Mirkovic’s life with deliberation and malice aforethought.”
So he knew the California Penal Code definition of first-degree murder, Rory thought. Good for him. Did he realize he was on the hook for felony murder himself, because Reagan had killed the
Justice!
vigilante?
“Three,” Nixon shouted.
Christ, these guys loved to count.
“The defendants’ confession will be read live on all major networks. It will be read in full. And the defendants’ signatures will be shown on-screen, so everybody knows they’re authentic.”
After a second, Nguyen said, “Okay, let me make sure I got all that.”
Nixon shifted his shotgun, almost cradling it. The sun caught the barrel, a strange, dull light, like the glint of a reptile awakened from beneath a warm rock.
Nguyen said, “You want the defendants to sign a confession and—”
“And I want five million dollars in gold bullion.”
A long, long pause on Nguyen’s end.
Nixon shouted: “That’s five million U.S. dollars’ worth of gold bullion as calculated at the close of market yesterday.”
“That will take some doing, but—”
“And a helicopter, and safe passage to Mexico.”
Nguyen paused again. Rory wondered who he was, with what experience and what authority.
Finally, he said, “I’ll see what I can do. In the meantime—”
“No meantime. Now.”
Nixon turned and paced. He rubbed his forearm against his forehead, as though to wipe off sweat, despite the balaclava. Reagan intercepted him.
“What are you—”
Nixon raised a hand to silence him, turned, and paced back to the doors. “That’s a helicopter large enough to carry the pilots and five passengers, plus the lifting capacity to haul the bullion.”
After a moment, Nguyen said, “I’m going to need some time to see what we can do. But I’ll need you to do something for me, all right? Can you let me know if everybody’s okay in there?”
Rory breathed against the window. How did hostage negotiation work?
She had spent years with a cop and hadn’t learned a thing about crisis negotiation. Years with Seth, a man who drank the Kool-Aid of police work like it was the river of life, and not once had she asked him how to rescue captives from a locked room where they were imprisoned by violent men with guns.
Of course, Seth had been a cop who took on the coloring of violent men with guns. He had worked undercover.
But she knew one thing: Hostage negotiation shouldn’t work like this. Not like Nixon screaming demands but failing to give Nguyen a time limit. She didn’t negotiate many deals, but she knew not to ask an open-ended question, hoping for yes. That betrayed weakness and poor planning. She knew so from selling her Barbies to her cousin when she was seven. Failing to institute a deadline was a bush-league mistake. As was failing to spell out the consequences if the cops failed to meet Nixon’s demands.
She’d also learned that from the Barbie transaction with her cousin. Who had pushed her into the sticker bushes by the creek and run off with the entire collection. Rory knew from bush-league mistakes.
What in hell was going on here?
Reagan caught Nixon and put a hand against his chest. Quietly, he said, “What about the girl?”
Nixon brushed his hand aside and continued to pace.
The girl.
Four people had been tapped on the back with the shotgun. Three men and her. She didn’t like the odds that the gunmen were talking about somebody else.
In the parking garage across the street she saw the news van, in the shadows. And she saw shadows she didn’t think had been there earlier.
She inched her hands up the window. Slowly, gently, she spread her fingers against the glass.
9
S eth stood at the counter in the taqueria, eyes on the TV, phone in his hand, waiting. Instinct told him this thing in Ransom River was more than big. This thing at the courthouse was about to erupt into the realm of the very bad.
Traffic on Wilshire was busy. The autumn sun cut through
So he knew the California Penal Code definition of first-degree murder, Rory thought. Good for him. Did he realize he was on the hook for felony murder himself, because Reagan had killed the
Justice!
vigilante?
“Three,” Nixon shouted.
Christ, these guys loved to count.
“The defendants’ confession will be read live on all major networks. It will be read in full. And the defendants’ signatures will be shown on-screen, so everybody knows they’re authentic.”
After a second, Nguyen said, “Okay, let me make sure I got all that.”
Nixon shifted his shotgun, almost cradling it. The sun caught the barrel, a strange, dull light, like the glint of a reptile awakened from beneath a warm rock.
Nguyen said, “You want the defendants to sign a confession and—”
“And I want five million dollars in gold bullion.”
A long, long pause on Nguyen’s end.
Nixon shouted: “That’s five million U.S. dollars’ worth of gold bullion as calculated at the close of market yesterday.”
“That will take some doing, but—”
“And a helicopter, and safe passage to Mexico.”
Nguyen paused again. Rory wondered who he was, with what experience and what authority.
Finally, he said, “I’ll see what I can do. In the meantime—”
“No meantime. Now.”
Nixon turned and paced. He rubbed his forearm against his forehead, as though to wipe off sweat, despite the balaclava. Reagan intercepted him.
“What are you—”
Nixon raised a hand to silence him, turned, and paced back to the doors. “That’s a helicopter large enough to carry the pilots and five passengers, plus the lifting capacity to haul the bullion.”
After a moment, Nguyen said, “I’m going to need some time to see what we can do. But I’ll need you to do something for me, all right? Can you let me know if everybody’s okay in there?”
Rory breathed against the window. How did hostage negotiation work?
She had spent years with a cop and hadn’t learned a thing about crisis negotiation. Years with Seth, a man who drank the Kool-Aid of police work like it was the river of life, and not once had she asked him how to rescue captives from a locked room where they were imprisoned by violent men with guns.
Of course, Seth had been a cop who took on the coloring of violent men with guns. He had worked undercover.
But she knew one thing: Hostage negotiation shouldn’t work like this. Not like Nixon screaming demands but failing to give Nguyen a time limit. She didn’t negotiate many deals, but she knew not to ask an open-ended question, hoping for yes. That betrayed weakness and poor planning. She knew so from selling her Barbies to her cousin when she was seven. Failing to institute a deadline was a bush-league mistake. As was failing to spell out the consequences if the cops failed to meet Nixon’s demands.
She’d also learned that from the Barbie transaction with her cousin. Who had pushed her into the sticker bushes by the creek and run off with the entire collection. Rory knew from bush-league mistakes.
What in hell was going on here?
Reagan caught Nixon and put a hand against his chest. Quietly, he said, “What about the girl?”
Nixon brushed his hand aside and continued to pace.
The girl.
Four people had been tapped on the back with the shotgun. Three men and her. She didn’t like the odds that the gunmen were talking about somebody else.
In the parking garage across the street she saw the news van, in the shadows. And she saw shadows she didn’t think had been there earlier.
She inched her hands up the window. Slowly, gently, she spread her fingers against the glass.
9
S eth stood at the counter in the taqueria, eyes on the TV, phone in his hand, waiting. Instinct told him this thing in Ransom River was more than big. This thing at the courthouse was about to erupt into the realm of the very bad.
Traffic on Wilshire was busy. The autumn sun cut through
Similar Books
