Epiphany Frosts: The Siege (part one)
Jan. 15th, 2007 04:39 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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xp_logsThe X-Men make their way to Russia, staying in touch with Angelo as they go. Garrison finds himself in the role of negotiator, and gets things off to a good start. But an ominous note is sounded when Scott finds himself struggling with a suspicious lack of immediate cooperation from the Russians. Angelo and Samie, after a near miss, hang in there.
"Go away, turbulence," Scott growled, fighting with the Blackbird's stick just a little. "If I have to take the Arctic route to Moscow I am not going to be happy." He had considered asking Ororo to see if she couldn't smooth their way a little, but he was a little leery of doing that, not knowing how she'd react after her experiences in Africa. Better to wait until he had to ask her, and they weren't there just yet. The bitching aloud was more to fill the quiet than anything else. Everyone on the plane was all too aware that they were on a tight timeframe, and racing to catch up with events
Sam's hand stayed nearer the stick than usual with the way the Blackbird was jumping back and forth slightly, in case he needed to take over or Scott needed help in some way. "Come on, girl," he murmured under his breath to the plane, patting a console gently.
Marie was pacing back and forth, barely noticing the turbulence as the jet made its not so steady way through the skies. Angelo was out there in a dangerous situation and who knew what had happened since the last time they'd gotten an update. She bit her lip to keep herself from asking how far away they were - she wasn't the only one stressing out and that question wouldn't get them to Moscow any faster. "Ah can't stand this," she said, her voice tight and low so only one person could hear her.
"I know what you mean." Garrison said, looking up from his folders full of information. "I didn't get any peanuts either."
The teasing, which normally would've brought at least a small smile to Marie's face, brokered almost no reaction from her at all. She had long ago gotten used to running off to rescue or defend faceless civilians. She had even got used to running after some of the X-Men at times, hard as that was. But something about this situation was different - whether because it was Angelo, it was a foe they had failed to capture before or some other reason. Forcing herself to sit down, she took one of the files Garrison had already finished looking at and began reviewing it.
Ororo was sitting near the back of the plane, still and quiet as Sam and Scott coaxed the Blackbird through the turbulent skies. She had her hands on her knees and periodically closed her eyes, leaning back against the seat and taking a deep breath. It wasn't that she doubted their skill or that she was afraid of flying, but she felt a certain need to center herself before they touched down. After one particularly long bout of meditation she opened her eyes, gazing around the seating area until she caught Jean's eye. Giving her a slight smile, she shifted until she could lean closer and murmured, "Not much longer."
Jean's eyes were dark as she scanned around the 'bird, watching her teammates deal with their stress in different ways. She refocused, though, when she saw that Ororo had slipped out of her meditations. Nodding, she said, "Moscow in winter - why do we never go on vacations to these lovely places? Do we simply get tired of seeing them under such circumstances?"
"I think it has something to do with the exorbitant fees travel agents charge nowadays," Ororo replied, her tone slightly whimsical. "At least, that is how Charles explained it to me once."
The Blackbird shook violently, then dropped fifty feet, and Scott actually snarled aloud. Okay, that tears it... "Storm, I need you up here," he barked over the coms. "We cannot afford to lose a wing off the 'Bird over Finland."
"On my way." Unbuckling herself from the seat, Ororo stood and started towards the cockpit, placing a hand on an occasional seatback to steady herself. By the time she arrived behind Scott and Sam, her eyes were clouded with white and the winds had begun to abate, if only a tiny bit. "I will do my best, but do not take your hands off the controls. The sky is difficult today."
Sam relaxed fractionally with both Ororo and Scott controlling the situation, but still kept an eagle eye on the dials and indicators in front of him. "We did dot all our i's and cross our t's with the Russian government, yes?" he asked only half-jokingly.
"In terms of getting there, yes. In terms of what we might be facing when we land - your guess is as good as mine. I'm shocked as hell we were asked in, period. The Chechen question is an awfully touchy one for the Russians." Scott gritted his teeth, then forced himself to relax a little as the turbulence started to diminish. "I never thought I'd say it, but it's maybe a good thing that Saidullayev did try to blow up San Francisco."
"I doubt it's that," Garrison said from the back, his eyes not moving from the pages. "Too many foreign hostages for Russia to use their traditional 'negotiate via casualties' methods. Getting a couple hundred school children killed earns a look of horror from the West. Getting a couple dozen of their own citizens killed earns a diplomatic rap on the snout and Comrade Wolf having to bargain hard to keep the grain coming in."
He placed another folder aside, his own stack of notes growing. "The Russian police and militia are going to want to go in, and hard. They don't give a damn about an international incident, and have an institutional mindset that says opposite of what we're going to do. I'm almost more worried about what they'll do than I am the terrorists."
"Cynical, but accurate," Jean said with a sigh. "The government's asked for our help, though, so they'll at least try to keep the normal law enforcement off our backs and out of our way. But that's not going to stop them from wanting to 'help'." The quote marks around help were audible in her tone.
"Mmm," Marie agreed, lost in her own thoughts and not really paying attention. "They always come back to bite us, don't they? The ones that get away?" After the events at Alcatraz, she'd wondered when Saidullayev would pop back up on their radar. She just hadn't expected it to be so soon or directly involve someone she knew before the team got involved.
"Let's just make sure he doesn't get an opportunity to bite for a third time, shall we?" Scott said, and then had to turn all of his focus to his flying. What he needed to do right now was make sure that they landed in Moscow in one piece.
--
There was a soft chirping trill from Angelo's suitcase, breaking the tense silence in the room. Unlike the louder ring of a normal phone, the X-Men communicator's ring was meant to be discreet.
Angelo leapt to get the suitcase open and answer it, glad of anything to do but wait. "Sancho speakin'."
"We're over the Atlantic," Nathan said, not bothering to identify himself; Angelo would recognize his voice. "Had to take a northerly flight path, to detour around bad weather... are you and Samie still secure?"
He did, and it made him feel oddly safer all on its own. "For now. I don't think they've got up this high, if they've even got enough people to send out."
"They can take their time about dealing with the rest of the building when they've got the entrances and the roof covered," Nathan said, his voice steady and strangely soothing for all its matter-of-factness. A couple of the others on the plane were very clearly paying close attention to his half of the conversation with Angelo, but that was all right; he wasn't the only one worried, after all. "I'd rather see the two of you stay there as long as possible." Much less likely to get shot at if you're not moving around as potential threats.
"Yeah, I'd be a lot happier with that as... well... " His head came up quickly, looking at the door, as Samie took a step towards it, obviously having heard the same thing. Shouting, in the corridor outside.
"Angelo, what's going on?" was Nathan's immediate, if quiet question.
"I don't know... could be nothin', but there's somethin' happenin' outside. Couple of doors down, sounds like."
Nathan closed his eyes for a moment. They had spoken too soon, from the sounds of it. "Searching for stragglers, possibly," he said, his voice still utterly level. "All right. I know that hotel doesn't have balconies, because I looked at the pictures when Juliette and I booked your room. Is there any kind of a ledge?"
Angelo paced straight to the window, looking out. "Yeah. Not very wide, but there is one."
There was screaming from out in the hall - a woman, from the sounds of it, and then furious male shouting, first one voice, then more. Samie looked back and forth from the door to Angelo, looking terrified. Her hand flew to her mouth at the unmistakable sound of a gunshot. The woman wailed, a sound that was abruptly cut off by another shot.
Nathan heard the gunshots - the communicators picked up background noise all too well. "Get out onto it," he said very softly. "Both of you. And close the window behind you."
Angelo had stilled at the first gunshot, twitched at the second, but he shook himself out of it at the sound of Nathan's voice. Nothing he could do now, for either of the people out there. "Samie," he said very quietly, reaching behind him to open the window. "Give me your hand."
Samie's dark eyes were full of unshed tears, but she came across the room and took Angelo's hand without a word. She had grown up in Kashmir, after all; panicking at gunfire was something she'd grown out of in childhood.
"Take the communicator," Nathan said, straining to hear the noise in the background.
"Got it," was the tense answer, as Angelo stepped up and through the window, helping Samie after him onto the ledge. "Samie, close the window. Quick."
Samie slid the window shut and then tried to stand - only to squeeze her eyes shut, gasping softly, as she looked down. "Oh. I forgot how high we were..." The wind was howling around the building, and the air was ice-cold.
"Ssh, sssh, Samie, don't do that, okay?" Angelo said immediately, as reassuringly as he could. "Just look at me, okay? Look at me. You're not gonna fall. Now, we need to move."
