Previously in "The Teacher":

A gunman invades the Ellison Elementary School and takes a classroom hostage. While the teacher, Andi Defesne, attempts to talk to the assailant, Kevin Greer attempts to negociate on behalf of the police department, all while learning about underlying political implications.


Suffolk County Police Sargent Kevin Greer could count on one hand the number of reasons that would warrant the massive response he now had to organize. An escape at the county jail ... an officer getting shot ... an active shooter ... an active shooter at a school.

He'd already given several instructions which were being completed. The phone company had suspended service for the school and a line for negotiations would soon be ready. Discussions were in progress about cutting power to the building, but Kevin was reluctant to authorize this course of action with such young hostages involved.

A SWAT team was inspecting the building to see if the possibility of safely breaching the classroom was an option and they were due to give a report in a matter of minutes. Footage from the school's external surveillance cameras was being reviewed to try and learn more about the gunman and how he'd gotten into the building. Still, there was more to do.

Any available units were speeding to the school. This included the police department, the sheriff's office, state troopers, and other municipal agencies. Nassau County and New York City were sending reinforcements. A command center was being set up in the school's parking lot to organize the massive response and simultaneous evacuation of students and teachers. Several school busses had already been commandeered from a county depot to ferry civilians to safety. A perimeter was being established as everyone braced for the possibility of more gunfire.

As he surveyed the scene, Kevin took a moment to text his wife.
At situation at a school. Get Chris when you can and check on Justin.

They'd established their own protocol when he first took this new assignment a decade earlier. Sure, the boys were younger back then, but it didn't matter. It also didn't matter that Christopher was a senior at the Ward Melville High School in East Setauket, about ten miles away, and Justin was studying up at Albany. Knowing his family was safe would help Kevin focus as he sorted out the situation facing him.

Port Jefferson's Ellison Elementary School, informally known as "PJ Elementary East", was opened five years ago to alleviate overcrowding at the Edna Louise Spear Elementary School on Scraggy Hill Road a few miles away. So far, this institution had stayed out of the news. Kevin considered how it would now be another place associated with violence. His stomach lurched. A friend of his in the FBI kept a large map of the United States pegged on a wall in his basement. With every mass shooting, he put another peg in the corresponding location. The map was getting full.

One officer, a senior patrol officer, judging by his age and the lack of stripes on his uniform, was coming over and Kevin watched him approach.
"What's the latest?" he asked.

"Most of the school's evacuated," the officer replied. "We've got a few more rooms to get to, but some of the teachers confirm the gunman entered one classroom and hasn't come out since. Our officers attempted to gain entry but realized they would only risk the lives of those inside and they backed off."

Kevin would have liked it if this room were being renovated or something ... anything that would cause it to be unoccupied. He was never that lucky.

"We've got units getting information on who's inside," the officer continued.

Fabulous, Kevin thought. He was called to the scene by his captain because he was the best hostage negotiator available. The department's best negotiator was currently on the ninth hole somewhere in Arizona and wouldn't be back until next week. Now, this was indeed looking like a hostage situation and Kevin was in charge of resolving it.

"Shots were fired," he said, recalling the initial dispatch. "Any casualties?"

"The SRO took two to the chest," the officer reported. "Our guys got in there and dragged him out. He's critical but the paramedics think he's got a shot. They rushed him out of here just about a minute ago ... lights, sirens ... the full package."

Kevin thought about this. If the shooter took down the School Resource Officer, a state-certified law enforcement official, he would be willing to keep causing more harm. And he already had.

"What about the deputy?" Kevin asked, knowing how the man, having been one of the first to arrive, had been hit.

"Took one to the shoulder," the officer replied. "His vest seems to have caught it and we got him out. Paramedics took him to Mather to be sure. There was also a teacher. Guy tried to stop the shooter and took a hard blow to the stomach for his trouble, and I mean hard. Says the shooter outweighed him by about a hundred pounds. An ambulance took him away as well."

This was getting worse by the word. The shooter seemed to be physically strong and he wasn't letting anyone get in his way. Kevin took a deep breath and ran one hand through his short, brown hair.

"let me know when you've got more on who's in that room," he instructed.

The officer nodded. Behind him, Kevin could see the department's Mobile Command Center, a large, customized coach bus, pulling into the parking lot, an officer gesturing to the driver like he was working on the runway at an airport. When the bus stopped, Lieutenant Aldo Cruz got out and began barking orders, though Kevin was too far to understand him. He knew they'd be setting up equipment. He wanted a line in that classroom.

Lieutenant Aldo Cruz was a tall, beefy man still sporting the crew cut he'd gotten during his service in the Marines over a decade ago. He gave orders in a booming voice and officers and technicians scrambled to follow.

