Kitabı oku: «The Negotiator», sayfa 2
“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…”
“I know the drill, Lena, but those kids in there are nine and ten years old. Do you want them living with the sight of a man’s brains getting blown out for the rest of their lives?”
“I want them to live, Beck. That’s my only concern and it ought to be yours, too.”
“But—”
“If you have a problem with this, we’ll discuss it later.” She interrupted him, ending the argument sharply. “Right now, act like a team member and do your job. Get the man to the window. When the time comes, I’ll decide if we shoot or not.”
THE CHILDREN were getting restless.
Jennifer had done her best to keep them corralled—without much help from Betty—but they couldn’t be expected to huddle in one corner forever. Howard had let them use the bathroom attached to the classroom, but other than that, they hadn’t really moved. She glanced down at her watch and was shocked to see the time. It was past eight!
The drinks had helped. A dozen cans had been left outside the classroom. Howard had made Juan retrieve them, then report back to him. Were there police in the hallway? No? Was he sure?
It was hot, too, and that didn’t help. The air-conditioning had shut down hours ago. It was on an automatic timer, but Jennifer suspected it’d been purposely shut down early. She pushed a sticky strand of hair off her forehead and glanced toward Howard. He was standing by the door. Obviously growing weary, his expression was one of pure dejection, his shoulders slumped, his face shadowed. The gun had never left his side, and she’d given up the idea of grabbing it. It was just too risky.
They’d talked on and off, but he’d refused to say much more than “It’s too late.” When she’d pressed him, he’d simply shaken his head, and she’d finally moved to the rear of the room to be near the children. Trying to reassure them, she’d sat down and waited for the phone to ring again.
When it did, though, what would happen? They weren’t really going to give Howard his truck…or get his job back for him. He wasn’t going to just drive away from the school and off into the sunset. Surely, he understood that.
The phone sounded shrilly, startling her even though she’d expected it. Jennifer looked at Howard and he gave her an almost perceptible nod. She jumped up and ran to the front of the room to grab the receiver. “Hello?”
He answered as he did each time he’d called. “Everyone okay in there?”
Jennifer closed her eyes briefly and leaned against the wall. “We’re all right,” she said. “But getting tired.”
“I understand. It’s a tough situation, but you’re doing a terrific job keeping everyone together.” His voice turned lighter. “How ’bout coming to work for us when this is over? I could get you a negotiator’s job. Sound good?”
Jennifer shuddered. “No, thank you. That’s way more excitement than I want. Ever.”
“It’s not all that thrilling. Mainly I sit here, then I talk but no one really listens, and when it’s finally settled, I do paperwork. The next day, we do it all over again.”
“Sounds like my job.”
He chuckled. “Yeah, I guess it does at that. You like being a teacher?”
“I love it,” she answered, surprised by his question. It seemed like a strange time to be talking like this, but it made sense in a weird kind of way. He was trying to keep her relaxed. “The kids are fantastic and I feel as if I’m doing something worthwhile. Most days, that is.”
“You are doing something worthwhile—all the time—but especially right now. You’re holding this thing together, Jennifer, and you really are doing a great job.”
For just a second, she almost felt she was somewhere else, in a different time and place. The warmth of his praise eased her fear. “Thanks.”
His raspy voice went serious. “So now…you have to help me some more. The truck’s finally on the way. Put Howard on the phone so I can tell him.”
“I’ll try.”
Jennifer turned and looked in Howard’s direction. He was staring into the distance, his mind obviously not in the present. “Howard?” she asked gently. “Howard? Please come talk to the officer.”
He didn’t respond at all. She rested the phone’s receiver on a shelf and walked to where he stood. Her stomach in knots, she ignored her fright and spoke firmly, as if talking to one of the children. “Howard, you need to come talk to Officer Winters. He’s on the phone and he has something to tell you.”
“You tell me.”
“No. You need to hear this yourself.”
To her total surprise, he nodded once, then lumbered across the room and picked up the phone. She hurried behind him. He held the receiver to his ear but didn’t say anything.
A moment later, he turned and handed her the phone.
Jennifer spoke. “Yes?”
“I told him the truck’s on the way. In the meantime, you’re going to have to do something else, too.”
“What?”
Instead of answering, he waited a moment, the seconds ticking by almost audibly. Once again, Jennifer found herself imaging the man behind the voice. His words carried the same timbre of authority her father’s always had—academies taught you how to do that, she suspected, military or police, it made no difference—but absent from Beck Winters’s tones was the overlay of cruelty her father’s voice had always possessed. Winters had children of his own, she decided, and was a good father. Patient. Kind. Loving. Emotions and actions that had been empty words to her father. With a start, she realized she was connecting with Beck Winters, this stranger, on a level she seldom did with men.
“You have to get him to stand by the window. I won’t bring the truck down the street until that point.”
She felt a flicker of unease. “Why?”
“Because that’s how we do things. These are negotiations, and he gets nothing for free. When he sees the truck, then he has to talk to me and release another child. You’ve got to get him to do this.”
Her mouth went dry. “I understand but…”
Beck’s voice dropped, and she felt as if he were standing right beside her, his warm eyes on hers. “Jennifer…how else can he see the truck? This is the only way.”
Her chest eased a tad and she took a deep breath. He was right, of course.