She didn't answer for a moment, but her breathing slowed, and she opened her eyes, staring right at him as she straightened. "It isn't that high," she said, and although her voice was higher than it should be, it was more steady. "I climb mountains, I've been higher than this..." She reached out and took his hand, her grip tight.
"That's right," he said, trying to smile and squeezing her hand, ignoring the sound of hammering on the door in the room behind them. "You can do it. But we need to move now." And with that, he took a first careful step sideways, along the ledge.
Samie kept her eyes locked on his, even as the sound of the door splintering in the room behind them was audible even through the closed window. "Around the corner?" she asked, a little white around the lips. Climbing mountains while securely roped was entirely different than this.
"Nah, I don't think we have to go that far," Angelo said deliberately casually, as he kept them moving along the ledge as fast as seemed safe. "If we can get into one of the rooms they already searched... they'll think we just went out for the day, when they find that room empty."
"That sounds like a plan. A very good plan." Samie grabbed at him with her other hand at a particularly strong gust of wind. "I think I like the mountains better than this."
"Just hang on," he said tensely, edging along steadily. "It's gonna be okay."
"One step at a time, yes?" She followed him, just as steadily, until they were several windows down from where they had been.
"Exactly." He turned his head, carefully, looking to be sure the room behind them was empty.
"I'll stay right here while you open it," Samie said, looking right at him and not anywhere near 'down'.
"Good," he said with an approving nod, then very carefully reached to put his communicator in her free hand, so he could open the window without either dropping it or letting go of her hand. Much to his relief, it wasn't locked and slid up easily.
Samie gave a little gasp of relief, and actually managed a smile as he helped her inside. She cast a nervous look towards the - thankfully closed - door as soon as they were both on solid ground, though. "What do we do now?"
"We stay here until we're sure they're gone," he said under his breath, glancing at the door and reclaiming his communicator. "An' then we... stay here, I guess. Nathan?"
"For now, stay there," Nathan, who had been sitting tensely in his seat, straining to hear every bit of the ambient noise for the last five minutes or so, said tightly. "And stay as quiet as possible. I think we need to close the connection, too - an active transmission might be picked up, depending on what kind of gear they have. You should call us back on the half-hour."
Angelo nodded tightly, pacing back over to close the window - slowly and quietly - just for the sake of something to do. "Will do." He didn't want to be the one to cut off communications, though, not while Nathan was still reassuringly there.
"Angelo..." He could hear the tension in the younger man's voice, and while it also sounded as if it was well under-control, Nathan closed his eyes for a moment, thinking. "We'll be there in another... three hours, maybe. Then at least another hour or two to get on-site and deploy. I know that sounds like a long time, but it's not."
There was a silence that stretched longer than just a moment, as Angelo tried to force relaxation into his voice and only half-succeeded. "I know. So that's... six calls, right? Short ones."
"Status checks," Nathan affirmed softly. "It'll be me on the other end, at least until we land, and then Cyclops."
"We'll check in, then," Angelo agreed, going for businesslike if he couldn't manage relaxed.
Don't even think about saying goodbye. Don't even think about it, Nathan told himself. "I'll be waiting," he said, instead of anything else, and then cut the connection.
--
The command centre was set up in what looked like a coffee shop, directly across from the convention hotel. The Moscow militia had cordoned off the streets, stopping a traffic and directing it away from the building. Kane looked for and picked out the rooftop snipers, either lying or crouching with their long guns at ready. Despite all of the rumours, the police force looked competent and ready; as prepared as any Western counterpart. The slightly ominious sign of an armored personnal carrier at the end of the street made Garrison wonder if they were a little too ready for comfort.
He stepped into the shop, Scott just behind him, to come face to face with an older man in a fine grey uniform. He turned to look at another man behind him, this one almost spectacularly unremarkable save for one blacked out lens on his glasses, and the hint of scarring behind it. The uniformed man gave a sort of half shrug and turned back to offer his hand to Kane.
"I am Colonel Vassily Robatkin. The, what is the term, scene commander?" His English was heavily accented and a little halting, but clear enough for Kane, who accepted the handshake formally.
"Dominion." He hated using the codename, and wondered how that would effect his negotiations, not being able to use his name. It would make establishing rapport difficult.
"You are requested negotiator? They were most insistent to my government that a mutant specialist handle negotiations." Robatkin's tone made it easy to see what he thought of the situation. Garrison stifled a groan. He'd have to step very carefully around Robatkin, lest he give the man an excuse to put his own people in charge.
"This is Cyclops, our field commander."
"Colonel," Scott said, shaking his hand. The two one-eyed men regarded each other for a moment, with possibly a hint of assessing amusement in both their expressions, before Scott went on. "We're going to need blueprints of the building, and someplace for my team to review them."
Robatkin nodded, giving brief orders in Russian to one of the other officers before he turned back to Garrison. "Now, yes, Dominion, this is Mikhal Boradin. Language specialist." Robatkin slapped the chest of a man in a cheap grey suit, who was sipping tea from a styrofoam cup. He set it down and gave Kane a wry smile.
"Colonel Robatkin can be a little overwhelming, Dominion, but he is very competent." The man's English was perfect, strongly flavoured with a British tone, which likely was where he'd learned it. "I'm only an occasional member of the militia, but I've worked with him before."
"Occasional?"
"I teach at the university mostly. I served for several years before returning to school, and they find it convenient to retain me on the occasion that precise English is required; forensic questions, technical documents, that sort of thing." He scrubbed his hand through his short cropped dark hair, making him look younger.
"Have you done negotiations like this before?" Kane said, starting to set up his files and computer near the phone bank.
"Not exactly, no."
"All right, a couple of brief things, Mister Boradin. It is absolutely and vitally essential that there are no omissions, embellishments or additions in your translation. Do not clarify things, clean up my grammar, or in any way alter what I say to them or they say to me. Saidullayev speaks English, some of his group might as well. If I'm left dealing with any of the rest, translate exactly at all times." Garrison looked up at the mix of confusion and distaste in the other man's eyes. It was easy to take personal offense, after all. "The little mistakes, the flaws in speech, all contain information on what we're dealing with, and help craft who they're dealing with. If it's being filtered, I won't necessarily be able to make objective conclusions about the situation, and that could lead to someone getting killed. Do you understand me?"
"Da. Yes." He said, although didn't look happy. Translators prided themselves on finding a fine line between verbatim translation and conveying meaning, and to be turned into nothing more than a mouthpiece bothered some. Kane didn't really have time to soothe the man, turning back to Robatkin was talking with Scott.
"Colonel, Cyclops. We're almost ready to start. I just want to go over some basics to make sure we're all on the same page." Garrison stole a cup of coffee from the table and took a sip. "This is a standard negotiation scenario. He's likely got a list of lunatic demands, he's got decently high profile targets, trained men, and a secure facility. Breaching this facility is going to be extremely tough, with a high possibility of hostage fatalities. That means our best shot is to try and talk him down, or at least keep him talking long enough to minimize the risks when we do go in."
Kane took another sip. "Remember that. Every minute he talks makes it less likely this is going to turn bloody. I'll keep him on as long as I can safely. Colonel, I know you're the scene commander here, but if you attempt action or a breach before I clear it, it means that we're over that line. If this guy is the professional that his file indicates, the second he thinks I don't have any control over you, the second he stops listening. Same goes for the X-Men." Kane took a deep breath and slung his headset over his neck. "Making a breach is your call, but keep in mind it's do or they die at that point. I won't get a second chance. Otherwise, I'll keep them talking as long as I can, and tell you when the situation is to the point we're running out of time and options."
Scott nodded without a change in his expression and turned away, speaking quietly over the coms to the rest of the team. They'd been held down the street while he and Garrison proceeded; Scott hadn't liked doing that, especially given the baleful way Nathan had been eyeing the APC.
He'd stand back and stay out of Garrison's way, to let the other man do what he could; talking was always preferable. But the memory of the similar situation in Rio kept coming back to mind, and Scott suspected very strongly that Saidullayev was even less likely to respond to negotiation than the Sangue Puro terrorists had been.
"Wait, this talking. How long?" Robatkin interjected, not for the first time cursing the order from his government to negotiate with the damn Chechens.
"Depends. The record for a successful for a successful negotiation is from Chicago. Twelve hostages, three gunmen, all surrendered without injury. The negotiator talked for sixty-three continuous hours without forcing action." Kane gave them both a grim smile. "Good thing we're doing this in a coffee shop, eh?"
--
Waiting. How he hated it, Nathan thought dourly. They'd been given some space on the floor above the coffee shop; it was a women's clothing store, couture from the look of it. The female members of the team had made a few weak jokes about trying on some of the dresses, but everyone was too preoccupied and on edge for the banter to gain much traction.
