Angie tapped his shoulder.
"Hold on a second, Lou. Word's coming in about that chopper right now."
"She's eight," Angie whispered, "prelingually deaf. No lip-reading skills to speak of. She's got a personality of her own. Very independent. She's marched in protests to get deaf deans at schools for the deaf in Kansas and Missouri. Signed the petition to increase the deaf faculty at Laurent Clerc and hers was the largest signature on the sheet. She's been in fistfights at school and she usually wins."
Potter nodded. So if they could distract him enough, and if she had an opportunity, the girl might make a run for freedom.
Or use the chance to attack Handy and get herself killed in the process.
He clicked the mute button off. Sounding exasperated: "Look, Lou. We're just talking about a little delay is all. You want a big aircraft. Well, we've got two-seaters galore. But the big ones're hard to find."
"That's your fucking problem, ain't it? I put a bullet into little Fannie Annie here in, lemme see, fifteen minutes by my clock."
Usually, you devalue the hostages.
Sometimes you just have to beg.
"Her name's Shannon, Lou. Come on. She's only eight years old."
"Shannon," Handy mused. "I guess you aren't catching on, Art. You're trying to get me to feel sorry for some poor kid's got a name. Shannon Shannon Shannon. Those're your rules, right, Art? Written up in your Feebie handbook?"
Page 45, in fact.
"But see, those rules don't take into account somebody like me. The more I know them the more I want to kill 'em."
Walk that fine line. Chide, push, trade barbs. He'll back off if you hit the balance just right. Arthur Potter thought this but his hand cramps on the receiver as he said cheerfully, "I think that's bullshit, Lou. I think you're just playing with us."
"Have it your way."
A little edge in the agent's voice: "I'm tired of this crap. We're trying to work with you."
"Naw, you want to shoot me down. Why don't you have the balls to admit it? If I had you in my sights I'd drop you like a fucking deer."
"No, I don't want to shoot you, Lou. I don't want anybody to die. We've got a lot of logistic problems. Landing is a real hassle here. The field out front's filled with those old posts from the stockyard pens. And we've got trees everywhere. We can't set a chopper down on the roof because of the weight. We -"
"So you've got diagrams of the building, do you?"
Negotiate from strength – with a reminder to the HT that there's always a tactical solution in the back of your mind (we can kick in the door any time we want and nail you cold, and remember, there're a hell of a lot more of us than of you). Potter laughed and said, "Of course we do. We've got maps and charts and diagrams and graphs and eight-by-ten color glossy photos. You're a damn cover boy in here, Lou. This's no surprise, is it?"
Silence.
Push too far?
No, I don't think so. He'll laugh and sound cool.
It was a chuckle. "You guys're too fucking much."
"And the field to the south," Potter continued, as if Handy hadn't spoken, "look at it. Nothing but gullies and hummocks. To set an eight-person copter down'd be pretty dangerous. And this wind… it's a real problem. Our aviation advisor isn't sure what to do about it."
Budd frowned, mouthing, "Aviation advisor?" Potter shrugged, having just made up the job. He pointed to the "Deceptions" board and Budd wrote it down, sighing.
Silver tools, wrapped in plastic, new.
Potter desperately wanted to ask what they were for. But of course he couldn't. It was vitally important that Handy not realize what they knew about the inside of the barricade. Even more vitaclass="underline" if Handy suspected the released hostages were giving Potter quality information he'd think twice about releasing others.
"Art," Handy spat out, "I keep saying, them's your problems." But he was not as flippant now and part of him at least seemed to realize that this had become his problem.
"Come on, Lou. This's just a practical thing. I'm not arguing about the chopper. I'm telling you we're having trouble finding one and that I'm not sure where we can set it down. You got any ideas, I'll be happy to take 'em."
Hostage negotiation strategy calls for the negotiator to avoid offering solutions to problems. Shift that burden to the taker. Keep him in a problem-solving mode, uncertain.
A disgusted sigh. "Fuck."
Will he hang up?
Finally Handy said, "How 'bout a pontoon chopper? You can do that, can't you?"
Never agree too quickly.
"Pontoon?" Potter said after a moment. "I don't know. We'd have to look into it. You mean, set her down in the river."
"Course that's what I mean. Where'd you think, land in some fucking toilet somewhere?"
"I'll see about it. If there's a sheltered cove it might work out perfectly. But you'll have to give us more time."
You don't have more time.
"You haven't got any more time."
"No, Lou. Pontoons'd be perfect. It's a great idea. I'll get on it right away. But let me buy some time. Tell me something you want."
"A fucking helicopter."
"And you'll have it. It may just take a little longer than we'd hoped. Name something else. Your heart's desire. Isn't there something you can think of you want?"
A pause. Potter thought: guns, X-rated tapes and a VCR, a friend busted out of prison, money, liquor…
"Yeah, I want something, Art."
"What?"
"Tell me 'bout yourself."
From out of left field.
Potter looked up into Angie's frown. She shook her head, cautious.
"What?"
"You asked me what I wanted. I want you to tell me about yourself."
You always want the HT to be curious about the negotiator but it usually takes hours, if not days, to establish any serious connection. This was the second time in just a few hours that Handy had expressed an interest in Potter, and the agent had never known an HT to ask the question so directly. Potter knew he was on thin ice here. He could improve the connection between the two or he could drive a wedge between them by not responding the way Handy wished.
Be forewarned…
"What do you want to know?"
"Anything you wanta tell me."
"Well, there's nothing very exciting. I'm just a civil servant." His mind went blank.
"Keep going, Art. Talk to me."
And then, as if a switch had been flicked, Arthur Potter found himself desiring to blurt out every last detail of his life, his loneliness, his sorrow… He wanted Lou Handy to know about him. "Well, I'm a widower. My wife died thirteen years ago, and today's our wedding anniversary."
He remembered that LeBow had told him there'd been bad blood between Handy and his ex; he turned to the intelligence officer, who had already called up a portion of Handy's profile. The convict had been married for two years when he was twenty. His wife had sued for divorce on the grounds of mental cruelty and had gotten a restraining order because he'd beaten her repeatedly. Just after that he'd gone off on a violent robbery spree. Potter was wishing he hadn't brought up the subject of marriage, but when Handy now asked what had happened to Potter's wife he sounded genuinely curious.
"She had cancer. Died about two months after we found out about it."
"Me, I was never married, Art. No woman'll ever tie me down. I'm a freewheelin' spirit, I go where my heart and my dick lead me. You ever get yourself remarried?"
"No, never did."
"What do you do when you want a little pussy?"
"My work keeps me pretty busy, Lou."
"You like your job, do you? How long you been doing it?"
"I've been with the Bureau all my adult life."
"All your adult life?"
My Lord, an amused Potter thought from a remote distance, he's echoing me. Coincidence? Or is he playing me the way I should be playing him?