Done In One Part 23

It's time.

Denton and Sesak were in place on the roof of an accounting office across the street from the bank.

Just moments before, upon their arrival, they had been on the street below. They were taking last-minute instruction from Cowell as the perimeter was being established. Jake had already told Cowell that Jill and Simon were gone when they'd gotten to the house. He felt bad about the lie, but Simon was beyond help, and Jill was still alive. Jacob would lie, cheat, and steal if he had to. To make sure he was on that roof. Because there was no way he'd be permitted on scene if Cowell knew Jill was a hostage-much less be allowed to take the shot.

Everybody was caught off guard when the female suspect emerged, holding on to a male hostage, shot the man in the head, and retreated back into the bank before anyone could even comprehend what had just happened. It was lightning fast.

And now, belly-down on the rooftop, Jacob thought back on his father's words to him thirty-five years ago when he presented Jacob with his first rifle, the .22 Revelation. He could still hear his father's deep, even voice.

"It's time," was what his father had said to him.

Kathryn looked through the binoculars and keyed her mic.

"Team Two in position."

Only Jacob and Kathryn knew that Jill was one of the hostages. If and when it became known, Jacob was counting on it being too late for Cowell to do anything about it. Because Jacob would surely be barred from the scene. But he knew in his heart that he was here today to save Jill's life. He had trained his whole life to remove the human aspect of what he was doing. The shot would be his alone.

Bank robberies fell under federal jurisdiction, so there was the additional possibility that he and Sesak could be replaced or augmented by an FBI sharpshooting team. The feds usually didn't arrive to a bank robbery until well after the festivities were finished. But this was a takeover, a siege, with multiple hostages involved. They weren't here yet, but he knew the FBI would be mobilizing.

But he also felt in his heart that this was going to be over in a matter of minutes. He wasn't worried about the feds. He believed that Susan had killed that first hostage for a reason, because even when a suspect is holding a gun to someone's head, protocol requires some attempt at negotiation before the use of deadly force is authorized. But if the suspect has already killed, the green light is essentially automatic. She wanted this thing to move fast. She wanted, quite literally, to force Jacob's hand.

From the roof, he saw SWAT team members move into view. Two-man teams covered the door and crouched below the windows.

In a great circle around the entire scene, the media and public watched.

It's time.

There was a flash of light as the front door opened, reflecting the setting sun. A figure emerged. It was Jill and Susan, so close together they formed one silhouette. Jacob already had his rifle positioned on bipods, his body settled into position.

Through his scope he saw Jill and Susan. So cleanly magnified, it was as though he could touch them. Susan held a gun to Jill's head. Jill's face was so bruised and swollen that she was nearly unrecognizable.

The two women were impossibly close. There was no shot.

Susan kept Jill near to the exterior bank wall-ensuring that no shot could come from behind them. She knew what she was doing. A semicircle of hundreds of people watched.

Cowell yelled to Susan, "What do you want?"

"It's very simple. I want Deputy Jacob Denton to shoot me. Somebody is going to die today. Me or her. You've seen me kill already. You have no other choice."

Cowell said, "Suicide by cop? All of this because you want us to shoot you?"

"No, I want Denton to try to shoot me. With his precious pregnant wife in the way. Get it?"

Cowell got it. His mouth hung open as he realized the b.l.o.o.d.y bruised beaten hostage was Jill Denton. He hadn't recognized her at first, but there was no doubt in his mind now.

"I don't think he can do it. Not with his b.i.t.c.h in the way, carrying his baby. I'll bet he misses and kills her. Let him live with that the rest of his f.u.c.king life!"

For perhaps the first time in his career, Cowell did not know how to proceed. His sniper's wife was the hostage. This s.h.i.+t was not in the procedural handbook. There was no protocol for this. Jacob Denton was compromised, but he was the only person on scene qualified to save the hostage.

He needed time to think, but Susan wasn't going to give it to him.

She said, "I'm pulling the trigger in five seconds. No time for reflection. No time for backup."

Above, Jacob looked through the rifle scope.

