By Timmy
Timmy2020@gmx.de
 

Classification: Post X-Files, Mulder works for the
BSU; MT
Rating: NC-17 (violence/language)
Spoilers: 'Grotesque', but just for the character
of Patterson, not the story.
Disclaimer: Alright, I don't own Mulder and
Patterson. They belong to CC and 1013 Productions.
So I just borrow and will put back later.
The rest of the characters belong to my vivid
imagination.
Summary: Young Agent Mulder is called to a hostage
situation at a hotel. He knows the hostage-takers
so he is the chosen negotiator, but things get out
of hand.

Feedback of any kind; - thoughtful insight, and
remarks, yes, please, to Timmy2020@gmx.de
 

Enemies
By Timmy

Virginia State Prison, Visitor's Room

Well, my name's Mac - Mike McIntyre. It's an Irish
name. My grandpa came here when he was young. Well,
you might've heard my name if you're a policeman or
with the FBI, maybe. Won't say I'm famous or
anything, but I got a kind of reputation, y'know.
My bro JD - that's for Joshua Daniel - and me have
done, uh, some things, you might say, that are
illegal. Yeh, right, not with the law, but against
it. Bank robberies and, huh, kind of kidnapping to
make our way out. Worked, I can tell ya. Worked
pretty damn well. You wanna hear a story? That's
why you came, right? Got something to smoke? Fine,
thanks. Lemme tell ya a real good story. Not the
usual soft stuff you're used to. Something that you
won't forget by the next morning. A story 'bout
some people in charge and some that are not. Wanna
listen? Good cigarette, by the way. Hadn't had one
for a while. - Yeah, the story. Promise to listen,
'kay?

It all starts on a Friday hassle. People running
around trying to get everything fixed for the
weekend. Nobody's really looking at each other,
y'know. That's perfect. Well, for us. The hotel is
one of the biggest in town, the 'Regency'.
Expensive chairs and carpets right when you enter.
Pretty weird. JD and me are in our glad rags. We
don't wanna get too much attention. Not yet,
anyway. We enter the lobby, stern-faced. A bell hop
looks at us, but he isn't suspicious. He's just...
curious, maybe. He doesn't ask a question when we
enter the lift and tell him to drive upward. The
best suite in the house, of course. I've taken off
my beard to look so normal that nobody looks at me
at all. That's funny, y'know. JD feels a little
uneasy, fiddles around with his collar. I think he
has never worn a tie till today. But it all adds
up. We get on the top floor, and even the guards
don't look suspicious. There's only two suites on
the floor, so shouldn't they wonder what we're
doing there? But it's Friday, and maybe they just
think about their wives or girl-friends or
whatever. And when I pull my gun to shoot the first
man - silencer's a fine thing, I can tell ya - he
just topples over. No sound. JD does the same with
the second guard. Right on time. He's fine with the
gun, and he grins and gives a thumbs-up. We've
worked together since he has turned eighteen. Now
he's twenty-three, and we both haven't been caught
yet.

Hey, isn't that incredible? Got another smoke for
me, Mr. Reporter? Thanks. And I'll need a cup of
water or something. A beer would be better, but I
don't have any left, ha. Yeah, fine, whatever.

Okay, guards down, we jump into the suite, bark
something like "Down on the floor, now! Nobody's
trying nothin' or I shoot!" Well, it always worked
-- works this time. The guard inside pulls his gun,
but I'm much, much faster. He goes down like a sack
of corn. Two ladies scream and drop their papers.
But they all obey; no shooting necessary. See, we
don't shoot for fun, y'know? Only when threatened.
- Well, most of the time. The two women drop on the
floor, a young man with a mustache, too, and the
other man, that one we came for, looks at us, says,
"How dare you to enter this room! Where are the
guards?" and I scream, "Hey, man, you fall dawn on
that damned floor, or I shoot you to drop, got it?"
He gets on his knees, hands in the air, then lies
down. He's frightened and will piss his pants any
moment now. Fine. Absolutely fine. JD smiles from
one ear to the other and whirls his gun around like
a cowboy on TV. I shake my head: No. No time for
games. He nods, puts the gun away and pulls the
duct tape we brought from under his jacket, wraps
our hostages' wrists for good and checks if the
guards are dead. Well, yes they are. Dead as
doornails. Yes, I do agree that it's not really
necessary to kill, but the others, y'know, the
others obey much faster when you do that. We pull
the dead body outside and safe the guards' guns and
handcuffs. The walkie-talkie crackles with a static
sound, then a man asks to confirm everything's
okay, but there won't be an answer. Sure as hell
the police will be informed and all other stations
which might get involved. I just smile.

A third man stands at the window. He's wearing a
grey well-tailored suit and looks at us admiringly.
Well, he's the third in our party this time. I
haven't worked with him before, but his reputation,
say, that is what I heard about him from others,
told me everything I needed to know. His name's Gin
- like Gin and Tonic - and he's quite somebody, I
can tell ya. I didn't even want to know how he
could get so close to the senator and his party. I
really don't. Maybe he faked some ID or something
like that. He's brilliant. Fucking brilliant. And
*he* chose *us*, you see, not vice versa. He wanted
to work with *us*. He knows we're professionals.
And very, very good.

Now, JD's ready. He smiles at Senator Burne from
Florida like he's a big trophy, but the senator
doesn't smile back. He looks frightened, but angry,
too. I know how he must feel. No, not that I had
been in such a situation before, but it's easy to
understand that he's really pissed off. He's the
loser today. Until now he might have been a mighty
man, a power man, but now he's running out of luck.
You get it? He can't do anything. He must do what
*I* say. We made a good plan -- you'll see. We did
this like choreographing a dance. And this was just
the opening.

I pick up the phone. I'm kind of surprised nobody
has noticed yet that there's trouble up here. I
dial the lobby and tell them that we have Senator
Burne at our mercy. Deep voice and threat are all I
can put into this sentence. I can almost hear the
man on the other side swallow. Yeah, now we have
some attention. I don't say my name or how many we
are. Better they don't know. I just say that we
kill everyone who gets close to the suite door.
When JD and me first robbed a bank we were no-
names. Nobody had ever seen our faces before. That
was the real fun. Now - yeah, reputation, I know, I
said that. But it takes the fun out of it, don't ya
think? He'll call the police, then the FBI will
show up. I know the procedure. They'll ask the bell
hop what he saw, and he'll give them our
description. Then they know it's Mac and JD, and
they won't take that lightly, I know. But I have
all our demands memorized. This will work smooth
and easy.

* * * * * * * * * *

Closing the door of my service car I give a final,
sighing look to the video tapes I rented for the
weekend, and some magazines I haven't finished
reading yet. Well, I won't till this 'situation',
as Patterson has called it, is over. He sounded
stressed on the phone, so I am all ears entering
the lobby and being led to him. The hotel is
silently evacuated. A lot of policemen with serious
faces escort men and women out. Some hotel guests
are protesting. They wanted to enjoy a nice weekend
- just like me - and now they are confronted with a
hostage situation at their hotel.

Patterson welcomes me with a handshake, saying,

"Nice of you to drop by. You profiled them, so I
thought you might want to add some insight to the
case." He hands me the few pages with the testimony
of the bell hop and two other personnel."  We're
quite sure it's the McIntyre brothers. They changed
their looks a little, but by the way of working and
the description, I'm quite convinced."

'The way of working?' I think. 'They've robbed
banks up to now.' "Just the two?" I ask looking up.
He nods. "Who was with the senator at that moment?"
A second man steps forward - Dark blue business
suit, black shining shoes, big hands, broad, shaved
face and short cropped hair. I can almost smell his
authority, punctuated by the gun under his left
shoulder. Secret Service, Washington's own police
for the political high society. I sigh inwardly.
Many of them give themselves airs, but lack
professionalism. I hope this guy doesn't add up to
my prejudices.

"Hi, my name's Brendan Moore. I'm the senator's
chief of security. I'll help you with the
information you need about Senator Burne." We shake
hands, and he adds, "The senator travels with his
wife, Marybeth, eldest daughter, Janie, his
secretary, Melinda Robertson, and a student of
political science, his name's..." He fetches his note
book from the inside of his jacket, and I keep
another sigh in me. Just a show, I feel it. "Barney
Holden." He flips a page. "Ah, yes, a week ago, the
senator's wife introduced another man to the staff,
Herbert Stanley."

"You got all these people checked out?" I ask and
am rewarded with a look that could pin me to the
wall with a bowie. I hold his stare unwaveringly.

"Of course, we check everyone, who gets near the
senator or his family."

"Within a *week*?"

"We have known Mr. Stanley before. He has a
reputation in political science and media research.
No crimes, not even a ticket for wrong parking, if
you know what I mean." He is so proud of his
statement he doesn't notice Patterson rolling his
eyes heavenward. I retain my smile.

"Fine. So we have six hostages and Mike and JD
holding them in check. - Have there been any
demands yet?" I ask Patterson.

"Not really. Only one call telling the front desk
that they have the senator in the suite and will
shoot everyone who gets close. Then a second one
for ten big packages of cornflakes and a five
gallon can of water. Nothing more." He shrugs. "We
are waiting." I put down the papers on a small
table in the conference room. Still looking down I
begin to knead my lower lip. I know it's a habit I
should quit, but can't. Every time I'm in thoughts
I start it. "Okay, Mulder, what is it?"

"Just thinking - it's different from what they've
done up to now."

"Well, cracking a mould, don't you think?" Mr.
Moore says, shrugging.

"Until now they went into banks, made their
demands, and got away with the money and one or two
hostages who were released more dead than alive
later on. This -- is different. They went in here
knowing this would be a hostage situation from the
beginning. Including negotiations with the police,
FBI, etcetera. And they have to think of a way out.
It's fifteenth floor, not the basement."

Patterson nods in agreement.