There were times he really wished he wasn't a telepath. He stared steadily across the street at the hotel, filtering through the countless terrified psi-imprints, trying to find...
#Angelo.#
Angelo, safely in the room with Samie, snapped to attention at the voice in his head. His own mental voice was tired and more than a little scared when he answered. #Here.#
#Likewise. Right across the street from you, as a matter of fact.# Nathan hesitated, then did something vaguely Charles-like and reached deeper into Angelo's mind, providing some extra energy, helping the younger man steady his thoughts. #Better?#
#...yeah.# There was something like a faint smile in it. #So what's goin' on over there?#
#Kane's doing the negotiating thing. Call me a pessimist, but I'm not thinking he's actually going to be able to talk the bastard down.# Although possibly, he could make progress with some of Saidullayev's people. It was just that Nathan had gotten an up-close look at the other telekinetic's mind, when they'd fought in San Francisco. It may have been a fleeting contact, but it had left an indelible impression. #Still, it's definitely worth trying, and far better it be him than any of the Russians.#
#So what happens if he can't?# came the calm(ish) response.
#Then we force the issue. Remember the Rio case, though,# Nathan sent, glad that they had a relatively recent - and entirely successful - precedent to look back on. #We got all those kids out without a scratch to any of them.#
#You did,# Angelo agreed, shifting to look out of the window. He kept a tight rein on any kind of doubt.
#How's Samie?#
#Scared. But she's okay.#
Samie, who was leaning against him, his arm around her shoulders, was actually looking anything but scared at the moment. She was looking up at him, frowning. "You have a funny look on your face," she said, very softly. They'd been keeping very quiet, the last several hours. "What's wrong?"
He broke off the telepathic conversation to look down at her, and tried a smile. "Just talkin' to Nathan. He's over the street somewhere."
"Talking to..."
#Hi, Samie,# Nathan sent gently. She twitched, putting a hand over her mouth, and astonishingly, something close to amusement sparkled in her tired eyes for a moment. #Yes, I know it's a strange feeling.#
"How do I-"
#You don't need to talk aloud. Just think it, and I'll hear you.# He was drawing the three of them into a careful link, as he did. #How are you holding up?#
#All right, I suppose. Are you coming in to get us?#
Nathan sighed - aloud, not on the link. #Not just yet, kiddo. I'm sorry. We're going to see if we can't talk the people holding the hostages downstairs to surrender peacefully.#
#Well... that would be good. I think I can wait.#
#We're gonna have to,# Angelo put in. #Unless Nathan wants to fly us out the window.# It was only half a joke.
#Wish I could, believe me. But you're safer where you are, right this minute... it's too bad I couldn't at least send you lunch,# Nathan said, trying for the same almost-joking tone. #You've got to be getting a bit peckish over there.#
#...yeah, now you mention it. Kind of forgot about that.#
#Too bad we can't just call room service,# Samie responded. Trying to joke, obviously. #I don't think we'd like the kind we got.#
Angelo chuckled faintly over the link. #Not so much. There's probably at least somethin' to eat in here, though, when we get hungry.#
#Well, just make sure you keep as quiet as possible when you're moving around looking. I don't sense any telepaths among Saidullayev's people, but he has the occasional patrol out, still.# Nathan paused for a moment. #Carry-on suitcases, if you can see any in the room. People often carry snacks in those.#
Angelo nodded, already glancing around the room. "An' there'll be cookies an' stuff, if the people didn't eat them already."
#I promise, I'll take you both out for a proper meal just as soon as this is all over,# Nathan said. More of a joke than anything else - he somehow doubted that fine dining would be on either of their minds when they got out of there. Sleep would probably be the first priority. #Amazingly, I do know all the good places to eat in Moscow.#
#I'll hold you to that,# Angelo answered, trying to force his 'voice' not to sound as wan as it wanted to.
#And I'll also keep an 'eye' on you,# Nathan sent. #Remember. I'm just across the street.#
#What've they got you doin' over there? Watchin' the hotel?#
#Waiting. But yes... I am watching the hotel.# Nathan examined both their minds, deciding that finding a little sustenance was probably important. #Try and find something to eat,# he went on. #I think you'd both feel better if you did.#
#Maybe,# Angelo allowed. #We didn't even get breakfast. Overslept.# And no, it hadn't escaped him that that was the only reason they were as safe as they were.
#... oh really.# That comment went to Angelo only.
#Yes, really.# There was no shame in the reply whatsoever.
--
Garrison adjusted the headset for the dozenth time, again wishing that Professor Fonteyne or Lieutenant Banting was here instead of him. Banting was his tutor, and Fonteyne had been declining offers to consult with the FBI's HST team almost as long as Kane had been alive. But, like both of them drilled in, eventually it came down to one person. He steadied himself, took another sip of bad coffee, and clicked on the ringer.
The Chechens had made their first announcements through the phone that was in the room believed to contain most of the hostages. Kane hoped that whoever was willing to talk would be in there. The line actually was split, with Mikhal on the other end. His translation would come over Garrison's, so they would hear his words and his inflection, rather than just the translation. Studies had pointed out that it helped establish repport, and he hoped they were right.
"Da?"
"May I speak to Illyas Saidullayev please?"
A pause. "You are speaking to him," came a different voice, heavily accented and ever so faintly amused. "To whom am I speaking, then?"
"My name is Dominion. I'm the negotiator for the police forces out here, Mister Saidullayev. With the hostages you've taken, our government has demanded representation." Kane took a slow breath. "Are all of the hostages all right?"
"Those who survived to become hostages, yes. The dead are Russian security. Perhaps that will be comforting, American." There was the faintest mocking edge in the Chechen's voice.
"It's not about comfort, Mister Saidullayev. I'm allowed to negotiate with you as long as the Western hostages are safe and unharmed. Once you harm them, the Russian forces gain total command of the situation." It wasn't a threat, but both of them knew what the result of that would be. "I want to speak with Phillip Gulbina, the conference director. If he confirms the health of the hostages, I can take your demands. Can I speak with Mister Gulbina?"
"This is the necessary first step, yes? I have been on this side of the phone before, 'Dominion'." Saidullayev's voice somehow managed to be both derisive and curious as he used Garrison's code name. "I will let you speak to this Gulbina, and then you will make a gesture as well?"
"This is the necessary first step, yes? I have been on this side of the phone before, 'Dominion'." Saidullayev's voice somehow managed to be both derisive and curious as he used Garrison's code name. "I will let you speak to this Gulbina, and then you will make a gesture as well?"
"Absolutely. I'll continue to hold command here. Otherwise, the Russians get full command of the situation." Garrison dropped in some steel. Saidullayev wasn't new at this, and Kane's set of tricks had to be carefully applied. "The Western governments only will apply pressure to get our people out alive. If we can't comfirm their condition, I need to pass this over to Colonel Robatkin. What would you like to do, Mr. Saidullayev?"
"Robatkin is a pig." Saidullayev sounded almost amused. "I had wondered if he would be there. You will speak to Gulbina, Dominion. We will, how do you say, follow the script." A pause, and Saidullayev's voice was noticeably colder as he went on. "For now." His voice moved away from the phone, speaking in Chechen now.
Kane waited, tapping on the edges of the phone bank. All around him, the Russians were smoking heavily, and he idly wondered if he should take up the habit. It would at least give him something to do with his hands while he waited. Banting, his tutor, used to smoke a pipe when you could do that indoors. Now, he still would stand with the pipe between his teeth, using it unlit to distract his fidgeting.
"((Russian hello))?"
"Mister Gulbina? Phillip Gulbina?"
"Da, yes!" Boradin had started his translation, and he wasn't more than a second or so behind Garrison, which reassured him.
"Mr. Gulbina, My name is Dominion. I'm the negotiator working with the militia right now." Kane kept his voice strong and reassuring. Considering the history of the Russian response to Chechen hostage situations, all of the hostages were likely wondering when someone was going to charge through the door. "I'm part of a US team that has been brought in to provide support. Do you understand?"
"Yes. Are you going to get us out?"
"Absolutely, Mr Gulbina, but I need your help to do it." Garrison twirled his pen, stalking back and forth over the tiles as he talked. "First of all, are any of the hostages hurt?"
"They-" His voice was strained and hesitant. The poor man had already endured much today. "They shot people when they took over. Anyone who even slightly resisted, they killed."
"How many?"
"Two, many three. I don't know. It was just so fast."
"What about the remaining hostages? Are any of them hurt?"
"No, no. No one else, I don't think. One of them is pregnant."
"Good." Kane flipped the mute on for a second, killing his voice on the line. "Two, maybe three dead. One of the people in there is pregnant. Let's see if we can match up against the list of attendees, figure out who is still inside."
