m in, I mean you’ve gotten us this far.”

 

“Good job, boys.  Stick with me, I’ll have us set up on an island and living the good life before you know it.”

 

Ring.

 

“Right on time, boys,” Jason said, moving back to the desk and reaching for the phone.

 

* * * * *

 

“Jason?  This is Captain Thompson.”

 

“Yeah,” he answered non-committedly.

 

“It’s time to talk about what we can do for a peaceful resolution.”

 

“How peaceful this goes depends completely on you,” Jason countered.

 

“Jason, you’ve got to know you have nowhere to go.  The bank is surrounded and you can’t shoot your way out.  You know as well as I do that if even one of those hostages dies, you’ll be facing the electric chair.”

 

“If you’re not willing to meet my demands, you just tell me right now, because I swear, I’ll pick five hostages and execute them right here and now!” Jason yelled, the veins in his neck swelling with anger.

 

“No Jason, I’m sorry.  We just got off on the wrong foot is all,” Thompson backtracked, trying to save the negotiations before the body bags started lining up.  “You just tell me what you want and I’ll see what I can do.”

 

“Call me back in ten minutes,” he answered, slamming the phone down and breathing hard.  He regained his composure and took one long breath and then looked up.  “Get Crane.”

 

* * * * *

 

The entire group of hostages cringed when three of their captors approached them, making a direct line to one hostage in particular. 

 

“Get up, Hero,” Ted ordered, using his gun to motion him forward.  JD and Kyle stood by with their guns drawn as well, all three posing a definite threat.

 

Lee sat forward, holding his side as he found his way to his feet.

 

“This way,” Ted said, urging him forward with a push to his back.

 

The hostages buzzed in small whispers, everyone wondering what fate awaited the stranger who had dared stand up to their captors.  More than one held their breaths when he stopped in front of Jason.

 

“Relax, Crane,” Jason patronized, even though his hostage wasn’t displaying any fear.  “You’re just going to run an errand for us,” Jason explained somewhat calmly.

 

“What kind of errand?” Lee questioned.

 

“You’re going to take our demands out to the fuzz, tell them we mean business, and then turn around and walk right back in here.  Easy as pie,” Jason finished handing him a piece of paper.

 

Lee took the time to look down at the demands, speed reading them and then returning his gaze.

 

“All right,” he agreed.

 

“And just to make sure you come back… JD here is going to hold a gun to his favorite hostage’s head,” he threatened.

 

That news sent JD instantly into giggles as he practically ran over to Rebecca, pulling her up by the hand and wrapping his arm around her neck with his gun resting against her temple as he brought her over to Jason.

 

“That’s not necessary,” Lee countered loudly.  “Just leave her alone; I give you my word I’ll be back.”

 

“That’s right,” Jason said, stepping up close and going toe to toe with him.  “Because you know I’ll pull the trigger myself without batting an eye.  You know that, don’t you?” he asked darkly, in a low threatening whisper.

 

“Just let her go back with the others.  You know I’ll be back,” he reiterated, not feeling at all comfortable with JD holding her so closely.

 

Jason laughed having gotten the response he was going for, and nodded for JD to release her.  The youngest bank robber loosened his hold reluctantly and pushed her toward the hostages as she ran back to her place and huddled next to co-worker once again.

 

“Just wait until I tell you, Crane.  I’ve got to wait for a phone call, or else you might have your head blown off by the sharp shooter,” he joked and then laughed obnoxiously at his own perceived wit.

 

* * * * *

 

Jason hung up the phone as Lee stood by waiting for the word to take their demands outside.

 

“Okay, Crane, you’re all clear.  But wait,” he said, standing and circling Lee.  “Just one more thing,” he said casually, before issuing an unexpected backhand to his jaw.  Lee stood his ground, taking only a checking step back before finding his footing again.  The blow reopened a cut as a fresh flow of blood fell from the corner of his mouth.  “Now that’s more like it,” Jason said, patronizingly slapping the side of his face then nodding for Ted to open the door.

 

* * * * *

 

Lee followed his instructions to the letter, walking out five feet past the van and waiting for the police captain to meet him in the parking lot.

 

“Lee Crane?” Captain Thompson verified.

 

“Yes,” he replied handing over the demands.

 

“Looks like you’ve been roughed up a bit.  Anybody else hurt?”

 

“The security guard’s got a bullet in his shoulder.  He’s stable; one of the hostages is a nurse, she’s looking after him.”

 

“How did it happen?” he asked, using small movements to point to Lee’s face.

 

“Just some power play after I challenged one of the gunmen about Mrs. Harley’s medication.”

 

“I see, making sure none of the other hostages got any ideas,” Thompson stated, handily sizing up the encounter quickly.  “What can you tell me about the set-up in there?” he asked, pretending to study the demands so as not to alert the captors of their conversation.

 

“Four gunmen, all armed with semi-automatic handguns, two Glock 17s,” Thompson’s brow sharpened, the Glock 17s were new to the gun market and made a mental note to check for recent sales receipts in the area, “a Colt 1911 and a Berretta; 87 I think.  Kyle is prior military.  He’s unstable with violent tendencies; recently Dishonorably Discharged from the Army I’m guessing; and the only one with a rifle, a repeating action Winchester 270.  Ted is heartless and just as violent.  He has absolutely no compunction about keeping medication away from an elderly couple.  The youngest, JD, he’s your wild card, he’s nervous and excitable and he’s got his eye on one of the tellers.  Jason, you know.”

 

“Yeah,” Thompson agreed, without sharing what he knew about Jason Worley.  “What about ages? Any last names besides Worley’s?”

 

“They’ve only used first names.  Kyle and Ted are late twenties, I’d say.  JD is very early twenties, probably not far out of his teens,” he added, pausing a moment in concern before continuing.  “I’m sure by now, you’re aware that one of the hostages is a child.  It’s volatile in there, Captain,” he added, “someone’s going to get hurt the longer this goes.”

 

“We’re doing the best we can,” Thompson replied noncommittedly, not wanting to give any unnecessary information away that the captors could cash in on.

 

“Another thing, Captain, they each plan on taking a hostage with them when they board the plane as insurance.”

 

“That’s enough, Crane!” he heard from the bank behind him.  Their allotted was time over, though they had managed to keep their conversation private.  Lee turned, his movement interrupted by the captain.

 

“You could come back with me now, Crane.  We’d have one less hostage to worry about.”

 

Lee shook his head resolutely.  “You’ll have fewer than that if I don’t go back,” he said before noticing Harry and Chip at the back of the parking lot and then turning the rest of the way to head back into the bank.

 

* * * * *

 

Harry’s lips were tightly pursed.  He had been notified that Lee was delivering the bank robber’s demands, but he hadn’t expected the bruises and blood.  To top it off, Harry was sure that he was favoring his side; Lee was right handed, but he had handed off the demands with his left hand. 

 

He avoided pacing, the scene of an armed robbery with hostages wasn’t the place to expose oneself to possible gunfire by moving unnecessarily.  Instead, he waited near Command Central for Captain Thompson.  The mood was tense until the captain returned to cover; even a bullet proof vest was no match for a kill shot to the head.  Once secure from possible gunfire, he headed to the SWAT van with the demands in hand.

 

Harry waited patiently, at least on the outside.  Fortunately, Thompson called him closer laying the demand on his portable desk as the police captain began debriefing a group of both uniformed and plain clothed officers.

 

“Crane has verified that we have four gunmen involved,” he stopped to shake his head and chuckled.  “Worley made a huge mistake sending a Naval officer out with the demands, he’s given us a lot to work with,” he added before returning to the briefing.  “Each is armed with a semi-automatic, the Colt M1911 has been around since my grand-daddy’s time, and the Berretta 87 has been out at least five years, but the Glock 17 has only been out about a year.  Tom, I want you to follow up with the local gun stores for sales.  Now, I haven’t got any last names, but the other three gunmen answer to Kyle and Ted, he estimates both in their late twenties; and JD, very early twenties, which supports our theory that Jason Worley’s youngest brother, Jedidiah is the fourth gunmen.  Also, Crane says that Kyle is prior military, and he believes has been Dishonorably Discharged.  How good are your connections to Washington, Admiral Nelson?”

 

“Very good,” he answered evenly.

 

“I’d love for you to pull some strings and see if we can’t find a recently discharged man named Kyle in his mid to late twenties.”

 

“I’ll get right on it.”

 

“Crane indicates that all the men are ruthless and violent,” Thompson continued.  “As far as casualties, you saw Crane’s condition, he challenged the gunmen about an elderly couple’s medication, and they roughed him up in order to keep the other hostages in line.  He reports the security guard is stable and currently being cared for by a nurse, and he verified that one of the hostages is a child.  Crane is also concerned about the safety of one teller in particular; it appears Jedidiah is living up to that dropped charge against him.  Paul, start working on gathering together the cash, we’re going to have to appear to be complying to keep the situation from blowing up.  Crane also indicated that they plan on using hostages as human shields for the transport, so we’re going to have to adjust to that.  For now, let’s get a plane revved up with two of our own pilots, if we can lower the risk from twenty-four hostages down to four, then we’re going to have to take that as our first plan.  Remember, Worley has already demonstrated that he will kill and without provocation.  I don’t trust him any further than I can throw him.  So, keep your men sharp out here, but be careful not to make any unnecessary movements that might invoke Worley’s wrath inside the bank.  Okay, men, that’s it for now.  I want reports back on your progress within the hour.”

