The Negotiator

Beside him Lena sighed.

“I know, I know—” He spoke before she could answer him. “Chase is not a member of my cell, and Randy is good, and what’s my problem?” He lowered the glasses and looked at the woman beside him.

“And the answer is?” she said dryly.

“I don’t trust Randy,” he said bluntly, bringing the glasses back to his face. “He’s not a team player. He’s a hot dog.”

“C’mon, Beck. He’s been with us a year and he scores one hundred percent every time he’s on the range. He’s inexperienced but he’s done nothing wrong.”

“He’s done nothing period.”

“Give the guy a chance. You were young once, too, you know.”

“I was never that young.” Without waiting for her reply, he picked up the phone and hit the redial button. It began to ring in his ear as he looked down at his boss. “I don’t trust him,” he repeated darkly, “and neither should you.”

“LET ME ANSWER the phone, Howard, please.” His arm was so tightly pressed against her throat, Jennifer could hardly speak. “P-please. I-it could be important.”

“Who is it?” he asked illogically.

“I—I don’t know.” She put her fingers against his sleeve and gently tugged, trying for a little more air. He had on an orange jumpsuit, the uniform of the maintenance people. It smelled like diesel and fear. “Please, Howard.”

They stood together in the center of the room. When the phone stopped ringing, the thick tension seemed to hold the vibrations. A moment later, the sound started all over just as it had for the past hour.

“Let me answer it,” she whispered. “It might be a parent. Whoever it is won’t give up.”

“All right…but don’t tell ’em anything. Don’t tell ’em ’bout me.”

They stumbled together toward the telephone, which hung on the wall beside the door. Jennifer’s voice was breathless as she answered, and she prayed someone she knew was on the other end. Someone who could tell something was wrong with her even if she couldn’t get the words out. “H-hello?”

“This is Officer Beck Winters with the Emerald Coast SWAT team. Who am I speaking with, please?”

Jennifer’s heart knocked against her ribs in surprise, then she pulled herself together, fear, shock and relief combining inside her in a crazy mix. “Th-this is Jennifer Barclay.”

“Who is it?”

“Is everyone okay in there?”

Howard’s voice was harsh in her left ear, the policeman’s cool tones were in her right. She answered the policeman and ignored Howard. “W-we’re fine.”

Howard jerked his arm and Jennifer gasped automatically. “Who is it?” His voice dropped and menace filled it. “You tell me who that is. Right now!”

Jennifer turned slightly and looked into his face. Their eyes were inches apart, and she’d never noticed until this moment that one of his irises was lighter than the other. For some unexplained reason, those mismatched eyes sparked a moment of fear. She spoke quickly. “It’s the police. They want to know if everyone’s okay.”

His reaction was the last one she expected. He stiffened, dropped his arm from her neck and slowly began to back up, shaking his head. The rifle stayed pointed at her.

“Miss Barclay? Jennifer? Talk to me. I need to know what’s going on.”

Her mind drifting strangely, she imagined what the cop must look like—he had to be a big man, tall and barrel-chested, judging from the depth of his voice. Dark hair, she decided, and a pleasant face, rounded and caring.

“What does he want?” Howard asked again.

Apparently hearing the question, the cop spoke, still composed, still collected. He could have been asking to speak to his own brother. “I need to talk with Mr. French, please, Jennifer. Put him on the line.”

Jennifer held the phone out. “He wants to talk with you.”

Howard shook his head rapidly, his eyes huge. “No! No way. I’m not talking to them. Uh-uh.” He waved the rifle at her and she had to swallow a gasp. “You talk to ’em.”

She slowly brought the phone back to her ear. “He doesn’t want to speak with you.”

“Okay, okay. That’s all right for now, but eventually, I’ll need to talk to him. If he changes his mind and wants to speak to me, all you have to do is pick up the phone. It’s been reprogrammed to ring me automatically. Understand?”

His voice was so reassuring and confident Jennifer felt her shoulders ease just a tad. Here was help, she thought. She added a pair of warm brown eyes to the image of the officer she’d made in her mind. “Y-yes. I—I understand,” she answered.

“Good. Now answer my questions and don’t say anything else. We don’t want to upset him any more than he already is. How many people are there, including you and Howard French? Does he have a weapon? Is anyone hurt? Where are the kids?”