He toggled the line back over. "All right, Mr. Gulbina, here's what I need you to do. Tell everyone in there to cooperate with the people holding you as much as possible. Try to keep them calm and together. I know it's a tough situation, but those men are almost as nervous as you right now, and we don't want to add anything on top of that in case they make a bad decision."
"I will try." His voice was slightly more sure now. He'd organized the conference, and having something to do would distract him and allow him to do the same for some of the others. A hostage situation was likely a pressure cooker, and more than one had gone bad because a hostage had panicked and set the hostage taker off on the wrong direction.
"Good. We're going to get you out, Mr Gulbina. It just may take some time." Garrison made a mental note to get a better look at the room layout before his next conversation. "I want you to get everyone together, preferably against a wall, and get them all to sit or lay down. Don't move around much, keep the washroom trips to the minimum. It's safer for both of us that way. Keep everyone calm, and you'll all get through this. Can you do that for me?"
"Yes, I can. I-" Gulbina was suddenly cut off, as the phone was likely pulled from his hands. Kane waited and as expected, Saidullayev's voice was back on the line.
"I have made my gesture of good faith." No mockery in the Chechen's voice, now; he sounded deadly serious. "You will hear our demands now." It wasn't a question. "Russian troops must be removed from my country, the withdrawal to begin within twenty-four hours. There must be an embargo, yes, on all Russian goods. By your country and the other members of the G8, until the withdrawal is complete. These generals must be relieved of their duties-" Saidullayev listed four names. "Certain prisoners must be released. Immediately."
"I will communicate this to the officials immediately. Do you have a statement and the list prepared?" There was a silence on the other end. "You'll need something for release, and to make sure all of your demands are communicated exactly. Can you put that together for us? That way you'll be dealing directly with the G8, and not through an intermediary."
"You are on my side, is that it? You wish to make sure that my voice is properly heard?" Saidullayev scoffed, but then paused. "But perhaps you are correct. I am in no hurry. Committing my demands to paper - this, I can do."
"I'm not on your side, Saidullayev . You're too smart to swallow that lie. All I'm concerned about are the hostages. As long as they are safe and you're willing to talk, I'm going to make sure people are listening until this is resolved."
A bark of unamused-sounding laughter. "Clever, American. I will see to the list of demands. But be clever enough to know that I will not be easily manipulated, yes? I may not hold one of your cities hostage this time, but that only simplifies things."
"You're right, Saidullayev, but that works both ways. I only care about the Westerners in there, which means when you start working on them, the West will approve shelling the damn building to get you. So we have that in common, eh? Neither of us care about the Russians?" Boradin's eyes went wide as he translated, but Kane was rewarded by an amused snort on the other end of the line.
"Indeed. I think perhaps I will enjoy speaking to you, Dominion." A brief pause, voices speaking Chechen in the background, before Saidullayev continued. "You will have the demands soon. We will speak again afterwards, yes?" It was apparently a rhetorical question, because the line went dead as soon as Saidullayev finished speaking.
--
This was nuts. Absolutely nuts. His expression set into angry lines, Scott picked up his own communicator, 'pinging' the one that Angelo had with him. Waiting for the hotel owner to get his act in gear and get those blueprints over here was not in the cards. Why the police were being as unhelpful as they were, he didn't know. But he had a very bad feeling about it.
Angelo answered with no delay, offering Samie a reassuring smile before he spoke. "Sancho here."
"We have a delay on the blueprints here," Scott said, not identifying himself; Angelo would know it was him. "You've been in the hotel - can you give me a description of the basic layout? Major entrances and exits, anything else we really ought to know?"
"There's the main entrance, and the lobby. I figure there's probably another big exit through the kitchen, but we didn't go down there. Other than that, it's just... your typical hotel. Corridors are laid out how you'd expect."
Scott shook his head slightly - he needed those damned blueprints - but went on in an even voice. "How many entrances to the main conference room, did you see?"
"Only one that I saw. There might be another one behind the dais."
"There's got to be. One exit doesn't suit the fire code, even in Moscow." Scott closed his eyes, wrestling back irritation that had a slight edge of fear to it. He didn't have enough information. How the hell was he supposed to come up with a deployment plan if he was making guesses about the layout of the fucking place? "Sancho, if we don't get those blueprints soon I'm going to have to ask you to start moving around a little."
Angelo frowned slightly. "...I will if I have to, Cyclops, but... I've got a civilian with me, you know? I don't want to leave her to fend for herself, but if I take her with me..."
Why the hell didn't I bring Clarice on this trip? "I know, but the longer we delay, the more chance Saidullayev gets tired of listening to the negotiators and kills more people."
"...wait, Saidullayev? The guy from Alcatraz?"
Aw, shit. He'd forgotten Nathan hadn't mentioned that to Angelo yet. "Uh, yeah. No nuclear bomb this time, though."
"Well, that's somethin'." He was still having to keep a tight lid on his fear at that particular news, though.
"Hey... Nate whipped his ass before, didn't he?" Okay, that hadn't come out as reassuring as it should have. Possibly because it wasn't strictly true.
"Yeah. Sure he did." And oddly enough, that hadn't sounded as reassured as it could have. Angelo had read the mission report from Alcatraz, after all.
"And I don't think he's a match for two telekinetics just as strong or stronger than he is." Scott hoped. He was also possibly BSing - telekinetic-on-telekinetic combat was not something he had a lot of experience with from the strategic side - but he needed Angelo to stay focused.
"...right. Okay. So how's it goin' with those blueprints?"
--
Kane was chewing on the end of his pen when the phone rang again. The sound was like an electric shock in the room, everyone stopping and turning to watch. Garrison slipped his headset back over his ears and pressed the link button.
"Saidullayev?"
"Nyet. He is busy." The voice was female, icy. Kane winced. Women were rarely involved in hostage taking, but when they were, they tended to be deeply into ideological fervor, making them more dangerous and less flexible.
"I am only supposed to negotiate with Saidullayev."
"I do not care what you are supposed to do, Yankee." Boradin's translation was flat, but her voice made the stress obvious. "Saidullayev has your list of demands prepared."
"Excellent. People are waiting to receive them, so we can get this resolved as soon as possible." Kane fought to keep his tone positive and upbeat. "Can you send it out now?"
"And let the Russians have one of our men? I think not."
"Maybe send it out with one of your hostages." Kane decided to roll the dice a bit. "There's a pregnant woman in there. Give her the details and send her out."
"Why should we? A pregnant woman is a valuable pawn for the media."
"It's a Russian woman. Our government's priority is the Western citizens. Sending her out doesn't weaken your position, and would help your position with the media. Chechens don't murder babies, that sort of thing." Kane held his breath at the silence.
"You are trying to manipulate me, Yankee."
"I'm trying to help end this situation. You've got a setup that is basically foolproof, so the only other option is to convince the Russians to give you what you want. The Western hostages bring pressure on them from our people. Bringing pressure on them from their own people can only help, right?" These people were well trained and media savvy. Kane was hoping that meant they were also a little overconfident about their plan. Most hostage takings were poorly planned or the result of circumstance. This one had been planned like a military operation. They knew they held the upper hand, and he hoped it would let them be less concerned to chip away at it a bit.
"We need food as well."
"Sending out the hostage makes it easier for me to do that for you. You give me something, I give you something without compromising your position." Boradin was looking very unhappy, although not as much as Robatkin, who was slowly progressing up shades of purple.
"The pregnant woman. But if there are any tricks, we will kill two to make up for it."
"I under-" The line was cut off. Garrison switched over to the command frequency. "We've got a hostage coming out. Keep everyone tight!"
"What is this? Giving them advice on how to handle my government!" Robatkin stepped in front of Kane, nearly yelling.
"Look, Colonel, the last two hostage efforts with your government ended with five hundred dead. They don't trust you, which means they won't talk to you." He wasn't about to back down against the older man, no matter how apocolypic his rage was. "Your government agreed to bring us in, which means we do it our way. Keep your men under control when that hostage comes out."
The Colonel was not the kind of man who was used to being disagreed with, and he gave Kane a flat, vicious look. "You waste time with these scum. They will not give up their guns because of the words of some American. Remember that when they start killing people."
Kane turned his back on the Colonel, ignoring him. Through the window, he could see a woman emerge unsteadily from the doors, a rifle pushing her forward. She was heavily pregnant, and moved clumsily to the police cordon, where two officers drew her through. She clutched a thin sheaf of papers against her belly, passing them over as a paramedic lowered her on to a gurney. Kane allowed himself a brief smile.