"Any ideas about the cornflakes?"

"A snack maybe?" Mr. Moore weighs his head and I
see a smile hiding in the corner of his mouth.
"It's late afternoon."

"Ten packages? Big ones?" I shake my head. "No,
they're up to something." I knead my lip again. I
know the brothers just by the way they worked in
the banks. They are aggressive, ruthless, decisive
and always ended the robberies successfully. No
chance capturing them without risking the lives of
the hostages. They know the police won't shoot till
there's no chance of saving the people they had
taken with them. They killed five guards in the
banks, shot down two police officers, who survived,
and injured several hostages severely, but all of
them are still alive. What would they want with a
senator and his party? "Did anyone check on the
floor?"

"Yes, sure. Three dead guards in front of the door.
My men didn't get any closer. No risks, you know."

"Right, no risks." It sounds strange to me. I know
it's policy to avoid a forceful entrance, but
wouldn't it be easier to make a run on that suite
right now rather than wait until they have settled
everything to their demands? After all, it's only
two men. The FBI has specially trained personnel to
shoot aggressors on sight. "What's the senator
worth?" It's an unwanted question, and I expected
the angry looks.

"He's a rich man, if you mean that," Mr. Moore says
defensively.

"So a ransom would be higher than what they could
get in a robbery?"

Mr. Moore swallows. Seems that he hadn't yet
thought about this possibility of paying and
letting the kidnappers get away with it. I know
better.

"Yes, they could demand two million dollars, and it
would be possible - within a certain amount of
time."

"All right, that's what they know. Obviously. They
could have accessed that information easily?"

"All politicians have to publish their financial
situation before they can become a candidate for
their party." It's a lesson in politics, and I take
it with a simple nod. Yes, I should know that. But
up to now I was up to my ears in profiling, and not
in the rules of politics.

"Okay, they know about his wealth and think it's
easier to get that money than robbing three or four
more banks. Now they have to think of the details -
firstly, where is an attack possible? Secondly, how
can they get close? Thirdly, the moment they enter
the suite, they cage themselves in. They have to
know how to get out while all policemen in
Washington want them dead. Fourthly, how much time
do they plan? A day? A weekend? More? Lastly, they
don't only take the senator, but have the luck to
have his whole family under control. They could
have already killed them all - if they didn't do
what they demanded", I add in direction of Mr.
Moore, who squirms with uneasiness. "Or they have
to think of feeding them and keeping them under
control all the time. That's a lot of stress - much
more than they have taken up until now."

"They had twenty hostages in that bank in Norfolk,"
Patterson says, checking the file we have about the
brothers. I agree with that, but object

"For two hours, yes. Police knew that the McIntyre
brothers wouldn't deal with them or negotiate in
any way. They allowed them to leave with two
hostages, so no one was shot in this case." My boss
flips a page. I have worked on the profiles for
quite a while so I think I can read the pages from
where I stand. Mike had always kept the hostages in
check while JD collected the money. Then Mike had
made the phone call with the demands how to get
away, and then they left. Their escape routes had
been planned to the minute, so the police had had
no chance to follow them even after they had
dropped the hostages. I am convinced they will take
the senator and his wife or daughter with them to
make sure their escape works this time, too. But
this situation won't be over in two hours.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Gin leans against the wall near the window and
gently pulls aside the closed drapery to check.
From where I stand, with a cigarette in hand, I can
see his profile. He looks a little bit like Jeremy
Irons, y'know, the actor from 'Die Hard 3'. He's
quite tall and well-muscled, but not as broad as I
am, see? Yeah, I do a lot to keep me in shape. Lots
of workout. Gin seems to have a kind of, say,
natural strength. He's in his forties - I guess,
'cause he wouldn't say, and I didn't ask. He came
to our hiding place half a year ago and showed us
what he was thinking about. JD jumped on it
firsthand, but I was skeptic. Didn't know him.
Wanted to ask some friends, and when they said,
he's okay, I agreed to work with him. He had
already made plans, and we just had to add some
details. Not that we were short of money or
anything, but it sounded... well, a thrill, a kick.
Not to mention kicking ass and getting away with a
truckload of money. Gin said we'd get the time-
table as soon as he has all the information about
the senator. He didn't say what else he would do to
run this operation, but we were satisfied with what
he told us.

Now he glances back at the hostages. We've been
here for an hour now, and I think the police are
getting nervous. Yeah, I think they bite their
nails to find out what we're up to. I heard
something on the floor some minutes ago. Probably
special squad people. Gin had heard them, too, and
smiled. The suite has thick walls, so no one will
drive a hole through one of them to peek on us.
They won't know if the hostages are already dead.
Well, no, don't think we like killing. Unless any
one of them makes a false move, we'll let them
live, promise. Got another cig for me? Thanks.

Yeh, I was talking about Gin. He is absolutely
calm. Perfect. The senator had accused him of being
a liar, but Gin had only smiled. He is way above
all of us- so unlike JD, who can't hold his temper.
I keep him away from the hostages - don't want him
to freak out and hit someone. He keeps them in
check. That's fine. Gin eyes him from time to time,
and I think JD will get in trouble if he does
anything that Gin doesn't want. We play to the
rules. Everyone has his part to fulfill. That's
what we're up to. Fulfill the parts, collect the
money and leave. I stub my cigarette in the big
glass ashtray that stands on the desk. Gin sees it.
When he smokes, he collects the butts in his pocket
ashtray to leave nothing behind. Well, he's a
clever guy, maybe never got caught or was even
noticed by the police. I don't need these
precautions - the FBI knows who I am. So what the
heck? Gin pours himself some water from the can. We
delivered some water to the hostages, too. We're no
monsters.

The senator uses the minute to talk to me, saying,

"You can still end this in peace. You can deliver
yourself to the police, and I'll tell them you
treated us fair. This would be the best solution,
believe me. You can't escape. The police will catch
you for sure."

I point my gun to his face.

"Shut up, old man! You pay, we leave - no one
catches us. No one ever does."

He flinched, but obeyed. Good for him. His wife
sits beside him, holding tight to his right arm.
Their daughter sits on the other side, hardly
looking at me. She's scared shitless, oh yeah. The
elder woman is keeping her head up. I don't think
she expects to be killed, but fears for her
husband. That's okay, as long as she doesn't try
any tricks on us. Women can be so tricky! One
moment you think they're making eyes at you, the
next moment they play tennis with your balls. I've
been through this, I know the rules. So I stay away
from them. When the secretary, a chestnut-haired
woman with a breathtaking figure, stands up to be
led to the ladies room, Gin accompanies her, not
even smiling or giving a sign that he's impressed
by what he sees. I could fall on her right on the
spot, right in front of the others. That would be
fun. But I know it's not in our rules, and we don't
need no distraction from our plan. And this *would*
be a distraction...

Gin comes back, the woman sits down again with the
others on the empty space between the wall and the
mighty desk that is enthroned in the middle of the
big room. Gin glances at his watch, and softly
says,

"It's time for the next call." He hands me the
phone. I take it gladly.

"It's the senator's suite," I say to the man on the
other side of the line. " Here's our list of
demands."

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

"This is Mulder with the FBI," I say, and know by
the voice it's McIntyre Senior answering me.

"Welcome to the show, Mr. Mulder." I can hear his
glee. He's in charge, and he's enjoying it. He's
confident to get away as in all other cases. "I'll
make this short, so you understand, young boy. You
know we won't negotiate, and if you don't fulfill
our demands within five hours, we'll start killing
the hostages one by the hour, starting with the
senator's daughter." There's a female scream, "No!"
from the background. Thanks to that I know he's not
lying - not at the moment. "You heard that her
mother won't be pleased with that. We demand three
million dollars in unmarked fifty dollar notes, in
two black leather suitcases. Plus, six black
raincoats with hoods, four black leather suitcases
the same as the first one, and a helicopter to take
us to the rooftop entrance exactly after the money
is delivered. Some sandwiches would be nice, too."
So damn secure! So damn, fucking self-confident!
"You got that, Mr. Mulder?"

"I heard you, Mister. You know that it is
impossible to get the money in this short time," I
say according to the rules of negotiating, and, of
course, Mike laughs.

"You'll be on the fucking button, or you collect
some more dead bodies."

"Okay, I got that." And I gnaw on my lower lip,
about to add that he should let a hostage go as a
sign of good will, but I don't say it. He won't do
it. "Are the hostages okay, or did you harm anyone?
Is a doctor needed?"

"You think I'd tell? But, I can assure you, at the
moment, they're all happy campers. Bring up the
sandwiches first, okay?" He hangs up, and I slowly
put back the receiver, and turn around to
Patterson. "I need the recordings of the bank
robberies. All of them. I don't know what, but
something's wrong here." Mr. Moore gives me a
puzzled look while my boss is on the phone already.

"Wrong?" Moore repeats. "Sure, we have a *really*
wrong situation, and you think about listening to
old tapes?"

"These tapes could hold the key to what's happening
here. Look, I profiled them, and up to this very
day, they haven't been in a kidnapping like this.
So the question is, what has occurred to them to
make Mike behave like he's holding all the cards?"
I point to the phone, and I know I sound impatient.
The McIntyres have been predictive to a certain
point. That's why the bank robbery in Norfolk took
place without anyone being killed.

"All mouth and no trousers?" Moore offers, taking a
cup of coffee from his sidekick, looking the same
stern face with nothing behind it. I wonder how
these two men could get into this special
service. Favoritism, this and that...

"No, I don't think so. McIntyre was almost steaming
with glee. I heard confidence before, but this was
more than that. And, by the way, the brothers have
robbed banks for three years now, and the police
have not been able to catch them. They are *all*
mouth and trousers, Mr. Moore." I know I shouldn't
add this, and he shoots me with his look again, but
I can't help it. I would like to show him the door,
but with a senator's life at stake, the secret
service won't bail out.