Jennifer glanced at the terrified students, then spoke. “Fifteen. Yes. No. At the back of the room.”

“All right.” She could hear him writing something down, a pen scratching on paper, then the sound stopped. “I’m going to ask you some more questions but first, no matter what happens, keep those kids where they are, okay? We have to know they’re in the same location and staying there. Understand?”

“Yes.”

“Okay. Now, does he have a gun?”

“Yes.”

“A rifle or pistol?”

“The first.” She licked her suddenly dry lips. “A .22.”

A second passed, as if he were surprised by her recognition of the weapon. She found herself wishing she didn’t know.

“Is he calm?”

“For the moment.”

“Scared?”

“Yes.”

“Violent?”

“No, absolutely not.” She dropped her voice. “Howard isn’t like that at all. You don’t understand. Something must have happened to upset him. Something really bad—”

“Yes, ma’am, something bad happened. He’s come into your classroom, taken hostages and has a weapon.” He didn’t give her time to reply. “Our first priority is you and those children, though. We want everyone in there to come out alive and that’s our main goal. We want Mr. French to stay cool. We’ve got nothing but time, okay? But I’ve got to talk to him. That’s paramount. I can’t do my job if I can’t talk to him.”

“Well, I’m sure he’ll talk to you as soon as—”

The moment Jennifer spoke, Howard’s eyes flew open and his whole body stiffened. With a practiced movement, he brought the rifle to his shoulder and looked through the sight. “Put down the phone!” he screamed. “Put it down right now or I’ll shoot!”

CHAPTER TWO

“JENNIFER! Jennifer…Shit!”

Beck slammed down the phone and wiped his brow. The Winnebago’s air-conditioning was cranked all the way up but it didn’t seem to matter. The ever present humidity, a damp and sticky gift from the nearby Gulf of Mexico, still managed to creep through the sealed windows. He watched an errant breeze kick up a small cloud of dirt at the center of the deserted playground and cursed again. A month later and there wouldn’t have been any kids or teachers in that classroom. “I lost ’em.”

“Move him to the end of the classroom. I can set a shot if she gets him by the window.”

Randy Tamirisa’s voice sounded inside Beck’s head, coming through the tiny earpiece he wore. The whole team communicated with each other via a complicated system of earphones and wraparound microphones. As Randy spoke, Lena raised her hand to her ear and Beck knew she’d heard the sniper as well.

“It’s way too early—”

“Not yet, Randy—”

Lena and Beck spoke at the same time, but Lena immediately hushed him with a hand motion and answered the sniper herself.

“Randy, we’re not ready for that yet. Stay cool, all right?”

“There’re kids in that room.”

Beck bit his tongue.

“I know that,” Lena said patiently, “but I’ll let you know when it’s time to set the shot, not the other way around.”

Silence filled their earphones and Beck knew that was all the answer she’d get from her rebuke. He spoke anyway, pulling his microphone closer as if he and Randy were the only ones hearing the conversation. “I haven’t even talked to the suspect yet, Tamirisa. I need to establish communications before you get trigger-happy.”

Again, Randy didn’t answer.

“I need an acknowledgment, Officer.” Beck’s voice was icy.

Nothing but an absence of sound, then finally—“Ten-four, Officer.”

A pointed stick of pain stabbed Beck between his eyes. He resisted the urge to lift his hand and massage the bridge of his nose. The tension headaches were getting worse with each situation.

Showing no outward sign of discomfort, he picked up the phone with an unhurried movement and redialed the number.

Jennifer Barclay answered after the fifteenth ring. She spoke before Beck could. “He won’t talk to you, okay? The only reason he let me answer is because I promised I wouldn’t make him talk.”

She sounded remarkably collected, and Beck suspected that was for the children’s benefit. She didn’t want them more scared than they already were, but deep down she had to be terrified. Every hostage was. When someone had total control over your life…you were terrified.

“I understand,” Beck answered. “I can work with that. Like I told you before, we’ve got all the time in the world. There’s no hurry. We can wait him out, but ask him this…will he at least listen to me? He doesn’t have to answer, okay?”

“Let me see.”

Beck heard her put the question to Howard French, then a moment later, she spoke into the phone. “He said he’ll listen, but that’s all.”

“Great. Let me talk with him.”