"Get someone to go over the floor plans with her, find out where the terrorists and hostages are positioned. And get me those demands." Garrison said, taking a moment to sink into his chair. That was one out at least. It was actually working. He took another sip of coffee and tried to push off the weariness. It was only the very first step.
"Go away, turbulence," Scott growled, fighting with the Blackbird's stick just a little. "If I have to take the Arctic route to Moscow I am not going to be happy." He had considered asking Ororo to see if she couldn't smooth their way a little, but he was a little leery of doing that, not knowing how she'd react after her experiences in Africa. Better to wait until he had to ask her, and they weren't there just yet. The bitching aloud was more to fill the quiet than anything else. Everyone on the plane was all too aware that they were on a tight timeframe, and racing to catch up with events
Sam's hand stayed nearer the stick than usual with the way the Blackbird was jumping back and forth slightly, in case he needed to take over or Scott needed help in some way. "Come on, girl," he murmured under his breath to the plane, patting a console gently.
Marie was pacing back and forth, barely noticing the turbulence as the jet made its not so steady way through the skies. Angelo was out there in a dangerous situation and who knew what had happened since the last time they'd gotten an update. She bit her lip to keep herself from asking how far away they were - she wasn't the only one stressing out and that question wouldn't get them to Moscow any faster. "Ah can't stand this," she said, her voice tight and low so only one person could hear her.
"I know what you mean." Garrison said, looking up from his folders full of information. "I didn't get any peanuts either."
The teasing, which normally would've brought at least a small smile to Marie's face, brokered almost no reaction from her at all. She had long ago gotten used to running off to rescue or defend faceless civilians. She had even got used to running after some of the X-Men at times, hard as that was. But something about this situation was different - whether because it was Angelo, it was a foe they had failed to capture before or some other reason. Forcing herself to sit down, she took one of the files Garrison had already finished looking at and began reviewing it.
Ororo was sitting near the back of the plane, still and quiet as Sam and Scott coaxed the Blackbird through the turbulent skies. She had her hands on her knees and periodically closed her eyes, leaning back against the seat and taking a deep breath. It wasn't that she doubted their skill or that she was afraid of flying, but she felt a certain need to center herself before they touched down. After one particularly long bout of meditation she opened her eyes, gazing around the seating area until she caught Jean's eye. Giving her a slight smile, she shifted until she could lean closer and murmured, "Not much longer."
Jean's eyes were dark as she scanned around the 'bird, watching her teammates deal with their stress in different ways. She refocused, though, when she saw that Ororo had slipped out of her meditations. Nodding, she said, "Moscow in winter - why do we never go on vacations to these lovely places? Do we simply get tired of seeing them under such circumstances?"
"I think it has something to do with the exorbitant fees travel agents charge nowadays," Ororo replied, her tone slightly whimsical. "At least, that is how Charles explained it to me once."
The Blackbird shook violently, then dropped fifty feet, and Scott actually snarled aloud. Okay, that tears it... "Storm, I need you up here," he barked over the coms. "We cannot afford to lose a wing off the 'Bird over Finland."
"On my way." Unbuckling herself from the seat, Ororo stood and started towards the cockpit, placing a hand on an occasional seatback to steady herself. By the time she arrived behind Scott and Sam, her eyes were clouded with white and the winds had begun to abate, if only a tiny bit. "I will do my best, but do not take your hands off the controls. The sky is difficult today."
Sam relaxed fractionally with both Ororo and Scott controlling the situation, but still kept an eagle eye on the dials and indicators in front of him. "We did dot all our i's and cross our t's with the Russian government, yes?" he asked only half-jokingly.
"In terms of getting there, yes. In terms of what we might be facing when we land - your guess is as good as mine. I'm shocked as hell we were asked in, period. The Chechen question is an awfully touchy one for the Russians." Scott gritted his teeth, then forced himself to relax a little as the turbulence started to diminish. "I never thought I'd say it, but it's maybe a good thing that Saidullayev did try to blow up San Francisco."
"I doubt it's that," Garrison said from the back, his eyes not moving from the pages. "Too many foreign hostages for Russia to use their traditional 'negotiate via casualties' methods. Getting a couple hundred school children killed earns a look of horror from the West. Getting a couple dozen of their own citizens killed earns a diplomatic rap on the snout and Comrade Wolf having to bargain hard to keep the grain coming in."
He placed another folder aside, his own stack of notes growing. "The Russian police and militia are going to want to go in, and hard. They don't give a damn about an international incident, and have an institutional mindset that says opposite of what we're going to do. I'm almost more worried about what they'll do than I am the terrorists."
"Cynical, but accurate," Jean said with a sigh. "The government's asked for our help, though, so they'll at least try to keep the normal law enforcement off our backs and out of our way. But that's not going to stop them from wanting to 'help'." The quote marks around help were audible in her tone.
"Mmm," Marie agreed, lost in her own thoughts and not really paying attention. "They always come back to bite us, don't they? The ones that get away?" After the events at Alcatraz, she'd wondered when Saidullayev would pop back up on their radar. She just hadn't expected it to be so soon or directly involve someone she knew before the team got involved.
"Let's just make sure he doesn't get an opportunity to bite for a third time, shall we?" Scott said, and then had to turn all of his focus to his flying. What he needed to do right now was make sure that they landed in Moscow in one piece.
--
There was a soft chirping trill from Angelo's suitcase, breaking the tense silence in the room. Unlike the louder ring of a normal phone, the X-Men communicator's ring was meant to be discreet.
Angelo leapt to get the suitcase open and answer it, glad of anything to do but wait. "Sancho speakin'."
"We're over the Atlantic," Nathan said, not bothering to identify himself; Angelo would recognize his voice. "Had to take a northerly flight path, to detour around bad weather... are you and Samie still secure?"
He did, and it made him feel oddly safer all on its own. "For now. I don't think they've got up this high, if they've even got enough people to send out."
"They can take their time about dealing with the rest of the building when they've got the entrances and the roof covered," Nathan said, his voice steady and strangely soothing for all its matter-of-factness. A couple of the others on the plane were very clearly paying close attention to his half of the conversation with Angelo, but that was all right; he wasn't the only one worried, after all. "I'd rather see the two of you stay there as long as possible." Much less likely to get shot at if you're not moving around as potential threats.
"Yeah, I'd be a lot happier with that as... well... " His head came up quickly, looking at the door, as Samie took a step towards it, obviously having heard the same thing. Shouting, in the corridor outside.
"Angelo, what's going on?" was Nathan's immediate, if quiet question.
"I don't know... could be nothin', but there's somethin' happenin' outside. Couple of doors down, sounds like."
Nathan closed his eyes for a moment. They had spoken too soon, from the sounds of it. "Searching for stragglers, possibly," he said, his voice still utterly level. "All right. I know that hotel doesn't have balconies, because I looked at the pictures when Juliette and I booked your room. Is there any kind of a ledge?"
Angelo paced straight to the window, looking out. "Yeah. Not very wide, but there is one."
There was screaming from out in the hall - a woman, from the sounds of it, and then furious male shouting, first one voice, then more. Samie looked back and forth from the door to Angelo, looking terrified. Her hand flew to her mouth at the unmistakable sound of a gunshot. The woman wailed, a sound that was abruptly cut off by another shot.
Nathan heard the gunshots - the communicators picked up background noise all too well. "Get out onto it," he said very softly. "Both of you. And close the window behind you."
Angelo had stilled at the first gunshot, twitched at the second, but he shook himself out of it at the sound of Nathan's voice. Nothing he could do now, for either of the people out there. "Samie," he said very quietly, reaching behind him to open the window. "Give me your hand."
Samie's dark eyes were full of unshed tears, but she came across the room and took Angelo's hand without a word. She had grown up in Kashmir, after all; panicking at gunfire was something she'd grown out of in childhood.
"Take the communicator," Nathan said, straining to hear the noise in the background.
"Got it," was the tense answer, as Angelo stepped up and through the window, helping Samie after him onto the ledge. "Samie, close the window. Quick."
Samie slid the window shut and then tried to stand - only to squeeze her eyes shut, gasping softly, as she looked down. "Oh. I forgot how high we were..." The wind was howling around the building, and the air was ice-cold.
"Ssh, sssh, Samie, don't do that, okay?" Angelo said immediately, as reassuringly as he could. "Just look at me, okay? Look at me. You're not gonna fall. Now, we need to move."
She didn't answer for a moment, but her breathing slowed, and she opened her eyes, staring right at him as she straightened. "It isn't that high," she said, and although her voice was higher than it should be, it was more steady. "I climb mountains, I've been higher than this..." She reached out and took his hand, her grip tight.
