High Noon (46 page)

“Activity inside.” Sykes held up his hand for silence as he listened to his radio. “No visual on the subject, but the hostage identified as the owner is untying two of the women. Got a clear view. One hostage, female, black, middle age, walking toward the rear.”

“It's Ma Bee,” Duncan murmured while fear closed a vise on his heart. “It's got to be.”

Ma walked back to the bathroom as directed. She moved slower than she needed to, even hobbled a bit though it hurt her pride.

He made her leave the door open, which seriously offended her sense of propriety. Still, she peed like a racehorse and looked around for a weapon of any kind while her grateful bladder emptied.

She wasn't a fool. He was going to kill them all. If she could hurt him, even a little, she'd have some satisfaction on the way to Jesus.

But there was nothing to grab. A bottle of liquid soap, a little dish of potpourri that wasn't worth the throwing at the man's head. In any case, he had that damn gun in that security guard's ear.

She shuffled out again, kept her eyes downcast as if cowed. “I'm Beatrice. They call me Ma Bee.”

“Shut up, get back in the circle.”

“I just wanted to thank you for letting me go first, before I embarrassed myself.”

“You don't shut up and go sit back down like I tell you, you're the last one who goes.”

She did as she was told, but she'd seen he had another gun, and more ammunition, in one of the boxes he'd wheeled in. More important, she'd seen what she thought had to be the detonator.

“Has to be the bathroom break,” Sykes told her. “The way they're moving from the circle to the rear, one at a time. First hostage is back. She's…Tactical says she's signaling. Signing. Three handguns, one rifle, ammo, detonator, rear right corner with bad guy, injured guard.”

“Count on Ma,” Duncan whispered.

“Get us the hell out of here,” Sykes finished and pulled out a smile.

“I'm calling him back while he's moving them back and forth, while he's got to divide his attention. Let's push him on the deal.”

The phone rang, three times, four. Just as she was worried he wouldn't pick up, his voice snapped on. “I don't want to talk to you now.”

“But, Jerry, I wanted to tell you about the deal. I can't promise yet, but…If you can't talk to me now, I'll wait and tell you later.”

“What? You're not going to snow me, tell me you're going to make the statement, make the trade, just like that.”

“I'm not trying to snow you, just keep you in the loop. I don't want anybody to get hurt. The chief doesn't like the statement—politics, you know how it is. But I'm working on it.”

“Politicians like their scapegoats. You tell the chief if he doesn't give the go on it, if you're not in front of those cameras inside the hour, we're down to sixteen hostages.”

“I'm going to tell him, Jerry. I'm going to tell him that all you want is for me to make a statement about my responsibility for Angela's death, and you'll let everyone go. Is that right, Jerry?”

“I got a change of plans. You come in. We'll use one of these camera phones for the statement, transmit it. That's how we're going to do it.”

“You'll trade me for the hostages, is that what you're telling me?”

“You come in.”

Still not going to let them go.
“Arnie's daddy's pushing for it, like I expected he would. I haven't even had a chance to think it through myself and he's banging his fist. Jesus, he's a hard case.”

“You burn, his asshole son doesn't. No-brainer.”

“For him, maybe. I just want to talk to you, Jerry, I just want to find a way out of this. If talking to me face-to-face can help…But you know they want something up front. How many would you give us?”

There was a brief hesitation, and in it Phoebe read the lie.

“You in, they're out. That's the deal—if I decide to make it. Keep your eyes on the ground like I told you!”

“Sorry, what?”

“Not talking to you.”

“I was just…hold on, hang on, they're bringing me something.” She clicked the phone to mute it, and prayed she was right in going with her gut.

“He's not going to let any of them out, even if you could make the deal. You're tired,” Sykes continued, “maybe you can't hear—”

“No, I can. I can hear it. Tell them to move on the rear, but not until I signal. To move in, front and back, but not until I give the go. You're right,” she told Sykes. “He's not going to let any of them out for this. But if I can move him far enough away from the detonator, they can take him—maybe take him alive. Go in, front and back, they can take him. On my say.”

