Darkside (2002), page 48
Robbins nodded. “And then, in the morning,” he said, “I’d appreciate the same courtesy for me and my staff, if that won’t be too much trouble.”
“Not at all, sir,” Branner said before Jim could get a word in edgewise. “Thank you, sir.”
Robbins started to say something, then shook his head and went back down the steps. The commanders joined him and they walked around the corner of the building toward Tecumseh Court, the two officers perfectly in step with Robbins.
“WTF? Over,” Jim said quietly.
“That wasn’t Chang. I paged myself. We don’t need to get into a ‘Who shot John’ discussion with little Adolf there. Time to blow this pop stand. Get some sleep.”
“Time to find that goddamned Booth.”
“Let them look for him. If he’s still here in the Yard, he has to hide from four thousand of them, plus the officers. Let’s get you back to the boat before you fall down and I have to carry you. Some more.”
“I resent that, and I’m not that bad off,” he said, trying not to wince when he stood up. The bandages felt like a second skin, a badly sunburned skin.
“Okay, so let’s get me back to the boat before I fall down, how ’bout that?”
Jim dreamed he was locked in a room full of telephones, all of which had started to ring at once. It was an annoying dream, which got even more annoying when he picked one up and it kept ringing.
“Answer the damned thing,” Branner mumbled from beneath the covers.
He felt for the bedside phone, got it off the hook, and stuck it in his ear without opening his eyes. His upper back felt like he’d been dragged down a gravel road for an hour or so.
“Hall,” he croaked.
“Mr. Hall? Good morning, sir. This is Eve, the commandant’s secretary? The commandant’s compliments, sir, and he requests your presence in his office at zero seven-thirty.”
Jim opened one eye, glared at the clock radio. Once he was able to focus, saw that it was 6:50.
“Sure, why not?” he said, and hung up before Eve could reply.
“What?” Branner said, still underneath the covers somewhere.
“I’ve just been given a come-around,” he said. “Dant’s office, zero seven-thirty. That’s a half hour from now.”
“Have a good time,” she said. “Don’t tell anybody where I am.”
“Right,” he said, getting up and staggering over toward the head to shuck his clothes. Mindful of all the road rash on his back, he opted for a quick front-side-only shower. “Only thing is, they’ve probably got Booth,” he called, and grinned when he heard her swearing.
It seemed like only an hour ago that they’d collapsed on the bed fully dressed. Branner had made some noises about going to the guest cabin, but he had sensed her exhaustion and perhaps more. Within an hour, she’d awakened in the grip of a nightmare, fiercely holding on to Jim for several minutes of uncontrolled shivering and tears. He’d finally rolled her under the covers, clothes and all, and then just held her until she fell asleep.
Twenty-five minutes later, Jim and Branner drove through the gate at the visitors’ center in Jim’s truck and parked in one of the slots reserved for police vehicles. They walked across the Yard and entered Bancroft through the second wing’s terrace doors, where they found most of the overhead lights still out after the events of the prior night. The sound of a portable generator could be heard from the courtyard between Dahlgren Hall and Bancroft.
“Sorry about all the hysterical waterworks last night,” she said as they strode down the empty corridor.
“I was getting ready to do the same thing,” he said, careful not to look at her. “That was too fucking close, all around.”
“Still,” she replied. “I’m glad you were there.”
They made it to the commandant’s office at 7:29. Eve beamed her approval, then frowned when she saw Branner. Jim had managed a jacket and tie, but Branner was still in the same outfit she’d worn down in the tunnels and then slept in. It had not improved with age.
“But, um, I’m afraid this appointment is for Mr. Hall,” she began, eyeing Branner’s rumpled clothes. Jim cut her off.
“Agent Branner needs to know when she’ll be able to interview Midshipman Booth,” he said.
“Midshipman Booth?” Eve said blankly. “I don’t know anything about a Midshipman Booth. I’ll have to consult with the commandant. If you would both please have a seat, I’ll—”
“Get in here, both of you,” Robbins called from inside his office. Jim followed Branner into the commandant’s inner office. He did not invite them to sit down. He stood behind his desk, peering up at Jim over his reading glasses. “I think it was made clear the other day, to both of you, now that I think about it, that this matter had been resolved by a SecNav determination.”
“We’re talking about the Dell matter?” Jim asked.
“Yes, Mr. Hall. The Dell matter. What else would we be talking about?”
“I was assuming you wanted to know why the utility tunnel complex was wrecked last night. Why you and your office are all running on emergency generators this morning. That you’d want a fuller explanation of what happened down there, and why we were down there.”
“Yes, I do. But right now, Midshipman Markham hasn’t shown up for morning meal formation. She signed in very early this morning, well after the expiration of town liberty. And another firstie is also UA.”
“Gosh, let me guess,” Jim said. “Dyle Booth.”
“Don’t tell me you’ve misplaced him?” Branner asked.
Robbins frowned and sat down slowly. “It’s most unusual. Two first-class UA. Especially this late in the year. And most out of character for Midshipman Markham.”
“But not for Booth?”
“Booth’s company officer reports that he is something of a loner within the company, but he’s had no conduct offenses of any kind for almost three years.”
