KEN SEYMORE
Seymore was trading Adderall for cold dim sum with a news crew from Los Angeles when a string of dull pops snapped from the direction of the house. The Los Angeles remote producer, a skinny kid with a goatee and no life experience, stopped his discourse on news selection as a political vehicle.
“What was that?”
Ken Seymore recognized the sound right away: gunfire.
Seymore knew that Howell hadn’t launched the breach, because Howell would have told him. He trotted to the nearest news van to find out what was happening. The tech there monitored a police scanner tuned to the Sheriff’s tactical frequency.
“You guys get anything on that?”
The tech waved him silent. He listened to the scanner with a bug in his ear, because their news director didn’t want anyone else to hear.
“They called up the fire company. The goddamned house is on fire.”
“What was the shooting?”
“That was gunfire?”
“Hell, yes.”
The tech waved Seymore quiet again and tuned his receiver, working through the frequencies.
“The SWAT team went in. Shit, they got casualties. It sounds like they got the kids. Yeah, the kids are coming out.”
The technician pulled the plug from his ear and shouted for his producer.
A heavy column of smoke rose into the light from the helicopters, and then another string of pops echoed over the neighborhood.
Seymore took out his phone.
GLEN HOWELL
The local stations resumed live coverage because of the fire. Flames lapped from the windows on the left side of the house, but the fire at the rear, back by the pool, was going pretty good. Fire crews hosed the roof and shadows ran along the perimeter, but the aerial shot was so murky that Howell couldn’t tell who was who or what was happening, just that everything was going to hell.
“You sure Jones’s people got hit?”
“They said it was FBI, so it hadda be Jones’s guys. We’re getting this shit off the scanner.”
“They get the disks?”
“I don’t know. It’s happening right now; no one’s talking to us.”
“Why the fuck did they go in?”
“I thought you gave’m the green light.”
“It wasn’t me.”
“Hang on a sec; there’s more traffic on the scanner. Okay, they’re saying two FBI agents came out and both kids. The kids are out.”
Howell tried to stay calm.
“Who’s in the fuckin’ house?”
“I don’t know.”
“Is Jones still in the goddamned house?”
“I don’t know.”
“Where’s Talley?”
“I don’t know.”
“You’re paid to know, goddamnit. That’s why you’re there.”
Howell broke the connection, then punched in Jones’s number. The phone rang once, then a computer voice came on telling him that the user had left the service area or turned off his phone. Howell called Martin. He let her phone ring fifteen times, and finally hung up.
“Fuck!”
He dialed Talley’s number and listened to the Nokia ring. He let it ring twenty times, and then he snapped his phone shut so hard he thought he might have broken it.
TALLEY
Talley rolled code three all the way to the hospital. He beat Cooper, arriving a few minutes after three A.M. The parking lot was almost deserted; the remaining press camped by the emergency room entrance. Talley parked at the side of the hospital to avoid them, but got out of the car because sitting was difficult. He leaned against the door with his arms crossed, watching the street, then realized he was still wearing the bullet-resistant vest and the radio. He took them off and tossed them into the backseat. He found the Nokia, and dropped it onto the front seat.
The Nokia rang.
Talley hesitated in the door of the car, thinking the Watchman had finally heard about the house. He stared at the ringing phone as if he was hiding from it, as if any movement might draw the Watchman’s eye and the Watchman would somehow know that Talley was there. Talley should have turned the goddamned thing off. He wanted the Watchman to wonder.
Talley felt his chest tighten, and realized that he had stopped breathing. The phone stopped ringing as Cooper turned into the parking lot. Talley took a breath, then raised his hand, but Cooper was already turning toward him.
Talley watched carefully as Thomas and Jennifer got out of Cooper’s car. They looked pale and tired, and their eyes were anxious with apprehension. Talley knew that they might seem fine now in the initial elation of being released, but later there could be nightmares, flashbacks, and other symptoms of post-traumatic stress disorder. Jennifer reminded him of Amanda all over again. Talley felt himself lifted by such a swell of feeling that he wanted to both cry and hug them, but he only let himself smile.
Jennifer said, “Are we going to see our father?”
“That’s right. Did Officer Cooper tell you about your mother? We spoke with her in Florida. She’s flying back now.”
They beamed. Jennifer actually said, “Yay.”
Talley put out his hand.
“We didn’t really meet before. My name is Jeff Talley.”
“I’m Jennifer Smith. Thank you for what you did.”
She shook his hand firmly, her smile blinding. Thomas shook his hand as if it were serious business. They stood so close together that their arms touched, and both children stood very close to him. He knew that this was normal. He was the man who had saved them.
“It’s good to finally meet you, Thomas. You were a big help. You were very brave. You both were.”
“Thank you, Chief. You’re really dirty.”
Jennifer rolled her eyes, and Cooper laughed.
Talley glanced at his hands. They were streaked with soot and sweat, as was his face.
“I guess I am. I haven’t had time to clean up.”