“What are you doing?” Duncan demanded.

“Taking a chance. Jerry? Sorry, Jerry, you know how it gets. Jerry, I've got her diary. I have Angela's diary.”

“You lying bitch, she didn't have a diary.”

“I'm not lying, Jerry. You know I have to be able to back up what I say. She was a woman in love, and she couldn't tell anyone who you were, or the way things really were between you. So she wrote it down. That bastard Brentine didn't tell us about it, just like he didn't tell us she was wearing your ring when she died. Had to save his pride and reputation. They got a warrant, and they found it. She called you Lancelot.”

She heard his choked breath. “Read it to me. Read it, so I know you're not lying.”

Phoebe flipped through her notes so it sounded like flipping pages, and pulled out the information she had on Angela. “You gave her pink roses—they were her favorite. She's got a pink rose pressed in the pages here. She loved when you cooked for her, loved to watch you.”

“Read it. I want her words.”

“Tit for tat, Jerry. I want to give you her words, but you have to give me something.”

“Read a page, and if I know it's her words, I'll let a hostage go.”

There, she heard truth. “Let five hostages go, I'll read a page. She wanted to build Camelot with you. Let five go and I'll read it. Let them all go, and I'll find a way to bring it in with me and you can read it yourself.”

“You bring it out where I can see it. Nobody goes out until I know you've got it.”

“You want me to bring it out? I can try to work that. If I bring it where you can see it, what will you give me?”

“Three of them. Bring it.”

“Three hostages go out if I bring her diary where you can see it? Is that right?”

“Now!”

“Let me clear it. I'm going to start down there with it, and try to clear it on the way. I'll have to call you back on my cell. Is that all right?”

“Do it now.”

“I'm on my way.”

She shoved up, grabbed her cell phone. “Somebody get me something that looks like a diary, a journal. Nothing too big. I want you patched in,” she told Sykes. “When I say:
It's all I can do, Jerry,
that's the go. Exactly those words, Bull. I won't say them if there's another way, if I believe we can talk him down or take him alive.”

“This do?” Duncan offered her a fancy address book with an embossed red leather cover he'd grabbed off a display.

“Perfect, unless she hated red.”

“How did you know he'd go for this?” Duncan asked her.

“It's personal, intimate. Something that was hers. Her speaking to him, and something he hadn't factored in. He'll trade for it, there's a good chance he'll trade for it. I need to coordinate with the commander.”

“I'm going with you as far as I can go,” Duncan added. “What's to stop him from just shooting you the minute you're in view?”

“He wants the book. More, if he gets a bead on me, they'll have one on him. He shows a weapon, they'll end it. He's distracted, people are moving around. He hasn't stopped the bathroom break. He's off his stride now, churned up, and he's made a mistake. We have to capitalize on it. Commander, I can move him away from the detonator.”

She explained her plan, shrugged into the vest someone passed her. “Once he's away, I'll keep him there, or, if I'm lucky, bring him closer to the display window. When the rear door's clear—”

“We'll take it from there. You move any closer than I've cleared, it's over, we sweep you out.”

“Understood.” She turned to Duncan. “You can't come with me.”

“You'd better damn right come back to me.” He gripped her hand. “Not negotiable.”

“Deal.” Her fingers tightened on his, and in his eyes she saw both his fear and his faith. “I love you,” she said, then walked away.

He might take the shot, she knew, if he was quick enough, smart enough. Odds were against it, but she hadn't been completely truthful. She ordered herself not to look back, because Duncan might see the lie in her eyes, and the fear with it.

His mother, she thought, his sister. His lover. What happened in the next few minutes would determine if any, or all, of them came back to him.

She pulled out her cell, called Jerry.

“I'm heading down now. You need to get the hostages ready. Three hostages, Jerry, that was the deal.”

“I know what the damn deal was. I see you, I see it, before anybody gets out.”

