Vanish: A Rizzoli & Isles Novel

aren’t they? Why don’t you turn around and ask them, Leroy? Ask that
higher level
to get the ball rolling.”
    Stillman paused. Joe understood exactly what was going on. He finally said, “We can’t authorize a live media feed.”
    “No matter what I offer you in exchange?”
    “What would that be?”
    “Two hostages. We send them out as a sign of good faith. You send in a cameraman and a reporter, and we all go on live TV. Once our message gets out, then we send out two more hostages. That’s four people we’re giving you, Leroy. Four lives for ten minutes of TV airtime. I promise you a show that’ll knock your socks off.”
    “What’s the point of this, Joe?”
    “The point is, no one will listen to us. No one believes us. We’re tired of running, and we want our lives back. This is the only way left. The only way people in this country will know we’re telling the truth.”
    Hayder swept a finger across his throat, a signal to interrupt the conversation.
    “Hold on, Joe,” said Stillman, cupping his hand over the receiver. He looked at Hayder.
    “Do you think he’ll even know whether it’s a live TV feed?” asked Hayder. “If we could make him believe it’s actually going on the air—”
    “This man is not stupid,” cut in Gabriel. “Don’t even think of playing games with him. You cross him, you’ll make him angry.”
    “Agent Dean, maybe you could step outside?”
    “They want media attention, that’s all! Let them have their say. Let them rant to the public, if that’s what it takes to end this!”
    Joe’s voice said, over the speaker: “Do you want to deal or not, Leroy? Because we can do it the hard way, too. Instead of live hostages, we can send out dead ones. You have ten seconds to make up your mind.”
    Stillman said, “I’m listening, Joe. The problem is, a live feed isn’t something I can just pull off. I need the cooperation of a TV station. How about we make it a taped statement? We deliver a camcorder to you. You say whatever you want, take as long as you need to—”
    “And then you bury the tape, right? It’ll never see the light of day.”
    “That’s my offer, Joe.”
    “We both know you can do better. So does everyone else standing in that command trailer with you.”
    “Live TV is out of the question.”
    “Then we have nothing more to say to you. Good-bye.”
    “Wait—”
    “Yes?”
    “You’re serious? About releasing hostages?”
    “If you keep up your end of the bargain. We want a cameraman and a reporter to witness what happens here. A
real
reporter, not some cop with a fake press pass.”
    “Do it,” said Gabriel. “This may be the way to end it.”
    Stillman covered the receiver. “Live TV is not on the table, Agent Dean. It never is.”
    “Goddamn it, if this is what it takes,
give
it to them!”
    “Leroy?” It was Joe talking again. “Are you still there?”
    Stillman took a breath. He said: “Joe, you have to understand. It’s going to take time. We’d have to find a reporter who’s willing to do this. Someone willing to risk his life—”
    “There’s only one reporter we’ll talk to.”
    “Wait. You didn’t specify anyone.”
    “He knows the background. He’s done his homework.”
    “We can’t guarantee that this reporter will—”
    “Peter Lukas,
Boston Tribune.
Call him.”
    “Joe—”
    There was a click, then the dial tone. Stillman looked at Hayder. “We’re not sending in any civilians. It will just give them more hostages.”
    “He said he’d release two people first,” said Gabriel.
    “You believe that?”
    “One of them might be my wife.”
    “How do we know this reporter will even agree to it?”
    “For what could be the biggest story of his life? A journalist just might do it.”
    Barsanti said, “I think there’s another question here that no one’s answered. Who the hell is Peter Lukas? A
Boston Tribune
reporter? Why ask for him in particular?”
    “Let’s call him,” said Stillman. “Maybe he knows.”

TWELVE
    You’re still alive. You have to be alive. I would know it, feel it, if you weren’t.
    Wouldn’t I?
    Gabriel slumped on the couch in Maura’s office, his head resting in his hands, trying to think of what else he could do, but fear kept clouding any logic. As a marine, he had never lost his cool under fire. Now he could not even focus, could not shut out the image that had haunted him since the autopsy, of a different body lying on the table.
    Did I ever tell you how