Free Amber Morn by Brandilyn Collins Page A

blacked-out windows. The fabric would need to be the right length and width.
    These men had planned their attack down to fine detail.
    Vince pushed the letter back in the envelope and thrust it in his pocket. Took off his gloves. He had to get to a computer as fast as possible.
    First, however — two minutes of crucial coordination of manpower as more ISP officers arrived. Roger Waitman was back on Lakeshore with Jim, now that an ISP officer had taken over his containment post up Main. Vince called everyone together to quickly cover who the hostage takers were and what they wanted. “The command post will be at the police station, two blocks up Main and on the same side of the street as Java Joint.” This was close enough to their target without being in a direct line of fire from the café. “Anyone who needs access will use the back entrance off the alley. If the perps go out the back door of Java Joint onto the alley, a building on Third Street blocks direct line of fire to the station. But let me make clear I’ll want as few people at that post as possible, and I will say who comes in or out.”
    Effective negotiation required concentration. Vince did not need distractions.
    “This is a deliberate siege with multiple hostages. The three men came prepared, have a lot of firepower and — we’d better assume — plenty of ammunition. We can hope for the best, but experience tells us these kinds of sieges don’t often end quickly.
    “I will serve as commander and negotiator.” Vince spread his hands. “If we were in a major city, we’d have a bigger team and I wouldn’t be pulling the double duty. But I need every one of you I can get” — he pointed to the group — “on the streets. I
do not want
our perimeter breached, understand? Jim will coordinate containment and will be second in charge. Roger will stay with me. Al, I’m assigning you to media. Establish a location for them three blocks down Lakeshore, and let them know we’ll answer all their questions when we can. But they are
absolutely
to remain there and not breach into the inner perimeter.”
    “Will do.” Al’s hand rested on his hip near his gun.
    Vince checked his watch. “Three CRT snipers should be here in thirty to forty minutes. Jim, you assign their positions. Put two of them on rooftops with frontal line of sight to Java Joint, and one in the rear.”
    Vince continued with more instructions. Jim would tell Tactical — CRT members — their assigned “tac channel.” The channel would be on a handheld closed-band police radio, giving them direct, private communication with Vince and each other.
    “Also, Jim, call Tactical, talk to them about sending more men —”
    Vince stopped, frowning. The Coeur d’Alene CRT lacked an APC — armored personnel carrier. With the kind of firepower the Wicksells apparently possessed, he just might need one. An APC could deliver Tactical members safely into a hot zone. His crisis plan for Kanner Lake involved using a fire truck for delivering a team. But after reading Wicksell’s note and realizing what kind of siege they faced…
    Better to make his response team interagency. More resources in less time that way.
    He cleared his throat. “Jim, see if the commander can get the APC from Fairchild.” Fairchild was the Air Force base in Spokane, under an hour’s drive southwest of Kanner Lake. “Take them longer to get here with it, but a better setup in the long run.”
    Jim nodded. “Agreed.”
    With a distracted wave Vince ran for his car. Roger followed in his own vehicle. In less than a minute they drove to Fourth Street and into the alley at the back of the station. On the way Vince left a message on Nancy’s cell phone, stressing that he was
fine
. She would find the voicemail on her next break.
    In his office he whipped off his protective vest and threw it on a chair, spewing instructions. Roger took notes, his thin lips pulled in and narrow shoulders hunched. “I need a background