 

Thompson then turned toward Harry as the rest of the men dispersed to their duties.

 

“I know I haven’t given you much to work on, Admiral, but Crane did say he thought Kyle was Army.”

 

“It will be enough.  The list can’t be that long for a DD named Kyle in his late twenties.  I’ll get working on it,” he added with a quick glance toward Chip, who was standing by with the satellite phone.

 

“Commander Crane has given us valuable information to work on,” Thompson complimented and then sighed.  “I uh… offered him a chance to walk away, but he didn’t bat an eye and insinuated that someone would suffer if he didn’t return.  If things go bad, how do you gauge his willingness to help from within; and just as importantly, to not act foolishly before I have a chance to resolve the matter?”

 

Harry held his face even, not allowing his personal feelings to rise to the surface.  He understood completely that Thompson’s questions were valid ones, and his answer was given with deep conviction, leaving no room for misunderstanding.  “Lee Crane is SEAL trained, and he stands ready to be a tactical asset to you from the inside.  But he’s also a Naval Officer, he understands and respects the chain of command, and is smart enough to sit back and allow you time to work this out as peacefully as possible.  He won’t act unless he feels there is a clear and present danger, with no other options left available to him.”

 

“That’s what I wanted to hear,” the captain replied and then turned and looked up at the helicopter that had just come on the scene, hovering way closer than he’d like.  “Richard, get that news chopper to clear the area,” he ordered, turning back to his Command Center and working through the tense hostage situation from every angle he could think of.

 

* * * * *

 

Lee walked back inside the bank, and was immediately pushed against the door and held with a rough arm across his throat while Kyle frisked him.

 

“He’s clean,” he reported, adding an extra push against Lee’s neck before stepping away.

 

“Of course, he is.  Hero here wouldn’t take a chance with his fellow hostages, now would you?” Jason mocked.  He motioned for Lee to return to the hostages as Kyle urged him forward with a shove. 

 

When he got close enough to the empty spot along the wall, Kyle added an extra shove that sent Lee sprawling to the floor.  His breath was momentarily taken from his lungs as he hit the floor on his bad side.  After a few minutes of breathing hard waiting for the pain to pass, he managed to sit up and lean back against the wall, while Kyle walked back to his sentry spot sporting a victorious smile.

 

“Here.”

 

Lee turned to see the nurse leaning over the hostage between them with a handkerchief, ready to dab the blood from his mouth.

 

“Tracy, you shouldn’t…”

 

“Shhh,” she said, patting the blood away.  “I know what you’re doing,” she whispered with a side glance toward Kyle, “making yourself a target to keep him away from us.  We all know; but please, be careful.  He hates you.”

 

Lee cracked a small smile, his eyes grateful for her concern.  “I’ll be fine, but it’s not good for you to show too much concern for me,” he added, his smile fading with the truth of the matter.  She recognized his deep concern for her in his expressive eyes and nodded, handing him the handkerchief and then returning to her place.  Almost immediately, another voice from the opposite direction garnered his attention as Timmy started fussing.

 

“What’s going over there?” Jason demanded, raising his voice annoyingly.  Kyle pointed his gun toward Timmy’s mother trying to hush her son, silently identifying the problem for the leader.

 

“Deal with it, Ted,” Jason ordered, too busy with their escape plans to worry about a fussy kid.

 

Ted walked over and stood in front of her, studying the situation as Lee tensed inwardly at another possible confrontation.

 

“What’s wrong with the kid?” he asked harshly.

 

“He’s hungry.  It’s his snack time,” she said holding him protectively close.

 

Ted squatted down, watching the toddler and trying to make eye contact with him.  Timmy, however, had already figured out just who were the bad men in this bank and wouldn’t make eye contact with the bank robber.

 

“Please, I have crackers and juice in my bag…” she suggested.

 

“You want something to eat, kid?”

 

Timmy nodded, his eyes never leaving an indiscriminate spot on the floor.  Ted stood up, standing to hover over them a moment, obviously thinking his options through.

 

“Come show me which one is your bag,” he ordered roughly, trying to disguise his soft spot for the kid.

 

The mother took one look at him, and handed Timmy over to Lee with an unmistakable unspoken plea in her eyes. 

 

“Hey, Timmy,” he greeted as he reached for the boy, understanding that his mother didn’t want the criminal trying to buddy up to her son.

 

Timmy’s eyes widened for a moment when he realized his mother was leaving, and Lee feared he might go ballistic, something none of them needed in this volatile moment.

 

“Your mom’s going to get your snack.  How about you sit with me for a while?” he asked with a soft smile.

 

The toddler’s bottom lip quivered, but accepted the situation, quietly comforting himself with his thumb and watching his mother’s every move as she walked away, while still holding Lee’s Ray Bans in his free hand.  Lee noticed that though the lenses were smudged, he had taken good care of them.  It was a small price to pay to keep the boy entertained, and he gave no more thought to the expensive sunglasses.  They belonged to Timmy now as far as he was concerned.

 

“Mommy,” Timmy called quietly.

 

“You’re being a very big boy,” Lee encouraged as they watched Ted dump her bag out on a desk.  Ted handed her a few items and then escorted her back.  “Look, here she comes now.”

 

Timmy’s relief was obvious, though his anxiety was such that he nearly lost it and almost started crying upon her approach.  But he made a valiant, concerted effort for a four-year-old, and sucked back his sniffles like the big boy he was.  She sat down, placing the snack bag beside her and reached for her son.

 

“Thank you,” she whispered as Timmy settled in for graham crackers and apple juice.

 

“No problem,” Lee replied, grateful they had averted yet another near disaster.

 

* * * * *

 

“Wow.  You do fast work,” Captain Thompson complimented, looking over a facsimile printed straight to his machine at Command Central. 

 

“I guess my pull in Washington is still good,” Harry deadpanned, followed by a small smile.

 

“No doubt about that.  Let’s see here, Kyle Trevor Walker… received a Dishonorable Discharge from the US Army for repeated insubordination after he was denied special training as a Ranger,” Thompson read out loud.

 

“He didn’t pass the psychological test.  The Rangers are Special Ops, they’re highly trained and are placed in pressure cooker situations.  He was tagged as unstable with violent tendencies, and his request for training was denied.”

 

“So, he snapped; couldn’t cope with the rejection,” the Captain picked up.

 

“He spent a year in confinement before his discharge over a year ago, and look here,” Harry pointed out.  “He maintained that an officer had it in for him and singled him out for failure.  His insubordination was well documented.  He went so far as to threaten the officer and was court-martialed.”

 

“And Crane is an officer.  Commander.  What’s that?  The equivalent of a major in the army?” the captain asked.

 

“A Lt. Colonel,” Harry corrected.

 

Thompson blew a whistle between his teeth.   “If Kyle Walker finds out about that, Crane could be in serious trouble.”

 

“I imagine he already knows.  He carries a military ID,” Harry informed.  “That probably explains the beating as much as anything,” he postulated.

 

“Perhaps.  Okay, well at least we now have a picture and ID for three of our gunmen.  We’re still working on ‘Ted’.”

 

“Captain?”

 

“Excuse me,” Thompson said, turning toward a plains clothed officer.  “What have you got, Rob?”

 

“DMV registration for the getaway van,” he answered, handing Thompson the report.

 

“Ted Miller, last address: Bakersfield.  Good work,” he said smiling, holding up an enlarged photo of Ted’s California driver’s license.  “Did you run the usual checks?”

 

“Yes sir, he’s no stranger to trouble.  He was raised by his grandparents.  He’s got a rap sheet a mile long, starting from when he was just thirteen years old; spent more time in juvenile hall than home.  Petty theft, breaking and entering, armed robbery… every conviction more serious than the last.  He even decked his grandfather; the guy was 79 years old at the time.  Crazy enough, he’s been clean for the last year and a half…”

 

“Or maybe he just wasn’t caught,” Thompson hypothesized.  “Okay, so we have a run-down on all of our gunmen and it only goes to confirm that we’re dealing with men who are all capable of what they threaten.”  He waited a moment and then turned to another officer, standing by waiting for instructions.  “Find out how close we are to getting the money together, and get me a plane.  I’m pretty sure we’d better separate them from as many hostages as we can, and use the sharp shooters when they board the plane if necessary.”

 

“What about their plan to use hostages as human shields?” the young officer asked.

 

“It’s a chance we’ll have to take.  If we allow them to get on that airplane, their lives will be forfeited anyway.  I don’t believe Jason Worley will allow the flight crew or the hostages to return alive.  An armed assault is the best chance of survival for any hostage they take along.  Now get going.”

 

Ring.

 

The captain turned toward the ringing phone.  “Get me all the information you can get, men.  I have a feeling this thing is going to spiral out of control fast,” he ordered, and then picked up the phone and answered. “Captain Thompson.”