He saw that the revolver to his wife's head was c.o.c.ked. It was pushed so hard into her temple that Jill had to hold her head at an unnatural angle. Susan's knuckles were white with tension. He could see that the pressure of her finger on the trigger had moved the trigger inward, to the first stop. He had never seen a hostage in such imminent danger. The suspect appeared to be putting three and a half pounds of pressure on a four-pound trigger.

Over Kathryn's earbud, Jacob heard the tinny crackle of Cowell's voice.

And Kathryn's response, "Copy. Suspect at street level. Obstacle. Team Two ready and in position."

More from Cowell.

Then Kathryn, "Team Two copies."

Then directly to Jacob, "Hostage in imminent mortal danger. Green light."

Jacob took careful aim. Variables were going through his mind. So many variables went into a shot. So many. They were endless. He just wanted to melt into his scope, but the variables were torturing him.

Below, Susan held on to Jill like a rag doll. Jacob tried not to see his wife's injured face, the blood, the dark bruising, one eye swollen completely shut. He tried not to see that, not to feel it.

Susan's body and head were behind Jill's. There was, at most, only a hairline of an opportunity for a shot.

Jacob's finger tightened on the trigger.

The shot was plainly impossible.

Jacob's finger tightened even more on the trigger. So close. So close to release.

It's time.

CHAPTER 26.

Everything was in play.

The same sets of variables shuffled through Jake's mind with every shot he ever took-whether it was range practice or an actual hostage situation. His mind worked the same. He never took into consideration the humanness of either the target or the obstacles. Why would he? How would that improve his accuracy? It wouldn't, and he knew that.

He remembered that he had told Sesak, "You have to learn to look past them. Make them obstacles, block them mentally, do whatever you need to do in your head to negate that familiarity. If you can't do that, bad things happen."

He'd said, "Doubt. Hesitation. Guilt. These things can destroy you. After the shot is taken. Doubt. Hesitation. Guilt. These things can destroy the hostage. Before the shot is taken."

And now, on this rooftop today, he went through his familiar list of variables, so that he could tick off each one as he always did and then jump down the rabbit hole. Melt into his scope and find the perfect peace of the reticle.

Today was different, though. Today he was plagued by doubt, hesitation, and guilt.

He knew that the one thing he needed to do, the most essential thing, was to forget Jill. To be there for her, to save her, he needed to pretend that she didn't exist. He had to dehumanize her. To make Jill an obstacle.

You have to do it, son. Killing's hard sometimes.

What was the perfect path between the rifle and the target? The clicks on his scope were like the clicks of tumbler pins in a combination lock. Which path, no matter how miniscule, bypa.s.sed the obstacle? What was the combination that unlocked that path?

From the street, he heard Susan's voice. Her voice carried well.

She yelled, "Five!"

He blocked it out and focused on the combination. He ticked off the combination that would open the perfect path.

He thought about the wind. Always. Always there was the wind. What he felt on his face here on this rooftop was a steady, gentle four miles per hour breeze from the north, but that could be completely different at street level where Jill was-Jill, that was Jill down there.

On the street, particularly given the topographical breaks of the city buildings, there could be gusts, so he looked down-Jill, that was Jill down there-for dust, papers, leaves on ornamental trees, anything he could see to gauge the wind.

From the street, he heard, "Four!"

Distance. It looked to be 105 yards. Long range estimation was one of the hardest a.s.sessments to make, second only to judging the wind. The only concern was where the projectile would strike in the vertical plane. From 35 yards up to 110 yards, the amount of bullet drop was of no consequence. After 110 yards bullet drop became an important factor as the projectile slowed and you had to compensate. This was right at the tipping point. Maybe one click up? Maybe the New Guard of snipers had it right. Just push some b.u.t.tons, then pull the trigger. No expertise. No dope book. No variables. Maybe Sesak had fresh batteries in her wazoo gadget. Then he would know for- "Three!"

And there was the sun. It was going down-Jill, that was Jill down there-and he had to factor in the reflective surface of the gla.s.s of the bank windows around them. The glare could alter his vision-was Jill really pregnant? Why didn't she tell him?

Collateral. None in the foreground, the deputies had it cleared. But what was behind the gla.s.s windows? Collateral? No. Jake knew that with the suspect outside, SWAT team members would have already breached the rear of the bank, secured the inside, and escorted all the bank people out the back doors. Clearing the shot for the sniper. He'd heard no gunfire, no skirmish, so he a.s.sumed Susan was acting alone and the evacuation had been swift and efficient. No collateral concern.