"So they know more than we do," he nods after a sip
of coffee. "My men have been up there again.
Cornflakes've been used to cover the ground around
the entrance door. No one gets near without being
heard." 'Nice trick,' I think, but at the same time
wonder again if this could have been his idea. Has
he studied some old hostage situations? Met with
someone, who was released a short while ago?

"Sir, could we check on all inmates related to
cases of kidnapping in public places, who were set
free within the last, say, ten months?" Patterson
looks at me quizzically. There's almost a smile on
his face. He appreciates my way of thinking, though
he wouldn't say a word about it. It's like a
strange game he plays with me all the time. He let
me come to a conclusion, then tells me afterwards
if I had been on the right or wrong track. And I
always find out that he had been two steps ahead.
At least. His books on criminal science are
standard lecture in Quantico, and I can call myself
lucky to be in his unit. But he demands much from a
young agent like me. Now he nods and signals that
this is already in process. I smirk. Sure. What
could I have expected? I'm no match for him.

He's on the telephone again, asking the hotel
kitchen to prepare sandwiches, and orders another
agent to bring them up.

"We'll at least get a glimpse of what's happening,"
he says in his low voice.

Restlessly I reach for my own, now cold, coffee.
The chief of the FBI special squad, Jack Hastings,
is back again. "Got an idea to get in without being
seen?" I ask, but don't hold my breath. He shakes
his head, and uses his fingers to sum up.

"One: Walls are thick. We can't get anything in.
Two: No house opposite, so no binoculars and no
snipers can be used. What we got from the copter
was nothing more than closed drapes." He sighs.
"Three: Doors are solid, too. Not easy to break in.
They'd have time to kill at least two people before
we catch 'em. Four: The shafts of the air-
conditioning have built-in detectors. I don't know
who put them in, but they'll tell them in the suite
that we're coming." He scratches his forehead under
the helmet. "This is why suites are built like this
- to avoid any threat. - I just wonder how they
could kill the guards so easily." A quick glance to
Mr. Moore, who takes the ball like a good
quarterback.

"My men must have been deceived. They were on
alert."

"'Kay," the squad chief answers, holding up his
hand to stop further comments. "If they were on
alert, as you say, they'd have raised their guns
the moment the lift doors opened, right? But the
two attackers shot them flat with one bullet each.
No shots were fired by your men, Mister..."

"Moore."

"Fine. Mr. Moore. Your people died on the spot."
Hastings glances at me again. "The third man also.
He was the guard inside, right?"

"Right." Mr. Moore has his defensive 'I'm gonna
shoot you' - look on again. "I'm sure he did what
he could."

"Probably." The squad chief isn't convinced. "But
someone opened the lock from the *inside*," he
adds, and again, there is a look in his eyes that
he doesn't believe the 'in alert' story. "As if
they expected someone to come, I think." He turns
to me again. "So, here's the situation as I see it.
We can go in, blow the door, but risk at least two
lives. Any threat of a bomb?" I shake my head no.
"Good. Quite a relief. I'd have thought we'd find
the building under another address then." A small
smirk, which I return. "Tell me what's happening
next."

"They demand money in suitcases, raincoats with
hoods, and a copter on the roof."

Hastings breathes deeply, and smacks his lips.

"A red herring or for real?"

"I asked myself the same question. The helicopter's
real, I suppose. They need transportation from here
to wherever. As far as I know the McIntyre
brothers, they have planned their escape route
meticulously." That makes me think of another lead
to follow. I turn to Patterson, who just put down
the receiver. "Sir, it's possible they parked a car
or truck somewhere near a landing field or meadow
near Washington." He nods and turns to the fax
machine, where a sheet of paper comes through
slowly.

"Yes, Agent Mulder, a place wide enough to serve as
a landing spot to change means of transportation."
He takes out the paper and hands it to me. "Your
list of released prisoners and their whereabouts as
far as it was possible to track."

"Thank you, sir. Considering their robberies, the
escape always included two or more sedans or pick-
up trucks, always stolen within seventy-two hours
before the crime." I quickly check the list, but
can't find a familiar name. I hadn't expected to
anyway. I look up again. "We got a map here?" A
young assistant reacts on my request and rolls out
the map of Washington's adjoining states. "We have
to check all possibilities where the copter can
land and compare the cars parked at the sites to
the list of registered stolen cars during the last
week. The assistant takes down my request and
quickly moves to a telephone. This will be a list
even longer than that of the prisoners. I take more
time for a second check. I have butterflies in my
stomach. If the McIntyres gained information from a
known kidnapper it could turn out far more
dangerous for the hostages than I had thought.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

"That G-man just took it," I tell Gin, and can't
help smiling broadly. "Swallowed it whole and all."
He reacts as stone-cold as before. A nod. And
another cigarette butt is put into his pocket
ashtray.

"No question to release a hostage? No question to
talk to the senator?"

"Nope. They know JD and me. We never negotiate.
Didn't you hear about our Norfolk operation?" I let
him wait for a second. "We got away with three
hundred K in two hours!" I nod to myself and in
JD's direction. "They knew they could only save
their sorry asses by letting us go."

"Five hours." Gin glances at his watch again, takes
another sip of water. He obviously is not
impressed. I don't like that, but I think it's
because he already knows what we are capable of.

We hear the crushing of cornflakes outside.
Immediately we raise our guns. JD swallows. He
knows as well as we do that every time it could be
the special squad, but I don't think that they'll
risk the life of a senator, that here is safer than
any robbery we did before, I can tell ya. So, I'm
about to order the secretary up - would be such a
nice sight; her hands bound and her frightened
looks! - when Gin intervenes. "I'll take it." He
hands me his gun, and I tuck it away. I don't
understand, and his look means I'm a brick short of
a load. Yeah, right, for the first time we don't
agree, but I let him have what he wants. He smiles
a little to make up for the look, but I got the
message!

"No one says a word!" JD tells the hostages firmly.
"Or I'll be happy to shoot!" They believe him. He
got that look in his face that even *I* do believe
him.

Gin nods to me.

"Put down the tray and step back!" I yell through
the door, then point the gun at Gin's back, before
he slowly unlocks the door to open it. He trembles!
Wow, what a show, I can tell ya! Outside a man clad
in white pants and white T-shirt, but truly from
FBI or police, raises his hands and steps back,
while Gin slowly, and with a frightened look over
his shoulder back to the muzzle of my gun, lowers
himself to the floor to pick up the big tray.

"Are you okay?" the man asks. Gin nods a little.
"Is anyone hurt?" A headshake. Boy, Gin does this
perfectly! "Don't be afraid, sir, we'll solve the
situation. Please, remain calm." Gee, what a
promise! I have to bite my lip and force that
sinister look on my face again. Gin rises, shaking
all over. He nods again to the man in white, than
comes in backwards, and shoves the door shut with
his shoe. Quickly puts down the tray to lock the
door again. When he turns to me he wiggles his brow
and lets me see a real small smile.

"Piece o' cake." He takes the first sandwich from
the tray, than shoves it with his foot closer to
the waiting hostages. The senator looks at him.

"You're a monster, Mr. Stanley."

Gin bows like taking applause.

"The real Mr. Stanley would be quite disappointed
with that opinion about him," he says, with his
mouth full.

"You falsified your identity, you lied about your
reputation, and now you're the head of these
kidnappers!" Burne shakes his head angrily. "What
has man come to?"

"Well, sir, I came up to killing the real Mr.
Stanley to take his place." The information throws
the rest of Mr. Burne's appetite down the drain. "I
had to be convincing. And it wouldn't have been a
success when the other Mr. Stanley appeared on your
doorstep, right?" Gin licks his lips and smiles
again, this time about the shocked expression on
the faces of the hostages. If our entrance hadn't
been enough to scare them all, Gin's confession
makes up for it. The sandwiches rest in their
hands, but no one eats. I like that. And I like the
home-made salad sauce and the turkey on the real
good white bread.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

"Sir, the search team came up with something." The
nice little assistant reaches out over the table to
hand me the note she made from a call seconds ago.
"Seventy miles from here is a small, deserted
landing spot and two parked cars in the near woods.
A sedan and a jeep. Both reported stolen the day
before yesterday."

I nod a 'thank you' in her direction because my
mouth is full. The hotel kitchen served a light
dinner for us working here, too, and I hadn't eaten
more than breakfast. Enjoying a rye bread sandwich
I walk over to Patterson to show him the
information. He takes it in with a nod - as usual.

"Good, Agent Mulder. Send a squad out there, but
they..."

"...shall stay out of sight," I end for him.

"Yeah. Any luck with the released inmates?"

"Two used to live in Washington. Police are
searching for them. Most of the former inmates have
been located by now and are being questioned."
Another nod. "Sir, I was thinking about the
raincoats and additional suitcases."

"Yeah?" He can be intimidating, but I wouldn't be
here if he thinks I'm an idiot, so I go on.

"We have six hostages and two hostage-takers. I
suppose they'll take some of the hostages with
them. And - knowing that police helicopter will
watch them, they'll use a disguise so nobody knows
who's a hostage or a hostage-taker."

"Right." He empties his coffee mug and walks over
to the machine to pour a fresh cup. "So, what do
you make out of it?"

"They'll disguise themselves and the hostages. The
possible choice will be the senator and his wife or
the daughter - maybe another man or woman." I look
on the list of photographs with names on the table.
"The secretary, Mrs. Robertson, maybe."

"Why the secretary?" Patterson adds sugar to his
coffee and stirs with a teaspoon.

"A woman is usually considered a smaller risk - she
won't try to escape or fight, and in public opinion
she is a weak victim." My boss agrees. Mean, I did
my homework. And my head remains on my shoulders.
At the moment. "I'm not sure they'd burden
themselves with four people." I put the rest of the
rye bread on the plate to concentrate again. And
knead my lip between thumb and index finger. "Would
they do it for distraction or have I missed a
reason?"

