The Screaming Eagles (18 page)

Remember do not try to rescue these people, for we are all expendable. Look behind me and you will see.”

A camera panned showing the whole room. Three men had black and white kaffiyehs over their faces. One of the three was standing in front of a door marked “EXIT.” Across the door, wires were strung which entered into a detonator and plunger on a table next to one of the other men. Three TV technicians, blindfolded, arms raised, were standing at the door. Tied around each chest were two sticks of dynamite. In another corner, his Uzi pointed, stood the third gunman.

Four women, also blindfolded, arms raised, stood against the control room. The third gunman had moved and now stood directly behind Geocaris, Uzi pointed at the back of his head. The Uzi rested near Geocaris’s ear, the end of the muzzle hidden, covered by his hair.

John Geocaris was terrified.

“We will resume broadcasting at nine o’clock sharp.”

A pizza commercial came on then the screen went blank. Immediately the first newscaster was seen blithely announcing, “Due to the situation in Studio One, A.T.N. will be rescheduling its normal morning broadcasting. We will keep you posted of all new developments as they unfold through out the day. We have a marvelous selection, without a doubt, of the very best programs for your viewing pleasure. Stay tuned to A.T.N., America’s number one station.”

Dani turned down the volume as soon as a corn flakes commercial started.

“Ken, get me tapes of the last ten minutes. I want blown-up, still photographs of each section as they panned the cameras. Pat, bring me a TV technician. I want them to explain the layout and workings of the studio. Move.

“Christy, get me the name of the Iranian ambassador at the UN, his private telephone number and, if he’s out of the country, find out where he can be reached. Get me Andy, head of Interpol, London. If he’s unavailable, his assistants Katie or Maggie will do, but I need to speak to some one of authority at Interpol Headquarters.

“Valerie, I want any language professor you can find that specializes in Iranian and Middle Eastern languages. Try Jim in Rockford. I want a criminal psychologist. Get me Bob Foster, he lives in Elgin.” He turned to Michael. “Well, buddy boy, what do you think?”

“It happened so fast. I’m not sure if they’re the ones. Let me think awhile. I’m not as fast on my feet as you guys are.”

Michael got a notepad and started making notes as his mind replayed the past few minutes. He was concentrating on nuances, how they spoke, where they stood, what they said. Telephones rang incessantly. Two men with earphones were monitoring the other networks. Dani was on a speakerphone talking to Deputy Superintend Michael Mann and someone named Stephanie. He was getting an update of what was happening outside the A.T.N. building. People were hurrying in and out with computer printouts, memos, files and messages. Everyone seemed to know exactly what they were doing and where they were going, perfect organized chaos, the room, buzzing noisily reverberating with steady activity. No panic just another job, each Subversive with his or her, own mental checklist, slowly and methodically doing what needed to be done.

A cup of coffee was put in front of Dani. He grabbed it and drank thirstily.

Ken walked into the room holding a videotape in his hand. Still drinking his coffee, Dani pointed to the VCR waving his pen and continued talking into the speakerphone. Michael was suddenly aware of perfume. He looked up and saw Pat standing talking to Dani her attention directed toward a woman standing next to Michael’s chair. Michael turned leaned back sideways and looked up to see who she was. The bottom swell of her breasts were at his eye level, her silk blouse nearly brushed his cheek.

He leaned further away so as to see her face. She had strawberry blonde hair, shoulder-length, and appeared to be in her late-thirties. She was watching Dani a slight frown on her forehead. Finishing his speakerphone conversation, Dani motioned her to sit down. She sat in the chair next to Michael looking slowly around the room absorbing its frenetic energy. Her back was rigid as she leaned forward slightly in the chair, tense and uncomfortable at the noise of people shouting and milling around.

Watching her intently, Michael saw her face searching the room, occasionally she pursed her lips, sometimes chewing on the bottom one. When she finally turned toward him, their eyes connected. Hers were blue. Their eyes locked, they continued to look at each other. Unsure, she nodded her head slightly giving him a quick embarrassed smile then looked right past him.

Michael could see the silk blouse straining, contouring tightly to her body as she twisted, looking around the room. He couldn’t take his eyes off her.

Dani called, “Miss Hannesson.”

She snapped round. “Sorry, I was just looking around.”