Jennifer said, “He can be so rude. You should look at yourself, Thomas. You’ve got ash on your nose.”
Thomas rubbed at his nose, but his eyes never left Talley.
“Is our daddy okay?”
“He’s doing better. Let’s go see him.”
Talley brought them through the side entrance. He held their hands, letting go only to badge an orderly who led them through the hospital to the emergency room. Everyone they passed stared at them. Talley knew that it was only a matter of time before word spread to the press that the chief of police had brought the hostage children to their father. When the press knew, the Watchman would know.
Talley refused to bring the children through the ER admitting area. The orderly led them past the hospital laboratory along a hall that the ER personnel used to bring samples to the lab. Klaus and Reese were no longer present, but a nurse that Talley recognized from before stopped them.
“You’re the Chief, aren’t you? May I help you?”
“I’m bringing the Smith children to see their father.”
“I’d better get Dr. Reese.”
“Fine, you go get her. We’ll be in the room.”
Talley found Smith’s room without waiting. He thought that Smith would be sleeping, but Smith was staring at the ceiling, his eyes blinking. He was still wired to the monitors.
Jennifer said, “Daddy?”
Smith lifted his head enough to see, and then his face registered surprise and elation.
The kids ran to him, both to the side of the bed without wires, and hugged their father. Talley waited in the door, giving them a moment, then entered and stood at the end of the bed. Jennifer cried, her face buried in her father’s chest. The little boy wiped at his eyes and asked if it hurt.
Talley watched. Smith wrapped his arm around Jennifer and held Thomas’s arm. He looked up past them, met Talley’s eyes, then hugged his children tighter.
“Thank God you’re all right. You’re all right, aren’t you? You’re okay?”
“Mommy’s comi
ng home.”
Talley stepped up behind Jennifer.
“We reached your wife. She’s in the air now.”
Smith met Talley’s eyes again, then looked away.
Talley said, “Your family is safe.”
Smith nodded, still not looking at him.
“What happened to the three men?”
“They’re dead.”
Thomas pulled at his father’s arm.
“Daddy, our house is on fire. We almost burned.”
Thomas jerked his father’s arm again, then coughed a great shuddering sob and buried his face in his father’s stomach. It was all coming out now, all of Thomas’s tension and fear. Smith stroked his son’s hair.
“It’s okay, partner. It’s okay. You’re safe. That’s all that’s important.”
Talley waited until the boy had calmed, then squeezed Jennifer’s shoulder.
“Could you guys wait in the hall for a second? I need to talk to your dad.”
Smith glanced up, then nodded to send his children to the hall. Jennifer took Thomas’s hand and led him outside. Smith took a deep breath, let it out, then looked up.
“Thank you.”
Talley took out the two disks.
Smith stared at them, then looked away again.
“Did you tell my kids?”
“No. They’ll have questions. Thomas helped me get them. He opened them on his computer.”
“It wouldn’t mean anything to him.”
“He’ll wonder. He’s going to ask sooner or later.”
Smith sighed again.
“Shit.”
“Those are good kids you got there. That little boy, Thomas, he’s something else.”
Smith closed his eyes.
Talley watched Smith, wondering if there was anything he could say to get this man to help him. He had negotiated with hundreds of subjects, and that was the game: Figure out what they needed to hear and say it; find their buttons and push them. All of that seemed beyond Talley now. He didn’t know what to say. He glanced over at Thomas and Jennifer standing in the hall, and felt a pain so deep and pure that he thought it might break him. If he could just get Jane and Amanda back, he would never let them go.
He patted Smith’s arm.
“I don’t know where you come from or what you’ve done in your life, but you’d better do right by those kids. You’ve got your family now, Smith. They’re safe. Help me get mine.”
Smith blinked hard at the ceiling. He shook his head, then closed his eyes tight. He took another deep breath, then looked past Talley to his own children.
“Shit.”
“Yeah. Shit.”
Smith looked at him. Smith’s eyes were wet.
“If you’ve got the disks, you’ve got everything. You can put them all away.”
“Who has my family?”
“That would be Glen Howell. He was coming to the house today. He’s Benza’s man on the scene.” Talley touched his wrist.
“Gold Rolex here? Dark tan?” Smith nodded.
Talley was getting excited. He had something now. He was close by the door and ready to breach.
“Okay, Smith. Okay. Glen Howell. He’s been calling me, but now I need to call him. How do I reach him?”
Smith gave him Howell’s phone number.
26
• • •
Saturday, 3:09 A.M.
TALLEY
Talley doubled the guards on Smith and his children, then hurried back to his car. He closed his eyes and tried to find focus. He was a crisis negotiator; Howell was a subject; Amanda and Jane were hostages. He had done this before; he could do it again. It was just him and the phone.
I’m going to kill this dog!
The overhead lights made the world purple. Talley looked up at the sky, but could see only a few stars past the bright lights. A few stars were enough; Jane and Amanda were under these same stars. So was Howell.
When his breathing was even and his shoulders relaxed, Talley got into the car. His task was to sound confident and controlled. His task was to assume control.
