Lisa Black - Takeover

Cavanaugh perched himself, catlike, in front of the phone. “I’m going to ask Lucas who he shot and why. And then we’ll talk about his feelings.”

Theresa returned to the telescope. The line of hostages remained one short, but otherwise nothing had changed.

Ms. Elliott, the head librarian, materialized at her elbow. “How are you holding up?”

“Fine,” Theresa said.

Ms. Elliott waited.

“I keep breathing in and out. Beyond that, I don’t know.” Theresa sank against the wide windowsill, leaning one thigh against it; even the marble had turned hot in the overhead sun. She breathed in the scent of book dust. “My grandfather used to work here.”

Peggy Elliott questioned her kindly, as if Theresa were a particularly bashful student asking to use a periodical. “At the Federal Reserve?”

“No, here at the library.” She spoke without turning from the glass, but she could see the other woman’s solid form, safely tucked against the wall between the windows, watching her. “Of course that would have been… what, 1930? He was a page. Do they still have those? Pages?”

“Sure. We call them clerks now.”

“What do they do?”

“Shelve books, help readers find what they’re looking for.”

“He always read a lot.” Theresa gazed across the street, at the building for once, instead of its windows. These stone structures had been here for a long time, but so much had changed. What had it been like in 1930, when a fourteen-year-old boy could go downtown to work by himself and no one worried, before terrorists blew up planes and automatic rifles had been invented? The study of crime told her that the world had always been a dangerous place, but at least it used to require more effort.

Ms. Elliott hadn’t moved. “We have a staff lounge. Would you like to come and sit down for a while?”

The woman’s gentle tone frightened Theresa. She must look like she was about to collapse. She straightened her back, brushed what curls the humidity had left her out of her eyes, and said, “No, thank you, I need to stay here,” in as firm a voice as she could muster.

Cavanaugh then ruined the effect by asking her to stay away from the windows, in the same tone one would use to a child. It infuriated her, mostly because she knew he was right. She and Peggy Elliott moved back into the reading nook, and Theresa sat across from the hostage negotiator as he got Lucas on the phone.

“What happened to that young woman?” Cavanaugh asked. He might as well have been discussing copier toner or the need to order more coffee.

“Which young woman would that be, Chris?” If recent events had rattled Lucas, he did a masterful job of hiding it. His voice flowed from the speaker like melted butter.

Cavanaugh looked at Kessler, still on his own phone with the Fed security unit.

“Cherise,” the vice president said. “Shur-EESE. It’s her name.”

Cavanaugh repeated it and asked Lucas again what had happened to her.

“What makes you think anything has?”

“As I said before, Lucas, this has to work on trust. Everything we’ve talked about so far, I’ve told you the truth. But it has to be a two-way street.”

A voice sounded in the background, over the speaker.

“Lucas, what was that?”

“That was Bobby. He don’t trust cops much, as I think I told you.”

“Why not?”

“You got a few hours, Chris?”

“Yes.”

“Well, I don’t.”

Cavanaugh went on. “I have to be able to believe that you’re going to tell me the truth, if we’re going to be able to work out a comfortable solution here, Lucas. You and Cherise went back into the cages and only you came out, so I have to ask you. Where is Cherise? Is she all right?”

“Are you watching me, Chris? You have hidden cameras in here?”

“I’m beginning to think you’re jerking me around, Lucas.”

The pace of the conversation wore on Theresa. “Why does he say his name with almost every single sentence?” she whispered to Jason. “More humanizing?”

“Yeah. Getting him to think of the hostages as human beings instead of objects sometimes means getting him to think of himself as a human being-capable of choice and compassion. It also might make him feel special, that Chris is focusing just on him.”

“But he uses Cavanaugh’s name all the time, too.”

“Yeah. That’s kind of odd.”

Cavanaugh continued, “There’s a camera in every corner of that lobby, Lucas, in plain sight. You know they’re there, so you know bloody well we’re watching you. Why wouldn’t we be? So why are you wasting time talking about the cameras instead of telling me what happened to Cherise?”

“I would have taken the cameras out,” Lucas said. “But they’re at least twenty feet off the ground, and I’m not that good a shot.”

Ha, Theresa thought. Like I believe that.

“What happened to Cherise?”

“Cherise,” Lucas stated, “was not cooperating. You know how important cooperation is in an exercise like this. If anyone knows, Chris, you do.”

“I don’t like this guy,” Jason muttered, in what should have been an almost inane comment; instead it chilled Theresa down to her veins. “Calm is one thing, but he’s actually cool. He’s so cool he’s flat-out cold.”

“So Cherise-”

“Cherise is dead,” Lucas said. “See what I mean about cooperating?”

Cavanaugh paused. “Why did you kill her, Lucas?” He seemed to be fighting to keep his voice calm, but Theresa couldn’t be sure if that was part of the act. He had to make Lucas aware of how serious the situation had become, but he couldn’t yell at the robber and possibly antagonize him further. This way it sounded as though he was fighting his inner feelings to stay fair and evenhanded, to continue to assist Lucas through this crisis. She began to see why the police department held him in such high regard. But had he met his match?

“Why did you have to shoot her?” Cavanaugh was saying. “Why couldn’t we have worked things out? I said I’d get you the money and I’d get you the car. Why did you give up on that plan, Lucas? Now that innocent girl has lost her life, and for nothing.”

“You’re breaking my heart. I love the ‘innocent girl’ part. You never even met the bitch, so how would you know how innocent she was?”

“Had you met her? Before today?”

Everyone in the room fell silent, waiting for this answer.

“We had an acquaintance of about, all told, ten minutes. With some people that’s enough.”

“This changes things, Lucas. You see that, don’t you? My boss is going to be a lot less inclined to deal with you if thinks you’re going to shoot people no matter what, for no reason.”

“Tell him to imagine how many I’ll shoot when I do have a reason.”

“I don’t understand you, Lucas. You stay so calm through this whole thing, you take over the lobby without spilling a drop, and then, without motive, you shoot a woman.”

“You don’t need to understand me, Chris. I understand you.”

“Then understand this: Before we go any further, I need your word that you won’t hurt anyone without giving me a chance to work with you on it first. No more surprises. If you are considering hurting someone, tell me about it first, and we can work it out. Can I have your word on that?”

“No.”

“They usually go for that,” Jason said.

Theresa had thought her stomach couldn’t sink any lower, and now she discovered she’d been wrong. She also wished Frank or Don were there with her. Or Paul. Especially Paul.

“No one out here is going to give you what you want if they think you’re going to shoot people anyway. You’re not giving us any incentive to work with you, is what I’m saying.”