Temperature. Metal expands as temperature- "Two!"

Radiant heat waves coming from the tar roof could impact his depth perception. Too many variables. A shot was impossible. But, G.o.dd.a.m.nit, that was Jill down there, and that crazy c.u.n.t had the gun pressed right up to her head. Punis.h.i.+ng her with it. And that was Jill. And the margin, the path, the combination was measured in millimeters. There was no room for error. There was no peace in this reticle.

He could not trust himself. He couldn't take Jill out of the equation. He could not dehumanize her.

"One!"

But time was up. A shot had to be taken. Jill would die if he didn't take the shot he knew he could not take. He could not trust himself to make it.

You have to do it, son. Killing's hard sometimes.

"Zero!"

Jake stood up, revealing himself. "Susan!" he yelled. "Susan, I'm here!"

And he waved his arms in perfect silhouette to the lowering sun. A sniper giving away his location. The ultimate sin. Then he ducked down. Observers on the street could see his dark figure running away from the roof's edge.

As Jacob made it to the rooftop exit door, he paused just long enough to look back and make eye contact with his spotter. His trainee. He spoke two words to her. And then he was gone.

CHAPTER 27.

The crowd grew quiet. Radio chatter stopped.

Jacob emerged from the crowd and onto the stage Susan had set. The arena.

He stood in front of Susan, hands open at his sides. No guns. No vest. He'd removed all of his tactical gear.

"No," Susan said. "Go hide like a coward. You shoot people from your hiding place."

"I'm here. In front of you."

"Then you better pull your sidearm and try to take a shot."

"I'm unarmed."

"I have nothing to lose. I will put a bullet in her head. You saw the pregnancy test, right?"

Jacob looked to Jill for confirmation. She was sweaty, in shock, her hair hanging in dirty clumps. Her face was b.l.o.o.d.y, one eye swollen shut and seeping dark fluid. He couldn't tell if it was true or not. It didn't matter. Not in this moment.

"You know what you're gambling here. I'm giving you a chance. If you make me pull the trigger myself, then I guarantee you she will die. But if you take the shot, then she has a chance."

There was no way out of this. She was going to make him take the shot. He had no choice. Stand here and watch his wife and unborn child slaughtered, or retreat and fire the bullet himself. She was right. It was a chance. His mind was in turmoil, trying to come up with something. A solution. He should retreat. His natural position was belly-down on a rooftop. He wasn't a negotiator. His only concern was how to deliver the bullet. What could he say to this woman who held his world in her hands? Little mousy Susan Weaver. He had never suspected. She had seemed scared of him. Intimidated. Jill had called her a possum. And Oz had called her by her real name. Rose. A rose is a rose is a rose. The little girl found outside the bank. Rose Kaufman. He remembered Jill talking about Susan's novel. About a little girl whose father robs banks. Rose.

Jacob said, "You don't have to do this, Rose."

"No. No. Don't try to f.u.c.k with my head. I'm ready to pull the trigger."

"I'm sorry for your loss. I truly am. If I could go back in time-" But he stopped there. He wouldn't lie to her. If he could go back in time, he'd take the shot again. "I don't know. He had a gun. People's lives were at risk."

"He was desperate. He was just trying to take care of his family."

"I understand that now. But then, all I knew was that he was a man with a gun, holding people hostage. I had no choice."

"You had a choice today. And now you're trying to trick me. I'm pulling the trigger. You could have saved her. I gave you the chance."

And he remembered seeing Jill reading Susan's book, engrossed in it, and he had asked her, Is it good? And she nodded and said, Yes, except for one thing.

"Your father was just a thug."

Jacob saw Susan's knuckles grow even whiter as she squeezed the revolver harder. The muzzle so cruelly forced to Jill's temple. Susan's finger applying even more pressure, the c.o.c.ked hammer now mere ounces away from tripping and sending the firing pin to strike the primer.

"You're the thug," she said. "The murderer. He could have been talked down. You know that in your heart."

"He shot a woman in the back. Your father was trash. Human trash."