"Distraction, Agent Mulder. And control again.
They'll take four hostages. As you have written,
the McIntyres don't do these robberies just for the
money. They want the thrill. To my opinion it was
only a matter of time until they changed their ways
of operation." Oops, here comes the slap in the
face. I know it, and Mr. Moore, to my misfortune,
knows it, too. "They were too successful with the
crimes committed. Now they found something new."

"Sir, the change is..." I break up. Sure, he's right.
Who am I to argue? - Though I still feel uneasy
about their drastic change of approach. I don't
think they are very intelligent. That's the point.
But I keep my mouth shut. If Patterson says the
brothers put the stakes higher, and that the money
is only a secondary motive, I better believe him.
The kick is the abduction and the escape. "So you
think they'll collect the money, jump on the
helicopter with four hostages and fly away?"

"Right. And we can't see who's under the hoods. And
it is too risky to only judge be the height of the
persons." He sips his coffee and nods to no one
specific. "It's a good idea." Looking up again, he
adds, "It's only a question of how the goods and
the money shall be delivered. By the way, will the
money be here in time?"

Mr. Moore breathes deeply.

"Yes, sir, of course. The senator's brother has
taken care of it. One of his men will deliver the
suitcases in two hours."

"Very well." Patterson slightly nods his head
toward the door, and I follow him through the lobby
to the squad room. "Commander Hastings?" The man
turns to face us. "There will be a delivery of
money and everything else that is demanded. I want
to know how we can pull the strings to our
advantage."

Hastings stubs out his cigarette.

"They will ask one man up. Take one of my men. The
moment they open the door, we throw in a smoke
bomb, my team moves in, and we take 'em in twenty
seconds flat. We rehearsed that before."

Patterson breathes, but doesn't look convinced.

"When one of your men brought up the sandwiches,
the elder brother held a weapon straight to the
back of the head of the man. I don't think a smoke
bomb would light fast enough to avoid a gunfight."

Hastings nods.

"Perhaps, yeah. But if you give them the money
it'll be harder to stop them on their way out."

"There are two of them and, if the situation runs
as planned, they'll take four hostages with them."

"Sir, maybe this is the distraction," I join in the
conversation, but Patterson looks at me like I
broke the Holy Grail of his argumentation. "They
might only take two - the senator and his wife."

"Well, Agent Mulder, why then should they ask for
six raincoats?" His voice is all mockery. The squad
team concentrates on me, and I feel sweat on my
palms. Just swell, what have I done?

"They want to leave us in the dark about their
purposes. They could have asked for *ten*
raincoats." Patterson still stares at me. "All they
want might be a big enough helicopter."

"For what reason?"

"Transportation of equipment."

"They won't carry anything besides the money."

He's so sure about everything he says. I'm just the
young agent who should be happy to get information
from the master of BSU first-hand. 'Well then,
behave like a humble servant, right?' But that is
something I can't do. I feel like being underwater
when I don't speak my mind. I am like this.
Sometimes it's like trying to get a square peg
through a round hole, but I can't change it.

"Sir, tell me one reason why they would burden
themselves with four victims who are much harder to
keep under control than only two?"

"Enlarge the number of civilians to get away
unidentified." He corrects his glasses on his broad
nose. "Again, Agent Mulder, they know that we won't
shoot..."

One more crack in the Holy Grail of his speaking: I
interrupt him.

"They have never taken more than *two* hostages
onto their escapes. One for each of them to be
covered for the time the police chased them. Four
people means that they have to go behind them to
make sure nobody runs."

Patterson is pissed now. I see his nostrils widen
in the flare of fury, and his lips tighten.

"Agent Mulder." Very sincere voice. Very slow. He
puts all his weight into the next words. "There has
been a change of operation - I think you'll agree
on this. They have taken six hostages in a motel
room. A senator is among them. They demand ransom.
They have to escape via helicopter or won't leave
the building. They need every cover they can get to
reach the helicopter alive. - They are *out* of
their normal way of operation, so don't treat them
like this is a bank robbery again, Agent Mulder."
With this he turns away from me and speaks to
Hastings again.

I feel the heat rising. I have to leave the room.
Sure Patterson is right. Isn't he always? But I
don't understand that he doesn't even listen to my
argument. Even if it's wrong. Now I've insulted
him, and he'll kick my ass from one hard stone to
the next until this case is over.

Outside I catch a breeze of fresh air. My face
feels like fire. I haven't had time yet to earn a
reputation as a profiler, and it looks like I won't
earn any medals for this one. I close my eyes for a
moment, let out the air again. 'Patterson is the
senior here, and you're just a greenhorn,' I tell
myself, but it doesn't console me. I want to prove
to him and me and the rest of the BSU that I can do
it. The McIntyre brothers didn't seem to work on
complex standards. They found out that some smaller
banks lack in security. They found out that taking
hostages is a serious threat to the authorities,
and that no one wants to risk lives. They never
escaped with millions of dollars, but the loot
added up. They weren't in need for money so badly
they had to kidnap a senator. So why? The
explanation of just a kick in their lives feels
weak compared with the high risk of being captured.
They must know that neither police nor the FBI will
handle the murders and the abduction lightly. It's
a federal crime. And with their crime records,
every agent in the country will search for them.

The thought of 'complex standards' makes my feet
walk again. I ask for the hotel manager. He's a
small, slender man in his forties, almost bald, and
his glasses try to jump from his nose every ten
seconds. He pushes them up again every so often.
He's nervous; I see his Adam's apple rise and fall
when he swallows.

"Who installed the detectors in the air-condition
shafts?" I ask him. He looks puzzled. "Do you know
what I'm talking about?"

"There was a man here four weeks ago. He showed us
an order signed by the manager on duty - I'm just
the deputy - saying that he had to check the shafts
on this floor. I signed for it."

"But you don't know what the man did up there?" He
shakes his head. "Do you recall what he looked
like?"

"Average height and build, nothing specific. He was
wearing the uniform of the corporation, so I didn't
think about checking him. - Was that a mistake?" he
adds anxiously.

"Did he look like one of these?" I show him the
picture of Mike and JD McIntyre. He breathes,
swallows again, but shakes his head. "Really, I'm
not sure. The taller man - maybe, but, no, I can't
say. - Is there anything else? I have to..."

"No, sir, thanks for your cooperation." He is eager
to get away from me. No clear identification. I put
away the pictures, still thinking about the
brothers. They had prepared themselves for the
robberies by checking the bank's interior,
personnel, guards, and possible amount of money.
They made one mistake and got away with only $
12,000. The security transporter had changed routes
and collected the money one day earlier than
planned.

But would Mike be able to falsify a document and
appear in the very hotel he would show up in again
four weeks later? I would call this bold. Someone -
even a bell hop who is trained to recognize guests
- could remember him. And there had been more
planning ahead of the crime.

Slowly I walk back to our improvised HQ.

* * * * * * * * * * * *

To my surprise, Gin puts a big black leather bag on
the desk and opens the zipper.

"When did you bring this in?" I ask him in a low
voice. The hostages eye us; I feel their looks
concentrate on what's happening. JD forbade them to
talk. Now they are more frightened than before, and
JD enjoys his power, plays with his weapon like a
gunslinger. Gin doesn't approve of this, but hasn't
said a word about it.

"Yesterday," Gin says flatly. Anger and arrogance
show in his face. "I did all the preparation. You
forgot that? Why, do you think, didn't the guards
shoot you on sight? - I told them I expected you
two. And why won't the FBI try to catch us through
the shaft of the air-conditioning? Because I placed
silent alarms there four weeks ago!" I clench my
teeth, inhale deeply from my cigarette. Right, he's
the brains of this whole operation, but he doesn't
need to show off like this! I'm slowly burning. JD
glances at me as if to say that he could shoot him
on my order, but I slightly shake my head. Too much
money is at stake, and I don't know how many aces
Gin has up his sleeve. I realize that we depend on
him - a thought I hate. But I will work according
to the plan. We part after this job and will never
meet again. Gin hands me a gas mask after I stub
out my cigarette. "You gonna need it." He throws a
second one to JD. "Keep it with you. The FBI might
try some tricks." JD shrugs and hooks it on his
belt. I see the hopes of the senator sink. He still
tries to believe the police will free him and his
family. I don't see a chance for that. Gin is an
asshole, but he's clever. So I keep my mouth shut,
drink water, eat the last sandwich and chew while
Gin takes out a small rectangular box.

"Another weapon against the police?"

"Smoke bombs." He smirks. "I said we need the
masks." I swallow the bite I have in my mouth. He
didn't say anything about this before, and it comes
to my mind that he told us the least just to get us
involved. Boy, I hate this!

"What's your plan?" I ask as polite as I can
manage, but have to unclench my teeth.

"I'll let you know in private." He closes the bag
again."  And tell the FBI, we want this Mulder up
here with the money in..." He checks his watch.
"...two hours flat."
 
 

Part 2

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

The tapes have arrived. I sit down, put the pair of
earphones on and switch on the recorder. All
negotiations were taped, and though I don't know
exactly what I'm looking for, I hope to find the
key to the McIntyre's operation on these tapes.
Somewhere. But I have to be honest to myself - even
if I find something that Mike said, what would this
hint change? Surely not Patterson's conclusion.

He comes back into the room, heaves a sigh and
takes two bites of bread before the telephone rings
again. He checks his watch and points to me to take
the call while he's on the second line, listening.
I can't help showing my frustration, but Patterson
ignores me. I pick up the phone.

"Mulder."

"Right, the man I want." I can clearly imagine Mike
smiling on the other side. "You got our money?"

"Not yet."

"I'm sure you will. And y'know what? You're the
delivery boy."