"That's right," he said, trying to smile and squeezing her hand, ignoring the sound of hammering on the door in the room behind them. "You can do it. But we need to move now." And with that, he took a first careful step sideways, along the ledge.
Samie kept her eyes locked on his, even as the sound of the door splintering in the room behind them was audible even through the closed window. "Around the corner?" she asked, a little white around the lips. Climbing mountains while securely roped was entirely different than this.
"Nah, I don't think we have to go that far," Angelo said deliberately casually, as he kept them moving along the ledge as fast as seemed safe. "If we can get into one of the rooms they already searched... they'll think we just went out for the day, when they find that room empty."
"That sounds like a plan. A very good plan." Samie grabbed at him with her other hand at a particularly strong gust of wind. "I think I like the mountains better than this."
"Just hang on," he said tensely, edging along steadily. "It's gonna be okay."
"One step at a time, yes?" She followed him, just as steadily, until they were several windows down from where they had been.
"Exactly." He turned his head, carefully, looking to be sure the room behind them was empty.
"I'll stay right here while you open it," Samie said, looking right at him and not anywhere near 'down'.
"Good," he said with an approving nod, then very carefully reached to put his communicator in her free hand, so he could open the window without either dropping it or letting go of her hand. Much to his relief, it wasn't locked and slid up easily.
Samie gave a little gasp of relief, and actually managed a smile as he helped her inside. She cast a nervous look towards the - thankfully closed - door as soon as they were both on solid ground, though. "What do we do now?"
"We stay here until we're sure they're gone," he said under his breath, glancing at the door and reclaiming his communicator. "An' then we... stay here, I guess. Nathan?"
"For now, stay there," Nathan, who had been sitting tensely in his seat, straining to hear every bit of the ambient noise for the last five minutes or so, said tightly. "And stay as quiet as possible. I think we need to close the connection, too - an active transmission might be picked up, depending on what kind of gear they have. You should call us back on the half-hour."
Angelo nodded tightly, pacing back over to close the window - slowly and quietly - just for the sake of something to do. "Will do." He didn't want to be the one to cut off communications, though, not while Nathan was still reassuringly there.
"Angelo..." He could hear the tension in the younger man's voice, and while it also sounded as if it was well under-control, Nathan closed his eyes for a moment, thinking. "We'll be there in another... three hours, maybe. Then at least another hour or two to get on-site and deploy. I know that sounds like a long time, but it's not."
There was a silence that stretched longer than just a moment, as Angelo tried to force relaxation into his voice and only half-succeeded. "I know. So that's... six calls, right? Short ones."
"Status checks," Nathan affirmed softly. "It'll be me on the other end, at least until we land, and then Cyclops."
"We'll check in, then," Angelo agreed, going for businesslike if he couldn't manage relaxed.
Don't even think about saying goodbye. Don't even think about it, Nathan told himself. "I'll be waiting," he said, instead of anything else, and then cut the connection.
--
The command centre was set up in what looked like a coffee shop, directly across from the convention hotel. The Moscow militia had cordoned off the streets, stopping a traffic and directing it away from the building. Kane looked for and picked out the rooftop snipers, either lying or crouching with their long guns at ready. Despite all of the rumours, the police force looked competent and ready; as prepared as any Western counterpart. The slightly ominious sign of an armored personnal carrier at the end of the street made Garrison wonder if they were a little too ready for comfort.
He stepped into the shop, Scott just behind him, to come face to face with an older man in a fine grey uniform. He turned to look at another man behind him, this one almost spectacularly unremarkable save for one blacked out lens on his glasses, and the hint of scarring behind it. The uniformed man gave a sort of half shrug and turned back to offer his hand to Kane.
"I am Colonel Vassily Robatkin. The, what is the term, scene commander?" His English was heavily accented and a little halting, but clear enough for Kane, who accepted the handshake formally.
"Dominion." He hated using the codename, and wondered how that would effect his negotiations, not being able to use his name. It would make establishing rapport difficult.
"You are requested negotiator? They were most insistent to my government that a mutant specialist handle negotiations." Robatkin's tone made it easy to see what he thought of the situation. Garrison stifled a groan. He'd have to step very carefully around Robatkin, lest he give the man an excuse to put his own people in charge.
"This is Cyclops, our field commander."
"Colonel," Scott said, shaking his hand. The two one-eyed men regarded each other for a moment, with possibly a hint of assessing amusement in both their expressions, before Scott went on. "We're going to need blueprints of the building, and someplace for my team to review them."
Robatkin nodded, giving brief orders in Russian to one of the other officers before he turned back to Garrison. "Now, yes, Dominion, this is Mikhal Boradin. Language specialist." Robatkin slapped the chest of a man in a cheap grey suit, who was sipping tea from a styrofoam cup. He set it down and gave Kane a wry smile.
"Colonel Robatkin can be a little overwhelming, Dominion, but he is very competent." The man's English was perfect, strongly flavoured with a British tone, which likely was where he'd learned it. "I'm only an occasional member of the militia, but I've worked with him before."
"Occasional?"
"I teach at the university mostly. I served for several years before returning to school, and they find it convenient to retain me on the occasion that precise English is required; forensic questions, technical documents, that sort of thing." He scrubbed his hand through his short cropped dark hair, making him look younger.
"Have you done negotiations like this before?" Kane said, starting to set up his files and computer near the phone bank.
"Not exactly, no."
"All right, a couple of brief things, Mister Boradin. It is absolutely and vitally essential that there are no omissions, embellishments or additions in your translation. Do not clarify things, clean up my grammar, or in any way alter what I say to them or they say to me. Saidullayev speaks English, some of his group might as well. If I'm left dealing with any of the rest, translate exactly at all times." Garrison looked up at the mix of confusion and distaste in the other man's eyes. It was easy to take personal offense, after all. "The little mistakes, the flaws in speech, all contain information on what we're dealing with, and help craft who they're dealing with. If it's being filtered, I won't necessarily be able to make objective conclusions about the situation, and that could lead to someone getting killed. Do you understand me?"
"Da. Yes." He said, although didn't look happy. Translators prided themselves on finding a fine line between verbatim translation and conveying meaning, and to be turned into nothing more than a mouthpiece bothered some. Kane didn't really have time to soothe the man, turning back to Robatkin was talking with Scott.
"Colonel, Cyclops. We're almost ready to start. I just want to go over some basics to make sure we're all on the same page." Garrison stole a cup of coffee from the table and took a sip. "This is a standard negotiation scenario. He's likely got a list of lunatic demands, he's got decently high profile targets, trained men, and a secure facility. Breaching this facility is going to be extremely tough, with a high possibility of hostage fatalities. That means our best shot is to try and talk him down, or at least keep him talking long enough to minimize the risks when we do go in."
Kane took another sip. "Remember that. Every minute he talks makes it less likely this is going to turn bloody. I'll keep him on as long as I can safely. Colonel, I know you're the scene commander here, but if you attempt action or a breach before I clear it, it means that we're over that line. If this guy is the professional that his file indicates, the second he thinks I don't have any control over you, the second he stops listening. Same goes for the X-Men." Kane took a deep breath and slung his headset over his neck. "Making a breach is your call, but keep in mind it's do or they die at that point. I won't get a second chance. Otherwise, I'll keep them talking as long as I can, and tell you when the situation is to the point we're running out of time and options."
Scott nodded without a change in his expression and turned away, speaking quietly over the coms to the rest of the team. They'd been held down the street while he and Garrison proceeded; Scott hadn't liked doing that, especially given the baleful way Nathan had been eyeing the APC.
He'd stand back and stay out of Garrison's way, to let the other man do what he could; talking was always preferable. But the memory of the similar situation in Rio kept coming back to mind, and Scott suspected very strongly that Saidullayev was even less likely to respond to negotiation than the Sangue Puro terrorists had been.
"Wait, this talking. How long?" Robatkin interjected, not for the first time cursing the order from his government to negotiate with the damn Chechens.
"Depends. The record for a successful for a successful negotiation is from Chicago. Twelve hostages, three gunmen, all surrendered without injury. The negotiator talked for sixty-three continuous hours without forcing action." Kane gave them both a grim smile. "Good thing we're doing this in a coffee shop, eh?"
--
Waiting. How he hated it, Nathan thought dourly. They'd been given some space on the floor above the coffee shop; it was a women's clothing store, couture from the look of it. The female members of the team had made a few weak jokes about trying on some of the dresses, but everyone was too preoccupied and on edge for the banter to gain much traction.
There were times he really wished he wasn't a telepath. He stared steadily across the street at the hotel, filtering through the countless terrified psi-imprints, trying to find...