“You see me, but you won't see Angela's diary until three people are out. You have to work with me, Jerry. You'll still have fourteen. You didn't know how many people would be in there when you planned this. There might only have been fourteen to begin with. You're not losing anything, and you're proving to me you keep a deal. I show it to you for three, and I'll read you a page for three more. Then we'll talk about the trade. That's a fair deal, Jerry.”

Lies, she thought, she was full of lies now. Did he hear them?

If she failed, could she live with it? Could Duncan?

She heard the chatter through her earpiece. The rear rig was booby-trapped and set with an alarm. It would take time she wasn't sure she had to bypass and defuse.

Work with what you've got, she reminded herself.

“Tactical needs to see the three hostages, Jerry. They've got me blocked; they won't let me through until they seem them.”

Movement. Three females…moving toward the front.

She got the nod, stepped out from cover. In the swampy heat, her flesh goosebumped with ice. “I'm here, Jerry. First part of the deal. Now your part. Let them go.”

“I don't see you.”

“If I come any closer, Tactical's going to swarm me and push me back. I'm at the southwest of the building. I can see the display window, and make out one—no, two people standing just to the right of it.”

“Stupid to wear a vest, Phoebe, when I'd put one in your head.”

The awful amusement in his voice stripped all the moisture from her throat. “I know, but rules are rules. Let them out, Jerry.”

“I want to see the diary.”

She kept her hand behind her back. “I kept my word, time to keep yours. Then it'll be my turn again.”

The locks clicked, the door flew open. People ran or stumbled out, weeping, shouting, “Don't shoot!” Cops in body armor rushed to pull and drag them to cover.

Out of the corner of her eye, Phoebe saw Ma Bee, and sent up a quick prayer of thanks.

Duncan's mother was safe.

“My girl's still in there,” Ma shouted. “He's hiding behind her, hiding behind the others. He's got the detonators. He's got two of them.”

The prayer died in her throat. She watched a wild-eyed woman come forward and shut the door again.

“That's three. Show me the book.”

“All right, Jerry. Tactical needs to clear the civilians out of the inner perimeter. That's a clear.” She brought the book from behind her back. “I have Angela's diary.”

“Open it. Open it and read. That could be any damn thing.”

“I need three more hostages.” And though it went against her heart, she followed training. “I need the injured man with this group, Jerry.”

“Fuck him. He stays, just like the rest. Want to see him, Phoebe?”

She saw the movement, and Arnie stumbling forward as if he'd been shoved. His face was gray, the blood on it dried to black. As Roy's had been, his torso was imprisoned with the bomb.

Through the barred glass, his bruised eyes met Phoebe's.

“You read, or I blow him. Going to take a few other people out and bring serious hurt to the others. But what the hell, I'll blow the big one, too, and that takes it all. You read
now
or it's done. No more negotiating.”

She opened the book, stared at the blank pages. Women in love, she thought, spoke the same language. So she read from her own heart.

“I know what love is now. How could I have thought I knew before him? Everything before is pale and soft and foolish. Now, now that I know love, the world's bright and strong and real. He makes me real.” She closed the book. “Send three people out, Jerry, and I'll read more.”

“No more out! No more. You read what she wrote. I want the cameras on you while you read what she wrote.”

“Jerry—”

“Fuck you!” He screamed it out so all his rage seemed to fill Phoebe's head. “You read what she wrote, then you're going to give the statement. You do it now, you start it now, or I pick one and take her out.”

Phoebe stepped a little closer, got the sharp order through her earpiece to stop. Looking past Arnie, she could see part of the line of hostages. And she saw Loo. So tall, Phoebe thought. All that gorgeous hair. Such a good shield.

“I'll read it, Jerry.”

“I want to see the rose, the rose she put in it.” He was weeping. He was lost. “Ask for a goddamn hostage, I do one. You understand me? Ask for another, I pick one and put one in the back of their head. You show it, you read it, you tell the goddamn world how you killed my angel. Then it's done. Then this is done.”