“Well,” Branner said, pulling up a chair and plopping down into it. “I’m tired, so I’m going to sit down. Let me fill you in on what we think we know about Midshipman First Class Dyle Booth.”
“But, see here, I—”
“You want to listen, Captain. That’s what you want to do right now.”
Robbins opened his mouth to protest, saw the look on Branner’s face, and shut it. Jim grabbed himself a chair, reversed it, and sat down, being very careful not to strain the shirt across his back. Branner was gathering her thoughts when the commandant’s door burst open. It was Captain Rogers, and he was visibly agitated.
“Sir!” he shouted. “We have a possible hostage situation. Eighth wing. One mid is threatening to throw another one off the roof!”
Branner whipped around in her chair. “Is one of them a female?”
Rogers blinked, focused on Branner, and then nodded yes. The commandant was standing up behind his desk. “Call the—” He began, then stopped. “Hell’s bells, who do we call? A hostage situation! What the hell’s our procedure for a hostage situation?”
Jim reached across the desk and snatched up Robbins’s phone. He called the chief’s direct number, got him, and told him to set up a police perimeter around the eighth wing, inside and out, to contain a hostage situation, and to get some help from the Annapolis police. To his immense credit, Bustamente said they’d get right on it. By now, the commandant was really spinning up, firing a hundred questions at Rogers, who had zero answers but began to take copious notes in a little green notebook. Branner was signaling Jim that they should get out of there.
“Sir, I’m going to take charge of the police operation,” Jim told Robbins. “I suggest you notify the FBI office in town right away, and that you clear all midshipmen and any contract personnel out of the eighth wing. The chief will call the Annapolis fire department, tell them what we have, and request an air bag and their big ladder truck.”
Robbins just gaped at him, but Jim moved quickly out the office door, with Branner right behind him. They jogged down the executive corridor to the wooden partition, through the rotunda, and into the fourth wing. Midshipmen were staring at them as they ran down the passageway and turned left into the line of buildings that led back to the eighth wing.
“Has to be Booth,” Branner said. “He’s got Markham.”
“That’s my guess,” replied Jim, who was puffing now, his back on fire from the jarring. “You ready for some stairs?”
“Anytime,” she said, and they turned left and up into a stairwell that led to the crossover breezeway between the sixth and eighth wings. They blasted through the double doors into the third deck on the eighth wing and stopped short. There were midshipmen everywhere being herded by upperclassmen toward the breezeway. A company officer was shouting orders, which were being relayed by several firsties. Jim and Branner let the crowd sweep past them until the corridor was empty except for the Navy lieutenant and two three-striper firsties. Jim told the company officer who they were, and asked for a situation report.
“We got a call about someone on the top deck with a gun. Big guy, shaved head, wearing sweats. He was waving the gun around and threatening to shoot people down on the terrace. Then he pulled a female up by the hair and threatened to throw her off the roof.”
One of the firsties interrupted. “Sir? That guy up there is Dyle Booth. He’s a firstie. We don’t know who the female is. She had tape across her face.”
“We do,” Branner said. “Is the top deck cleared out?”
“Yes, ma’am,” said the other firstie. “We got everyone down here to the crossover level.”
“How do you get to the roof?” Jim asked.
“There’s one maintenance access stairwell,” the officer said. A phone began to ring in the company office behind him. “I should get that,” he said.
“Sir?” the larger of the two firsties said once the lieutenant had stepped back into his office.
“Yes?” Jim answered.
“Sir, people going topside to the roof? They go out their windows on the fourth deck. Walk the ledge.”
“Wonderful,” Jim said. Dozens of ways up. And down. Branner was talking on her cell phone.
The elevator doors opened and Chief Bustamente got off along with four Yard officers in tactical gear, all carrying riot guns. Jim signaled him over.
“Put one on the crossover bridge,” he said. “No access into the eighth wing on this deck except for law enforcement. Have him tape the stairways, too. Nobody goes above this deck. The other three will go with us up to the fourth deck.”
While Branner was talking on her phone, Jim turned to the midshipmen. He knew there weren’t enough Yard cops available to set up a proper perimeter, so he’d use the mids. “Everybody’s down from the fourth deck, right?”
“Yes, sir,” one said. “I checked it myself. Fire procedures.”
“Good man. Go through on the crossover and set up a midshipman watch there—nobody goes across except law enforcement. Same deal down on the zero deck at all the exterior doors. Nobody comes into the eighth wing except law enforcement or the fire chief. Anyone who does come in comes here to the third deck. I want a CP set up right here in this company office, and I want all firsties running this thing.”
“Got it, sir,” they said in unison. One headed for the crossover; the other trotted to the nearest stairwell and headed down.
“Chief, check on that ladder truck and the air bag.” The chief got on his cell phone.
The company officer came back. “That was the dant’s office. Wanted a sitrep. I told them you’re here and taking over.”
Jim explained what he’d told the mids to do. The company officer listened and then left to supervise those arrangements. Bustamente, still talking on his cell phone, went into the company office and began moving chairs. Two more of the Yard police got off the elevator, and the chief motioned them into the office to give them instructions. Branner got off the phone.