Harsh breathing sounded in Beck’s ear. “Howard? I can call you Howard, can’t I?”

Silence.

“Listen, Howard, you doing okay in there? Everybody all right? You need anything?” This time, without waiting for an answer, he continued. “I want to help you, Howard. I’m here just for you, but you have to tell us what you want, buddy. We can help you out with almost anything. There’s one rule, though, okay?”

Beck’s fingers cramped on the phone and he consciously loosened them. “Are you with me?”

Silence.

“You can’t hurt any of those kids. That’s the rule. You can’t hurt them or the teacher or the school board lady, okay? Once you understand that, we can talk and I can help you out, but you have to tell me you understand me.”

A rustling sound came over the line, then Jennifer Barclay spoke again. “He said to tell you he won’t harm anyone. And I believe him. You won’t hurt him, will you?”

Beck looked out the window. It was still light, but the sky had begun to fade into purple, the shadows growing long and dark. He filled his voice with hearty reassurance. “He’ll be fine and so will you and the kids. No one’s going to get hurt. Our goal is to keep everyone alive, including Mr. French. I promise you that.”

“He said I could ask for some sodas. He’s thirsty….”

“I’d be happy to bring that in. Tell him to send out one of the kids and we’ll send in cans of anything he wants.”

He heard another muffled conversation. “Okay…okay…he says that’s fine.” She spoke once more, but this time in a whisper. “Look, this guy isn’t some kind of wild killer, okay? He’s a little simple, but he’s not going to shoot anyone. He loves the kids and he loved his job and he’s just upset because he got fired. Let me work on him a little bit, okay? I think I can talk to him.”

Beck closed his eyes. Everyone was an expert. “Miss Barclay—Jennifer—the man has a gun. He’s assaulted your boss and taken hostages. I understand that you know him and think of him as a friend, but he’s dangerous. You need to let us handle this.”

“He isn’t dangerous,” she insisted. “He can’t even read, for pity’s sake. I’ve been working with him for months. He’s confused and upset, all right? I’m telling you—”

He interrupted her gently. “Ma’am, we’ve got a situation here you’re unfamiliar with…but we aren’t. It’s our business so let us take care of it.”

“And just how are you going to accomplish that if he won’t talk to you?”

Beck waited a second, then spoke. “We don’t negotiate everything, Miss Barclay. Believe me, we have alternative ways of resolving issues.”

WHEN SHE WAS TEN, Jennifer’s father had taken all of them to Disney World for a rare family outing. She didn’t want to ride the monster roller coaster, but the cruel gibing she would have gotten from William Barclay had she refused would have been worse. She hadn’t known the word then, but sadistic came to mean a lot to her as an adult.

She’d looked askance at Danny, but he’d slid his eyes away from hers and stared off into the distance. He knew how frightened she was, but what choice did she have? What choice had any of them had? Afterward, when she’d jumped off the ride, her rubbery legs had given out and she’d collapsed. It was one of the few times she’d failed in front of her father, but it’d given her a taste of what Danny got every day. Her father had never let her forget the incident.

Her legs felt the same way now. She walked slowly to the rear of the classroom. Howard’s eyes were on her back, and she prayed she wouldn’t fall down. The children surrounded her as she reached them and kneeled down.

“I want you all to stay back here,” she said in a low, reassuring voice, “and don’t say anything. I know you’re scared, but so is Mr. French.” She glanced at Betty—no help there—then again forced her eyes to the children’s faces. “He lost his job last week and he doesn’t understand what’s going on.”

“Who called?”

She looked over at Juan and by the quiet way he spoke, she was sure he knew the answer to his question. “It was the police,” she said. “They’re outside and they’re going to help everybody, including Mr. French. But you guys have to do your part and don’t move from here. If you need something, Mrs. Whitmire will help you.”

Betty nodded but stayed silent.

Jennifer cleared her throat. “Mr. French has asked the police for some colas and they’re going to send some in to us….” She faltered here, not knowing what to do. Which one to send? Which ones to keep? Her gaze fell to Taylor and the answer became clear. The little girl was diabetic; she had to go. Jennifer reached for her. “But…someone has to go get the drinks, so Taylor here is going to help us out.”