 

* * * * *

 

Timmy’s snacks must have reminded JD he was hungry, because he had raided the honor system snack bin in the bank lunch room.   A pile of candy bar wrappers and chip bags littered the desk beside him as he polished off his second pop can.  A sandwich had been confiscated from someone’s lunch in the refrigerator, but he had bypassed the fruit, not even tempted by the apple.  He finished off his meal with a loud belch, which produced an instant glare from Jason.

 

“Aren’t you through feeding your face yet?”

 

“I’m bored, you know I always eat when I’m bored,” he answered, hopping down from the desk where he’d been perched and started pacing with the energy four candy bars and two Mountain Dews produced.  “I mean, how much longer, Jason?  It’s been an hour and we still haven’t heard from them!” he complained, throwing his hands up in the air.

 

“I’m with JD,” Ted joined in.  “It seems to me that the longer we give them, the more time they have to plan an attack.”

 

Kyle turned, keeping his opinion to himself for now, but his body language said he agreed with the others.

 

“Don’t get yourselves worked up.  That’s what they want,” Jason warned.  “But, I agree, time to tighten the screws on our demands; make sure they know not to mess with us,” he added, reaching for the phone.

 

“Who ya’ gonna call?” JD asked confused.

 

“By now, this phone has been set up with a direct line to the cops.  Watch,” he said, picking up the phone and waiting without dialing, as his three accomplices all leaned in to see if he was right.  Jason held the phone away from his ear so they could all hear the faint greeting of the police negotiator identifying himself on the other side.

 

“Captain Thompson.”

 

They each released some tension; their faith in Jason restored now that he had proven he knew about the phone line and instead, focused on the conversation.

 

“Where’s our money?” he demanded.

 

“We’re getting it together now, Jason.  You know it takes time to…”

 

“Bullshit!” he yelled, cutting the captain off.  “You’re stalling, probably digging in to take us out the minute we show some sign of weakness.”

 

“Listen to me, Jason.  We’ve got $300,000 together, but it will take a little longer for the other…”

 

“Why?  Are you marking them?  I told you, unmarked bills!” he challenged, his face reddening once again as his anger boiled over, threatening an imminent explosion if he wasn’t placated soon.

 

“Give us time, Jason,” Thompson urged.

 

“What about the jet?”

 

“We’re having trouble securing one.  Not too many firms want to give a Lear Jet and its crew over to a possible hostage situation.”

 

“Maybe you just need some reminding about how serious I am?”

 

“Don’t do anything rash, Jason.  Just give me 30 minutes more; I’ll have something for you then.”

 

“You’d better, or I’ll be reducing my hostage count in here… one hostage for every 15 minutes you delay.  Screw this up and you’ll have a blood-bath on your hands,” he threatened, slamming the phone down on the cradle.

 

Jason wiped the back of his hand across his mouth, his rage unmistakably felt by everyone in the bank.

 

“Jason?”

 

“Shut up, JD.  Let me think!” he fired back as the three gunmen backed off a step.

 

* * * * *

 

Thompson hung up the phone and turned immediately to his men.  “Is the decoy plane ready?” 

 

It was a given that they weren’t going to turn a plane and its crew over to cold-blooded killers.  A decoy plane had been secured so that the transfer could be made from the bank to a regional airport.  They would allow the bank robbers safe passage to the airport and then apprehend them on the tarmac where they would be the most vulnerable.

 

“It’s in the air.  We had to bring the Lear in from San Francisco.  I’m told ETA is about an hour.”

 

“Worley gave me a half-hour, and it’s a twenty-minute drive to the airport.”  Thompson shook his head, his concern apparent.  “This is going to be close gentlemen.  What about that last hundred grand?” 

 

“We’re still rounding it up.”

 

Thompson grimaced at the reply.  “All right, keep with it, we’ll promise the other $100,000 at the airport.  Okay, everyone move into action.”

 

His men dispersed into several directions as Chip leaned in close to Harry.

 

“Do you think they can delay the bank robbers long enough for the plane to land?”

 

“I don’t know, Chip, but if they roll onto that tarmac and the plane isn’t there, those hostages won’t stand a chance,” the Admiral answered solemnly.

 

* * * * *

 

“What did they say, Jason?” Ted asked, after waiting until the veins stopped bulging in their leader’s neck.

 

“They said they got $300,000 ready for us and they’re still working on getting an airplane.”

 

“Three hundred grand is still a lot of dough, Jason.  And we still have the seventy-five grand from the vault.  Let’s take it and run,” JD suggested.

 

“You idiot, how far do you think we’d get before they threw spikes on the road?  They’d just love for us to do that!” he said rolling his eyes.  “No boys, we’ve got to show them we mean business,” he said, standing and sliding a round into the chamber.

 

“Who you gonna’ ice?” JD asked, stepping in close.  “Not the pretty one, she’s going with me.”

 

“We’ll put their names in a hat,” he said, spreading the driver’s licenses out until he found Rebecca’s and tossed it over to JD.  Then he dumped out a waste basket on the floor and brushed the rest of the driver’s licenses over the edge of the desk to collect inside the can. 

 

“Do we all agree?” he asked, turning toward Ted and Kyle.

 

“Yeah,” Kyle said, agreeing without delay.

 

“What about you, Ted?”

 

“I ain’t killed no one before,” he said hesitantly.

 

“You knew it could happen,” Jason challenged.

 

“I ain’t saying I can’t do it,” Ted countered, silently thinking things through and not wanting to disappoint Jason.  Jason had gotten him out of tight spot when a fellow street hoodlum threatened to squeal to the police about his knowledge of a certain gun store robbery.  He didn’t know what Jason did or said, but the guy just disappeared.  It would have been a sure ten years behind bars, if Jason hadn’t stepped in.  “Okay man, I’m in.  They ain’t going to send me up the river again.  If someone dies, it’s on the cop’s heads,” he decided resolutely.

 

Jason placed a hand on his shoulder approvingly, then jiggled the cards down at the bottom of the waste basket and grinned, exposing his gold tooth once again.

 

“Let’s see who wins the lottery, boys.”

 

* * * * *

 

Lee watched the gunmen approached the hostages and knew something was about to go terribly wrong.  Jason was carrying a waste basket and appeared to be swishing the contents around like it was all a sick game.  He hadn’t liked the change in tone after Jason’s blowup on the phone, but the conversation had been kept quiet enough for the hostages to be left completely in the dark.

 

Jason stopped in front of the hostages with his fellow gunmen beside him, all in complete solidarity with their leader.

 

“The cops outside don’t have our money or the plane ready, so one of you is going to convince them that we mean business,” Jason announced, jiggling the cards inside his waste basket.  “Pick one, JD.”

 

JD had no trouble reaching in and pulling out a driver’s license, his eerie giggling sending chills up several hostages’ backs.  He settled on one and handed it to his brother.

 

“And the winner is…” Jason announced playfully, before stopping to add a little explanation.  “Did I tell you what the prize was?” he chuckled.  “The winner gets to talk to the fuzz, and tell them that if the money and plane aren’t delivered in fifteen minutes, they’ll get a bullet to the head.  And we’ll pull a new card every fifteen minutes until we get what we want.”

 

Shocked gasps filled the air as Jason looked at the selected driver’s license, dramatically holding out identifying the name until the tension in the room could be cut with a knife.

 

“Barbara Wheaton,” he announced, looking over the hostages and easily matching the woman to her picture.

 

All four guns were pointed on the hostages, and Lee had no choice but to wait.  He’d give Thompson a chance to come through with whatever plan they had, but there was no way he’d let this turn into a massacre; not when he had the means to stop it.

 

* * * * *

 

Barbara Wheaton was escorted to the phone.  The middle-aged woman wore her blond hair coiffed on top of her head in an obvious salon rendered style.  Her very smart pant suit indicated a woman of some means as well as the tasteful jewelry she wore.  She was shaking and tears had pooled in her eyes, but was valiantly working hard to keep her composure.

 

“Pick up the phone and tell them, sweetheart,” Jason whispered in her ear; her hand quivering as she reached for the receiver.

 

“Captain Thompson.”

 

“Tell him,” Jason said, his mouth very close to her ear, so he could hear the answer from the other side.

 

“This is… Barbara Wheaton.  They tell me that I will die in fifteen minutes if you don’t have the money and the plane ready,” she paused to swallow.

 

“Tell him the rest,” Jason urged from behind.

 

“They say… they will kill a hostage every fifteen minutes until their demands are met,” she finished, her voice breaking on the last statement.

 

Jason grabbed the phone from her, invoking a gasp on her part.  “Don’t try me on this, cop!” he warned, “Or I’m going to put a bullet in her pretty little head,” he said then hung up the phone.

 

A silent moment laced with dark fear passed before JD spoke up.

 

“Now what?”

 

“Now, we wait to see how serious the cops are about saving hostages,” he said darkly, looking over at Ted to make sure he was still in.  Ted nodded back his cold approval.  Kyle’s face hardened; his resolve never in question, as his body language indicating that he was perfectly willing to carry out the deed at Jason’s request.