"You don't wanna come fetch it yourself?" I snarl
before thinking. Patterson's nostrils widen again.
Fine. He'll truly make my day.

"No, G-man, it's your pleasure. In your...underwear.
No place for a gun, y'know? No shoes, no socks, got
it? Nothing more than you and the money and the
other stuff we ordered."

"That's too much for one man. I'm no Hercules. I
need..."

"Then start training! You got two hours." He hangs
up.

Patterson does the same with more force than
necessary.

"Is this your new way of negotiation?" He snaps at
me. "Do you want to anger him? Make him kill a
hostage because you pissed him off?" He steps
closer. I put my hands on my hips and consider
taking his accusations lying down. I see my
reputation going down the drain before I'm even
able to gain one. Now Patterson will tell anyone
who takes me in his team that I'm hot-headed and
unable to stick to the rules. "The life of a
senator, his family and his assistants are at
stake, and you ask him stupid questions!"

"It was only one." I look up again. "What do you
want me to do? Bring up the stuff or send one of
the special squad team?"

He lifts his eyebrows, considers the situation.

"You take it. He might recognize you from your
voice. And you have profiled them. You might be
able to give us useful information." He smacks his
lips, goes back to his coffee mug. "We'll equip you
with a small mic and listening device in your ear.
It can't be seen from the outside." With the mug in
his hand he breathes deeply. "Get me Hastings," he
orders the young assistant, and she rushes out.
"Maybe there's more we can do."

I'm the one who might be able to solve the hostage-
taking situation without anybody being harmed.

Me.

I can't think. I order my brain to work, but
nothing productive comes out. I have only been here
several months, and now I shall deliver a bag full
of ransom and...myself to a pair of hostage-takers.
Maybe not a real delivery. Maybe they take the
money and throw me out again, but I don't believe
it. - I shouldn't be afraid, though. After all,
this is part of my job, but I can't calm my heart
down or convince myself that this will be over in a
few hours. My memory is very accurate in telling me
that they have killed five guards during their
robberies and didn't show mercy to their other
victims. That no one else died was *not* because of
their consideration. Now I take my life in my
hands. I can't bail out. No assurances. No
security.

My palms are damp. I force myself to sit down on
the edge of a table when Hastings enters. Patterson
explains the situation, and Hastings glances at me
like I would never be ready to roll.

"So you're the big enchilada then, hm?" He nods in
my direction. "Okay, let's see what we can do for
you." He weighs his head and steps closer.

"Listening device is fine, but it doesn't give you
any chance of defense. My man who brought the tray
said this Mr. Stanley wasn't handcuffed, but from
experience I'd say that they can't control the
hostages without binding their hands - at least. He
had no chance seeing the others. Would you dare to
take a small knife with you? It's up to you. I
don't know if they're gonna search you." I nod. If
I'm going into the lion's den I better do it
prepared. "Fine. I'm gonna get you one. And me and
my men have made up a plan for this situation."

"Tell me," Patterson says.

Hastings outlines the preparations, and when time's
up I take my dress shirt, shoes, and pants off. I
don't mind showing my boxers, but I'd have
preferred another audience. Hastings fastens the
small, flat knife with adhesive band in the middle
of my back, right above the waistline. The T-shirt
falls loosely over it so I might get away with it
unnoticed. The brothers were never described as
thorough searchers. Only quick at shooting. Isn't
that comforting!

Patterson doesn't say a word, doesn't even give a
hint about what he's thinking. He just stands there
with crossed arms, and waits for me to get ready. I
don't want to think that he's sacrificing me, but
the thought is clearly on my mind. I'm the youngest
here, and he doesn't risk anything by sending me
up. And I was the one who spoiled his day with
green-horned assumptions. On the other hand, I know
that Patterson is a professional who wouldn't do
something like that as cheap revenge.

Well, I hope he wouldn't.

The assistant shows up again and hands me a piece
of paper, not without checking the pattern of my
boxers, and probably thinking about the contents.
Bad timing.

"Police found another location with stolen cars.
Convenient for a copter to land, too." She frowns,
trying to look older and concerned. Well, maybe she
is.

"Another distraction." I hand the sheet to
Patterson.

"We'll check them both," he says, and tucks the
piece of paper into his jacket pocket. "If they
make it this far after all."

"It's unusual," I add. Patterson is already angry
with me. I can't make it worse. "Normally they have
one place and no other distraction in use."
Patterson just purses his lips.

"We get them," Hastings says and at least he tries
to cheer me up. "Just stick to what I told you. And
don't try to be a hero. That's our job, okay?"

"Do I look like a job killer?"

"Nope." He finishes his work, grinning. "Sound
check was okay?" I nod. "Fine. You hear us, and we
hear you. So if it comes that we can't solve the
situation right away, stay cool and let us know
what it's like inside. We'll work something out.
They won't get away with the copter, and they won't
kill anybody."

It sounds convincing, but I'm far from being
arrogant when I enter the floor. The cornflakes are
crushed, but still make enough noise to announce
me. My heart's in my throat, and the heavy load in
both hands makes me sweat - at least I pretend it's
just the weight. I cite all the reasons why I
entered the FBI, forced myself through the training
and finally made it to the BSU, as means to learn
from the master, Patterson. Well, today's the day
he drops me. I know it.

I use the edge of the suitcase to knock.

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

The knock on the door is all we waited for. JD
grabs the senator's daughter roughly by her hair
and pulls her up. Her scream is truly heard
outside. He grins and puts the muzzle of his weapon
against her temple, right in the way to be seen
when the door is open.

"No, leave her alone!" the senator shouts, but JD
just kicks him in the shoulder, pulls the young
woman away from him.

"You there!" I order the secretary. "Get up! Now!"
My waving gun makes her get up. She stumbles
forward. I think she might fall, but she stands in
front of me with tears in her eyes. Oh, such a
beauty - even now. "Go to the door!" I shove her,
and she looks back, frightened like I would shoot
her at any moment. No, honey, not now. "Wait!" I
grab the senator's wife out of his protecting arms.
She struggles, tries to wind herself out of my
grip, shouting "No! No!" but it doesn't matter. I'm
much stronger than she is. The more fear the
better, I always say. Gin waits beside the door,
ready to throw the bomb. He nods and we pull down
the gas masks over our faces. "Open the door!" The
secretary reaches out, unlocks the door and pulls
it open, so I can see a man in his light blue
boxers and white T-shirt. I almost giggle. He looks
at me. Yep, we met before. I know it now. I saw his
face on TV describing me and my bro's work. Very
nice. "Step back!" I yell at the woman who
dutifully retreats. The G-man holds a suitcase in
his right hand, coats and other suitcases in the
other. He breathes heavily. I think he fears me,
but holds my gaze unwaveringly. Fine. The senator's
wife sobs noisily, so I press the muzzle into her
temple with force to shut her up.

"Let her go," G-man says, and he sounds astonished
by our appearance. "Your money's here." He bends to
drop it all, but I quickly shout,

"Get in here! On the double!"

"Okay - okay. Just two seconds," he says as if to
soothe me. But his looks betray him. I can almost
smell the air thicken. That's the moment Gin tosses
the smoke bomb into the corridor.

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

'Two seconds' is the signal that both hostage-
takers must hold one person each and are ready to
shoot them. I expect a movement from the special
squad or at least a short information what's going
to happen. But then a small dazzling cylinder flies
over the open door and explodes in thick grey smoke
right behind me. I try to retreat, but in the same
second a third man with a gas mask appears in the
open door, points a gun to my face and pulls me in
so quickly I trip over his outstretched foot and
fall face down on the floor. Mike puts his boot in
the small of my back, shouting,

"Stay down!"

The third man kicks the door shut, locks it so the
smoke stays outside. I hear some shouts; the
special squad will retreat and think about their
options.

He takes off the mask. It's the not-so-really
checked-out Mr. Herbert Stanley.

"Welcome to the show, Mr. Mulder." Mr. Stanley
glances at Mike. Slowly, unwillingly he takes his
boot away. "On your knees!" I leave my luggage on
the floor and push myself up. Everything falls into
place in one single second. I stare at Stanley who
stares back. But while Mike enjoys the power he
holds in his hands, Stanley seems to breathe it as
naturally as the stuffy air in the room. He sticks
the gun into his belt and tosses a pair of
handcuffs to me. "Put 'em on." I glance at the
other hostages. Their hands are bound with duct
tape, and the people look frightened to death.
"Quick! Do it!" Mike orders, and pushes the
senator's wife back to her husband, who takes her
into his arms. She sobs and buries her face in his
chest for a moment. The senator looks at me as if
I'm Superman and could kill the three hostage-
takers by blowing frosted air into their faces. No,
sorry, no such luck. I close the metal bands over
my wrists. "Move over here! And don't get any
ideas!" Mike waves with his gun. I walk on my knees
to the desk, watching JD who still holds Janie with
one arm around her throat, the muzzle of his gun
pointed at her temple. She bites her lip, and tears
flow freely down her cheeks. Her mother swallows
hard. Having just escaped from the threat of being
killed at once, she's scared shitless that her
daughter might not be so lucky. JD looks like he's
about to lose his marbles. He will be the first to
kill someone. The stress is clearly shown in his
face though he covers it with a broad grin. He
should be the one taken care of and is reason
number one to end this incident as soon as
possible.

The hostages seem to be okay, and as far as I can
see no one is hurt. But with a third man in command
it will be harder to free the victims. I realize
that the McIntyre brothers didn't plan this
operation, at least they didn't do the preparation.
And Mr. Stanley must be quite a wiseass to cheat
himself into the senator's staff unnoticed. I don't
believe that Mr. Moore is in this fraud, too. He
might not be the wisest chief of security Burne
could get, but he did his job. The question remains
how Stanley could by-pass the checkout and how he
got in touch with Mike and JD. He must have had
better informants than the FBI did.

