The Negotiator

“I’ll get the truck and we’ll talk. But I want another child, too.”

She was starting to sound tense, and just around the edges, a little unraveled. Beck glanced at the countdown clock he’d started when he’d gotten there. They’d been at it almost two hours already. It seemed like he’d just arrived; it seemed like he’d been born there. Catching his eye, beside the clock, were the photos Sarah had obtained. With the phone propped against his shoulder, he shuffled through the mess of papers until he came to the one he wanted. The school picture of Jennifer Barclay.

Sometimes when he watched television, he placed bets with himself. He’d close his eyes, switch channels, and listen to whoever was on the screen. Nine times out of ten, he could guess what they looked like by the way they spoke. He would have lost the farm on this one, though. Jennifer Barclay did not match her voice at all. Her chestnut shoulder-length hair was straight and shiny and her gaze was dark and sad. Except for those eyes, she looked much younger than he would have expected. He’d imagined a woman in her forties, someone with a lot of experience behind her, a person who knew and understood others well.

Flipping through the profiles of the suspect and all the hostages Sarah had gotten along with the photos, Beck found the notes on Jennifer. She lived in Fort Walton Beach, in a small condo complex a few blocks off the beach. She drove a white 1995 Toyota Camry, had no outstanding tickets or warrants and she lived alone.

She’d sounded middle-aged, but Jennifer Barclay was young, pretty and single.

She came back on the line. “Okay, he’ll do it. As soon as he sees the truck, he’ll send another child out.”

The line went dead and Beck grabbed the microphone attached to the headset he wore. “Lena? Did you get all that? You got a line on the truck?”

“We’re trying. Sarah knew he’d had a vehicle repossessed so she’s contacting the dealership now, but they’re closed. It’s going to take a while.”

Beck nodded, but before he could reply, his ear phone crackled to life.

“Get him to the window to see the damned truck. I want to set my shot.”

Beck spoke instantly. “That’s premature—”

Lena’s voice interrupted. “Beck, we don’t have another option. We can’t do a chemical assault here, not with those kids, and this guy isn’t going to surrender. He’s not the type and you know it. We need to be prepared just in case.” She spoke to someone nearby, then came back over the headset. “While you were talking to the teacher, I told Randy you’d move the guy.”

“This is ridiculous.” Beck felt his jaw clench, the pain in his head intensifying, his voice going cold. “What are you doing? Trying to make the ten o’clock news?”

When Lena answered, her tone was as chilly as Beck’s. “I don’t make command decisions based on the media. If you don’t know that by now, you should. You’re out of line.”

Beck closed his eyes and shook his head. Dammit, what in the hell was he thinking? What in the hell was he doing? His head throbbed, and suddenly he felt like the situation was sand slipping through his fingers. Lena had seen what he hadn’t in forcing him into taking that vacation. He did need some time off.

But not yet.

“You’re right. That was out of line, and I’m sorry,” he said stiffly. “But I still think Jennifer’s got a point. Howard French doesn’t have a sheet and I can get him out of there. Randy should be our last resort, and you know that.”

“What I know is he didn’t have a record before, but not now. Cal called in while you were talking. There’s been a new development. It’s not good.”

“What is it?”

“One of the guys found someone in the maintenance shack, out behind the school. We’re not sure yet, but it looks like it might be French’s supervisor.” She took a breath, then spoke. “He’s been shot with a .22 rifle.”

CHAPTER THREE

BECK’S GUT TIGHTENED. “Damn! Is he dead?”

“He’s hanging on but barely.”

“Has anyone talked to him?”

“No. He was completely out of it and fading fast. The medics were struggling just to get him to Central before it was too late.”

His gaze went to the school, his mind going with it to the woman and children inside. Did Jennifer Barclay know? He answered his own question. Obviously not. She wouldn’t be defending Howard French if she knew he’d shot his boss. Would she?

“Get him to the window.” Randy spoke bluntly. “It’s at the front, away from the kids. If he’s looking for the truck, I can get a clean shot.”

“And that’s it? The decision’s made?”

Lena answered. “We’re setting the shot, Beck, that’s all. I haven’t given Randy the green light.”

“All right.” Beck’s words were clipped. “But I think this is premature. I think you’re making a mistake, both of you.”

“I have to think of the team, Beck. The guys are getting tired and that means they’re going to get sloppy and let their guard down. I can’t risk a breakout, either. If he starts shooting…”

“I know the drill, Lena, but those kids in there are nine and ten years old. Do you want them living with the sight of a man’s brains getting blown out for the rest of their lives?”

“I want them to live, Beck. That’s my only concern and it ought to be yours, too.”

“But—”

“If you have a problem with this, we’ll discuss it later.” She interrupted him, ending the argument sharply. “Right now, act like a team member and do your job. Get the man to the window. When the time comes, I’ll decide if we shoot or not.”

THE CHILDREN were getting restless.

Jennifer had done her best to keep them corralled—without much help from Betty—but they couldn’t be expected to huddle in one corner forever. Howard had let them use the bathroom attached to the classroom, but other than that, they hadn’t really moved. She glanced down at her watch and was shocked to see the time. It was past eight!

The drinks had helped. A dozen cans had been left outside the classroom. Howard had made Juan retrieve them, then report back to him. Were there police in the hallway? No? Was he sure?

It was hot, too, and that didn’t help. The air-conditioning had shut down hours ago. It was on an automatic timer, but Jennifer suspected it’d been purposely shut down early. She pushed a sticky strand of hair off her forehead and glanced toward Howard. He was standing by the door. Obviously growing weary, his expression was one of pure dejection, his shoulders slumped, his face shadowed. The gun had never left his side, and she’d given up the idea of grabbing it. It was just too risky.

They’d talked on and off, but he’d refused to say much more than “It’s too late.” When she’d pressed him, he’d simply shaken his head, and she’d finally moved to the rear of the room to be near the children. Trying to reassure them, she’d sat down and waited for the phone to ring again.

When it did, though, what would happen? They weren’t really going to give Howard his truck…or get his job back for him. He wasn’t going to just drive away from the school and off into the sunset. Surely, he understood that.

The phone sounded shrilly, startling her even though she’d expected it. Jennifer looked at Howard and he gave her an almost perceptible nod. She jumped up and ran to the front of the room to grab the receiver. “Hello?”

He answered as he did each time he’d called. “Everyone okay in there?”

Jennifer closed her eyes briefly and leaned against the wall. “We’re all right,” she said. “But getting tired.”

“I understand. It’s a tough situation, but you’re doing a terrific job keeping everyone together.” His voice turned lighter. “How ’bout coming to work for us when this is over? I could get you a negotiator’s job. Sound good?”

Jennifer shuddered. “No, thank you. That’s way more excitement than I want. Ever.”

“It’s not all that thrilling. Mainly I sit here, then I talk but no one really listens, and when it’s finally settled, I do paperwork. The next day, we do it all over again.”

“Sounds like my job.”

He chuckled. “Yeah, I guess it does at that. You like being a teacher?”

“I love it,” she answered, surprised by his question. It seemed like a strange time to be talking like this, but it made sense in a weird kind of way. He was trying to keep her relaxed. “The kids are fantastic and I feel as if I’m doing something worthwhile. Most days, that is.”