She put her hand on the child’s shoulder and squeezed, leading her to the front of the room. She didn’t explain that the little girl wouldn’t be coming back. “You’ll be fine,” Jennifer whispered. “Don’t worry.” A moment later, Taylor was gone. Howard locked the door behind her, her tennis shoes slapping as she ran down the hallway.

Jennifer listened to the sound with Beck Winters’s words ringing in her mind. We have alternative ways of resolving issues. She’d seen enough movies to know what he meant. SWAT teams stormed buildings. People got shot. Hostages were killed. Then she remembered what else he’d said. No one’s going to get hurt…I promise you that.

She didn’t know him, of course, but she believed him. Unlike her father, he had the voice of a man who would tell the truth, no matter what.

Jennifer turned back to Howard. One way or the other, she had to try. “What’s wrong, Howard? Why are you doing this?”

He lifted his dejected gaze to hers. “I lost my job.”

“I know. Remember, I tried to help but—”

“They came and took my truck.” His expression was dead and lifeless. “How can I get another job without no truck? How can I pay my rent if I don’t have a job?” He started shaking his head before she could even speak. “I ain’t going back to that shelter place. There’s bad people living there.”

Jennifer didn’t want to be naive; this man had done just what the cop had said—he’d come into her classroom with a gun and taken hostages—but this was Howard, for God’s sake. He was a lost soul. Like Danny.

“You’re jumping to conclusions, Howard. Thinking the worst possible thing. Remember how we talked about that when you left here? I told you a positive attitude would help you get another position, remember?”

“And you lied.” His voice was blunt. “I went ever’where and I had a real positive attitude, but wouldn’t nobody hire me. Said they didn’t need nobody.” He took a ragged breath and stared out the window. The light drifting through was faint and dim. “That’s why I came up here,” he said. “I wanted to make Miz Whitmire give me my old job.”

Jennifer didn’t reply but he shook his head as if she had, his hand tightening on the gun at this side. “When she saw me in the hall, she acted all crazy and ever’thing, and started talking trash to me like she always does. Then she saw my gun, and she tried to run off. She crashed into the door and hit her head. That’s how she got the bump. I didn’t hit her.”

“Of course you didn’t,” she said soothingly.

“I—I reached out to help her up and something went off in my head, like an explosion or something. I grabbed her…then I didn’t know what to do with her. That’s when I saw I was by your door. I knowed you’d help me.”

“And I will, but Howard…what on earth were you doing here with a gun anyway?”

His eyes narrowed. “I was gonna scare ’er. That’s all. Just to make her gimme the job back.”

“Well, that plan didn’t work too well, did it?” She paused, but he didn’t answer. “Let the children go, Howard. Let them go and we’ll think up a new plan.”

He didn’t appear to even notice she’d said anything. He raised his hand to his bottom lip and pulled gently, then after a minute, he spoke. “That policeman fellow on the phone—he said he’d help me. Do you think he could make her give me my job again? And make ’em give me my truck, too?”

Her heart fell. He simply didn’t grasp the seriousness of what he’d done. “I don’t know, Howard.”

He stood up and gripped the rifle’s barrel with both hands. “You call ’em,” he said, nodding his head to the phone. “Tell ’em what I want. You can do it.”

BECK GRABBED THE PHONE even before the first ring ended. “Winters.”

“This is Jennifer. Did Taylor make it out okay?”

“She’s fine, just fine. Her mother is here and they’re together. I’ve got the drinks coming. They’ll leave it at the door.”

“Are the other parents there?”

Beck glanced down the street. Behind a cordon of officers, the media was gathering, along with the gawkers events like this somehow always attracted. Mixed in the throng, there were worried school officials and moms and dads going crazy. Lena had been down twice to reassure them.

“A few of them, yes,” he said. Switching gears, he spoke again. “Let me talk to Howard, Jennifer. That’s the only way this is going to get resolved.”

“He wants me to ask you something,” she said, by way of answering. “He wants to know if you can help him get his old job back.”

“Tell him anything’s possible,” Beck said instantly, “but not until I talk to him. I can’t help him if I can’t talk to him.”

Jennifer’s voice was soft as she relayed his message. A second later, she spoke again. “He wants his truck, too,” she said. “It was repossessed yesterday. He said if you bring his truck to him, he’ll talk to you.”

“I’ll get the truck and we’ll talk. But I want another child, too.”