 

* * * * *

 

“Okay everyone, listen up.  We’re only going to get one chance at this before Worley starts executing hostages,” Thompson announced, gathering his command team near.  “I have no doubt he will carry out his threats, so this has to be done right.  The cash?”

 

“Right here, three hundred and fifty thousand.”

 

“That’s good enough; he won’t have time to count it.  The plane?”

 

“Still a half-hour out.”

 

“I’ll do what I can to stall them, but if things spiral out of control we send them to the airport and cut the risk of casualties down to four,” he said, making the decision out of the reality of the situation, not callousness.  “Okay, we’ve got eleven minutes; I’m going to time this down to the last two minutes.  SWAT Teams and Sharp Shooters stand ready; if Worley doesn’t go for this we may have to storm the bank.  We move on my word.  Got that?”  Heads nodded as the captain dismissed his team to their command positions.

 

Captain Thompson turned, making brief eye contact with Admiral Nelson; the two men exchanging unspoken concern masked by the necessary decisions a leader must make when facing dire situations with less than satisfactory solutions.  He broke the contact, looking down at his watch and then unconsciously checked the bullet proof vest under his jacket.

 

* * * * *

 

JD crouched down in front of Rebecca holding her driver’s license by the corner and swinging it playfully.  The leer in his eyes, coupled with his lascivious smile unnerved her noticeably. 

 

“Don’t you worry sweet thing, your name ain’t going into the lottery, ‘cause you’re going with me to a nice tropical island.  Now, how does that sound?” he said, adding an even lewder grin, if it was at all possible.  He started to reach for her when the phone rang and his attention was diverted back to the important call.

 

“Don’t go away,” he joked, leaving behind a frightened young woman, barely keeping it together.

 

“Yeah,” Jason answered with one hand while holding Barbara Wheaton around the waist with the other.

 

“Jason, this is Captain Thompson.  I have the cash, all of it.”

 

Jason nodded, a smile forming now that he had secured at least half of his demands, as Thompson continued. 

 

“I need a little more time for the…”

 

His smile transformed instantly into rage as he pulled Barbara even closer.  “No good cop!  I told you what would happen if your screwed this up!”

 

“Listen Jason, it’s landing soon.  It will be there by the time you get to the airport.”

 

Jason seemed to consider the situation and relented slightly.  “I’m sending Crane out for the money.  Leave the suitcase and walk away.  No talking between the two of you.”

 

“Okay Jason,” Thompson said, giving him anything he wanted at this point and fearing that their time had just run out if Jason took the time to count the money.

 

* * * * *

 

Captain Thompson placed the suitcase on the blacktop and took three slow steps backwards.  A moment later Lee Crane exited the bank, his eyes scanning the surroundings and gauging how much room he had in the parking lot.  He stopped and picked up the hardback Samsonite suitcase, making eye contact with the captain.  Neither one risked a word as he turned and walked back inside.

 

Lee handed over the suitcase and Jason pushed Barbara away from him, too busy to care about intimidating her at this point.  Lee reached for her hand and escorted her back to the hostages, sitting her strategically next to him. 

 

Meanwhile, Jason cleared the candy wrappers off the top of the desk JD had occupied earlier with one sweeping motion.  He opened the suitcase to his fellow bank robbers’ whistles of appreciation, finding stacks and stacks of crisp one hundred dollars bills, banded together with white paper tape.

 

“Woo-hoo!” JD shouted, picking up a wad and fanning the cash.  “Now, that’s music to my ears!” he sang, giggling mischievously. 

 

“Is it all there?” Kyle asked, leaning in to inspect the cash while still keeping his body half-turned toward the hostages.

 

“It better be,” Jason warned, picking up a stack and counting.  When he was finished he stepped away, giving Ted and JD room.  “Each wad is $2000, now that means there should be 200 stacks in there.  Start counting,” he ordered and then began pacing.

 

“Well?” he said, losing his patience some five minutes later.

 

“It’s short, Jason,” Ted announced.  “We’re missing twenty-five wads.”

 

“That’s only fifty grand, Jason,” JD reasoned.  “It’s still a powerful lot of money!”

 

“He lied to me!” Jason bellowed back.

 

“Jason…” Ted started before their leader cut him off.

 

“Don’t you understand?  If he lied about the money, then what else is he lying about?  No, the cops need to pay the price.  Get the woman!” he yelled in tones so dark none of his men dared question him.

 

* * * * *

 

Lee watched the explosion of rage from across the room and knew there was no more time to wait.  He had one chance to save Barbara Wheaton and perhaps countless others from Jason Worley’s increasingly unstable moods.  But this one chance depended wholly on whether his captors would shoot him before he had a chance to propose an alternative.

 

Ted and JD moved toward Barbara Wheaton, while Kyle stood by to cover the rest of the hostages.  Barbara shivered beside him, as Lee squeezed her hand in an unspoken promise of protection and then released it, careful to keep his movements small.  He waited until Ted and JD were right in front of him, and then lunged forward, taking JD out and knocking over Ted in the process.  A fellow hostage started to move to help, but was held at bay by Kyle’s threatening stance.  Lee only got one good punch into JD’s jaw before Ted pulled him off.  JD jumped up and returned the favor, delivering a solid blow, first to his face, followed immediately by a blow to his gut.

 

“Stand away!” Kyle yelled, fed up and ready to shoot.  “I’m going to spill your guts all over these walls, Crane!” he promised, leveling his rifle as JD and Ted held Lee’s arms, waiting for Jason’s approval.

 

“You do, and you’ll be ending your only chance of getting out of here alive!” Lee yelled back.

 

Kyle slid the bolt action to chamber his cartridge and aimed.  “I said, move away!” he yelled to his accomplices, still holding onto Crane.

 

“What do you mean?” Jason asked in a surprisingly low voice for the tense situation.

 

“I’m Commander Lee Crane of the SSRN Seaview, and I have access to an aircraft that can land in that parking lot out there and take you wherever you want to go in the world, without stopping for refueling.”

 

“He’s lying!” Kyle shouted, still aiming at Lee and itching to pull the trigger.

 

“No, he’s right!” Ted jumped in.  “I knew I recognized him.  It’s that submarine with the windows, right?”

 

Jason’s eyes narrowed in consideration. 

 

“Yeah, I’ve seen it.  That yellow flying saucer thing, what do you call it?” JD asked.

 

“The flying sub,” Lee answered, silently grateful that they had knowledge of both Seaview and FS1 from several newspaper and magazine articles, especially since the flying sub had only recently been put into service less than six months ago.

 

“You say it can land right out front?” Jason asked, taking a step closer.

 

“If the van is moved away, yes.  I’ll pilot you out and take you wherever you want to go,” Lee bargained, “but the payload is limited.  It will be just you four and me; no one else.”

 

“No way, Jason!” JD interrupted.  “He’s just separating us from the hostages, taking away our advantage.”

 

Jason pursed his lips in thought; his kid brother’s objection was a valid one.

 

“FS1 can land with the cargo hatch pointed safely toward the bank door.  There would be limited exposure to gunfire.  It can take-off in less than 100 feet and still clear the obstructions of the surrounding buildings.  We could submerge in the ocean and completely lose the radar from the air traffic controllers,” he explained, trying to sweeten the deal. 

 

“What’s in it for you?” Jason asked distrustfully, but definitely intrigued.

 

“The chance to end this peacefully, but yeah I’ve got a few stipulations,” he answered, his face hardening.

 

“You’re not in a position to bargain, Crane!” Jason shot back.

 

“The hell I’m not!  You know as well as I do, that your time is running out.  They’re not going to bargain with you forever, and once you start picking off hostages they’ll have no choice but to rush you.  In the end, nobody wins.  You’ll be dead and half the hostages too,” he said, laying it on the line in brutal honesty, “and if by some miracle you do survive, it will only be to face the electric chair,” he added, his arms still held tightly by JD and Ted.

 

Sweat beaded over the top of Jason’s lip.  His ego was sorely bruised, but he knew that Crane was probably right about the cops rushing the bank.  He was between a rock and hard place.  If he showed any hesitation to carry out his threat, the cops would see it as weakness; but he also had no guarantees that the cops wouldn’t open fire once he executed the first hostage.  He had been perfectly willing to chance the execution to make his point, but this new option from Crane warranted careful consideration.

 

“What stipulations?” he probed darkly.

 

“I go out and make the proposition myself, face to face,” he answered flatly.

 

“Why?”

 

“Because I saw my boss out there, Admiral Harriman Nelson, and if he doesn’t agree to this, then none of us are going anywhere.”

 

“And what else?” Jason asked, probing for the rest of the stipulations Lee had alluded to earlier.

 

“I take Timmy with me.  He’s just a child, he doesn’t need to be part of this,” he bargained.

 

Jason laughed, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.  “Is that all?”

 

“No,” he answered, his eyes narrowing further.  “It’s going take them an hour to clear a landing strip, I want Mrs. Harley’s medications returned to her and I swear… if JD so much as touches that girl you’ll have to shoot me a dozen times, because I’ll come after you with everything I’ve got.”

 

At that, JD’s hold tightened, but Lee held his ground.

 

“I don’t like this, Jason!” JD shouted.  “Let’s just let Kyle shoot him now.”

