Terms Of Surrender

Lewis returned as they were finishing. Something in his expression alerted Jolie. “We’re arranging to bring in a station wagon to park out front. You know what to do.”

Dace and Jolie exchanged a glance. “What’s the rush?” he asked.

The CCL sat down heavily. “Don’t worry. Mendel is committed to the negotiation process. But the HT has issued two verbal threats and he’s placing a child in danger. We have to be ready to act fast.”

Usually a vehicle was provided only when a tactical resolution was being planned. It caused the HT to leave his surroundings and enter the SWAT team’s controlled environment.

And under any other circumstances, Jolie would be objecting vehemently about rushing the process. But the boy inside being used as a human shield changed things. She still hoped for a peaceful resolution. But she wasn’t going to quibble about being prepared for the alternative.

Of course the HT wasn’t going to be allowed to dictate the terms. There was no way the SUV he’d requested would be brought in. The vehicles were too hard to see into. Had too much interior space. Most likely the station wagon was an older model, and it would be totally messed with. Although the gas tank would show full, it would have very little fuel. The radio would be on full blast, along with the heater, to serve as distractions in case the gunman ever made it to the car.

The likelihood of him getting that far was slim, but every contingency would be planned for.

Next time they established contact with the gunman, they’d work a trade. And since it didn’t seem as though there were any injured inside needing medical assistance, she knew exactly what her priority would be.

“Let’s see if he’ll exchange the boy.”

After a brief hesitation, Dace said quietly, “Of course. But you know he won’t, Jolie. Are you prepared for that?”

She was. Of course she was. The man had found a crudely effective way of ensuring his own survival. It didn’t matter how good the snipers were, there was no way a “weapons loose” command was going to be given with a child blocking a clear head shot. And that was the only guaranteed way to make sure the HT didn’t fire a recoil shot before dropping.

“Chances are he’s carrying a cell. Any number of the hostages probably have them, too. But he didn’t insist I direct further communications to a cell phone, which he could use out of sight, away from the skylights.”

Dace nodded. “He wants us to know what the stakes are. Wants us to see the risk of injury to the boy. This guy has anticipated worst-case scenarios. We already know he’s familiarized himself with LEO procedure. He may be aware that we have the technology to disable the cells once we arrive on the scene.”

Jolie settled back on her chair, determination and dread mingling. Simultaneous realizations occurred. There were going to be far more dangerous complications to this situation than the relationship between her and Dace.

And however it ended, it wasn’t going to be easy.

“You’ve got your vehicle, John.” Dace was still wondering why the HT had asked for him. Jolie had handled the process of lowering the gunman’s expectations from an SUV and talking him through law enforcement’s approach with the vehicle. It had turned into a long, drawn-out procedure. “Keys are in it.”

“Is this your doing, Recker? Pretty far cry from the SUV I asked for, isn’t it?”

“We’re doing the best we can for you here, John. We wanted something with a police radio in it so we could still communicate with you.”

There was a short, harsh laugh. “You probably got the crate right off the police impound lot. Turn it on and leave it running for a few minutes. I want proof it’s in working order. And you still haven’t pulled the perimeter back. Looks like more cops out there than ever.”

“One step at a time. We gave you something you want. Now it’s time for you to reciprocate.”

“I’m not in a giving mood, Recker.” Over four hours had passed since the alarm inside had been pressed. Their intelligence officers had kept track of the movement inside the bank, which had been minimal. Aside from the guard’s body, only the HT and the boy had been seen, and then only when the HT had answered the phone. The other hostages had not been sighted.

Jolie’s conversations with John, however, had also served as a diversion. Tactical had taken the opportunity to affix a listening device to a window at the corner of the building. Now they could hear what was going on inside. At the moment, however, there seemed little to report.

The crowd outside had grown. As soon as the media had gotten wind of what was going down at California National, journalists and TV anchors had descended on the vicinity like a swarm of locusts. The extra LEO personnel had been necessary for crowd control. An information center had been set up, since it was far easier to release controlled information to the media than to risk them trying to sneak closer for an exclusive. No doubt among the ongoing live reporting the talking heads were interspersing commentary from their versions of “experts” of various occupations, giving self-important assessments of the gunman. The hostages. And suggesting endless scenarios for a fascinated public.

Dace wondered if “John” had access to a television inside. Some hostage takers reveled in the notoriety, their one brush with fame. But he didn’t think the gunman inside was motivated by anything other than what he’d first revealed: money.

“You have to be thirsty. Hungry. We can deliver food. Whatever you want. Easier to think on a full stomach, I always find.”

No answer. But the other man was still there. He could hear him breathing on the other end of the line. Keeping his voice easy, Dace continued. “What’s your favorite? Ham sandwiches? Pizza? We can get enough for you to feed everyone inside. But we need to talk about the boy, John. Tyler Mills. He’s only twenty-two months old. Kid that age needs diapers. Regular meals. Naps. He has to be getting cranky. Now’s the time to send him out. Believe me, you don’t want to be dealing with a two-year-old who’s short on sleep.”