She was starting to sound tense, and just around the edges, a little unraveled. Beck glanced at the countdown clock he’d started when he’d gotten there. They’d been at it almost two hours already. It seemed like he’d just arrived; it seemed like he’d been born there. Catching his eye, beside the clock, were the photos Sarah had obtained. With the phone propped against his shoulder, he shuffled through the mess of papers until he came to the one he wanted. The school picture of Jennifer Barclay.

Sometimes when he watched television, he placed bets with himself. He’d close his eyes, switch channels, and listen to whoever was on the screen. Nine times out of ten, he could guess what they looked like by the way they spoke. He would have lost the farm on this one, though. Jennifer Barclay did not match her voice at all. Her chestnut shoulder-length hair was straight and shiny and her gaze was dark and sad. Except for those eyes, she looked much younger than he would have expected. He’d imagined a woman in her forties, someone with a lot of experience behind her, a person who knew and understood others well.

Flipping through the profiles of the suspect and all the hostages Sarah had gotten along with the photos, Beck found the notes on Jennifer. She lived in Fort Walton Beach, in a small condo complex a few blocks off the beach. She drove a white 1995 Toyota Camry, had no outstanding tickets or warrants and she lived alone.

She’d sounded middle-aged, but Jennifer Barclay was young, pretty and single.

She came back on the line. “Okay, he’ll do it. As soon as he sees the truck, he’ll send another child out.”

The line went dead and Beck grabbed the microphone attached to the headset he wore. “Lena? Did you get all that? You got a line on the truck?”

“We’re trying. Sarah knew he’d had a vehicle repossessed so she’s contacting the dealership now, but they’re closed. It’s going to take a while.”

Beck nodded, but before he could reply, his ear phone crackled to life.

“Get him to the window to see the damned truck. I want to set my shot.”

Beck spoke instantly. “That’s premature—”

Lena’s voice interrupted. “Beck, we don’t have another option. We can’t do a chemical assault here, not with those kids, and this guy isn’t going to surrender. He’s not the type and you know it. We need to be prepared just in case.” She spoke to someone nearby, then came back over the headset. “While you were talking to the teacher, I told Randy you’d move the guy.”

“This is ridiculous.” Beck felt his jaw clench, the pain in his head intensifying, his voice going cold. “What are you doing? Trying to make the ten o’clock news?”

When Lena answered, her tone was as chilly as Beck’s. “I don’t make command decisions based on the media. If you don’t know that by now, you should. You’re out of line.”

Beck closed his eyes and shook his head. Dammit, what in the hell was he thinking? What in the hell was he doing? His head throbbed, and suddenly he felt like the situation was sand slipping through his fingers. Lena had seen what he hadn’t in forcing him into taking that vacation. He did need some time off.

But not yet.

“You’re right. That was out of line, and I’m sorry,” he said stiffly. “But I still think Jennifer’s got a point. Howard French doesn’t have a sheet and I can get him out of there. Randy should be our last resort, and you know that.”

“What I know is he didn’t have a record before, but not now. Cal called in while you were talking. There’s been a new development. It’s not good.”

“What is it?”

“One of the guys found someone in the maintenance shack, out behind the school. We’re not sure yet, but it looks like it might be French’s supervisor.” She took a breath, then spoke. “He’s been shot with a .22 rifle.”

CHAPTER THREE

BECK’S GUT TIGHTENED. “Damn! Is he dead?”

“He’s hanging on but barely.”

“Has anyone talked to him?”

“No. He was completely out of it and fading fast. The medics were struggling just to get him to Central before it was too late.”

His gaze went to the school, his mind going with it to the woman and children inside. Did Jennifer Barclay know? He answered his own question. Obviously not. She wouldn’t be defending Howard French if she knew he’d shot his boss. Would she?

“Get him to the window.” Randy spoke bluntly. “It’s at the front, away from the kids. If he’s looking for the truck, I can get a clean shot.”

“And that’s it? The decision’s made?”

Lena answered. “We’re setting the shot, Beck, that’s all. I haven’t given Randy the green light.”

“All right.” Beck’s words were clipped. “But I think this is premature. I think you’re making a mistake, both of you.”

“I have to think of the team, Beck. The guys are getting tired and that means they’re going to get sloppy and let their guard down. I can’t risk a breakout, either. If he starts shooting…”