 

“No, he’s talking sense,” Ted joined in.  “I’ve seen that flying sub on a television news channel.  It can do everything he said.”

 

“What about you, Kyle?” Jason asked over his shoulder without turning around.

 

A short silence followed the question before he answered.  “Ted’s right, let’s see if he can deliver.  If not, he’s mine to deal with.”

 

“What about the kid?  You really gonna’ let him go?  I mean the reason the cops probably haven’t stormed the place already is probably because of him,” JD argued, demonstrating that he was as cold as his brother.

 

“I say the kids goes,” Ted interjected just as quickly, okay with the idea of adult casualties, but not quite able to reconcile the toddler catching a stray bullet.

 

Jason nodded in consideration then made up his mind. 

 

“All right, Crane.  You got a deal.  But now here’s my stipulation,” he said, stepping in closer to emphasize his point. “You backstab me, and the death of every one of these hostages will be your head.  And I promise that you’ll live to watch every single one of them die a gruesome death before I let Kyle end your miserable life.”

 

Lee nodded his agreement and then shook off his captor’s hands at Jason’s nod to release him.

 

* * * * *

 

Captain Thompson tensed.  It had been over twelve long minutes, plenty of time for Jason Worley to figure out he was fifty grand short.  He picked up the phone, ready to promise the other fifty grand at the airport when Jason cut-off his greeting.

 

“Shut-up and listen.  Crane is going to come out and give you our new demands.  You and Admiral Nelson will join him, no one else.”

 

“Nelson?”

 

“You heard me.  You already screwed this up once; don’t try my patience on this.  If it wasn’t for Crane’s offer, you’d have one dead woman in here already,” he added darkly.  “Five minutes, be there,” he added and then hung up.

 

Thompson turned around and motioned for Harry to step closer, shaking his head in bewilderment.

 

“I don’t know what he’s up to, but Jason wants you and me to meet Crane.  He said something about if it hadn’t been for Crane’s offer he would have already executed Mrs. Wheaton.  Do you know what he’s up to?”

 

“Perhaps,” Harry answered vaguely, turning back toward Chip.  “Call Sharkey and get a skeleton crew together and make sure that Jamieson is in that number.”

 

“Aye Sir.”

 

“Okay,” Thompson said, not sure what Nelson was talking about, but not having any time to spare.  “Rob, get the admiral fitted with a vest.” 

 

“Do you mind telling me what this is about?” Thompson asked as Harry donned the heavy bullet proof vest.

 

“If I haven’t missed my guess, he’s about ready to hand you a gift.  The possibility of lowering the risk of casualties down to one hostage,” he answered.

 

There wasn’t time to pursue that intriguing thought with their five minutes nearly spent, but Thompson’s raised brow signaled he was definitely interested.  “Let’s go.  I sure hope to hell you’re right, because I don’t like putting a celebrated admiral in the line of fire,” he grumbled as they walked to the meeting place.

 

* * * * *

 

“Are you still taking care of my sunglasses?” Lee asked, holding Timmy on his hip as his mother bravely held back her tears, praying with everything in her that her son would soon be safe.

 

Timmy nodded, watching over Lee’s shoulder to see his mother waving and smiling to reassure her boy that he was perfectly safe leaving with Mr. Lee.

 

“Okay, we’re just going to take a little walk and my friend is going to take you to your Aunt Louise,” Lee said, reiterating the plan. 

 

“Ruffles,” Timmy stated excitedly.

 

“That’s right, to see her cat, Ruffles,” he answered, it had been the final promise that had sealed Timmy’s willingness to leave his mother at this point.

 

“All right, Crane.  Just like before, five feet and stop.”

 

Lee nodded his agreement and walked out carrying the toddler securely, and hoping that Jason was smart enough to play this out without losing his head.  He reached his spot and stopped, from this location Jason was able to see and hear him, having followed to the cover of the van so that he could monitor their conversation.

 

“What’s this all about?” Thompson asked, getting down to business.

 

“We don’t have much time, and our conversation is being monitored.  You only have an hour to clear a runway and fly FS1 in.  Park it right in front of the door, with the side hatch opened toward the bank door.  I’ll pilot her out and I don’t want a co-pilot,” he added firmly to Harry’s small nod.  “Jason knows he was shorted fifty grand, and we were close to losing a hostage,” he stated vaguely for Timmy’s sake on his hip.  “He understands that weight restrictions limit the passengers to the four gunmen,” he said, vaguely giving Thompson the clues that the rest of the hostages would remain behind.  “Timmy is here as a good faith gesture on Jason’s part.  He expects your full cooperation, and I highly recommend you take this option very seriously,” he added solemnly.

 

“You know what will happen when you reach your destination?” Thompson asked.

 

“Yes sir, they’ve made it abundantly clear.  I’m sorry, Admiral,” Lee said turning his attention completely to his friend and shrugging in acceptance of his fate.  “It’s a little like being inside Jonah’s whale,” he said, before changing his tone completely.  “Okay Timmy, this is Uncle Harry,” he said with a small smile for the shock the auburn-haired admiral showed at Lee’s introduction.  “He’s going to make sure you get to see Aunt Louise and Ruffles.  Right, Sir?”

 

“Of course,” Harry replied, as Lee leaned in close to hand him off.

 

“Give me 30 minutes to submerge,” Lee whispered and then backed off.

 

“All right, Crane.  Back inside,” Jason yelled from his place beside the van.

 

“Goodbye, Sir,” he said and then turned back to the bank.

 

Harry sighed, turning and moving for cover with Captain Thompson urging him along, obviously still uncomfortable with putting Admiral Harriman Nelson in such a precarious position, especially when he was holding a toddler.  Timmy fidgeted a little, so Harry spoke up trying to distract his young charge.

 

“What’s that you’re holding there?” he asked, moving quickly to secure the boy’s safety.

 

“Superman’s glasses,” Timmy replied matter-of-factly and with all the innocence of a young boy’s faulty assumption.

 

Harry smiled, recognizing Lee’s sunglasses and chuckled.  “Is that so?” he replied with a pat to Timmy’s back as his smile faded, knowing full well that Lee Crane had just traded his life for the remaining twenty-two hostages.

 

* * * * *

 

Thompson handed Timmy off to a uniformed officer, “This is Timmy Morales, his aunt is with the hostage’s family,” he explained, using a light voice to keep from intimidating the child.  The officer headed for the secured location a block away with Timmy chattering away about Ruffles and wearing the officer’s police cap on his head, as Thompson turned toward Harry.

 

“Now, do you mind explaining to me just what’s going to happen here?” the Captain all-but demanded.

 

“You’ll need to clear all the vehicles along the driveway, including the van in front of the door.  It will be our runway.”

 

“Impossible.  I’ve heard about your flying sub, but that’s 300… 350 feet at best, there’s no way you can land it safely.”

 

“Believe me, Captain, FS1 was built to land on a 1,000-foot carrier runway, and we routinely bring her to a full stop in less than 300 feet.  She can take off in half that, and Lee Crane is just the pilot to do it.”

 

“Okay, assuming you can pull that off, what’s to keep them from opening fire on the hostages as they leave?”

 

“I think you know the answer to that question, Captain.  You know as well as I do, that it wasn’t Jason Worley’s ‘good-faith gesture’ that freed that boy.  Crane has negotiated the best option for keeping collateral damage to a minimum.”

 

“So… what?  We’re just going to let them fly off into the sunset?  You heard Crane, they intend on killing him as soon as they reach safety.”

 

“He knows that, now I don’t have time to go into this now,” Harry said in full admiral mode his frustration growing, “but he told me exactly what he needs from me and I’m going to make sure he gets it.”

 

Thompson relented, nodding his understanding; they had already burned five minutes of the hour talking this much. 

 

“All right, get to it.  And I sure hope this works, Admiral; because if it doesn’t, we’re going to have a massacre on our hands,” he added with all the knowledge his 25 years of experience on the Force afforded him.

 

* * * * *

 

Chip and Harry drove back to the Institute under police escort with lights flashing and sirens blaring.  Neither one mentioned that Lee was sporting a brand-new shiner high on his left cheek bone, they were too busy working out the details of Seaview’s emergency launch.

 

Chip would take charge of the retrofit required on FS1, while Harry and Sharkey prepared for the launch.  It was unfortunate that Chip wouldn’t be available to sail with Seaview, but he was the only pilot Harry trusted to land FS1 in such tight quarters. 

 

They discussed the specifics of the retrofit, and the timing device required, as well as the need to track FS1 for the necessary bearings to intercept.  An hour was cutting it close, and it was a given that Lee would have to wait for Seaview to arrive.  The timing of the entire impromptu mission was critical, and both men knew that Lee was in imminent danger every moment he spent in the company of his captors.

 

They arrived at the Institute gate some fourteen minutes later, leaving them only a mere 41 minutes to pull off a miracle.  They parted ways at the bottom of the ladder of the Control Room, with Chip heading straight down the deck hatch to oversee the retrofit already underway, and Harry to confer with a junior officer and Chief Sharkey about the launch.  The clock was ticking, and failure wasn’t a word anyone aboard Seaview was ready to accept.

