"What?"
Potter looked down at the soggy slip of paper. It was signed, "Love, Melanie C." – which was the reason he hadn't shown the note itself to Henry LeBow. He now folded it up, put the damp paper in his pocket.
"Look up Bonner," Potter instructed.
He read from the screen. Ray "Sonny" Bonner had led a useless life. He'd done time for sex offenses and minor robberies, domestic violence, public disorderliness. Lust-driven, not bright. He was a snitch too; he'd testified against his partner at a robbery trial ten years ago.
Potter and Angie looked up at each other. They smiled.
"Perfect."
The decision had been made. Potter would not meet with Handy face to face. A new strategy had presented itself. Riskier, yes. But perhaps better.
Charlie Budd was suddenly aware that both Angie and Potter were looking at him, studying him.
"What do you think, Henry?" Potter asked.
"Say -" Budd began uneasily.
"I think he's perfect," LeBow offered. "Earnest, straightforward. And he's got a great baritone."
Potter said, "You've got quite a performance ahead of you, Charlie."
"Me?" The young captain looked stricken. "How d'you mean that, exactly?"
"You're taking over the negotiation."
"What?"
"And I want you to talk to Handy about surrendering."
"Yessir," Budd answered Potter. Then: "You're kidding."
"You're perfect, Charlie," Angie said.
Potter said, "I've brought up the subject with him. Now it's time to raise surrender as a realistic possibility. Of course he'll say no. But it'll be in his mind as an option. He'll start to weigh the possibilities."
"There'll be a little more to it than that, though," LeBow said, eyes as ever on his screen.
"We're upping the ante," Potter said, and began to jot notes on a yellow pad.
"You know, I'm thinking I wouldn't be very good at this."
"You ever do any acting?" Angie asked.
"I dress up like Santa on Christmas for my kids and my brother's. That's it. Never been on stage, never wanted to be."
"I'll give you a script." Potter thought for a moment, then tore off the top sheets of the yellow pad and began again, writing meticulous notes: two pages' worth of dense writing.
"This is the gist of it. Just ad-lib. Can you read it okay?"
Budd scanned the sheets. "Sure, only I don't think I'm ready. I should practice or something."
"No time for practice," Potter told him. "Just let me give you a few pointers in negotiations."
"You're serious about this, aren't you?"
"Listen, Charlie. Concentrate. You've got to break through his barriers quickly and get him to believe this." He tapped the yellow paper.
Budd's face grew still and he sat forward in front of the desk on which rested the cellular phone.
"Now I want you to echo things he says. He'll say he wants ice cream. You say, 'Ice cream, sure.' He'll say he's angry. You say, 'Angry, are you?' It shows you're interested in what he says without expressing judgment. It wears him down and makes him think. Do it selectively, though. Not every comment or you'll antagonize him."
Budd nodded. He was sweating fiercely.
Angie offered, "Acknowledge his feelings but don't sympathize with him."
"Right," Potter continued. "He's the enemy. We don't sanction violence and therefore he's doing something wrong. But you should explain that you understand why he feels the way he does. Got it? Don't ramble. You have to be aware of how you sound and how fast you're talking. I'll tell you right now you'll be going way too fast. Make a conscious effort to talk slowly and deliberately. To you it'll feel like you're underwater."
Angie said, "If you ask him a question and he doesn't respond just let the silence run up. Don't let pauses rattle you."
"Don't let him manipulate you. He'll do it intentionally and subconsciously – using threats, fast speech, craziness, and silence. Just keep your mind on your goal." Again Potter, rather solemnly this time, tapped the yellow paper. "Most important, don't let him get to you. Let him rant and say terrible things but don't get shook up. Let him laugh at you. Let him insult you. It rolls off you. You're above it all." Potter leaned forward and whispered, "He might tell you he's going to kill all those girls. He may even fire the gun off and let you think he's shot someone. He might tell you he's going to torture them or rape them. Don't let it affect you."
"What do I say?" Budd said desperately. "If he says that, what do I say?"
"It's best not to say anything at all. If you feel compelled to respond you say simply that it wouldn't be in the best interests of a solution to do that."
"Oh, brother."
Potter looked at his watch. "Let's get this show on the road. Ready?" Potter asked.
The young captain nodded.
"Push button one."
"What?"
"It's on speed dial," Tobe explained. "Push number one."
"And then I just talk to him?"
"You understand the script?" Potter asked.
Budd nodded again. Potter pointed to the phone. "Oh, brother." He reached for the phone, dialed. "Uplink," Tobe whispered.
"Hey. How you doing, Art?" The voice came through the speakers above their heads. Handy seemed to be smirking.
"This is Charlie Budd. Is this Lou Handy?"
"The fuck're you?"
Budd's eyes were on the sheet in front of him. "I'm with the U.S. attorney's office."
"The hell you say."
"I'd like to talk to you for a few minutes."
"Where's Art?"
"He's not here."
"What the fuck's going on?"
Budd swallowed. Come on, Charlie, Potter thought. No time for stage fright. He tapped the pad before Budd. "Going on?" the captain echoed. "What do you mean?"
"I only want to talk to him."
"To who?"
"Art Potter. Who the fuck do you think?"
Budd took a deep breath. "Well, why don'tcha talk to me? I'm not such a bad guy."
"U.S. attorney?"
"That's right. I want to talk to you about surrendering." Slow down, Potter wrote.
"Oh, a shyster with a sense of humor. Well, fuck you."
Budd's face was relaxing. "Hey, don'tcha like lawyers?"
"I love 'em."
Budd said, "You wanta hear a joke, Lou?" Potter and LeBow looked at each other, eyebrows raised.
"Sure, Charlie."
"A woman goes to her gynecologist and asks can somebody get pregnant by having anal sex. And the doctor says sure you can, where do you think lawyers come from?"
Handy roared with laughter. Budd's face burned crimson.
Potter had never in twenty years of negotiating shared a joke with a taker. Maybe he'd rewrite his instruction book.
Budd continued. "Arthur's seeing about getting you some helicopter or 'nother. Something about pontoons. It should be here soon."
"It fucking well better be here in one hour and twenty fucking minutes."
"Well, all I know is, Lou, he's doing what he can. But look here, even if you get the chopper they're gonna find you sooner or later." Budd stared at the sheet in front of him. "Soon as somebody finds out who you are, the fact you shot a girl in the back, you know what'll happen. They'll collar you and somehow you'll be riding in the back of a meat wagon and some accident'll happen."
"You threatening me?"
"Hell, no. I'm trying to save you. I'm just saying the way it is. The way you know it is."
"Ain't nobody gonna find me. So fuck that surrender shit. It ain't gonna happen. You assholes'll have to come in and get me 'fore I'd do that. And you'd find me atop six dead hostages."
Potter pointed to the pictures of the twins. LeBow frowned. Why didn't Handy know they were gone?
Budd continued, "Listen, Lou, we can offer you a deal."
"A deal? What kind of deal?"
"Some immunity. Not complete, but -"
"You know what I done here?"
"What you've done?" Echoing like a pro, Potter thought.
"I killed me a few people today. We're not talking immunity, we're talking… what the fuck's that thing priests give you?"