"Everything's fine outside?" Mike asks. Gin nods.
Very self-confident. He puts the gas mask back on a
bag close to one of the cupboards at the opposite
wall. "Look what we've got." He tucks the gun away,
quickly glances at his brother. "Let her go," he
orders impatiently, and he follows suit, but gives
Janie a rough punch on the back of her head. She
cries out loud, stumbles to the floor.

"That wasn't necessary!" Senator Burne yells at JD
who aims his gun at the old man.

"Bang! And you're dead!" Another wild grin. He
blows air over the muzzle and enjoys doing this
while the senator is as much frightened as he is
angry.

"Leave 'em alone!" Mike orders while he kneels down
in front of the suitcase. "Let's see if G-man
brought what he was told."

"Wait!" Stanley - or the man who pretends to be Mr.
Stanley - opens the black bag and takes out a
device to check for metal parts or electricity or -
whatever. He runs it over the suitcase before he
allows Mike to open it, then quickly checks the
others. I'm glad the FBI refrained from bugging the
suitcases. That third man, who is yet unknown, is
far more clever than the McIntyre bothers together.
It's clear now who placed the detectors in the air-
conditioning shafts.
 
The older McIntyre brother whistles loudly, and
even JD is distracted for a second. I think of
taking advantage of the moment, overthrowing JD and
aiming his pistol at Mike and Stanley the Fake, but
Stanley isn't distracted at all. "Don't move!" he
shouts pointing his gun at me. Mike looks up to me,
then to Stanley. But the money is far more
interesting for him.

"Calm down, Mr. Stanley," I say, and hope the
device in my ear is at least sending. I can't get
any messages from Patterson or Hastings, so I
suppose the device was broken during my fall. "You
got what you three wanted. Why don't you just put
on your coats and leave?"

Suddenly JD's in front of me.

"Shut up, you asshole! We do what *we* want," he
explains, and stresses his statement with a
fierceful blow to my head with the handle of his
gun.

"Hey, JD, not now!" It's Mike, but his voice seems
to come from afar. "Pull yourself together!" My
head feels on fire, and when I sit up again, blood
trickles down my left cheek, and my vision is
blurred 'til I catch my breath again. I raise my
hands to wipe it away, see smears of blood on my
fingers and the steel rings around my wrists. 'Damn
it! Damn him! Shit!' I look up to Mike's wiggling
eyebrows. He likes what he sees though he called
his brother to order. And JD plays with the gun
like it's his best friend.

I profiled JD to be homosexual. He always treated
the women worse than the men, and in some reports
by hostages it is stated that Mike had called JD
back from descending over a man. He should wait for
another time, he was told. Well, I don't agree with
my own written profile right now. My left eyebrow
is split open. More blood follows, and my stomach
turns around. Fine. Right what I need. Puke on the
carpet!

* * * * * * * * * * * * * *

JD delivers a blow to the FBI-man's head that
almost knocks him out. Shit! I told him before he
should wait 'til we are sure to get away! He can
have his fun later. Now, I tell ya, I'm pissed off
with his behavior, but more because Gin thinks of
us now that we're idiots! We're *professionals* as
I said before, but with acts like this we ruin our
reputation. I know it. I can read Gin's face. He's
very close to shouting at my brother that this was
his last mistake. I smell his anger, see his grim
face. Gin's arrogance is one thing, but I can
handle it. What I can't handle is the gun in his
belt. The FBI-man rests his back against the desk's
solid front. He seems dizzy, but that's okay. I
don't mind him being out for a moment, so he won't
talk or try anything on us. Blood's on his T-shirt.
Not bad, - thinking of what this blow did to the
others in the room. After the shrieks they're all
really quiet now. The senator clutches his wife and
daughter, tries to give them shelter. The secretary
and the young man who looks like a student with all
his freckles over his pale face soothes her, but
isn't any help, of course. We are in control of all
of them. I check the other suitcases and raincoats.
They are exactly like what we ordered. Nice
service. And no bugs attached. Gin's one criminal
of a kind! I'd never have thought about searching
the suitcase for any spy things. Y'know, we changed
the sacks of money when we robbed a bank, never
took them with us. But Gin - he's really clever.
Yeah, though I don't like his behavior he's smarter
than me. Well, my job is robbing banks, y'know. Not
taking hostages and that ransom stuff and so on. -
No, I don't think that I made a wrong decision,
joining with Gin in this crime. He's hard to handle
and doesn't say much, but up to now he played to
the rules.

JD walks up to me.

"When'll we get outta here?" he whispers, still
keeping an eye on the people on the floor. I know
if they move without his allowance he's the first
one to shoot.

"Cool, bro, just takes an hour or so. We wait for
the copter." I check my watch. "Will be here in a
short while. We should hear it come."

"Who're we gonna take with us?" His voice is no
more than a hoarse whisper now, but his looks
concentrate on the G-man. I see his Adam's Apple
jump up and down.

"Three."

"Burne and family?" I see his face drop.

"Who else?" He swallows his disappointment, so I
add very low so that only he can hear it, "I told
ya not to think of it when we're on a job, 'kay?"
He nods, but licks his lips. I can almost hear his
heartbeat. It was a good idea to let the FBI Agent
come up with nothing but his boxers and T-shirt,
but I hadn't thought about my bro's wild
imagination. I've lit up a fire I have to control
now. Above all the trouble with Gin and his
strangeness and the stress with getting to the
copter and the escape place. I feel as if I'm on a
carousel that I can't make turn any slower.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

My sight is clear again. The senator's wife eyes
me, mouths am I'm okay, and I give a nod. Her face
asks if there is a plan to rescue us. I can't
answer. JD and Mac look at me, just waiting for me
to give the plans of the SWAT team away.

"The helicopter should be here right now," Mr.
Stanley the Fake says, glancing at his watch. His
gaze travels from the closed curtains to me. "Is
there a reason for the delay, Mr. Mulder?"

"I don't know of any delay." My voice sounds harsh.
I'm still trying to figure out why the SWAT team
didn't move in. It was risky, but it should have
worked. Now they have to change to Plan B. Hastings
said he'd never do a step without a second plan,
and I hope it works out.

"So you don't." He nods his self-confident nod that
makes me shiver with uneasiness. Players 1 and 2
are clear, but Player 3 is still unknown. I don't
know what to expect from him. I only recognize how
decent Mac and JD talk to him. He's the big
enchilada. And this time the McIntyres are just
servants to the success. What does that mean that
they chose to work with a third man? Will the Fake
order the killing of the senator after getting away
with the money? Why didn't Mac and JD simply rob a
bigger bank?

"Hey, have you been at the employment exchange
searching for a new job, Mac? And you came up with
this filthy guy?"

"Shut up!" Mr. Stanley shouts, but regains his
reserved composure a second later. Now that's
interesting. Mac shoots an angry look at me, but
that's not as important as Mr. Stanley's short
outburst of anger. Until now he had only watched.
Then JD hits me, and he doesn't seem to agree with
that. "Call them again," he orders Mac, who smacks
his lips. "I want this helicopter over here in ten
minutes, or the first hostage dies." He says it
matter-of-factly, and I bet my year's income he'll
pull the trigger on anyone, without remorse.

* * * * * * * * * * * *

Gin's clear about it. I dial, and an older man is
on the line.

"It's Patterson with the FBI," he says. "I want to
talk to my agent."

"The helicopter lands on the roof in ten minutes,
or the first hostage dies. And this might be your
very agent," I add.

"You got what you wanted. Now you show some
cooperation and release the women. Then the
helicopter lands."

This really pisses me off!

"You do what we say, got it?" I scream. "You know
we won't negotiate! You know we won't release a
goddamned paper clip before we want to! Ten
Minutes, wiseass, or send the man with the black
plastic sack to collect the dead body!" I throw
down the receiver, turn around to Gin, wiping sweat
from my forehead. "Done."

"Not the agent." Gin shakes his head, and I want to
start an argument about it when he adds, "Miss
Robertson." She gives a whining "Nooo...", and clings
to the freckled man beside her who looks even more
frightened. He probably knows that my choice would
be him.

"Hey, listen, no good idea," I object in, - as I
think, - a mild tone, "she might be worth a...", but
he shuts me off.

"I said Miss Robertson," he repeats in his no-
nonsense voice. I swallow my next remark. Fine.
Would have been nice to have a little fun with her,
but there are other sluts who want to be taken when
we get out of here. When we will finally be out of
here. I can clearly see JD's face and know that for
him these hours are like days. Gin checks his
watch. "Eight minutes. We do it right away."

"Okay."

"Let the women go," the FBI-man says in a calm
voice. "You don't need them. You can't take all the
hostages with you, right? That's not your plan."

Gin eyes him. It's like they're checking each other
out, like knowing who's got the bigger balls,
y'know? Neither of them are wavering. They want to
know who's in charge. Well, no question who, but
that Mulder really defies Gin. Finally there's some
motion in his face I haven't seen before.

"I haven't asked for your comment or opinion, Mr.
Mulder," Gin declares, like he's talking to a
business partner, "and I don't think I will on this
subject. I'd prefer you to tell me what the FBI is
planning for the moment we leave the building."

"Have you already forgotten," the G-man asks back
and lifts his cuffed hands, "that you ordered me up
here? How should I know what they do downstairs,
hm?"

Gin smirks.

"Oh, I know the planning, mister, believe me. So
would you to tell me about it or would you prefer
to watch Miss Robertson die first?"

"No, I don't want to watch anyone die," he says and
tries to remain calm though he's sweating with
fear. I like that. He knows we will kill anybody to
make sure the police follows our orders. "Hey, Mac,
how's that? - Have you planned to work with this
liar? Or did JD find him in some junkyard?"