“It’s going to be fine, Jennifer. He trusts you, and I know you can get him to that window. Once he’s there, then…then we’ll start to talk and I can influence him.” He fell silent. “I have to be able to talk directly to this guy, Jennifer. The most dangerous hostage takers are the ones who won’t talk to me. If I can’t get some kind of conversation going with him, this is going to end badly. I can almost guarantee that, especially with Howard’s history.”
“His history? What do you mean? He’s never done anything like this before.”
The officer answered quickly. “He’s male, he’s urban, he has below average intelligence. These are people who turn to violence as an answer. It’s not the boss at the steel plant, it’s not the manager at the oil company. It’s the worker, Jennifer. The poor slob at the bottom who has no control over his life.” He paused. “He has nothing to lose. He thinks it’s hopeless anyway.”
“I understand how you could read it that way, but you don’t know him the way I do—”
“And you don’t know everything I know.” He bit off the words, as if he’d said more than he’d planned. “Just help me out, okay? Are the kids still at the back of the room?”
“Yes.”
“It’s imperative you keep them back there. I’ll bring the truck down the street as soon as I see Howard at the window. You just get him over there.”
“Okay.”
She started to hang up, but before she could put the receiver down, she heard his voice say her name. She brought the phone back to her ear. “Yes?”
Static rippled over the line, faint and barely discernable. The noise made her wonder if they were being recorded. “Be careful, Jennifer. Just…be careful.”
She started to answer, then realized he was gone. Hanging up the phone, she looked over at Howard and said a silent prayer.
BECK WIPED HIS FACE and looked over at Lena. “Is the truck here yet?”
“There’s a traffic tie-up on Highway 98. One Q-Tip rammed another. Surprise, surprise. The road’s blocked in both directions, but Dispatch said they’d have it moving in just a few minutes. It should get here anytime.”
Beck shook his head. Everyone on the force called the older local residents “Q-Tips” because they all had white hair and wore tennis shoes to match. Florida had its share of elderly drivers, but Beck wasn’t sure they were any worse than the tourists who drank too much then got on the road. At least the older people drove slowly.
Lena ducked her head toward the building. “How are they doing? The teacher holding up?”
“She’s the only reason there hasn’t been gunfire yet. She’s keeping French appeased and the kids quiet.”
He stared out the window of the motor home into the dusk. They’d cut the electricity to the school and the building had fallen into darkness as soon as the summer sun had dipped behind them, rimming the school in gold. Occasionally he saw the beam of a flashlight near the rear of the room. Beck wasn’t surprised to see the teacher was prepared. Classrooms were supposed to have emergency supplies in case of hurricanes, but people forgot, and batteries went bad. Not in Miss Barclay’s class, though. He’d bet money she had the correct number of bandages and aspirin as well.
Lena sank into a chair by his side, her fingers going to the shuffle of papers beside the phone. She picked out Jennifer’s photo, studying it intently. Without looking at him, she spoke. “She’s pretty.”
“I hadn’t noticed.”
Lena’s head came up. “Right.”
He flicked his eyes toward the picture, but immediately returned his gaze to the school. He didn’t need the fuzzy image anymore—Jennifer’s face was planted firmly in his brain. Too firmly, in fact. It’d be a while before he was able to get those brown eyes out of his mind, no matter how this all ended. They sat without talking for a few minutes, then Lena spoke once more. “Did you tell her to get him to the window?”
“Yeah.”
“What’d she say?”
He turned and looked at her. “I didn’t explain why—”
“Of course not.”
He turned back. “She’ll do it.”
Lena leaned forward and put her hand on his arm. “Beck, listen. I know you don’t agree, but we can’t let this go on forever—”
Lena had taken off her headset and had been using a radio. It came to life with garbled speech. She pushed the button on the side and barked, “What is it?”
“The truck’s here.” Lincoln Hood, one of the entry men, spoke, the noise of the crowd behind him filtering into the radio’s microphone along with his voice. “I’m switching places with the driver right now, then I’ll bring it down the street when you’re ready.”
“Go slow, Linc,” Tamirisa said immediately. “Less than five miles an hour, okay?”
“No problem.”
Beck resisted looking at Lena. She stood and paced the tiny aisle. “Listen, Randy—French is going to be facing the window, looking down the street. Are you sure it’s going to be a cold shot? If it isn’t, I don’t want you taking it. Not with those kids in there.”
When he’d been younger and gung ho, the euphemisms had meant something to Beck. They’d made him feel as if he were part of a secret club that ordinary cops didn’t belong to; now the words made him feel tired and old. Why didn’t she just say what she meant?
Can you kill the guy with one shot?
“It’ll be so cold, you’ll freeze.” Randy’s cocky answer spilled into the room with arrogance. “Hear that, Officer Winters?”
“That’s enough. I’m not giving you the green light yet,” she snapped. “The man’s promised Beck he’ll talk so let’s see how it goes down first.” She turned and motioned for Beck to pick up the phone. “Beck’s calling now to get him in place. On my word, Linc, you go. If necessary, if necessary, I’ll give you the code, Randy, otherwise, standard ops are in effect. Heads up, everyone. This is it.”
JENNIFER JUMPED when the phone rang. She grabbed the receiver. “Yes?”
