Good job, Henry, Potter thought, his eyes on Melanie's silhouette.
"A what?"
"It's the highest priority there is. It's reserved for Air Force One and visiting heads of state. We call it 'papal clearance' because it's what the Pope gets. Now listen, you might want to write this down. What you have to do is make sure the helicopter pilot shuts off the transponder. He'll point it out to you and you can shut it off or smash it or whatever, and we won't be able to track you on radar."
"No radar?"
"That's part of the M-4. We do that so radar-seeking missiles can't lock onto a dignitary's jet."
"The transponder. I think I heard about them. How long do we have?"
LeBow looked at Potter, who held up eight fingers.
"We can keep the airspace open for eight hours. After that there's too much commercial traffic and we'd have to rewrite the airspace requirements."
"Okay. Do it."
"It's being done. It'll be effective in, let me see…"
Potter held up two fingers.
"About two hours."
"Fuck that. One hour tops, or I kill this pretty little thing next to me."
"Oh, my God. Are you seri -? Well, sure. One hour. But I need a full hour. Only please, mister, don't hurt anybody."
Handy's cold chuckle came through the speaker. "Hey, Don, lemme ask you a question."
"Sure."
"You in Topeka right now?"
Silence in the room.
Potter's head turned away from the window, stared at LeBow.
"Sure am."
Potter snapped his fingers and pointed to LeBow's computer. The intelligence officer's eyes went wide and he nodded. He punched silent buttons. The message came on: "Loading Encyclopedia." The words blinked repeatedly.
"Topeka, huh?" Handy said. "Nice place?"
Loading… loading…
Come on, Potter thought desperately. Come on!
"I like it."
The screen went blank; at last a colorful logo appeared. LeBow typed madly.
"How long you been there?"
How calm Handy sounds, Potter reflected. Holding a gun to a girl's eye and he's still working all the angles, cool as can be.
"About a year," LeBow ad-libbed. "You work for Uncle Sam, they move you around a lot." He typed rapidly. His fingers stopped. An error message appeared. "Invalid Search Request."
The more urgent the task…
He started again. Finally a map and text appeared and in the corner of the screen a color photo of a skyline.
"Imagine they do. Like that FBI agent who called you. Andy Palmer. He must move a bunch too."
LeBow took a breath to answer but Potter scrawled on a sheet of paper, "Don't respond to name."
"Hell, I'd guess so."
"That is his name, right? Andy?"
"I think so. I don't remember. He just told me the code that let me know it was a real call."
"You got codes? That you use like spies?"
"You know, sir, I really oughta get on this project for you."
"What's that river there?"
"In Topeka, you mean?"
"Yeah."
LeBow leaned forward and read the blurb about the city. 'The Kaw, you mean. The Kansas River. The one cuts the town in half?"
"Yeah. That's it. Used to go fishing there. Had a uncle lived in that old neighborhood. It was all la-di-da, fancy old houses. Cobblestoned roads, you know."
Henry LeBow was sitting so far forward he was in danger of tumbling off his chair. He read frantically. "Oh, Potwin Place. He's a lucky man, your uncle. Nice houses. But the streets aren't cobblestoned, they're brick." The agent's bald head glistened with silver beads of sweat.
"What's your favorite restaurant there?"
A pause.
"Denny's. I have six children."
"You son of a bitch," Handy growled.
Click.
"Downlink terminated," Tobe called.
LeBow, hands shaking, stared at the phone.
Four heads jammed into the window.
"Did it work?" Frances muttered.
No one ventured a guess. Only Charlie Budd said anything and the most he dared utter was "Oh, brother."
"Home base to Outrider Two."
"Outrider Two," whispered Lieutenant Joey Wilson, standing just beneath the window of the slaughterhouse, in the shadow of the school bus.
"Positions of subjects?"
The trooper lifted his blackened face quickly, glanced inside, then dropped down again.
"Two takers in the main room by the window, Handy's got a gun on one hostage. A Glock. Right against her head. Can't tell if it's cocked. Wilcox doesn't have a weapon in his hands but's got a Glock in his belt. Bonner's got a Mossberg semiauto twelve-gauge. But he's thirty feet from the hostage room. It's a good scenario. Except for the girl in the window."
"Can you take out Handy?"
"Negative. He's behind pipes. Have no clear shot. Bonner keeps going back and forth. Maybe I can acquire him. I don't know."
"Stand by."
They were well past deadline now. Handy could shoot the poor woman at any moment.
"Outrider One? Report."
"Outrider One. I'm at the generator. Charge is armed."
Lord, let us not fail, Tremain thought, and took a deep breath.
"Outrider One?" Tremain called to Pfenninger, whom he pictured beside the command van's generator, the detonating cord to the L- 210 in his hand.
"Outrider One here."
"Code word -"
"Outrider Two to home base!" Wilson's energetic voice cut through the airwaves. "Hostage is safe. Repeat. Outrider Two to home base. Subject Handy is standing down. He's put his weapon away. Subject Bonner's taking the girl back to the room with the rest of the hostages."
Tremain looked. The girl was being pulled out of the window.
"Subject Bonner has left her in the hostage room and has returned to the front of the factory."
"Code word Stallion," Tremain said. "All outriders, all teams, Stallion, Stallion, Stallion. Confirm transmission."
They all did.
Dan Tremain – senior HRU commander and a man who had a reputation for thinking fast – composed and then offered a silent prayer to his just and merciful Lord in Christ, thanking Him for sparing the girl's life. But mostly he gave thanks for providing the extra time in which to prepare for the assault that He had assured Tremain would free the poor lambs from the hands of the barbaric Romans.
"Downlink," Tobe announced. "From him."
Potter let the phone ring twice then answered it. "Art?"
"Lou. Creswell just called."
"He thinks you're a prick. He doesn't even know your fucking name."
"I have my enemies. More of them within the government than without, I'm sorry to say. What about it?"
"Okay, it's a deal," Handy said cheerfully. "You got one more hour."
Potter paused, let the silence build up.
"Art," Handy asked uncertainly, "you still there?"
A subtle sigh issued from the negotiator's mouth.
"What'sa matter? You sound like your fucking dog just died."
"Well…"
"Come on, talk to me."
"I don't know how to ask this. You were real good about agreeing to give us the extra time. And…"
Test the bonds, Potter was thinking. What exactly is Handy thinking about me? How close are we?
"Well, ask me what you gotta, Art. Just fucking do it."
"Creswell said he'll need at least until nine-thirty to do the clearance right. He's got to coordinate with the Canadian authorities. I told him to do it within an hour. But he said they can't do it that fast. I feel like I'm letting you down…"
And part of him did, yes – at the lie he was telling, so blatantly, so coldly.
"Nine-thirty?' A long hesitation. "Fuck, I can live with that."
"Really, Lou?" Arthur Potter asked, surprised. "Appreciate it."
"Hey, anything for my good buddy Art."
Take advantage of the good mood. He said, "Lou, let me ask you another question."
"Shoot."
Should I push or not?
Angie was watching him. Their eyes met and she mouthed, "Go for it."
"Lou, how about if you let her go? Melanie."
Okay. Art, I'm in a good mood. I'm going to Canada, so you just bought yourself one.