"Shut the fuck up!" I scream at him and wave my
gun, but at the same moment I see in his eyes that
he's just playing with me.
 

********************************

I think about what else I could do to keep Stanley
the Fake and the MycIntyre brothers from killing
the secretary. She sits a few feet away, locking
eyes with me in a desperate attempt to find hope in
my presence. I know there should be more I could
do, but I don't even know if my microphone is still
working.

"There's no need to kill anybody, Mr. Stanley," I
repeat, but I don't think I can buy time with that
strategy. Stanley glimpses at his watch. It's a
challenging gesture, and it's meant for me. I shall
tell him the plan, but after Plan A failed I'm not
sure what Plan B looks like. I have to warn the FBI
that it's a trio, not just a duo. That would
influence their planning. But how should I do it?
They won't let me go because of my juvenile grin.
And I'm not grinning at the moment. "The helicopter
will be here in a few minutes. It was already
ordered before I left."

Stanley looks down, then up again, and that grin is
still present.

"We'll see that in five minutes."

I run out of options. And I'm sure he'll kill the
secretary anyway. Maybe he's just interested in my
reaction. Another strategy is needed.

"Did you work for the FBI, Mr. Stanley? You look
like you know more of our mode of operation than
your not very-bright partners."

He glances at me, drinks a sip of water and clears
his throat while JD kills me with a look and waves
his gun. He's about to get closer when Mike shakes
his head no.

JD and Mike look at their partner. He probably told
them nothing about himself, just watered their
mouths with the amount of money they'd gain with
this hostage-taking.

"Did you?" Mike inquires. Mr. Stanley puts down his
paper cup and swallows, glances at his watch and
completely ignores the question.

"If you did you know that the FBI will bargain
though they don't do it officially," I continue.
"If you release the women as a sign of good will
they might let you get away with the money."

The Fake allows himself a small smile.

"Mr. Mulder. If you say something or stay quiet, or
recite the Bible, or the Koran I don't mind, and it
won't change my modus operandi. I refined this
operation and will stick to every line of it. In
three minutes the first hostage dies, and it will
be Miss Robertson if the helicopter isn't reported
to have landed on the roof top."
 

* * * * * *

I see him sweat. Oh, yeah, that Mulder guy is
desperately looking for a hole in the trap. I can't
say if he just wants to save himself or the others,
too, but he wants to live. That's for sure. He's
looking for another idea to talk Gin out of our
plan. I almost grin. Gin won't bargain. I liked the
way he said that about the Bible and that other
book. Guess it's a book, right? Yeah, I knew it.
Well, I'm quite clever though I can't talk like
Gin.

I watch the G-man again. JD does as well, but with
different intentions. He can't forget that he was
called stupid. He doesn't like that. He'd beat him
to pulp if he was allowed to. There'll be a time. I
don't think that I can talk him out of taking
Mulder with us. I sigh inwardly. What did I do by
ordering the agent up? Should probably have been
the old man I had on the phone later on.

"You might have planned this meticulously, Mr.
Stanley, but why did you waste your geniality on
two stupid robbers who'll just make mishief?" And
when Gin ignores him again he adds, "The only
plausible reason is that you don't intend to pay
them in full, right? You made your own
preparations, didn't tell the brothers ten per cent
of it and you'll try to get away with the money
alone." The G-man shrugs. "That's okay. I'd do it
the same way if I were you. Why should you throw
pearls before swines?"

I swallow hard on this comment, and while JD can't
hold himself I glare at Gin to get the sentiment of
what he'd say about it. But he's only checking his
watch.

"*Did* you make your own plans?" I demand to know.

"Did he tell you that there's a different site to
change transportation?" The agent adds matter-of-
factly.

Gin doesn't react as I think he should. JD in
contrast does what's his nature. He grabs the agent
by his hair, pulls him back and screams in his
face,

"What else do ya know, asshole? Tell me! Now!" He
hammers the muzzle of his pistol at Mulder's chin.
The G-man clutches JD's wrist with his bound hands,
trying to tear away the weapon from his face. He
sweats even more, struggling to end the threat.

"Leave him alone," Gin orders from behind in an
absolute normal tone. Nothing seems to upset him.
"It's time." But JD's too deep in his anger and
frustration that the agent might be right. Gin
looks at me with lifted eyebrows as if I have to
stop the kid. And I can't help thinking about the
words of the FBI man. Is Gin using us? Has he got a
second plan to escape from the hotel?

"JD, leave him alone." I know he won't hear me. I
repeat it louder. He doesn't *want* to hear me.
They wrestle with each other. The agent holds tight
to JD's left hand with the gun, tying to get it
away from his face, turn it against my brother.
He's strong. Much stronger than JD would admit.

"Get away from him!" I shout and step closer to
grab my brother. He's not concentrated and too
irrational to think about what he's doing right
now. Gin doesn't want the G-man to be killed.

But it's not him who's in danger.

Mulder clenches his teeth, turns the weapon with
all his strength, almost breaks JD's wrist. My
brother screams in pain.

Suddenly the senator leaps at my legs.

The telephone rings.

I stumble and fall flat to the floor, no time to
get my pistol out of my pants where I tucked it.
Damn! Shit! The senator holds fast. I don't even
know how he got at me!

Mulder struggles with the weapon, gets hold of it,
pulls the trigger. The bullet hits the ceiling
lamp.

Still screaming, JD slams him hard in his face.
Must hurt. Same eyebrow as before. Blood again.
Mulder screams.

Glass splinters rain on the floor.

"Knock him out!" I bark, trying to reach my pistol.
To get rid of the old man hanging at my legs, I try
to kick at him, try to turn around to smash his
face. Is he crazy?! "Now!"

JD punches Mulder again. He can't dodge anymore.
His hands lose the grip on the pistol.

The telephone still rings.

Gin points his gun at the senator.

"Let him go, or you die first."

The senator backs away. He breathes heavily,
swallows hard, and his look gives away that he
thinks of himself as very courageous. His wife and
daughter don't share his pride, but tear him away
from me.

The telephone still rings in an unnerving loudness.

I stand up, turn on my heels to hit the face of the
old man. He grimaces in pain, but I know I'm the
one who lost. I had a weak moment. And he'll
remember that. As well as Gin. I'm infuriated.

"Don't ever try that again!" I scream, then turn to
face my brother. He hovers over the unconscious
agent, swallows, points the weapon at his closed
eyes, ready to pull the trigger.

"I kill ya, asshole! I told ya!"

"No, JD, don't!" I order him and step over to take
his arm.

"He'd have broken my wrist!" JD shouts in a high-
pitched tone that sounds so insecure, more like a
frightened boy. It's his luck he's not alone, and
the FBI man is out cold for the moment. He lies on
his right side. Blood spills over his cheek and
chin. I don't mind the injury. He wanted to kill my
brother! And if it wasn't for the rules I'd have
gladly emptied the whole 15 bullets of my weapon
into his body.

"Right, but he didn't. You're OK. Get back. Watch
the others."

"'Kay." Shaking with rage he lifts the weapon and
walks back to his place near the other side of the
desk. I catch Gin's look. It's not only that he
thinks of JD as a brick short of a load, y'know,
there's more to it.

Disdain.

I hate that look.

"Call 'em," Gin orders me, and I think about a
remark, but decide to wait until we're out if here.
I'll watch him very closely from now on. He won't
dump my brother or me!

"Right." I pick up the phone and dial the number of
the lobby. Again it's Patterson. "The helicopter
has landed?" I ask and find my voice calm and
controlled though there are thoughts running
through my mind which have nothing to do with that
damned helicopter.

"We already tried to inform you," Patterson says.
"You didn't pick up the phone. I hope the hostages
are all right?"

"Yeah, fine. So clear the way, keep the engine
running. And take your dogs out of our way, or
we'll kill a hostage for every man we see. Got
that?"

"Sure." But isn't there a hint in his voice that he
doesn't believe me?

"I mean it. You know that. We always get away.
Won't be different this time." I want to add
something more to make sure he gets the point, but
Gin disconnects the call. "Hey, don't you ever do
that again," I snarl. JD massages his wrist, but is
on alert. We can still kill Gin and get away alone.
Why should we trust a man we don't know and who
plans to dump us the moment we are out of the
woods?

"Wake up, Mulder. We need to know what they're up
to." We stare at each other. From the corner of my
eye I see JD watch us with the gun in his right
hand. He won't be as precise as with his left, but
on the short distance it won't matter. "Now."

"Don't try to push me around, Gin," I threaten, but
his face remains blank. He doesn't even twitch.
It's like he expected everything we do. I turn and
take a big cup of water to pour it on the agent's
face. It washes the blood away, too, and he stirs.
Moans. Yes, this surely hurts like hell, and I do
not begrudge a second of it. "Wake up!" I take his
chin between thumb and index finger and shake him.
He opens his eyes, and I let go. "It's time you
tell us what the SWAT team out there has in mind."
He looks awful. I don't know if his mind has
awakened, too. Maybe JD hit him too hard, and he
won't be any use to us anymore. Well, though JD
would object he'd be a victim to discharge. "Come
on, asshole, spit it out!"

He spits dried blood.

"I said I don't know. Didn't change while I was
knocked out."

Gin suddenly pulls Miss Robertson from her place,
tears at her hair. His face is grim, determined. I
know what'll follow. The G-man knows it, too.

"I said I don't know!" he repeats louder, but not
more convincingly for Gin. He points his weapon
against her temple. She screams. He presses harder.

"Shut up!" he orders her. She sobs, presses her
lips tight. "You better confess now, or she dies,"
Gin says and takes off the safety.

"They'll wait for you on the roof," Mulder gives
in. "They won't let you get away."

"They have orders to shoot on sight?"

Reluctantly the FBI man nods.

"Yes. You showed no cooperation, so the order is to
shoot you when the sight is clear."