“I told Chang’s office what we think we have. They’re going to alert the SecNav’s office. We going topside?”
“Right now,” Jim said. He motioned for the Yard cops to follow. “You guys come with us, please. One of you have a radio I can use?”
One cop pulled his off his tactical belt and handed it to Jim, who called the chief and told him that they were going up to the top floor.
“Do we know exactly where the hostage is being held?” Branner asked as they went up the final flight of stairs to the top floor of the eighth wing. The fourth floor was physically the fifth floor, as the ground floor was known as the zero deck.
“All we had was that he was yelling at people down in the inner courtyard. But he could be anywhere. This wing is H-shaped, with the inner leg overlooking the rear mess hall entrance. Right about where Dell went down, actually. Shit, we need a key to that maintenance stairway.”
He called the chief on the radio and asked him to locate the key. The highly polished fourth-deck hallway, with its rows of dorm rooms on either side, was silent when they got up there. Jim stationed the sergeant in a position from which he could oversee both the wing’s side leg and the cross corridor.
“This guy’s reported to have a weapon,” he said. “If he comes down, he’ll probably climb down through a window and come out of one of these rooms. Don’t let him shoot you, but don’t shoot him—you duck for cover into a room, close the door, and report. He comes after you into that room, deadly force authorized, but only in self-defense. Got it?”
“Yes, sir,” the sergeant said. He was in his forties and had several bars on his service pin. Jim didn’t need any more midshipmen killed, even in a hostage situation.
Branner had gone into one of the dorm rooms, and now she stepped back out. “I can’t see any part of the roof of this segment,” she reported. “I can see the cross building, and a part of the other wing’s roof. But they could be anywhere.”
“They said he’d been yelling at people going into the mess hall,” Jim said, starting to move down the corridor. “That’ll be over on the inner leg, if they’re still there.”
“Or they could be holed up in one of these rooms already,” one of the cops pointed out. Everybody stopped.
Of course they could, Jim thought. He kicked himself mentally for not thinking of that. He ordered the other cops to spread out and start checking rooms while he and Agent Branner made a quick check of the cross wing to see if they could spot anyone up on the roof. The chief called back to report that keys to the maintenance stairs were on the way, and that the city SWAT team had been made available. He also said that the Bureau people were inbound, and that one of their hostage negotiation teams had been activated from Quantico but couldn’t be on-site for another two hours. Jim asked if a perimeter had been established around the eighth wing, and the chief reported that it was in progress.
“Chief, I need somebody to get up on the seventh wing across the way, top deck, to tell me if he can spot anyone on the eighth wing’s roof. We can’t see directly above us.”
“Roger that. The Maryland staties have a helicopter if we need it.”
“I’d like to see if we can get face-to-face with this guy, before it goes Hollywood on us. Make sure you get somebody from the Academy Public Affairs office spooled up.”
He put the radio back on his belt. Branner was helping the yard cops go room to room, making sure they were all empty. Jim followed them, staying out in the center of the corridor, trying to think of what else he should be doing. There was no noise other than the opening and closing of doors as the cops and Branner checked rooms, closets, and showers. When they reached the inner leg, Jim’s radio squawked.
“The midshipman officer of the watch reports from wing seven that there’s no one above you on the eighth wing’s roof as far as he can see. But there is one room with its window wide open, all the way down at the inboard end, mess hall side. He says it looks like a shade is flapping in that window.”
“Copy that,” Jim said, speaking softly. “We’re in the interior leg now. Stand by one.” He signaled the others to stop, then pointed down at the last door on the right side. One of the cops lowered his shotgun in the direction of the door, while the other cop continued to check rooms, although he was much quieter about it now. Jim signaled to Branner to join him and stepped back around the corner into an empty room to use his radio.
“Chief, we’re going to try to roust him out and talk him down. Don’t have a status on the Markham girl, but you should notify her father. He’s on faculty—in the bull department. What’s happening down there?”
“We got more city cops coming to complete the perimeter. The ladder truck is down for maintenance, and the nearest air bag is in Baltimore. The commandant is apparently on his way up here to the CP.”
“Keep him down there if at all possible,” Jim said. “How about the vultures?”
“No media yet, but I’ve asked the MarDet to seal the gates. Can you confirm this guy has a gun?”
“Haven’t seen him. But we don’t think he’s on the roof anymore.”
“Make sure your helper bees are behind some cover when you approach that room,” the chief said. “Have them stand in nearby doorways. Don’t all three of you be out in the corridor.”
“Hell, Chief, you’d think I never had any tactical urban warfare training in the Marnie Corpse.”
“You remember any of it?”
“He pops out with a gun, I probably will. But look, we’re all out of our depth here with a live hostage situation. I’m going to try to talk him down, but if it goes south, we wait for the pros, okay?”
“We could always do that now,” the chief suggested. Branner shook her head forcefully.
“I’d like to try once,” Jim said. “It’s not like we don’t know each other.”
“Your call, boss. I’ll brief the dant. And we’re clearing everybody out of the back part of Bancroft.”
