Time Expired Read Online Free

consider the state of the hostage.” Part of the liaison’s job was interpreting.
    “So, Murakawa?” I knew I was pushing him, but I couldn’t keep quiet.
    “Doyle’s waiting.”
    “John could be cooking the hostage by now. Ask him how that’d play in the papers: ‘Kidnapper cooks woman while cops wait for dinner invite.’ Tell him, Murakawa.”
    “Inspector, the perp could be up to anything.”
    I stood up and bent over. My lower back felt cold and brittle as ice.
    Murakawa’s radio crackled. “Inspector says the manager’s office is trying to get the mayor.”
    “Shit! What about the city council? We wait, we lose what we’ve done. Tell him this is it!”
    I could hear Murakawa calling Doyle as I said into the speaker, “This is the police. This is your last chance. Signal us now!”
    Time stopped. The rustling of the leaves, the scraping of the underbrush seemed deafening. My chest shook with each heartbeat, and the thump seemed to echo off the canyon walls. I stared into the charcoal-brown fog around me. No light flickered. Only leaves moved, or so it looked in the dark. No sound broke the rhythm of my heartbeat and Murakawa’s breathing.
    I wanted to push Murakawa, make him goose Doyle, goose the O.C., the chief, the city manager sitting on his padded chair in his heated room in City Hall, thinking not of the sludge and jungle down here, of every moment when a sudden noise could loose a trigger, not thinking of the terrified victim, but of the vast and ambiguous larger picture.
    “What are they saying, Murakawa?”
    “Nothing. Same as a minute ago.”
    I wanted to grab his mike, to yell “To hell with public relations!” My legs screamed their need to pace, my feet yearned to kick ass.
    “If we’re just going to sit here, we might as well drive down to City Hall and do it with them.” I didn’t expect Murakawa to call that in.
    It was a minute before he said, “Okay, Smith. Prepare for Plan C.”
    “Tell them we don’t know what we’re dealing with here. John could walk a yard in front of us and we wouldn’t spot him. Tac Team will be banging into each other. Keep on the horn while they move in.”
    Murakawa reaffirmed our location, and translated my instructions into phrases more pleasing to an inspector’s ear. Then we waited.
    “Okay, Smith,” Murakawa said. “Count three and make the last call.”
    I forced myself to count slowly, listening to the silence between each number. “This is the police.” I let another second pass. “We know you’re in here.” I repeated, “We know you’re in here.” I had to make my diversion last long enough for the Tac Team to get a bead on him, figure a path in behind him, and move in quietly. The lead guys would have night glasses, but I didn’t know how good they’d be in dark, fog, and underbrush. “There’s no way out, you know that, don’t you?”
    Tac Team’s trained for negotiations to break down, to have the scene mapped out, hours of planning the entry behind them, and a picture of the perp etched into their brains. They’re ready to run in with weapons drawn, assess the threat, and, if necessary, take out the perp. Adrenaline just about busts the skin then. It’s all go. But this, creeping into unknown territory in the dark, not daring to shoot, not knowing what they’d find—all that adrenaline would be pounding back on themselves.
    “Let’s talk about what you want here. Let’s talk.”
    Ahead a light flickered. I could feel Murakawa’s hand tighten on my shoulder.
    I murmured, “You can never guess—”
    “Smith,” Murakawa said, “Doyle says Tac Team’s got the hostage.”
    I squeezed my lips together to keep from yelling “O—kay!” My heart thumped against my ribs. I was grinning and squeezing my hands so hard into fists my skin hurt. “They’ve rescued the hostage? What shape is she in? And John, what about him?”
    “No sign of him.”
    “Where’s the hostage?”
    Murakawa relayed my question.