"Sargent!" another officer called, hurrying over to Kevin, a suited man following close behind her.

"This is Phillip Caulder," the officer said, gesturing at the suited man. "He's the principal here."

"Good to meet you," Kevin said. "What can you tell me about that room the gunman's barricaded himself in?"

"It's Andi Defesne's classroom," Phillip Caulder explained, catching his breath. "She teaches 2nd grade here."

"How many students in her class?"

Kevin wouldn't bother to ask if the class was maybe on a field trip.

"A little over twenty," Phillip Caulder replied. "I'm not sure exactly."

Kevin nodded. The man looked agitated and his hands were shaking. He needed something to do ... something to occupy his mind.

"Have the district get us a class roster," Kevin instructed. "And we'll need to know if anyone's absent today."

"Of course," Phillip Caulder said, glancing at all the bustling officers around their group.

"There's something else," the officer interjected. "Mr. Caulder was walking the parking lot with me. There's a dark-green Chrysler SUV he doesn't recognize. It's got plates from Massachusetts. I called in the plate number, but I'm still waiting."

"Lean on dispatch with that," Kevin instructed. "And secure the vehicle. We'll have the crime lab guys down here soon enough to take a look at it."

If this SUV was the gunman's, he wanted to know everything about it. Someone could take a minute to check that on a computer.

He walked over to Lieutenant Cruz, who was finishing up a phone call and pocketing his cell phone. The men had worked together before and no introductions were needed.

"Feds are sniffing around," the lieutenant said, speaking in a softer tone compared to a few minutes ago. "They might be sending a delegation from beyond their local people. I know the Divisional SWAT Team in Manhattan is already gearing up to get here. Should make it in a couple of hours."

Federal personnel from local resident agencies and field offices were arriving at the scene, but they were differing to the local department's authority. If agents from further away were coming, this cooperation might begin eroding.

"You tell them we can handle it?" Kevin asked.

"I did, but they didn't seem satisfied," Lieutenant Cruz replied. "They asked about that teacher ... mentioned her by name more than once."

Kevin found this peculiar. He'd have to ask Andi Defesne about this once he got her out of the building.

The officer Kevin had spoken to earlier called out from the Command Center, the school principal nowhere in sight. Kevin and Lieutenant Cruz hurried over.

"Dispatch came back on the plate for the mysterious green Chrysler," the officer reported. "Plates belong to a blue Honda Civic. That car was reported stolen yesterday. Owner is a Patrick Fahey from Boston."

Kevin thought he knew that name, though he couldn't recall how. He'd never been to Massachusetts in his life, let alone Boston.

He climbed into the Command Center. The long bus had five computer terminals set up along with two laptops. One of these laptops was currently unoccupied and Kevin took a seat in front of it. It was a department-issued computer and he was quickly able to log into the network.

He went straight to Google and typed in "Patrick Fahey", adding "Massachusetts" for good measure. After all, it sounded like a common name.

As common as the name might be, Kevin didn't have to scroll far to find an answer. The 2nd result was an article from the Boston Globe which identified twenty-two-year-old Patrick Fahey as a junior at Northeastern University. He and his girlfriend, twenty-one-year-old Mallory Whiteson, were shot and killed the previous evening during a carjacking suspected to be the work of John Kirkland.

Kevin stared at the accompanying photo, a mug shot curtesy of the Boston Police Department. He knew Kirkland was six feet, one inch and weighed two hundred and thirty-three pounds, most of that being muscle. The man staring out from this mug shot looked menacing. It wasn't hard to link him to these murders, even without the evidence.

Though the article went on to recap Kirkland's crime spree, Kevin didn't need to continue. He'd read the bulletin long before the press saw it and his heart had already sank as a new reality came to be.

Glancing up, Kevin saw Lieutenant Cruz had been reading over his shoulder. The two men locked eyes.

"How many is it now?" Kevin asked.

"Six, I think," Lieutenant Cruz replied. "Not to mention the wounded."

Kevin nodded.

"We've got a line set up," a technician reported from further down the bus.

Kevin swiveled around in his seat. It was time to get to work. He couldn't think about what he'd just learned.

* * *


Everyone jumped as the phone on Andi's desk rang ... everyone except the man. He studied the ringing device for a few seconds before turning to Andi.

"Answer it," he instructed. "Put it on speakerphone."

Andi looked at the phone. She had to be honest with him.

"I can't see which button it is," she confessed.

She didn't know what this would achieve, but her fumbling would have a greater chance of confusing and maybe aggravating him.

"Answer it," the man repeated.

Andi reached out, found the receiver, and lifted it from the cradle. As she did this, the man reached over and hit a button.

A new voice filled the room.

"Hello?"

"Yes?" Andi returned.

