Jeffery Deaver - A Maiden's Grave

"They're being checked for hypothermia but they look fine otherwise. Like drowned rats, he said, but we're not supposed to tell the girls that."

"Call the hotel," Potter instructed. "Tell their parents."

Tobe, listening into his headset, laughed. He looked up. "They're on their way over, Arthur. They're insisting on seeing you."

"Me?"

"If you're an older man with glasses and a dark sports coat. Only they think your name is De l'Epée…"

Potter shook his head. "Who?"

Frances laughed briefly. "Abbé de l'Epée. He created the first widely used sign language."

"Why would they call me that?"

Frances shrugged. "I have no idea. He's sort of a patron saint for the Deaf."

The girls arrived five minutes later. Adorable twins, wrapped up in colorful Barney blankets, no less (another of Stillwell's miracles). They no longer resembled wet rodents at all but girls more awestruck than scared as they stared at Potter. In halting sign language they explained through Frances about how Melanie had gotten them out of the slaughterhouse.

"Melanie?" Angie asked, nodding toward Potter. "I was wrong. Seems you do have an ally inside."

Did Handy know what she'd done? Potter wondered. How much more resistance would he tolerate before the payback? And how lethal would it be this time?

His heart froze as he saw Frances Whiting's eyes go wide with horror. She turned to him. "The girls didn't understand exactly what was going on but I think one of them was raping the teacher."

"Melanie?" Potter asked quickly. "No. Donna Harstrawn."

"Oh, my good Lord, no," Budd muttered. "And they saw it, those girls?"

"Bonner?" Angie asked.

Potter's face showed none of the anguish he felt. He nodded. Of course it would be Bonner. His eyes strayed to the pictures of Beverly and Emily. Both young, both feminine. And then to the photo of Melanie.

Angie asked the girls if Handy had, in effect, set Bonner on the woman, or if the big man had been acting by himself.

Frances watched the signing, then said, "Bear – that's what they're calling Bonner – looked around a lot while he was doing it. Like he didn't want to get caught. They think Brutus – Handy – would have been mad if he'd seen him."

"Is Brutus friendly with any of you?" Angie asked the twins. "No. He's terrible. He just looks at us with cold eyes, like somebody in one of Shannon's cartoons. He beat up Melanie."

"Is she all right?" One girl nodded.

Angie shook her head. "This isn't good." She looked at the diagram of the factory. "They're not that far apart, the hostages and the takers, but there doesn't seem to be any Stockholming going on with Handy." The more I know about them the more I want to kill them . Potter asked about guns and the tools and the TV. But the little girls could offer nothing new. Then one of them handed him a slip of paper. It was soggy but the lettering, written in the waterproof markers Derek had provided, was clear enough. "It's from Melanie," he said, then read out loud: " Dear De l'Epée: There is so much to write to you. But no time. Be very careful of Handy. He's evil – more evil than anything. You should know: Handy and Wilcox are friends. Handy hates Bear (the fat one). Bear is greedy ."

LeBow asked for the paper so he could type it into the computer. "It's disintegrating," Potter told him. He read aloud again as the intelligence officer typed.

One of the twins stepped forward and signed timidly. Potter smiled and glanced queryingly at Frances.

"They want your autograph," she said.

"Mine?"

In perfect unison they nodded. Potter took a pen from his shirt pocket, the silver fountain pen that he always carried with him.

"They're expecting," Frances continued, " 'Abbé de l'Epée.' "

"Ah, yes. Of course. And that's what they'll have. One for each."

The girls looked at the two slips of paper and carried them reverently when they left. One girl paused and signed to Frances.

She said, "Melanie said something else. She said to tell you to be careful."

Be forewarned…

"Show me how to say 'Thank you. You're very brave.' "

Frances did, and Potter mimicked the words with halting gestures. The girls broke into identical smiles then took Frances's hands as she escorted them to a trooper outside for the drive to the Days Inn.

Budd sat down next to Potter. "Why," he asked, "would Melanie tell us that?" He pointed to the note. "About Bonner being greedy, about the other two being friends?"

"Because she thinks there's something we can do with it," Angie said.

"What?"

Potter looked down at the soggy slip of paper. It was signed, " Love, Melanie C ." – which was the reason he hadn't shown the note itself to Henry LeBow. He now folded it up, put the damp paper in his pocket.

"Look up Bonner," Potter instructed.

He read from the screen. Ray "Sonny" Bonner had led a useless life. He'd done time for sex offenses and minor robberies, domestic violence, public disorderliness. Lust-driven, not bright. He was a snitch too; he'd testified against his partner at a robbery trial ten years ago.

Potter and Angie looked up at each other. They smiled.

"Perfect."

The decision had been made. Potter would not meet with Handy face to face. A new strategy had presented itself. Riskier, yes. But perhaps better.

Charlie Budd was suddenly aware that both Angie and Potter were looking at him, studying him.

"What do you think, Henry?" Potter asked.

"Say -" Budd began uneasily.

"I think he's perfect," LeBow offered. "Earnest, straightforward. And he's got a great baritone."

Potter said, "You've got quite a performance ahead of you, Charlie."

"Me?" The young captain looked stricken. "How d'you mean that, exactly?"

"You're taking over the negotiation."

"What?"

"And I want you to talk to Handy about surrendering."

"Yessir," Budd answered Potter. Then: "You're kidding."

"You're perfect, Charlie," Angie said.

Potter said, "I've brought up the subject with him. Now it's time to raise surrender as a realistic possibility. Of course he'll say no. But it'll be in his mind as an option. He'll start to weigh the possibilities."

"There'll be a little more to it than that, though," LeBow said, eyes as ever on his screen.

"We're upping the ante," Potter said, and began to jot notes on a yellow pad.

"You know, I'm thinking I wouldn't be very good at this."

"You ever do any acting?" Angie asked.

"I dress up like Santa on Christmas for my kids and my brother's. That's it. Never been on stage, never wanted to be."

"I'll give you a script." Potter thought for a moment, then tore off the top sheets of the yellow pad and began again, writing meticulous notes: two pages' worth of dense writing.

"This is the gist of it. Just ad-lib. Can you read it okay?"

Budd scanned the sheets. "Sure, only I don't think I'm ready. I should practice or something."

"No time for practice," Potter told him. "Just let me give you a few pointers in negotiations."

"You're serious about this, aren't you?"

"Listen, Charlie. Concentrate. You've got to break through his barriers quickly and get him to believe this." He tapped the yellow paper.

Budd's face grew still and he sat forward in front of the desk on which rested the cellular phone.

"Now I want you to echo things he says. He'll say he wants ice cream. You say, 'Ice cream, sure.' He'll say he's angry. You say, 'Angry, are you?' It shows you're interested in what he says without expressing judgment. It wears him down and makes him think. Do it selectively, though. Not every comment or you'll antagonize him."

Budd nodded. He was sweating fiercely.

Angie offered, "Acknowledge his feelings but don't sympathize with him."