“The kid stays.” John’s voice, when he finally spoke, was flat. Emotionless. “But you can send in the food. Diapers. And something for him to drink.”

“Good idea. I’ll get on that right away. But I want you to think more about the boy. Tyler. You don’t need him. How about an exchange, the boy for the vehicle.”

“Like I said, I’m keeping the kid.” There was a hesitation. “But I’m a fair man. I’ll give you two different hostages. One now, and another when the food arrives.”

Dace saw Jolie gesturing in vehement disapproval, but he answered, “Fair enough. But it’d be best to send the boy out, John. All those people inside, you don’t need him.”

There was an eerie laugh. “I do need him. He’s my goodluck charm. Keeps your snipers from getting trigger-happy, doesn’t he?”

“We all want a peaceful ending to this. We’re not looking for anyone to get hurt. You need to start thinking about how we can get everyone home safe. You included. That’s what’s important here.”

“Now there’s where you’re wrong, Recker.” There was chilly amusement in the other man’s voice. “What’s important is me walking out of here with the cash. The rest is your agenda, not mine.”

“Hey, we’re on the same page, John.” Dace didn’t let a hint of frustration tinge his words. “I don’t want anything happening to you. We’re ready to do what it takes so everyone gets what they want.”

A click was his only answer. Dace set the phone down, raising his brows at the group. Dr. Ryder said, looking thoughtful, “I think we were dead-on with our first impression of this guy. Likes to be in control. May even be used to a position of authority. He uses a totally different tone with you, Dace, than he does with Jolie. I still think he believes she’s a soft touch because she’s a woman.” He glanced at Jolie. “No offense. But when things don’t go the way he wants, he demands to talk to the male. It’s a man he expects will be making the decisions. You also get the blame when he doesn’t like how things work out.”

It was very possible. But an entirely different thought had been forming in Dace’s mind during the course of the last conversation. He leaned over to look at the notes Jolie had been making. He was struck at once by the similarity of their thinking. When it came to their work, at least, he and Jolie disagreed on very little. It had been their private life that had ended with neither able to communicate with the other.

Which was ironic as hell, given their background as trained negotiators. Why did it seem so much simpler for him to talk to a sociopath like the one locked inside that bank than to the woman he’d lived with? Had a child with?

He had a mental flash of the two of them standing at the edge of Sammy’s grave. Such a small hole for an equally tiny casket. Jolie had been standing beside him, but they hadn’t been touching. It had been as if each of them had a force field surrounding them, keeping everyone else at a distance. Family. Friends. Each other. It had been all he could do to cope with the pain gnawing a hole through his chest without howling his rage, his desolation to the world. He’d sleepwalked through the entire process. Planning the service. The funeral. Greeting the mourners. Responding to the flowers and donations that had been sent. It hadn’t been until a week afterward that the numbness had worn off, leaving only the bone-crushing grief behind.

He hadn’t reached for Jolie then either.

“Okay, I’m going out on a limb here.” Jolie interrupted his thoughts. “But his mention of the snipers got me thinking. We know he did his homework on the potential police response. But even given his suspicion that snipers are waiting, he walks freely across the open lobby to answer the phone each time. Yeah, he’s using the child for protection. But he’s still exposing himself to a body-mass shot that could be a back-up target as long as his head is unexposed.”

The same thing had occurred to Dace during the last conversation. “He’s wearing Kevlar. Or hell, maybe he’s even got himself a Tac-Vest. Feels confident. Sure, it leaves his legs exposed, but the worst that could happen is getting his knee blown away. Even then, there’s plenty of time to kill the boy.”

He looked at Johnson. “The security video…what was the suspected gunman wearing?”

“Jeans, sneakers, long baggy UCLA sweatshirt and a matching cap pulled down low,” came the response. “Wearing a backpack. Must have had the gun concealed inside it.”

“Smart prick,” Lewis muttered. “Went in prepared. What’s everyone’s take? Are we wearing him down at all?”

The team members were silent for a moment. “He’s tiring,” Jolie said finally. “And the exchange is an important concession.”

“He’s playing ball,” Dace agreed. “But I’m not ready to claim we’re anywhere near breaking him down yet.”

Dr. Ryder agreed. “He still feels in control. The decision to release the hostages was his, made on his terms. I don’t think he’s an imminent threat. But he does still believe he’s walking out of there with the cash.”

Lewis nodded. “I’ll let command center know about the hostage release.” He slipped out of the back door of the vehicle.

Herb Johnson had his head down, listening to a voice on his mike. “He’s disappeared down the hallway again,” he reported.

“There’s only the vice-president’s office and the vault down that way,” Sharper interjected. “Our guess about keeping the hostages in the vault must be right.”