"Whom am I speaking with?"

This new voice, a man's, sounded calm and reassuring. Surely it had to be a police officer. Andi swallowed a lump in her throat.

"I'm Andi ... Andi Defesne."

"Mrs. Defesne. I'm Sargent Kevin Greer with the Suffolk County Police Department. Is everyone all right?"

Andi studied the room as best she could.

"Yes ..." she said. "I guess."

No one was bleeding, if that was what this sergeant wanted to know.

"That's good to hear," the sergeant, Kevin, said. "Let me talk to John."

Andi was sure he'd already realized he was on speakerphone. She watched the man, presumably John, who didn't show any sign of surprise.

"You already know who I am, huh?" he asked in a flat tone.

"Come on John," Kevin replied. "Every cop in the country knows who you are. You're in a tough spot."

"No kidding. What are you going to do about it?"

"Let's talk. Let's find a way out for everyone."

John chuckled.

"This is where you want to know what I want, right?" he asked. "Should I demand a car to the airport and a jet, fueled and ready to go? Where should it take me? Cuba? Rio? How much money should I tell you to bring me?"

"Is that what you want?" Kevin asked, still maintaining a calm, even tone.

John snorted.

"How about this?" he asked. "When you have a way out for me that I would find agreeable, call back. Until then, don't try anything stupid."

He hung up the phone.

At this, a girl began to whimper. Andi recognized it was Tiffany, one of, if not the shiest student in the class.

"I wanna go home," Tiffany wailed.

"Too bad," John muttered in a dismissive tone. "Be quiet."

Tiffany seemed to be trying, but the occasional choked sob could still be heard.

* * *


"Well, the feds made it clear," Lieutenant Cruz reported. "They're on their way."

Kevin nodded as an officer handed him a printout containing the background check on John Kirkland. Prior to his bloody escape from the courthouse twenty-four hours earlier and the crime that'd brought him to that building to begin with, he had no criminal record. He'd attended Bunker Hill Community College and worked as an x-ray technician for seven years at Massachusetts General Hospital in Boston's West End neighborhood. He also paid monthly dues to a gym, which explained the muscular physique seen in all the mug shots and security footage.

Kevin knew of the man's criminal activities quite well, thanks to both the news and police bulletins. Kirkland had broken into his ex-girlfriend's apartment, shot her current boyfriend, and pistol-whipped her before fleeing. Arrested within a day of this crime and unable to make bail, he was brought to court the previous morning to plead guilty to one count of burglary and assault on an occupant. He was to receive the minimum of fifteen years in prison while the prosecution would drop additional charges, including attempted murder, which could have resulted in a life sentence. All that became irrelevant within an hour of his arrival at the courthouse.

Kevin understood Kirkland would never see freedom again. No judge or prosecutor would be lenient. He had to find another way to convince the man to end this and release the hostages without further bloodshed.

Making things more complicated was an inability for the SWAT team to safely ambush the assailant. The brick walls were too thick to quickly break through and the classroom door was the only available entry point. With the blinds drawn over the room's windows, no sniper had a clear shot. Visibility through or underneath the door was likewise hampered by Kirkland's maneuvers of covering that narrow window and stuffing paper into the crack underneath.

While he wanted a peaceful resolution, Kevin wasn't opposed to the use of lethal force. The problem was any approach would alert Kirkland to an onslaught. He'd be watching that door and listening for any activity beyond it, a job made easier by the bullet hole in the window. Even if a sniper could get a line of sight on him through the outer windows, there was a good chance he'd need two shots, the first to shatter the glass. If he sensed an assault, Kirkland was sure to kill as many people in that room as possible.

Now, with the feds on their way, the situation would only become more complicated.

* * *

John stepped over to Tiffany's desk. The girl was still trying to be quiet without success. She gasped as he raised his gun.

"I said, 'shut up'," John growled.

Tiffany began to cry.

"Leave her alone," a boy demanded.

Andi recognized the speaker as Charlie, who sat diagonally behind Tiffany. Anyone would recognize Charlie despite any visual impairments. The kid often thought of himself as a tough guy, standing up for someone even when it wasn't needed. Plus, Andi suspected the boy had a crush on Tiffany, even if he would never admit it.

This was not the time for Charlie to act tough. Andi's mind began racing as she tried to figure out a way to calm everyone down.

John turned to Charlie.

"You want to fight me, kid?" he asked. "Come on. Try it."

Charlie seemed to freeze as he was confronted by someone about twenty times his size.

"I thought so," John said. "Sit there and stay quiet, for everyone's sake."

He turned and headed back to the front of the room.

"You're a bully!"
John froze and Andi tried to figure out who had said that. The voice was female, but she couldn't discern anything else.â??