Terms Of Surrender

The news blindsided Jolie with a force that sent her reeling. Nausea rose, and for one dizzying moment she felt as if she was going to be sick. Her defenses were usually strong enough to protect her against the flood of memory, this paralyzing hurt that was brutal enough to melt her entire system into one oozing pit of pain.

But then there’d be a chance resemblance, a careless word, and the floodgates would open, dragging her back to a past that could still throb like a wound.

“Outside. Now.” Dace murmured the order into her ear then got up to head for the doors. Blindly she followed, still stunned.

Once outside he grabbed her arm, pulled her around the corner of the unit so they’d have a semblance of privacy. “I know what you’re thinking. Don’t.”

Helplessly, her gaze met his, lingered.

“We don’t know this boy,” Dace continued. “We’ll do our best for him, and for every other person in that bank. And if you aren’t up for that, tell me now.”

Another would think his tone cold. Unfeeling. Jolie knew Dace was neither. He was, however, a consummate professional. And so was she. The whiplash of his words helped her remember that.

“I’m okay.” But her words sounded weak, even to her own ears. She recognized Dace’s logic. Emotion didn’t belong in a situation like this. The child was a factor in this case, but the boy was a stranger. An innocent carried into the bank, probably with his mother.

He wasn’t Sammy. He wasn’t their son.

They’d buried Sammy nearly eighteen months ago.

Chapter Two

Memories flooded Jolie’s mind, spilling forth in a mental torrent. The look on Dace’s face when the nurse had placed his squalling son in his arms for the first time. Sammy’s sweet baby smell after his bath. The staggering joy at seeing his first toothless smile. The all-encompassing anguish of watching his tiny casket lowered into the earth.

Those memories could nearly suffocate her, weight her down under a heavy blanket of sorrow that made a mockery of hope. Long practice had her slamming the door on those images, shoving them aside to focus on the here. The now.

Dace was right. Neither of them knew the child in the bank. But there was no denying the boy’s presence there upped the ante dramatically.

She nodded jerkily, started back for the doors.

“Jolie.”

Dace’s voice, his expression when she flicked a glance at him, was soft. Her heart stumbled in her chest. She couldn’t recall the last time he’d looked at her that way. But it had been well before she’d left him and this city behind. It had been before she’d gone into the nursery one morning to find their son still and cold.

“You sure you’re okay?”

“I’m fine.” She heard her own oft-repeated phrase on her lips, saw it have the predictable effect on the man beside her. His expression closed and although he didn’t move, a part of him shifted away.

And that, too, was familiar.

When they reentered the NOC unit, strategy was being discussed for the next phone call. And when Jolie established contact, she had herself firmly under control again.

“John. How are things going in there? I’m here to help you in any way I can.”

“Where’s the SUV I requested? How long am I going to have to wait for it?”

There was a new edge to the man’s tone. She glanced at Ryder, saw that he’d caught it. The psychologist would help monitor the man’s mood to better predict his actions. But before they could do that with any certainty, they needed to learn more about him.

“These things take time,” she said easily. “I’m still working on it, though.”

“Then we have nothing else to discuss.”

From the corner of her eye she saw Dace gesturing but didn’t need the reminder to keep the man talking. “Sure we do. Something made you walk into California National Bank this morning. Hard to believe it was just to get the chance to speak to me. You wanted something. Tell me about that.”

“That’s easy,” came the disembodied answer. “This is where they keep the money.”

She heard voices coming from Johnson’s headset, and the man moved away from the table so the gunman wouldn’t overhear. “So that’s what this is about? The money? Why’d you choose this bank?”

“It was here. I was here. Seemed like fate. Do you believe in fate, Jolie?”

“I believe in personal responsibility. In doing the right thing. It’s not too late for you to do the right thing, John. Things haven’t gone so wrong yet that you can’t walk away from this. I want to help you with that.” She didn’t mention the dead security guard. If they were to convince the gunman to surrender, they had to make him believe he had a chance if he did things their way. “Why don’t you come out before things get out of hand?”

There was a soft laugh on the other side of the line. “You’re good. I can see why Recker let you take over. But unfortunately for you, you’re not dealing with an idiot. Thanks for the offer, but I like my chances better if we follow my plan.”

She glanced at Dace, who was reading a note Johnson had written and given to him. “What plan is that?”

“You get the perimeter pulled back. Bring the car up to the back doors. I leave quietly with the cash and, of course, a couple hostages to ensure my safety. We all live happily ever after.”

As fairy tales went, his was particularly far-fetched. There was no way his demands would be met. Before he would be allowed to leave the vicinity, an assault-and-rescue operation would be staged. Such an operation drastically increased the odds of injury to those inside. But she was charged with the task of making sure it never came to that.

“We’re working on that for you, John. We want a happy ending as much as you do. But these things take time. You know what bureaucracy is like, right? And while we’re waiting, you’ve got things to take care of, too. The people inside are going to need to use the restroom soon. Maybe food. Water. We can assist you with that.”

“I don’t give a damn what they need.” The earlier control the gunman had displayed was definitely thinning. “They aren’t my concern.”

“Couple dozen people who can’t use the bathroom can be cause for anyone’s concern,” she returned, injecting a note of amusement into her voice that she was far from feeling. “Especially if they’re all being kept in a small area. Where are they, in the vault? Pretty soon the money’s not going to smell so good.”

