Hostage

'The man behind you is going to reach around and get hold of you. Don't freak out. That's for your own good. Okay? He's just going to hold you.'

The arm looped around his neck again; a hand took his left wrist, twisted it behind his back; another took his right; the second man in the back was helping. Talley could barely breathe.

'What is this?'

'Listen.'

The Watchman put the phone to Talley's ear.

'Say hello.'

Talley couldn't imagine what they wanted or who they were. His mouth felt stuffed with cotton batting. The phone was cold against his ear.

'Who is this?'

Jane's voice, shaky and frightened.

'Jeff? Is that you?'

Talley tried to buck away from the arm crossing his throat; he strained to pull his arms free, but couldn't. Seconds passed before Talley realized the Watchman was talking to him.

'Take it easy, Chief; I know, I know. But just listen, okay? She's all right. Your kid, she's all right, too. Now just relax, breathe deep, listen. You ready to listen? Remember: Right now, from this point on, you're in control. You. You control what happens to them. You want to hear her again? You want to talk to her, see that she's okay?'

Talley nodded against the pressure of the arm, finally managed to croak.

'You sonofabitch.'

'Bad start, Chief, but I understand. I'm married myself. Me, I wish somebody would take my old lady, but that's just me. Anyway, here.'

The Watchman held the phone to Talley's ear again.

'Jane?'

'What's going on, Jeff? Who are these people?'

'I don't know. Are you all right? Is Mandy?'

'Jeff, I'm scared.'

Jane was crying.

The Watchman took back the phone.

'That's enough.'

'Who the hell are you?'

'Can we let you go? You past your shock and all that, we can turn you loose and you won't do something stupid?'

'You can let go.'

The Watchman glanced at the backseat, and Talley was released. The Watchman leaned toward Talley, going eye to eye and doing it with purpose.

'Walter Smith has two computer disks in his house that belong to us. Don't worry about why we want those disks. More important, don't care. But we want them, and you're going to see that we get them.'

Talley didn't know what the Watchman was talking about; he shook his head.

'What does that mean? What?'

'You're going to control the scene.'

'The Sheriffs control the scene.'

'Not anymore. It's your scene. You'll take it back or whatever it is you have to do, because no one – let me repeat that – no one is going into that house until my people go in that house.'

'You don't know what you're talking about. I can't control that.'

The Watchman raised his finger, as if he was offering a lesson.

'I know exactly what I'm talking about. You have a coordinated mixed scene now with your people – the Bristo Police Department – and the Sheriffs. In a couple of hours, a group of my people are going to arrive at York Estates. You will tell everyone involved that they are an FBI tactical team. They'll look the part, and they know how to act the part. You see where I'm going with this?'

'I don't have any idea what you're talking about. I can't control any of this. I can't control what happens in that house.'

'You better get up to speed fast, then. Your wife and kid are counting on you.'

Talley didn't know what to say. He worked his fingers under his thighs, trying to think.

'What do you want me to do?'

'You get my people set up, then you stand by and wait to hear from me.'

The Watchman handed Talley the cell phone.

'When this phone rings, you answer. It'll be me. I'll tell you what to do.'

Talley stared at the phone.

'When it comes time to go in the house, my people will be the first in. Nothing, and I mean nothing, will be removed from that house except by my people. Do you get that?'

'I can't control what those kids do. They could be giving up right now. They could start shooting. The Sheriffs might be going inside right now.'

The Watchman slapped him, a hard straight push hitting him square in the forehead with his open palm. Talley's head rocked back.

'Don't panic, Talley. You should know. SWAT guys know. Panic kills.'

Talley gripped the phone with both hands.

'Okay. All right.'

'You're going to be thinking, What can I do? Here you are, a policeman, you're going to think about calling the FBI or bringing the Sheriffs in, about getting me before something happens to your wife and child, but, Chief, think about this: I have people right there in York Estates, right under your nose, reporting everything that happens. If you bring anyone in, if you do anything other than what I am telling you to do, you'll get your wife and kid back in the mail. Are we clear on that?'

'Yes.'

'When I have what I want, your wife and daughter will be released. We're cool with that. They don't know who has them just like you don't know who we are. Ignorance is bliss.'

'What is it you want? Disks? Like computer disks? Where are they, where in the house?'

'Two disks, bigger than normal disks. They're called Zip disks, labeled Disk One and Disk Two. We won't know where they are until we find them, but Smith will know.'

The Watchman opened the door, paused before leaving, his glance flicking to the phone.

'Answer when it rings, Chief.'

The keys were dropped into Talley's lap. Doors opened, closed, and Talley was alone there in the alley behind the minimall in the middle of nowhere. The Mustang pulled away. The second car roared away, backwards. Talley sat behind the wheel, breathing, unable to move, feeling apart from his own body as if this had just happened to someone else.

He clawed for the keys, started his car, and spun the wheel hard, flooring it, fishtailing gravel. He hit his lights and siren, rolling code three, blasting straight back to his condo, never bothered to pull into a spot, just left the car like that in the parking lot, lights popping, and ran inside, almost as if they might be sitting there, all of this some hallucination.

The condo was empty, the silence of it outrageously loud. He called them anyway, not knowing what else to do.

'Jane! Amanda!'

Their only sign was the keys to Jane's car, sitting plainly on the dining room table, small and hard, left there as a threat.

Talley put Jane's keys in his pocket. He went upstairs to the little desk in his bedroom where he stared at the photographs. Jane and Amanda, much younger then, stared back in a picture taken at Disneyland, Jane sitting at one of those outdoor restaurants in Adventureland, her arms wrapped around Amanda, both of them showing more white teeth than a piano. They had eaten tostadas or tacos, one, with some salsa that was so mild that they'd laughed about it, the three native Angelenos, salsa with all the kick of Campbell's tomato soup, something that only people from Minnesota or Wisconsin would find spicy. Talley choked a sob in his chest. He took the picture from the frame, put it in his pocket with the keys. He went to his closet for the blue nylon gym bag on the top shelf, and brought the bag to his bed. He took out the pistol that he had carried during his SWAT days, a Colt.45 Model 1911 that had been tuned by the SWAT armorer for accuracy and reliability. It was big, ugly, and supremely dangerous. It held only seven bullets, but SWAT used the.45 as their combat pistol because just one of those big heavy bullets could knock a large man off his feet. A.38 or a 9mm couldn't promise that, but the.45 could. It was a killer.

Talley ejected the empty magazine, filled it with seven bullets, then reseated it. He dug through the gym bag for the black ballistic nylon holster. He took off his uniform, then put on blue jeans and tennis shoes. He fitted the holster onto his belt at his side, then covered it with a black sweatshirt. He clipped his badge to his belt.