 

At T minus sixteen minutes, Chip was dropping from Seaview’s berth to make his flight into downtown Santa Barbara.  At T minus seven minutes, Admiral Nelson was guiding his great windowed creation, the Seaview through the underwater sub pen.  Everything had been arranged.  Now, it was all up to Lee.

 

* * * * *

 

“They’re doing it, Jason, they really are,” JD reported, peeking out the window through a small crack in the drape. 

 

“Come away from there before that sharp shooter gets you in his sights,” Jason warned with little emotion as he listened to the tow trucks move vehicles deemed too close to the make-shift airstrip on the parking lot driveway.

 

The phone rang, and Jason reached for it casually.  Thompson had been keeping him well aware of the activity in an effort to ensure that the bank robbers didn’t panic at the unusual noises out front.

 

“Yeah,” he answered.

 

“It’s time to move the van, Jason.  Now, my man is going to climb in and drive it away.  This whole thing goes bust if he takes fire,” Thompson warned.

 

“You play it square and I’ll play it square,” Jason bargained.

 

“Very well.  I’m sending him in.”

 

Jason hung up and checked his watch, noting the hour would be up in twelve minutes.

 

“It looks like they might make it, Crane,” Jason said coolly, examining his gun in a subtly menacing fashion.

 

Lee had taken his spot back with the hostages, mostly to make sure that JD kept up his end of the bargain to stay away from Rebecca.  As the final minutes of the hour approached, he heard the familiar sound of FS1’s engines as she circled to land.  Their captors’ attention was diverted long enough for him to address the group.

 

“When the bank robbers leave, no one move.  Lie on the floor and wait for the police to come in.  They’ll make sure that there are no gunmen among you before they lead you to safety.  If everything goes as planned, you’ll be home with your families in no time,” he added.

 

“Show time, Crane,” Jason called from across the lobby.

 

Barbara Wheaton was still sitting next to him and reached for his hand, squeezing it tight. 

 

“Thank you,” she whispered gratefully, with full knowledge of just how close she had come to death this day.

 

Lee squeezed back.  “You’re welcome,” he said, then stood to leave.

 

“Good luck, Lee,” Tracy whispered, her relief that the nightmare might soon be over marred by the imminent danger he was facing. 

 

Her words were echoed by several others.  Everyone there knew that Crane had bartered with his own life to protect theirs.  “God bless you,” Mrs. Harley whispered.  “You’re a real hero,” Timmy’s mother added, her sincere words cancelling out every sarcastic and hateful time Jason had wielded the same word as an insult.  But one voice stood out, as Lee turned toward the beautiful young blonde, Rebecca Farmington. 

 

Her eyes were filled with fear, but this time, her own safety wasn’t her first concern.  “Please careful.”

 

His small smile was laced with concern as he nodded his thanks, and walked resolutely toward the bank robbers.  Though he appreciated their heartfelt wishes, he was well aware that they weren’t out of danger yet.  His job wasn’t completed yet, and the hostages weren’t safe yet; not until Jason and his men were completely removed from the scene.  Not until they were all inside FS1 and airborne, would he dare breathe a sigh of relief for his fellow hostages.

 

Jason stood behind Lee, his gun pressed firmly into his back as a physical reminder of the high stakes of this venture.  From the bank glass doors, they could see the side cargo hatch open and the blond head of Chip Morton emerge.

 

“No one moves until my man clears the scene,” Lee demanded, much to Jason’s chagrin.

 

“Don’t get used to giving orders, Crane,” he warned, pressing the muzzle in deeper.

 

“This is your show, Jason.  All I want is to get you and your friends as far away from these people as possible.  You just tell me where you want to go and I’ll take you,” he yielded, attempting to assure Jason that he was still in control, and more importantly, to save face in front of his accomplices.

 

“All right, let’s go.  You first, Crane.  Stand to the side, you’ll be our shield as we board, one at a time.  I’ll be the last to leave.   If the cops double cross us, I’ll leave behind so many dead bodies in here they’ll be having burials for weeks,” he promised.

 

Lee stepped out, noting that Chip had cleared the area and motioned for JD to enter first with the gym bag of cash from the vault.  Once he had climbed aboard, it was Ted’s turn.  The tension mounted as Kyle took his turn holding his rifle ready, but the police held their fire and made no attempt to rush the aircraft.  Jason was next carrying the suitcase filled with $350,000 dollars cash.  He motioned Lee in and then climbed in immediately after.

 

Lee closed the hatch and pulled down two jump seats along the bulkhead, he didn’t care who sat where, he just wanted to get airborne as soon as possible.  The bank robbers had run back into the bank when their getaway van had taken fire, so he knew that he needed to remove the threat as soon as possible.  He headed for the pilot’s chair where JD reluctantly moved and sat down to begin his startup sequence.  Jason took the co-pilot’s seat and followed Lee’s lead by securing his harness.  When Lee reached to attach the throat mic he was stopped by the barrel of Jason’s Glock against his temple.

 

“I need to clear the air traffic,” Lee explained.

 

“No funny business, Crane,” Jason warned, keeping the gun against his temple as Lee dialed in the Santa Barbara Municipal Airport’s tower frequency.

 

“Santa Barbara Tower, this is FS1 requesting clear skies for an emergency departure.”

 

“FS1, we have cleared the skies for you to 2,000 feet.  You are clear to depart.”

 

“Very well, my ceiling is 2,000 feet. FS1 out.”

 

He flipped a few more switches and took one last look inside the bank; the drapes were still drawn, but as he taxied to the end of the cleared parking lot driveway, he knew that he would soon secure the complete safety of his fellow hostages.  He turned the flying sub to face his makeshift runway and scanned the skies, visually clearing his airspace before beginning his take-off roll.  The parking lot was only a third of the size of an aircraft carrier, but he knew his craft well.  When he reached the minimum take-off speed required, he pulled the dual sticks back and shot the yellow craft into the air.  The sharp angle of attack sent everyone deep into their seats until he leveled off at 1,500 feet and headed straight for the open seas.

 

“I’m going to be sick,” JD complained from a jump seat.  “Where’s the barf bags?”

 

“This isn’t TWA,” Jason shot back.  “Don’t puke inside here, whatever you do,” he warned over his shoulder.

 

Jason scanned the flight controls as Lee flew the flying sub heading west.  Though he was flying at cruising speed, well below Mach, he wanted to submerge quickly knowing that his travel speed underwater was more comparable to Seaview’s speed.  He waited ten more minutes and then informed Jason of his intentions… at least partially.

 

“I’m going to submerge to lose our radar signal from air traffic control.”

 

The muzzle to his temple returned and Lee wondered if Jason had realized that turning off the craft’s transponder would accomplish the same goal.

 

“It’s either that, or let them track you to wherever I end up flying you,” he bluffed.

 

Jason relented pulling the gun away in what was apparently only a power play to remind Lee who was in charge.

 

“Okay, this is where air meets sea,” Lee said to prepare his passengers for the experience, then barely held back his smile at the terror he saw in Jason out of the corner of his eye.  A few harrowing seconds later, and the ominous sound of FS1 as it splashed through the ocean surface was joined by three very satisfying gasps from the passengers behind him, and quickly followed by a litany of profanity.  Nervous chuckling followed as each one realized that they had survived the traumatic experience. 

 

Jason took a deep breath, keeping his own terror a silent secret.  “Okay, we’re submerged, what now?” he asked.

 

“You tell me where you want to go, we’ll head that direction until nightfall and then take to the skies and travel below radar,” Lee answered.  It sounded reasonable enough, but he was well aware that Jason’s nervousness had increased.  Perhaps it was the fear that many people face when confronted by the fact that thousands of pounds of pressure were being held back by nothing but steel and windows.  Or perhaps, Jason had realized that he was no longer in control while in the depths.  He was out of his element, with no backup plan to rely on except the Glock he continually held pointed at Lee’s side. 

 

“You know I can cause a great deal of pain without killing you,” Jason warned, reminding his pilot that though their lives were in his hands, he still had options available to him.  “All I have to do is say the word, and Kyle will have you begging for mercy,” he continued.  “So, don’t even think about double-crossing me.”

 

The situation was volatile.  His veiled message to Admiral Nelson and the resulting plan would be doomed to failure if he were forced to take FS1 back to altitude.  He couldn’t even look at his watch to see how much time he had left.  Everything rode on staying submerged.

 

“I’m not ready to die, Jason,” Lee answered evenly.  “And if there’s even the most remote possibility that, by some miracle, you won’t put a bullet in my head at the end of this, then I’ll take it,” he finished with a brief glance Jason’s direction.

 

“You just keep remembering that,” Jason answered, his confidence restored, as the minutes unknowingly ticked off of the timing device in FS1.

 

* * * * *

 

“Sparks, are you still registering Captain Crane’s beacon?”

 

“Aye Sir, he’s still on a west by southwesterly bearing.”

 

“Very well,” Admiral Nelson said, extending FS1’s expected path out with a straight edge.  “Kowalski, do you have FS1 on sonar yet?”

 

“They’re still out of range, Sir,” the skilled sonar operator replied. 