There was silence on the other end, leaving Jolie with no idea what the other man was thinking. “If there’s anyone in there who’s injured, John, now’s the time to send them out. Wounded people are just another headache for you.”

Dace touched her arm, handed her the note to read.

“On the contrary, Jolie. Wounded people will soon become your headache. Because if my demands aren’t met by the next time we talk, I’m going to start shooting people in here.”

That got her attention. “You don’t want to do that, John.” Her tone was firm. “I can help you out of this thing. I swear it. But if you harm anyone else in there, your options narrow drastically. You’re smart enough to realize that. I know you are.”

A click was her only answer.

Slowly, she lowered the phone while Dace crumpled the note in his hand. “So there’s a visual of him in the lobby?” That much, at least, she’d been able to read before the HT had reclaimed her focus.

He nodded. “He’s still wearing the mask, which is good news.”

Maintaining his disguise meant he still thought there was a way out of this, so he was taking pains not to be identified. It was when his hopes of walking away alive were dashed that they had reason to worry.

But there was something in the way Dace was regarding her that had trepidation stirring in her belly. “What else?” Whatever it was, there was no doubt he’d give it to her straight. Dace had always been honest to a fault.

I don’t know if I love you. How could I? It’s too soon, for either of us. But I know I’ll love this baby, if you’ll go through with the pregnancy. I’ll do right by it. By both of you. Give me a chance, Jolie. Give us a chance.

His earnest honesty had disarmed defenses that she’d once thought stronger. Had undermined common sense and shredded reason. In retrospect she still couldn’t understand how he’d circumvented a lifetime of caution and compelled her to reach for something she’d never before dared hope for.

“What else?” she repeated, in an effort to shake those memories from her head.

“He had the boy on his shoulders. One hand around both the child’s wrists, to pull him down to drape over his head.”

A chill broke out over Jolie’s arms. She rubbed them absently, muttering, “Smart bastard.” And totally cold, totally unfeeling, to use a child like that. In situations like this, if snipers were used to neutralize a gunman, they went for a head shot to produce instant incapacitation. There was no doubt the HT knew that. He’d positioned the child to protect his brain stem.

“Sounding more and more like someone well versed in law enforcement tactics,” Dace noted grimly.

“Or someone who’s done his homework,” Dr. Ryder put in. “He’s covered every base.”

Skepticism was written on Sharper’s square face. “Hard to believe an LEO would think he could get away with bank robbery.”

“But he has been getting away with it,” Lewis said grimly. “Twelve banks have been hit in a tristate area in the past three months. All have been smaller branches like this one. He’s in and out in under ten minutes. Rough estimates have the take so far at over thirty million.”

Jolie whistled under her breath. Smaller banks would have less cash on hand than their larger counterparts, but they’d also be easier to case. Fewer employees. Lower risk for complications.

Then the full ramification of Lewis’s words struck her. Bank robbery was a federal offense, and if this was one of a series, there was an ongoing investigation. In an undertone, she said to Dace, “How long do you guess we have before the feds step in?”

“I’m sort of surprised they haven’t shown up yet.”

His voice, his expression, was sardonic. He’d never been the Bureau’s biggest fan.

“Have there been any victims in the prior robberies?”

“Three.” Lewis worked a knot out of his shoulder. “So this guy isn’t afraid to leave bodies behind.”

Which was very bad news for them. And even worse for the hostages inside.

The CCL ducked out of the NOC unit to head over to the command center. While he was gone the team added details on the situation board. Using the floor plans of the bank, Johnson showed Sharper the positions of the SWAT personnel. All the known details were drawn in, down to the location of the throw phone. They used sticky notes to add unknowns, like the position of the hostages.

Jolie handed over her list and Sharper started a similar grid on the board.

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.”

Johnson bent his head, listening to his earpiece intently. “He’s marching a man toward the door. Has the kid draped over his shoulders still. The boy is crying.”

Dace shot a glance at Jolie, but she wasn’t looking at him. Studying her profile, however, he could see that the muscles in her jaw were tight. The involvement of the boy was hard on her. Odd how he could read her emotions better now than he’d been able to eighteen months earlier. She’d shut down then. They both had. And when he’d lashed out at her for her seeming lack of feeling, he’d been lashing out as much at himself. At fate. At a cruel God that had snatched away his greatest joy.

Just the memory of the accusation he’d leveled sent a burn of shame through him. Unable to reach her emotionally, he’d reacted with anger. Anger was about the only feeling that hadn’t hurt back then.

But it had hurt her. Them. Because a few short weeks after Sammy’s funeral, she’d left. And then there’d been no reaching her at all.

“The first hostage is out,” Johnson reported. He listened a few more seconds before continuing, “It’s a man. Naked. And inside the HT’s allowing one man and one woman to use the restrooms while he watches. He doesn’t leave himself exposed.”

The hostage would be given a blanket and led to the command center for debriefing. He could have valuable information about the gunman inside. And they had to be certain the released man was indeed a hostage, and not the HT himself, mounting a bold escape.

“He’s showing concern for the hostages,” Dr. Ryder said with a degree of relief. “Holding them in the vault kept them separate from the HT. Made it easier for him to avoid seeing them as human. This may be a very good sign.”