#Angelo.#
Angelo, safely in the room with Samie, snapped to attention at the voice in his head. His own mental voice was tired and more than a little scared when he answered. #Here.#
#Likewise. Right across the street from you, as a matter of fact.# Nathan hesitated, then did something vaguely Charles-like and reached deeper into Angelo's mind, providing some extra energy, helping the younger man steady his thoughts. #Better?#
#...yeah.# There was something like a faint smile in it. #So what's goin' on over there?#
#Kane's doing the negotiating thing. Call me a pessimist, but I'm not thinking he's actually going to be able to talk the bastard down.# Although possibly, he could make progress with some of Saidullayev's people. It was just that Nathan had gotten an up-close look at the other telekinetic's mind, when they'd fought in San Francisco. It may have been a fleeting contact, but it had left an indelible impression. #Still, it's definitely worth trying, and far better it be him than any of the Russians.#
#So what happens if he can't?# came the calm(ish) response.
#Then we force the issue. Remember the Rio case, though,# Nathan sent, glad that they had a relatively recent - and entirely successful - precedent to look back on. #We got all those kids out without a scratch to any of them.#
#You did,# Angelo agreed, shifting to look out of the window. He kept a tight rein on any kind of doubt.
#How's Samie?#
#Scared. But she's okay.#
Samie, who was leaning against him, his arm around her shoulders, was actually looking anything but scared at the moment. She was looking up at him, frowning. "You have a funny look on your face," she said, very softly. They'd been keeping very quiet, the last several hours. "What's wrong?"
He broke off the telepathic conversation to look down at her, and tried a smile. "Just talkin' to Nathan. He's over the street somewhere."
"Talking to..."
#Hi, Samie,# Nathan sent gently. She twitched, putting a hand over her mouth, and astonishingly, something close to amusement sparkled in her tired eyes for a moment. #Yes, I know it's a strange feeling.#
"How do I-"
#You don't need to talk aloud. Just think it, and I'll hear you.# He was drawing the three of them into a careful link, as he did. #How are you holding up?#
#All right, I suppose. Are you coming in to get us?#
Nathan sighed - aloud, not on the link. #Not just yet, kiddo. I'm sorry. We're going to see if we can't talk the people holding the hostages downstairs to surrender peacefully.#
#Well... that would be good. I think I can wait.#
#We're gonna have to,# Angelo put in. #Unless Nathan wants to fly us out the window.# It was only half a joke.
#Wish I could, believe me. But you're safer where you are, right this minute... it's too bad I couldn't at least send you lunch,# Nathan said, trying for the same almost-joking tone. #You've got to be getting a bit peckish over there.#
#...yeah, now you mention it. Kind of forgot about that.#
#Too bad we can't just call room service,# Samie responded. Trying to joke, obviously. #I don't think we'd like the kind we got.#
Angelo chuckled faintly over the link. #Not so much. There's probably at least somethin' to eat in here, though, when we get hungry.#
#Well, just make sure you keep as quiet as possible when you're moving around looking. I don't sense any telepaths among Saidullayev's people, but he has the occasional patrol out, still.# Nathan paused for a moment. #Carry-on suitcases, if you can see any in the room. People often carry snacks in those.#
Angelo nodded, already glancing around the room. "An' there'll be cookies an' stuff, if the people didn't eat them already."
#I promise, I'll take you both out for a proper meal just as soon as this is all over,# Nathan said. More of a joke than anything else - he somehow doubted that fine dining would be on either of their minds when they got out of there. Sleep would probably be the first priority. #Amazingly, I do know all the good places to eat in Moscow.#
#I'll hold you to that,# Angelo answered, trying to force his 'voice' not to sound as wan as it wanted to.
#And I'll also keep an 'eye' on you,# Nathan sent. #Remember. I'm just across the street.#
#What've they got you doin' over there? Watchin' the hotel?#
#Waiting. But yes... I am watching the hotel.# Nathan examined both their minds, deciding that finding a little sustenance was probably important. #Try and find something to eat,# he went on. #I think you'd both feel better if you did.#
#Maybe,# Angelo allowed. #We didn't even get breakfast. Overslept.# And no, it hadn't escaped him that that was the only reason they were as safe as they were.
#... oh really.# That comment went to Angelo only.
#Yes, really.# There was no shame in the reply whatsoever.
--
Garrison adjusted the headset for the dozenth time, again wishing that Professor Fonteyne or Lieutenant Banting was here instead of him. Banting was his tutor, and Fonteyne had been declining offers to consult with the FBI's HST team almost as long as Kane had been alive. But, like both of them drilled in, eventually it came down to one person. He steadied himself, took another sip of bad coffee, and clicked on the ringer.
The Chechens had made their first announcements through the phone that was in the room believed to contain most of the hostages. Kane hoped that whoever was willing to talk would be in there. The line actually was split, with Mikhal on the other end. His translation would come over Garrison's, so they would hear his words and his inflection, rather than just the translation. Studies had pointed out that it helped establish repport, and he hoped they were right.
"Da?"
"May I speak to Illyas Saidullayev please?"
A pause. "You are speaking to him," came a different voice, heavily accented and ever so faintly amused. "To whom am I speaking, then?"
"My name is Dominion. I'm the negotiator for the police forces out here, Mister Saidullayev. With the hostages you've taken, our government has demanded representation." Kane took a slow breath. "Are all of the hostages all right?"
"Those who survived to become hostages, yes. The dead are Russian security. Perhaps that will be comforting, American." There was the faintest mocking edge in the Chechen's voice.
"It's not about comfort, Mister Saidullayev. I'm allowed to negotiate with you as long as the Western hostages are safe and unharmed. Once you harm them, the Russian forces gain total command of the situation." It wasn't a threat, but both of them knew what the result of that would be. "I want to speak with Phillip Gulbina, the conference director. If he confirms the health of the hostages, I can take your demands. Can I speak with Mister Gulbina?"
"This is the necessary first step, yes? I have been on this side of the phone before, 'Dominion'." Saidullayev's voice somehow managed to be both derisive and curious as he used Garrison's code name. "I will let you speak to this Gulbina, and then you will make a gesture as well?"
"This is the necessary first step, yes? I have been on this side of the phone before, 'Dominion'." Saidullayev's voice somehow managed to be both derisive and curious as he used Garrison's code name. "I will let you speak to this Gulbina, and then you will make a gesture as well?"
"Absolutely. I'll continue to hold command here. Otherwise, the Russians get full command of the situation." Garrison dropped in some steel. Saidullayev wasn't new at this, and Kane's set of tricks had to be carefully applied. "The Western governments only will apply pressure to get our people out alive. If we can't comfirm their condition, I need to pass this over to Colonel Robatkin. What would you like to do, Mr. Saidullayev?"
"Robatkin is a pig." Saidullayev sounded almost amused. "I had wondered if he would be there. You will speak to Gulbina, Dominion. We will, how do you say, follow the script." A pause, and Saidullayev's voice was noticeably colder as he went on. "For now." His voice moved away from the phone, speaking in Chechen now.
Kane waited, tapping on the edges of the phone bank. All around him, the Russians were smoking heavily, and he idly wondered if he should take up the habit. It would at least give him something to do with his hands while he waited. Banting, his tutor, used to smoke a pipe when you could do that indoors. Now, he still would stand with the pipe between his teeth, using it unlit to distract his fidgeting.
"((Russian hello))?"
"Mister Gulbina? Phillip Gulbina?"
"Da, yes!" Boradin had started his translation, and he wasn't more than a second or so behind Garrison, which reassured him.
"Mr. Gulbina, My name is Dominion. I'm the negotiator working with the militia right now." Kane kept his voice strong and reassuring. Considering the history of the Russian response to Chechen hostage situations, all of the hostages were likely wondering when someone was going to charge through the door. "I'm part of a US team that has been brought in to provide support. Do you understand?"
"Yes. Are you going to get us out?"
"Absolutely, Mr Gulbina, but I need your help to do it." Garrison twirled his pen, stalking back and forth over the tiles as he talked. "First of all, are any of the hostages hurt?"
"They-" His voice was strained and hesitant. The poor man had already endured much today. "They shot people when they took over. Anyone who even slightly resisted, they killed."
"How many?"
"Two, many three. I don't know. It was just so fast."
"What about the remaining hostages? Are any of them hurt?"
"No, no. No one else, I don't think. One of them is pregnant."
"Good." Kane flipped the mute on for a second, killing his voice on the line. "Two, maybe three dead. One of the people in there is pregnant. Let's see if we can match up against the list of attendees, figure out who is still inside."
