Kay David: The Negotiator

“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?”