 

“Sing out as soon as you do,” Harry ordered, knowing he was playing catch-up to the flying sub’s ability to fly faster and further than Seaview could travel underwater.  A quick check of his watch indicated that the timing device was nearly ready to expire as he tapped the eraser end of his pencil in thought.

 

“Contact, Admiral,” Ski reported from his station. 

 

“Is she stationary?” he asked.

 

“Negative, Sir.  She’s on the edge of our scope, depth 225 feet about fifty miles out bearing 2-7-0 true.”

 

“We’re going to have to back off our speed to stay off the flying sub’s scope,” he said, picking up the mic and clicking.  “Engine room this is Admiral Nelson; reduce speed to two-thirds.”

 

“Two-thirds, aye.”

 

“Kowalski, report immediately when you see the flying sub hit bottom.”

 

“Aye Sir.”

 

“The Skipper must have been able to submerge faster than he originally thought,” Sharkey surmised since they had made contact so soon, stepping in close to the Admiral at the Chart Table.

 

“Obviously,” Harry answered, leaning over the chart table in deep thought.  “But he’s going to need to bring her to the bottom soon, or they’ll be in for a rough landing,” he finished, his concern apparent in the tight lines of his face as he checked his watch once again.

 

“Yes, Sir,” Sharkey replied, knowing it was always better to give the Admiral a wide-berth in a pressure situation such as this. 

 

“She’s heading for the bottom, Admiral,” Ski reported.  “Looks like an uncontrolled dive, Sir,” he added as everyone grimaced inwardly. 

 

Harry snatched up the mic.  “Engine room, give me flank speed!”  He shipped the mic and marked their new coordinates knowing that timing was everything.  The intensity heightened in the Control Room with every crew member fully aware that if they had miscalculated on the retrofit, they might just open FS1’s hatch to find a dead Captain Crane.

 

* * * * *

 

“What are you doing?” Jason asked nervously.

 

“Lowering our depth,” Lee answered.

 

“I don’t see, why,” Jason argued, reading the depth gauge for himself.  Though he had no idea how to read how deep the bottom was in relation to the keel, he was more than a little uncomfortable descending any further unnecessarily.

 

Lee leveled off.  He had no valid reason to hug the bottom and he couldn’t chance invoking Jason’s concern.  He couldn’t risk a check to his watch, but he knew the 30 minutes he had asked Harry for had to be up soon.

 

The thought had barely presented itself when Lee blinked, shaking his head instinctively, before he realized that the retrofit was in perfect working order.  He struggled to stay awake, needing to outlast his passengers, especially since he wouldn’t be able to defend himself once they figured out was happening.

 

“Man,” JD said groggily.  “I feel strange.”

 

“Raptures of the deep,” Lee stated matter-of-factly.  “Some people experience a sort of high as depth increases,” he bluffed.

 

“Yeah man, it feels, kind of… way out,” JD replied, soaking it in and not bothered one bit by the slight narcotic effect of the gas invisibly being circulated through air revitalization.  “What a trip.”

 

“This isn’t right,” Ted interjected.  “I feel… sleepy.”

 

“Crane double-crossed us!” Kyle accused, unbuckling his seat belt and moving forward with his pistol drawn.

 

Lee’s head dipped slightly, fighting off the effects of the breathing mixture, purposely tainted with Anodyne.

 

Kyle cocked his pistol as Jason unbuckled and moved to intercept him.

 

“You idiot!  Don’t you know what will happen if you fire… that gun?” he said, struggling against the anesthetic used in early medicine as pain killers and whose properties produced an opioid affect.  JD and Ted had already succumbed to the gas and were now slumped limply in their chairs.

 

Kyle reached for his head and tried to steady his shaky steps, as the largest one in the group, he would presumably be the last succumb.  “I’m going to kill him!” he threatened and lunged forward.

 

Lee wasn’t in a position to defend himself and was forced to use the only weapon he had available to him, the inertia of his vessel.  He pulled the dual sticks sharply back, causing both Kyle and Jason to tumble aft.  The gas was working fast, but if he could outlast his captors he would be able to set FS1 down nice and easy and then wait for Seaview to arrive.  He heard his captors take a hard hit against the aft bulkhead and blinked again.  He was concentrating on staying conscious and couldn’t look back, so he assumed that their silence indicated that the gas had finished the job, and leveled off.  He eased the controls forward, blinking again.  That’s when he felt the muzzle of Jason’s Glock against his head pressing firmly.

 

“I told you… what would happen…” the criminal slurred before Jason Worley dropped unceremoniously to the deck. 

 

Lee reached for his console, floundering for a particular switch and barely managed to cut power only seconds before he lost his own battle for consciousness.  Unfortunately, he fell forward on the sticks, sending FS1 careening over a hundred feet below toward the ocean floor in an uncontrolled crash landing.  He was unconscious and unaware of the hard landing that slung him around his chair like a rag doll, despite his harness.  When the final jolts of the crash had been rendered, only red emergency lights lit the cabin of the flying sub as silty dirt surrounded the yellow manta-like craft.  Inside, the air revitalization system running on emergency power, continued to pump an Anodyne laced oxygen mixture to FS1’s unconscious occupants.

 

* * * * *

 

A heavy moan passed through his lips as Lee felt his awareness precede even his eyes opening.  A heavy breath followed as his eye lids opened in small slits to the sight of a bunk overhead. 

 

“Sickbay,” he thought silently, and rolled his head to the other side, finding Admiral Nelson sitting beside him.  “I guess it worked,” he said sluggishly, his brain still feeling the effects of the Anodyne mixture.

 

“It worked,” Harry affirmed followed by a closed mouth smile.

 

“The hostages?” Lee inquired, their well-being foremost on his mind.

 

“They’re all safe, Lee.  Even the security guard is going to be okay.”

 

Lee sighed and looked up at the overhead bunk swallowing back the near euphoria the welcome news brought.  He pulled his emotions back and returned his eye contact to ask the next pressing question on his mind.

 

“The bank robbers?”

 

“All four are in the brig sleeping off their experience.  The two that were out of their seatbelts received some minor injuries, but Doc says they’ll be fit to leave when we make port.”

 

“Put extra security on them,” Lee suggested, before taking an airy breath and changing the subject.  “That Anodyne is powerful… still so tired,” he admitted.

 

Harry chuckled.  “Jamie wasn’t pleased in the least our choice of sleeping gas,” Harry recalled. 

 

“The fastest option we had,” Lee defended, reaching up to rub his temple.

 

“At any rate, you’ve got a couple of broken ribs to go along with those nice ripe bruises on your face and torso.  Otherwise, he says you fared remarkably well.”

 

“Currently, not feeling a thing,” Lee added with a small smile, the added benefit of the Anodyne being its analgesic properties.

 

Harry grinned, before recognizing that Lee was working hard to stay awake as his eyes closed, then fluttered open again.

 

“Jamie didn’t expect you to wake this soon, so why don’t you make the CMO happy and sleep off the gas?” Harry suggested in a light order.

 

“Sounds good,” Lee acquiesced.  His eyes fluttered closed, and Harry was nearly ready to leave, but then Lee’s eyes shot opened in sudden realization of a question he had forgotten to ask.

 

“What is it, Lee?”

 

“Timmy?”

 

Harry chuckled once again, this time with a mischievous grin.  “Uncle Harry delivered him to a nice police officer who reunited him with his aunt.  And I’m told that his mother and he have since reunited as well.”

 

Lee laughed, almost forgetting that he had introduced Timmy to the Admiral in such fashion.  His laugh however was met with a quick hand to his ribs as he swallowed back a grimace.  “Found the cracked ribs,” he announced in jest, still smiling until it faded with the next thought.  “We really did it,” he whispered, his eyes too heavy to keep open any longer as he willingly gave way to a welcoming slumber. 

 

Harry watched Lee fall back to sleep sporting a satisfied, peaceful smile that faded as his facial muscles relaxed.  He took a deep breath and expelled it slowly, then pulled Lee’s blanket higher to his chest.  He rose, patting his shoulder, before leaving his friend to the care of Dr. Jamieson and his staff.

 

* * * * *

 

Two days later, Lee was sitting in the police station giving a statement.  It had been a long afternoon with a lot to cover.

 

“I think that does it,” Captain Thompson announced, sitting back and stretching.  He didn’t usually conduct these sessions, but he had been intricately involved in the situation and wanted to see it through to a clean conviction.  “There’s one thing that’s been bugging me though.”

 

Lee’s brow tightened in question as Thompson continued.

 

“Admiral Nelson said that you told him exactly what you needed to be done.  Now, I was standing right there when you told us the plan about using your flying sub, but I’ve racked my brain and I just can’t remember you saying anything specific, except something about 30 minutes,” he said with a relaxed shrug of the shoulder.

 

“I think I can shed some light on that,” Harry interjected.   “Do you recall Lee telling me, ‘It’s like being in Jonah’s whale?’”

 

“Now that you mention it, yes.  I have to admit, I couldn’t see the connection at the time,” he admitted, obviously still perplexed at the analogy Crane had chosen to describe his predicament.