Gin still holds firmly to the hair of the woman.
It's moving in his face. He's frowning, still
thinking what to do. Waste a hostage to make him
say more? I can't tell what's behind his stern
face. Suddenly he twitches, pushes the woman
against the hotel room door and shoots her in the
back of her head.

The senator's wife and daughter scream, turn away
from the woman on the floor. The telephone rings
again. The young man who looks like a student
murmurs, "Oh, God!"

Gin stares at the dead woman for a second then
turns to Mulder again, ignores the pleas of the
student, the words of the senator and the loud
crying of the wife and the daughter.

"It's a grave mistake, Mr. Mulder, to place them on
one level with me. I am not stupid." There he goes
again. I don't know if I can still take this lying
down. He gets closer. The crying from the women is
annoying in its loudness. It's ripping up my
nerves. "JD, watch the others." Another step to
Mulder. The agent glares at him.

"I told you the truth," he points out, but Gin
sneers.

"Yeah, right. They'd shoot a senator, his wife and
daughter. What would your commander say about that?
Do you think he'd stay in his job a day longer? A
week maybe?" He squats in front of the agent,
narrowing his eyes. "No, he wouldn't. So, Mr.
Mulder, no one will shoot us on the roof top.
What's the plan? Let me know. One hostage is dead.
Do you want to watch my determination by shooting a
second one? Or injuring you? Maybe this is much
more efficient."

"You won't get another answer," the agent replies,
coughing. They eye each other.

"The copter's waiting," I remind him. "We take the
senator's family and get out. Pure and simple. As
planned," I stress, but he just purses his lips.

"He knows where they wait. - Tell me, Agent Mulder,
or this will be a long day for you. One you'll
never forget."

The agent wets his lips.

"I already won't forget this. You killed four
people! If I could I'd send you to death row for
this!"

"Naw, you won't. Let me assure you that we will get
away as planned." He doesn't look at me when he
says this, and my anger rises again. What happens
when I kill Gin? Does he have an ace up his sleeve
that will prevent us from leaving here without him?
Has he got more technical equipment than he has
shown to us so far?

"Every policeman in the country will search for
you. We already found your escape cars. There are
not many places where the copter can land. We
checked them all. So, even if you take off from
here you're still on the radar. Either the FBI or
the police catches you and your...*friends*." Now
the G-man looks at me mockingly. "Or would Mr.
McIntyre prefer another definition?"

"Watch your mouth," I growl.

Gin has played with his .9mm the whole time. Now,
in a fluent motion, he aims it at the G-man's left
upper arm and pulls the trigger. The bullet hammers
right through his flesh and cracks the wood of the
desk behind him. Mulder cries out, tries to rise
his right hand to the wound, but can't. He muffles
himself by clenching his teeth. Squints his eyes
shut. Breathes heavily.

Me too.

I don't understand what Gin does. Why he does it.
We have the hostages. We can leave with them.
Hooded. They will all wear raincoats. No one will
know who is who. We'll reach that damned waiting
helicopter just in time to fly away with all the
money. So much money! Still lying there in two
suitcases.

"Why...," I stammer out, "why'd you do this? We
can..."

"Shut up!" Gin says with a voice that demands
immediate respect. "Now, Mr. Mulder, would you like
to revise your decision again and tell me what I
want to know?"

"I *don't* know what they're up to," Mulder presses
between his teeth. "You can blow me to pieces, but
the answer's still the same."

Gin stares at him, then rises.

"You're playing clever, smartass, but that won't
save you or any other."

What the heck does he mean by that?

*******************************

The fake Mr. Stanley turns away from me. I wonder
if I would have told him the truth, too, if I had
known what the SWAT team was up to. Could I have
resisted? Tried to lie to him? Gin looks like a man
in control in every situation. He doesn't need the
brothers more than a rich man needs a butler. If he
gets away with the helicopter he'll kill Mike and
JD at the next available location. I don't know if
they know this, too, but Mike seems to realize that
his partner is colder than arctic ice.

I try to sit up again. I've never had such a
headache before, but it will feel like a warm
breath of air when the numbness in my arm
decreases. Blood oozes out of the wound with every
heartbeat, and my left hand is cold. The senator
looks at me, demanding to know if I can still be of
any help. He holds tight to his wife and daughter.
My glance falls upon the dead woman on the floor. I
know it's not my fault she died, but that doesn't
console me. I failed to help the hostages. I'm only
one more victim with no idea how to end the
situation peacefully.

Mike throws the raincoats at the men and women on
the floor.

"Put 'em on!"

JD takes one, puts it on, then steps closer to me
with another one.

"Get up!" he orders harshly. And when I don't react
at once, "Hurry, asshole, get up, or I'll *make*
you get up!"

I take a deep breath. The Fake watches the hostages
put on the coats, but he glances at JD and me.

"He won't go with us," he says flatly.

JD turns around, pulling the weapon and pointing it
directly at the well-dressed man.

"He will!" he shouts.

The same moment Mr. Stanley draws his Smith & Wesson
and shoots the young man in his chest.

"No!" Mike cries out. JD's legs give way. He
stumbles to the floor, falls face down with an
expression of surprise and disbelief. "No! JD! No!"
Mike rushes to him, kneels beside him, turns his
brother on his back. "JD! Can you hear me? Oh, God,
please, no!" He presses his hands over the wound to
stop the bleeding. It's clear to see that the young
man will die if he stays here. Mike turns to Mr.
Stanley. "Why, Gin, why? He's my brother! Not a
fucking hostage you can play with!"

"He wanted to shoot me," the false Mr. Stanley
answers, and orders the hostages to stand up.
"Leave him and join us, or stay here and wait for
the police."

"He'll die if we don't take him to a hospital!"

"He'll die anyway." Mr. Stanley points his gun at
me. "And we won't leave behind any witnesses,
right?"

I exhale. Look straight into the muzzle, into
Stanley's eyes. He isn't hesitating because he is
reflecting if it is right to kill me. He's just
enjoying the moment of my defeat.

The door breaks open. The row is deafening. Two
members of the SWAT team with black suits and
helmets jump in with drawn guns. Stanley turns
around, aims, but is too slow. He dies on the spot
with two bullets in his chest. Mike raises his
arms, drops the gun, and is flattened to the floor
within seconds. Three more men run into the room,
check the situation, and then take off their
helmets.

"Sir, are you okay?" I see the young but earnest
face above me, and though I don't feel like it, I
smile.

"Yeah, I'm fine."
 

*******************************

Two days later I'm released from hospital and make
my way back to my superior's office. His young
secretary notices my arm in the sling and the
stitched-up wound at my eyebrow, and smiles
sympathetically.

"He's waiting for you," she says with an even
broader smile. I enter the office and find Hastings
sitting in front of the desk.

"Hey, good to see you," he says and hardly refrains
from slapping my shoulder. "Sorry. You look much
better. Do you remember that you fainted on the way
downstairs? - No, probably not. You're really
roughed up, kid."

I don't like to be reminded, but he doesn't notice.
He's happy that only one hostage was killed instead
of all of them. Patterson doesn't shake hands, and
asks me to sit down while he looks through the
reports on the case. Then the master himself takes
the time to report the details I lack.

"I realized within a minute that you couldn't hear
us anymore, but we could still hear you." He
corrects his glasses and glances at me. "As long as
the McIntyres were too far away and the fake Mr.
Stanley, too, it was impossible to get in without
risking the lives of the hostages - as you'll
understand, Agent Mulder." Sure, yes, I understand.
The McIntyres or Stanley  might have killed
everybody, but sure the team couldn't move in. "It
was good that you informed us about the third party
involved. Mr. Stanley's real name is Garrett.
Brandon Garrett. He was a Secret Service member
until, three years ago, he ran amok and killed two
civilians in a gunfight with an assassin. He was
dismissed, but no charges were pressed against him
after an internal investigation. Obviously he used
his knowledge in other kidnappings before." He
drops the sheet of paper and looks up again. "We
listened carefully to the happenings and decided to
wait for noise from within to sweep the cornflakes.
After that the team could place explosives at the
door to break it open." He takes off the glasses.
"The senator's family and the student were treated
for shock and abrasions at a hospital, and he told
me to relate his thankfulness to you--and we have
to thank you, too, Agent Mulder for your sensible
handling of the situation."

Not a word that I was right about the McIntyre
brothers - that the idea of a hostage-taking
wasn't theirs alone. And that they'd have reacted
differently when they'd been alone.

I don't know what to reply. I nod and take the
compliment without an argument. Patterson was
wrong, and I take it as a note on my desk that he's
not without fault.

"Agent Mulder? - Due to your injury you'll be on
leave until next week. I expect you back on Monday
the fifteenth." He only has to add 'Dismissed', but
I get the message and rise. Hastings rises, too,
and we both leave the office.

"You did a great job," the team leader assures me.
I lift my eyebrows in disbelief. "Yeah, you did.
Don't ya know, he never lets anyone go without
telling him the flaws in his action. You're the
first!" And he can't help slapping my shoulder.

************************

Now you know the whole story. What do ya think? I
lost my brother, got caught...  Well, it wasn't my
fault, y'know? If he'd have run to the plan we'd
all be out of the woods within six hours. Gin
messed it up! He killed my brother! Got another
cigarette? -- Thanks. No, I don't even know who he
was or what he did before, but I can tell ya that I
won't believe anymore 'recommendations', that's
for sure.

You think you can use this in your article? Yeah, I
know I'm not the wizard of hostage-taking, but
remember - we killed no hostage. It was Gin - or
whatever his name was. Not me. Not my brother.

Do you send me a copy of your magazine? I hope you
do. We can't get them here on time, y'know. And I
don't want to wait until one of the guards drops it
in a wastepaper bin, okay? And spell my name right!
It's Irish. And bring a beer next time!
 

THE END