“Please go to the blackboard, miss. Outline the studio as best as you can, showing doors, camera positions, anchor desks and so on.”

She got up, and walked toward the blackboard, straight-backed and tall, she had the gliding walk of a fashion model. She had on a narrow, blue skirt that fell a fraction below her knees, white blouse, and a pale blue sweater. Her clothes were expensive designer and perfectly tailored to contour her body.

Picking up chalk, she rapidly drew the interior of the A.T.N. studio, marking each exit and showing where the anchors were sitting. Using a different color, she positioned each cameraman.

Intently watching every move Ms. Hannesson made, Michael began to fantasize about her. He was right handed, could hardly use his left to write or sketch. However, when sculpting he was totally ambidextrous. His best work that he’d occasionally sold to dealers who commissioned his work, were sculptures of the female form. When looking at a nude model he was about to sculpt, it was a purely clinical experience. How her neck or legs were angled or her breasts were positioned evoked no desire. As a sculptor his concentration was the shape of the breast as its size and fullness fell into whatever pose the model on the turntable was adopting. He preferred to move the turntable slightly about every ten minutes until he’d completed the full circle, and the wet clay was now beginning to take the form of the posed model. Next he concentrated on each feature, spending hours finding the right proportions and how they related to the overall figure. Watching Ms. Hannesson working at the blackboard stirred more than just desire. He found himself fantasizing sculpting her.

He thought about the way soft clay would have the same smooth texture and feel as her flesh. Sculpting her breasts or thigh, calf or leg would be sensuous, erotic. Subconscious memories would guide his fingers, unconsciously reminding him of loving and being loved.

Fantasy gave way to reality as she finished and turned toward Dani, waiting for him to direct her further.

“Please explain to us, Ms. Hannesson. Talk to us like fourteen-year olds. Don’t use technical terms.” Addressing him, while half looking at the blackboard, she pointed with the chalk making circles where the anchors sat. “Both anchors sit on a couch. The flowers on the table in front to them hide a microphone or TV monitor, or their notes. A TelePrompTer will be here, just out of camera range. Three cameras will be filming from different angles pointed at them. A small red light flashes on the camera that will be shooting them. The red light alerts the anchor to look into the lens of a specific camera. Cameras are on wheels so they’re able to move them from one section to another. Cables are all over the floor. Four separate areas take up about half the area of the studio. The couch is one area. The second is where an anchor interviews a guest. It usually consists of two easy chairs. The third is weather maps. The fourth is sports. Each section on its own is very small. All are decorated differently. Chairs are also on wheels. Telephones are everywhere, as are clocks. The lighting is bright in this section. TV screens out of our camera range showing all three major networks, plus a local station will be on. The reason for that is in case any station breaks a story that we want to follow up on. Special copy would then be written and fed into the teleprompter. This is how we flash across the screen something like ‘This story just in.’ The teleprompter is situated above the area where the technicians sit. Two assistant directors, assignment editors and reporters make up the studio crew. The floor director is in constant communication with the director in the booth. Our booth is situated over here, near the exit door. There is only one exit door.”

She took a step backward, pausing looked at the blackboard to see if she’d missed anything. Satisfied, she continued.

“Looking through one way glass, our booth director can see the entire studio at all times. He’s the TV announcer the voice that is never seen. He announces the start of news,
etc.
In front of him, on a wall, are twenty-eight TV screens most will be in use at one time. He chooses which angles and shots to use. For example, he’ll call out, ‘Use camera one, two, or three, dolly in for close up, dolly in for double shot, two shots, head shot’ and so forth. They have a special language, a sort of TV shorthand.

A video technician sits next to him and presses buttons. He has buttons that will split the screen, superimpose, use special effects, dissolve, fade or wipe. Next to him is an audio technician. His job is to make sure that all sounds are clear and free of distortion or static.

I know our general manager and chief engineer are in the building somewhere. They will have provided the police with engineering, electrical, sewage, structural and layout maps. Do any of you have questions?”

“Are there any other exits, trap doors, sky lights?” said Dani. “Is there any way for us to get in, no matter how small, that you know of?”

“None that I’m aware of.”

“Any other questions? Okay. Karen, you and Charlie show the tapes. Jack move the TV around so Miss Hannesson can see it. Please stand next to our TV and point out anything else you see. Here, take the remote then freeze the picture when you speak.”