 

“Well, the newspapers had a heyday with an incident that happened aboard Seaview a little less than six months ago.”  Harry looked over at Lee who nodded in concurrence of the timeframe.  “You see, a Russian scientist and I were investigating a joint sea lab damaged by migrating whales…”

 

“Of course, I remember those news articles!  You really ended up inside a giant whale?” Thompson asked incredulously.

 

“We were inside the bell, and yes, it was swallowed whole by the giant whale with us inside.”  Harry stopped to nod toward Lee’s direction.  “Lee and two seamen mounted a rescue operation, but before they could swim inside and reattach a cable to the bell, they had to anesthetize the whale…”

 

“We used Anodyne, an anesthetic we have on hand in large quantities for our ongoing work tagging mammals in the open ocean,” Lee added.

 

“And you knew you had Anodyne aboard the Seaview.  That’s how you were able to add the sleeping gas in less than an hour,” Thompson said, sitting back and chuckling. 

 

Harry and Lee nodded, amused at the Captain’s pleasure in figuring out the somewhat unusual dragnet that had been used to capture the four bank robbers.

 

“And the 30 minutes you alluded to?  I barely heard that.”

 

“I needed to make sure that I had time to submerge.  The plan wouldn’t work if I was in the air.  As it was, we had a pretty hard crash landing,” Lee explained, the conversation providing a nice diversion for the serious details he had had to recount earlier while detailing the tense situation inside the bank.

 

“And in just that one statement, you understood you needed to put the sleeping gas on a timing unit?” he stated more than asked, shaking his head at the Admiral and the uncommon solution to their problem.  “I’m guessing you two have worked together a good many years to be able to communicate such an elaborate plan in two simple sentences,” he complimented.

 

Lee and Harry exchanged small smiles, both privately pleased that in just a short year and half, they had indeed, achieved such a good working relationship; special even, if they were forced to admit it. 

 

Thompson reined in his chuckles and then sat forward with his hands folded on the table in front of him.  “Thank you for clearing that up for me,” he said, before taking on a different tone.  “But I’m afraid I have a confession to make.  The reason I asked you to come at this particular time today was because when we conducted our interviews, nearly every single hostage’s first concern was for you, Commander Crane.  They asked for a chance to thank you, and I know you may feel a little self-conscious about that, Lee,” he added, “but I really think they need it to move on.” 

 

Lee dipped his head slightly, before raising his eyes to meet Thompson’s.

 

“Thank you, Captain.  The truth is; I’d really like to see them as well.  A lot happened in that bank,” he said, his voice trailing off at how close they had come to having a much different outcome.

 

“I’m glad you feel that way.  The bank is hosting a gathering in our lunch room, and they should be gathered by now.”

 

Lee nodded, shooting over a glance at Harry.  Though he was uncomfortable being the center of attention, he also felt that he needed to see for himself that they were truly okay.  He hadn’t discussed it with anyone, but his last forty-eight hours of sleep had been difficult.  He had woken in a sweat several times when his nightmares played out in full Technicolor a very different ending to the ordeal, with Jason making good on his threats to make him watch the gruesome deaths of his fellow hostages.  This was something he needed as well.

 

* * * * *

 

Lee took a deep breath, before they entered the lunch room.  His bruises still served as a reminder that he participated in a real battle for survival.  Thompson opened the door and motioned for Lee and Harry to proceed before him.  He wasn’t prepared for the outpouring of emotion as the hostages and their close families applauded when he arrived.  There were tears shed by many as the tension of the bank robbery and their near deadly experience finally dissipated, now that the entire group was together again and safe.

 

Lee was nearly overcome by his own emotion, but pulled upon years of command experience to keep it in check.  He smiled and shook hands and exchanged many heartfelt hugs.  Mr. and Mrs. Harley were there, and Lee couldn’t help but smile broadly at how spry and chipper the elderly couple was.  Barbara Wheaton greeted him with heartfelt tears of joy, introducing him to her husband who enveloped him in a bear hug for saving her life.  He was pleased to see the security guard, sporting a sling and reached for a shake with his good hand.  He was especially glad to see Tracy there; they had a real connection that he thought he’d like to explore.  He thought she felt it too, and purposed to talk with her privately later.    He was surprised to see Rebecca looking so well, though he knew she would need support from her family.  She looked like she was facing the fall-out of JD’s attention with a new strength she didn’t quite know she had before.  But it was the little tug on his uniform jacket that was the most satisfying as he turned to see Timmy, trying to get his attention and holding out his sunglasses.

 

“Hey there, Timmy,” he said, dropping to one knee to talk with him at eye level.  “How are you doing?”

 

“Glasses,” he said again, as everyone in the room chuckled lightly at the toddler’s voice offering a much-needed light-heartedness to the heavy emotion of the room.

 

Lee looked up at the boy’s mother and smiled, relieved to see them together again and well. 

 

“He’s been taking care of your sunglasses,” she explained with a proud smile, her eyes misting in the overwhelming emotion of the room. 

 

“I tell you what,” Lee said to Timmy, “why don’t you keep them, I’ll get another pair.”

 

Timmy nodded excitedly and reached for a hug that Lee sorely needed.  He held the boy tightly, grateful that everything had worked out and that the toddler hadn’t been a tragic casualty in the botched robbery.  He let go and stood, hugging Sherry Morales as she hung onto his neck tightly, whispering in his ear.

 

“I’ll never forget what you did, and I’ll make sure he knows too,” she promised.

 

“You don’t have to…” he started, but she interrupted him with a light-hearted chuckle.

 

“I’d better tell him the story… he thinks you’re Superman.”

 

Lee dropped his head and rubbed his brow, about as embarrassed as he’d remembered being in a long time; even rivaling the time Chip Morton painted his binocular eye pieces black with a marker, just before using them on the destroyer when they were cadets.

 

“Okay, Commander Crane,” the branch manager interrupted, handing him a goblet of sparkling cider.  “This is the best we could do here at the Police Station,” she explained, joking about the non-alcoholic drink they were about to toast with.  “We all just wanted a chance to say, ‘Thank you’,” she said, speaking on behalf of her fellow former-hostages.  “We don’t want to embarrass you, but we are all quite sure that things would have turned out a lot differently if you hadn’t been there with us.  And we just want to thank you,” she repeated in a humorous fluster, laughing at her inability to say anything wittier at that particular moment.  The rest of the group joined in the chuckle as they raised their glasses.

 

“Wait a minute,” Lee said, stopping the impending toast with a raised hand.  “I’d like to say something.”  A sea of nods urged him to continue.  “We all made it together, and each of you is part of that successful outcome.  It could have gone a dozen different ways if even one of you had panicked.  You all showed the bravery and strength from within it takes to deal with a pressure cooker life and death situation, and you all kept your heads.  And there were a lot of people on the outside that worked to keep us all safe too, including Captain Thompson and the fine men and women of the Santa Barbara Police Department; and my boss here, Admiral Nelson, who knew exactly what needed to be done, to not only land FS1 in a bank parking lot,” everyone chuckled lightly at the absurdity that thought would have produced only a few days ago, “but to make the necessary preparations to save my six and capture the bank robbers.  So, if we raise a glass… let’s raise it to all of us.  All of you, and the families that love you,” he added, including everyone in the honor.

 

He raised the glass, and a soft and almost reverent, “Hear, hear,” followed.  The rest of the hour was spent in laughter and relief as the group talked amongst themselves, enjoying the hors d’oeuvres and the new camaraderie that their shared experience produced.  

 

* * * * *

 

“And so, that’s what a real hero is.  It’s not the invincible superheroes in comic books, it’s the Clark Kents; the ordinary people, that step up to do what needs to be done, without any fanfare,” Timothy explained, his story truncated to fit the allotted time for the speech, but its impact felt by all.  “It’s in knowing that your honored duty as a United States Naval Officer is to serve and protect whether you’re in uniform or not.  And that honored duty has the power to impact future generations,” the Midshipman continued, his speech the last in the ceremony before being formally commissioned as a United States Naval officer.  “So, no phone booth required,” he said, pulling out a pair of Ray Ban Aviator sunglasses he had owned since he was four years old, in mint condition and without one scratch on the lenses for the eighteen years that had passed.  He put them on and looked out at his fellow graduates, “The hero is already inside Clark Kent.  Be that hero,” he urged.  “Do your duty; protect your country; and honor the memory of those who have paved the way for us!”

 

His fellow graduates whooped in approval as the valedictorian stepped away from the podium.  He stood at attention, ready and honored as the first in his class to receive his bars. 

 

A distinguished admiral with dark hair peppered elegantly gray on the sides stood and joined him.  He presented a set of single gold bars to the young officer and stepped back, returning the sharp salute the newly commissioned officer rendered, then extended his hand for the customary shake. 

 

“Congratulations, Ensign Morales,” he said with all the dignity the ceremony afforded, before issuing a small wink that said, “I’m proud of you.”

 

“Thank you, Admiral Crane,” he replied, then stepped to the side as the rest of his classmates prepared to receive their own commissions.  The ceremony continued as hundreds of young men and women in full dress whites crossed the grandstand to receive their commissions as the nation’s newest class of Naval Officers enthusiastically took on the challenge to serve and protect both their country and their fellow man.

 

The End