The Zero Hour

“Look,” Roth said. “This isn’t just some hostage we’re talking about. This is a kid I thought you liked. You don’t want this on your conscience.”

“Believe me,” Baumann said, “I don’t want to hurt a hair on the child’s head. If anything happens to him, it will be because of your carelessness.”

Roth considered his next statement for a few seconds, though it seemed an eternity. “All right,” he said. “Let me tell you what we’ve done in the last couple of minutes. You know that we’ve got a bunch of guys down there from the Nuclear Emergency Search Team, and if you know shit, you know these guys are the best in the business. While you and Sarah were talking, her walkie-talkie stayed open and broadcast to the NEST guys. So they heard everything you said. They heard your description of the bomb you set up. And so these guys have been using one of their toys called a spectrum analyzer to figure out what kind of tone you’re broadcasting, and the frequency you’re using, and all that shit. Simple thing to duplicate the tone, and then set a transmitter to broadcast that exact tone on the same frequency. Easy stuff. Amateur hour. Took those geniuses five minutes. Meanwhile, I haul ass over to the heliport, couple blocks away, and jump on the chopper. They’re bombarding the air with that exact tone, transmitted on just the right frequency. So Jared’s bomb isn’t going off. You can toss the button out the window. Go ahead. It’s not going to blow.”

“That’s very good,” Baumann said. “I could almost believe that.”

“Go ahead,” Roth said. “Try me. Toss the button out the window.”

“Do you really want to play a game like this with the life of a child?”

“Hey, wait a second,” Roth said, as if suddenly realizing something. “You don’t believe me, do you? You really don’t believe me, do you? Then let me give you some numbers, buddy. You’re broadcasting on a VHF frequency of one hundred forty-seven megahertz. The frequency of the tone is seventeen point five kilohertz, which I’m told is the same thing as seventeen thousand five hundred cycles per second.”

Baumann did not smile now. He felt a droplet of perspiration run down the side of his face as he realized that Roth was telling the truth. They had duplicated the tone. Silently, he cursed his own arrogance.

“So I guess what I’m thinking,” Roth said, “is that you just lost your leverage, know what I’m saying?”

“And if your calculations are off by the slightest bit, well…”

“You see,” Roth said, as reasonably as if he were wrapping up the sale of a used car, “we really don’t want to take that chance either, frankly. So here’s what I propose. Let Jared go. And keep me here in his stead. You’ll have your hostage, and Sarah gets her son. Everyone wins. What do you say, hmm?”

Baumann hesitated, considered his options. There was, he had to admit, little room to negotiate. The bomb had been rendered inert. Even if they didn’t know he had disengaged it, the NEST people had defeated his system. He could move more quickly with his gun than the cop, certainly, maybe even kill him-but then there was a good chance the cop would fire and wound Baumann, and that was a chance not worth taking. Why hadn’t the cop killed him already? he wondered. Was he bluffing, lying about the signal generator? Possibly-but the cop was acting far too boldly. He wouldn’t act this way if a child’s life was at stake, particularly Sarah’s child. More likely, the cop didn’t want to risk any gunfire that might somehow affect the transmitter. A smart calculation.

“All right,” Baumann said.

“Take the bomb off the kid,” Roth said.

“You can do it yourself,” Baumann said.

Baumann handed Roth a small key. “Unlock the cuffs,” he said.

Roth took the key and unlocked Jared’s handcuffs. He noticed they were the type widely used by policemen, Smith & Wesson Model 100 swing-throughs.

“Put the device on the seat next to you,” Baumann said. “Don’t worry, I’ve already disarmed it.”

Roth gingerly placed the lunchbox on the seat. He could see red marks on the outside of both of the boy’s wrists.

Jared reached up and gently pulled at the duct tape over his mouth. His eyes teared up as the tape came off. He pulled out the gag. A large red area around his mouth showed where the tape had chafed his skin.

“You okay?” Roth asked.

“I don’t know,” Jared said miserably. “I guess I’m okay, yeah.”

“Okay,” Roth said to Jared, “now you get out of here.”

***

On the roof of the building, Sarah, now joined by several NEST members, watched the idling helicopter.

“What the hell is Roth doing?” Sarah asked.

“We intercepted the helicopter and forced it to land,” Vigiani explained. “It was in violation of a NOTAM. It was Roth’s idea to get on board at the heliport and have it continue on to pick up Baumann.”

“God, I hope he knows what he’s doing,” Sarah said.

“I think he does,” Vigiani said.