Talley punched Howell’s number into the Nokia. His body began to shake with tension, but he fought it. He closed his eyes again. He breathed.
The Watchman answered on the second ring, sounding abrupt and irritated.
“What?”
Talley made his voice soft.
“Guess who.”
Howell recognized his voice. Talley heard it in the quality of the silence even before Howell answered.
“How’d you get this number?”
“Here are two words for you: Glen Howell.”
“Fuck yourself.”
“I think Sonny Benza is going to fuck you. I have his financial records. I have your SWAT team. I have Captain Martin. I have you. And I have Walter Smith.”
Howell’s voice rose.
“I have your fucking family. Don’t forget that.”
Talley kept his voice even. He knew that if he remained calm, Howell would grow more frightened. Howell would suspect that Talley was up to something, and, by suspecting it, he would believe that it was true. Howell’s only way out now was through Talley. Talley had to make him see this.
“You know where you screwed up? If you had sat tight and let this thing play out, if you hadn’t brought me into it or sent in your fucking animals, I would never have known. The disks would have slipped through the cracks, and Benza would be safe. Now you have to deal with me.”
“You’re drowning in deep water, Talley. You’re just some fuckin’ cop who doesn’t have a clue. You’re killing your family. You’re committing suicide.”
“I’ll give you five minutes. Call Benza. Ask him if he wants to spend the rest of his life in prison.”
“I’ll ask him how many times he wants me to fuck your daughter.”
“Ask him if I can keep the money.”
All Talley heard was the hiss of the cell connection.
“I have something else that belongs to you. I found some money in the house. Looks like almost a million dollars.”
Talley had learned from a hundred negotiations that all liars think everyone lies, all thieves think everyone steals, crooked people think everyone is crooked. The strain in the silence was the sound of Howell trying to read Talley just as Talley was reading Howell. He would be scared and suspicious, but he would also want to believe. His belief was everything.
Howell answered slowly.
“What do you want, Talley?”
“How much money did I find?”
“One-point-two million.”
“I’ll sell you a pass. My wife and daughter, and the money, for the disks. If you hurt them, the disks go straight to the FBI and I’ll keep the money anyway.”
Talley knew that Howell would never consider a straight-up trade, his family for the disks, because there was no reason for Talley to keep his word. But the money changed things. Howell would understand greed. He would see himself in Talley and believe that a cop might think he could get away with that.
Talley didn’t wait for Howell to answer.
“I’ll tell you how this is going to work. I’ll bring the disks to the north entrance of the mall by the freeway. You bring my family. If they’re okay, we’ll trade. If I don’t make it home tonight, my officers will still have Smith and your phony FBI SWAT team.”
“You make it home, you’ll cut them loose?”
“I’ll cut them loose.”
“Okay, Talley, I think we can do this.”
“I thought we might.”
“But not at the mall. We’ll do this where I want to do this.”
“As long as it’s not in the middle of nowhere.”
“The Comfort Inn west of Bristo.”
“I know it.”
“Be there in ten minutes. Someone will be waiting in the parking lot. One minute late, there won’t be anyone there to find.”
Talley ended the call. He placed the Nokia carefully on the seat, then closed his eye
s. The Comfort Inn was less than a mile away. He got out of the car, stripped off his sweatshirt, then strapped on the vest. He pulled the sweatshirt over it. He checked his pistol; one in the chamber, safety on. He left his radio on, but turned the speaker volume down to zero. He got back into the car.
He still had much to do.
GLEN HOWELL
Howell was shaking when he put down the phone. Talley had caught him off guard and jammed him into making a deal that might be a setup, but he didn’t see what other choice he’d had. His job was to recover the disks.
Howell picked up the house phone. Duane Manelli was sitting in a room two doors down with LJ Ruiz.
“I need you and LJ outside. Talley’s coming here.”
“What the fuck!”
“I don’t know if he’s coming alone. Get your ass outside and set up to watch the area.”
“What happened to Jones?”
“Jones is down.”
Howell hung up. He checked his watch. He didn’t want to make his next call, but he didn’t have a choice about that, either. Making the next call scared him more than waiting for Talley.
He dialed Sonny Benza.
PALM SPRINGS
“Sonny? Sonny, wake up.”
Benza opened his eyes, and saw Phil Tuzee. Charles Salvetti was pacing by the desk, looking upset. Benza was stretched out on the couch, the three of them still in his office at four in the morning. Benza’s back ached like a sonofabitch. Another fuckin’ trip to the chiropractor.
“What?”
“Glen Howell’s on the phone. We got a friggin’ mess here.
Look.”
Benza sat up and squinted at the television. Smith’s house was in flames.
“Jesus Christ. What happened?”
“It’s a fuckin’ bloodbath. Howell’s team went in, and everything went to hell. Now they’re pulling bodies out of the place.”
“Did we get the disks?”
Benza knew the answer from Tuzee’s expression. Acid flooded his stomach.