He toggled the line back over. "All right, Mr. Gulbina, here's what I need you to do. Tell everyone in there to cooperate with the people holding you as much as possible. Try to keep them calm and together. I know it's a tough situation, but those men are almost as nervous as you right now, and we don't want to add anything on top of that in case they make a bad decision."
"I will try." His voice was slightly more sure now. He'd organized the conference, and having something to do would distract him and allow him to do the same for some of the others. A hostage situation was likely a pressure cooker, and more than one had gone bad because a hostage had panicked and set the hostage taker off on the wrong direction.
"Good. We're going to get you out, Mr Gulbina. It just may take some time." Garrison made a mental note to get a better look at the room layout before his next conversation. "I want you to get everyone together, preferably against a wall, and get them all to sit or lay down. Don't move around much, keep the washroom trips to the minimum. It's safer for both of us that way. Keep everyone calm, and you'll all get through this. Can you do that for me?"
"Yes, I can. I-" Gulbina was suddenly cut off, as the phone was likely pulled from his hands. Kane waited and as expected, Saidullayev's voice was back on the line.
"I have made my gesture of good faith." No mockery in the Chechen's voice, now; he sounded deadly serious. "You will hear our demands now." It wasn't a question. "Russian troops must be removed from my country, the withdrawal to begin within twenty-four hours. There must be an embargo, yes, on all Russian goods. By your country and the other members of the G8, until the withdrawal is complete. These generals must be relieved of their duties-" Saidullayev listed four names. "Certain prisoners must be released. Immediately."
"I will communicate this to the officials immediately. Do you have a statement and the list prepared?" There was a silence on the other end. "You'll need something for release, and to make sure all of your demands are communicated exactly. Can you put that together for us? That way you'll be dealing directly with the G8, and not through an intermediary."
"You are on my side, is that it? You wish to make sure that my voice is properly heard?" Saidullayev scoffed, but then paused. "But perhaps you are correct. I am in no hurry. Committing my demands to paper - this, I can do."
"I'm not on your side, Saidullayev . You're too smart to swallow that lie. All I'm concerned about are the hostages. As long as they are safe and you're willing to talk, I'm going to make sure people are listening until this is resolved."
A bark of unamused-sounding laughter. "Clever, American. I will see to the list of demands. But be clever enough to know that I will not be easily manipulated, yes? I may not hold one of your cities hostage this time, but that only simplifies things."
"You're right, Saidullayev, but that works both ways. I only care about the Westerners in there, which means when you start working on them, the West will approve shelling the damn building to get you. So we have that in common, eh? Neither of us care about the Russians?" Boradin's eyes went wide as he translated, but Kane was rewarded by an amused snort on the other end of the line.
"Indeed. I think perhaps I will enjoy speaking to you, Dominion." A brief pause, voices speaking Chechen in the background, before Saidullayev continued. "You will have the demands soon. We will speak again afterwards, yes?" It was apparently a rhetorical question, because the line went dead as soon as Saidullayev finished speaking.
--
This was nuts. Absolutely nuts. His expression set into angry lines, Scott picked up his own communicator, 'pinging' the one that Angelo had with him. Waiting for the hotel owner to get his act in gear and get those blueprints over here was not in the cards. Why the police were being as unhelpful as they were, he didn't know. But he had a very bad feeling about it.
Angelo answered with no delay, offering Samie a reassuring smile before he spoke. "Sancho here."
"We have a delay on the blueprints here," Scott said, not identifying himself; Angelo would know it was him. "You've been in the hotel - can you give me a description of the basic layout? Major entrances and exits, anything else we really ought to know?"
"There's the main entrance, and the lobby. I figure there's probably another big exit through the kitchen, but we didn't go down there. Other than that, it's just... your typical hotel. Corridors are laid out how you'd expect."
Scott shook his head slightly - he needed those damned blueprints - but went on in an even voice. "How many entrances to the main conference room, did you see?"
"Only one that I saw. There might be another one behind the dais."
"There's got to be. One exit doesn't suit the fire code, even in Moscow." Scott closed his eyes, wrestling back irritation that had a slight edge of fear to it. He didn't have enough information. How the hell was he supposed to come up with a deployment plan if he was making guesses about the layout of the fucking place? "Sancho, if we don't get those blueprints soon I'm going to have to ask you to start moving around a little."
Angelo frowned slightly. "...I will if I have to, Cyclops, but... I've got a civilian with me, you know? I don't want to leave her to fend for herself, but if I take her with me..."
Why the hell didn't I bring Clarice on this trip? "I know, but the longer we delay, the more chance Saidullayev gets tired of listening to the negotiators and kills more people."
"...wait, Saidullayev? The guy from Alcatraz?"
Aw, shit. He'd forgotten Nathan hadn't mentioned that to Angelo yet. "Uh, yeah. No nuclear bomb this time, though."
"Well, that's somethin'." He was still having to keep a tight lid on his fear at that particular news, though.
"Hey... Nate whipped his ass before, didn't he?" Okay, that hadn't come out as reassuring as it should have. Possibly because it wasn't strictly true.
"Yeah. Sure he did." And oddly enough, that hadn't sounded as reassured as it could have. Angelo had read the mission report from Alcatraz, after all.
"And I don't think he's a match for two telekinetics just as strong or stronger than he is." Scott hoped. He was also possibly BSing - telekinetic-on-telekinetic combat was not something he had a lot of experience with from the strategic side - but he needed Angelo to stay focused.
"...right. Okay. So how's it goin' with those blueprints?"
--
Kane was chewing on the end of his pen when the phone rang again. The sound was like an electric shock in the room, everyone stopping and turning to watch. Garrison slipped his headset back over his ears and pressed the link button.
"Saidullayev?"
"Nyet. He is busy." The voice was female, icy. Kane winced. Women were rarely involved in hostage taking, but when they were, they tended to be deeply into ideological fervor, making them more dangerous and less flexible.
"I am only supposed to negotiate with Saidullayev."
"I do not care what you are supposed to do, Yankee." Boradin's translation was flat, but her voice made the stress obvious. "Saidullayev has your list of demands prepared."
"Excellent. People are waiting to receive them, so we can get this resolved as soon as possible." Kane fought to keep his tone positive and upbeat. "Can you send it out now?"
"And let the Russians have one of our men? I think not."
"Maybe send it out with one of your hostages." Kane decided to roll the dice a bit. "There's a pregnant woman in there. Give her the details and send her out."
"Why should we? A pregnant woman is a valuable pawn for the media."
"It's a Russian woman. Our government's priority is the Western citizens. Sending her out doesn't weaken your position, and would help your position with the media. Chechens don't murder babies, that sort of thing." Kane held his breath at the silence.
"You are trying to manipulate me, Yankee."
"I'm trying to help end this situation. You've got a setup that is basically foolproof, so the only other option is to convince the Russians to give you what you want. The Western hostages bring pressure on them from our people. Bringing pressure on them from their own people can only help, right?" These people were well trained and media savvy. Kane was hoping that meant they were also a little overconfident about their plan. Most hostage takings were poorly planned or the result of circumstance. This one had been planned like a military operation. They knew they held the upper hand, and he hoped it would let them be less concerned to chip away at it a bit.
"We need food as well."
"Sending out the hostage makes it easier for me to do that for you. You give me something, I give you something without compromising your position." Boradin was looking very unhappy, although not as much as Robatkin, who was slowly progressing up shades of purple.
"The pregnant woman. But if there are any tricks, we will kill two to make up for it."
"I under-" The line was cut off. Garrison switched over to the command frequency. "We've got a hostage coming out. Keep everyone tight!"
"What is this? Giving them advice on how to handle my government!" Robatkin stepped in front of Kane, nearly yelling.
"Look, Colonel, the last two hostage efforts with your government ended with five hundred dead. They don't trust you, which means they won't talk to you." He wasn't about to back down against the older man, no matter how apocolypic his rage was. "Your government agreed to bring us in, which means we do it our way. Keep your men under control when that hostage comes out."
The Colonel was not the kind of man who was used to being disagreed with, and he gave Kane a flat, vicious look. "You waste time with these scum. They will not give up their guns because of the words of some American. Remember that when they start killing people."
Kane turned his back on the Colonel, ignoring him. Through the window, he could see a woman emerge unsteadily from the doors, a rifle pushing her forward. She was heavily pregnant, and moved clumsily to the police cordon, where two officers drew her through. She clutched a thin sheaf of papers against her belly, passing them over as a paramedic lowered her on to a gurney. Kane allowed himself a brief smile.
"Get someone to go over the floor plans with her, find out where the terrorists and hostages are positioned. And get me those demands." Garrison said, taking a moment to sink into his chair. That was one out at least. It was actually working. He took another sip of coffee and tried to push off the weariness. It was only the very first step.
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