For the second time Michael watched A.T.N.‘s seven o’clock news. He watched the Iranians and admired their professionalism. They’d thought of everything. A rescue attempt would obviously fail. When Ms. Hannesson finished, she stood around near the blackboard, uncertain of what to do. Dani asked her to sit down.

Michael willed her to sit next to him once more. When she returned to their space and sat down, he knew it was meant to be.

Their legs briefly touched as she pulled the chair towards the table.

Dani said, “Okay, people let’s hear some ideas. Michael, go first.”

Michael, fleetingly saying a prayer to himself that he wouldn’t be made to look a fool in her eyes, directed his observations toward the Subversives, occasionally looking at Dani as he spoke, all the while knowing she was his only audience. He’d been making notes from the time of the first broadcast. Looking at the notepad he said.

“Seeing the men a second time, I’m sure they’re not the group I saw. The Iranians in the room were slim, these men all seemed to be heavier. I know their clothes are different, but surely they wouldn’t disguise their body bulk. They should have no reason to do so, unless they spotted me in the hotel. If they did, they could probably have killed me there so, I assume that they’re still unaware that I spotted them. If that is so, then we have two teams of terrorists, not one as I’d originally suspected. Maybe with the mayor being killed and the other incidents, we might have numerous small cells of these people getting ready to commit more killings. They seem to be well trained and confident, in perfect control, for the timing of each incident is according to a predetermined schedule. Nothing seems to be haphazard. They’re working to plans that have been well thought out and are doing what ever they’re supposed to do, to perfection. I suggest you take my tapes and get a voice expert to compare them. Speaking through a kaffiyeh shouldn’t distort their voices that much.”

He turned to Ms. Hannesson. “We saw only four terrorists. Could a fifth have been hiding in the control booth?” Michael tried to appear as if he’d asked a professional question, but it was just to look at her again, his eyes taking in her beauty. One of her parents must have come from some Scandinavian country for it was her pale skin, blond hair and blue eyes that held his gaze longer than the question he’d posed.

“I doubt it,” she said. “When our booth director realized what’d happened this morning, he turned on the emergency switch. This activates tapes that are picking up all conversations anywhere in the studio. Our people and I presume also the police, are hearing everything that is being said inside the studio. If the hostage takers are not aware that they can be heard by the police, it might give the police some sort of an advantage.”

“Thanks,” said Michael. “Dani, why don’t you check with the S.W.A.T. team to see if they’re talking. Get the tapes here and I’ll translate. Also, you better find the fifth man. He’s either getting ready to provide them with their escape when they decide to finish this, or he could be in a room cross the street, or in another city.”

Michael paused gathering his thoughts. “I think you should look for a tie in somewhere with all of the incidents. I got the tape on Tuesday. The busses were shot up Monday. The killers left behind pamphlets, nothing else. Why were there no other incidents all day? They just disappeared, melted into prearranged hideouts. We tried to find them but couldn’t. Hotels would have been too dangerous, so my bet is that they have accomplices who’ve hidden them, and also hidden the explosives and weapons. They must have one or more safe houses because the amount of explosives used to blow up Lower Wacker’s roads and retaining walls could not have been carried in briefcases. Explosives of that magnitude would have needed to be stored somewhere and transported, probably in a truck.”

He glanced at the notepad crossing off points he’d discussed. When he was ready he continued. “Today is Wednesday. On the tape, they spoke to someone mentioning specific airlines, with very precise times. The airlines and times were repeated twice, you’ve all got transcripts of those times, so they are a critical part of the plan. Killing the mayor, blowing up Wacker Drive, and now, hostages at A.T.N. Clearly these people have planned carefully especially when selecting their targets. They’re thorough, have no compunction to kill, and I’m sure are being helped by someone or some group locally. Find their accomplices quickly, then maybe you might be able to stop this. If you don’t, a lot more people will die. In the World Trade Center, the Oklahoma bombing, the army barracks in Saudi Arabia, the killers planted their bombs and gave themselves enough time to escape before they were detonated. If they cannot make an effective getaway, whatever the crime that is committed, the Iranians will always view it as a failure. Worst case scenario, these Iranians want to die with their victims. But in the studio, there were only eight people and four Iranians.