Takeover

pack of cigarettes from it. “I can ask the brother.”

“It’s interesting. It could be the only psychological advantage we can get. Neither of them has anyone else we could use for leverage, no close family, no job, no political agenda. And it might be a way to drive a wedge between Bobby and Lucas if we need to.”

“Bobby will put family over friends.”

“Exactly. If they’re going to take the money and run, fine. But if they’re going to take some hostages with them-and they’d be insane not to-then we have to stop them before they reach the curb.” He watched the monitor, where Lucas slowly herded his captives toward the front of the lobby. “They’re getting ready to receive the money shipment. Maybe now I can get Bobby on the phone.”

“He’s never let us talk to Bobby before,” Patrick observed.

“We’ve never asked to, and Bobby has expressed his opinion throughout. He’s no flunky.”

“In that case there’s something else you should know.” Patrick scanned the area for Jason and didn’t see him. “I know we’re not supposed to tell you everything, but if you do happen to get Bobby on the phone and he really does believe that his brother is dead…”

“What is it, Detective?”

“His brother-Eric-is here. He was getting off work at the airport, and I thought he might come in handy.”

Cavanaugh absorbed this. “We usually try not to do that. I know in old movies they always bring the beloved mother or long-suffering wife in to talk the guy down, but in real life that backfires more often than not. Hostage takers tend to blame everyone else for their troubles, and the people closest to them most of all.”

“I know that.”

“However, when Lucas hit Theresa, he said that Bobby wants to use the RDX on the building because he blames the government for losing his family. If you’re right and he really does believe that his brother is dead, discovering that he’s not could change everything.”

“We’ve got nothing else,” Patrick reminded him. “Lucas doesn’t seem to have an Achilles’ heel. At least Bobby has this family hang-up. We could use it to distract him at an opportune moment, if nothing else.”

“I’ll keep it in mind. Otherwise we’ll have to continue doing what we always do.” Cavanaugh picked up the receiver and punched a few buttons. “We pick our way through the minefield wearing a blindfold, using nothing but a toothpick and some chewing gum.”

They watched the TV screen. Lucas apparently did not want to give up his surveillance of the street and called to Bobby, who approached the phone. The stocky blond adjusted the position of the M4 carbine, finally tucking the butt onto his hip so that he could keep his finger on the trigger while leaving his left hand free.

They waited, letting the phone ring. Patrick felt as if they were trying to tempt a smallmouth bass by jiggling the hook.

“Hello?” Bobby said at last.

Cavanaugh introduced himself again, then asked, “This is Bobby Moyers, right?” as if he didn’t know.

Bobby ignored the question. “Is the money here?”

“Not yet.”

“Well, where is-”

“The truck is tied up in the traffic around the convention center. You know, that luncheon for the secretary of state. It will just be a few more minutes. If you stay on the line, I can keep you up to date.”

“Uh-huh.”

“I wanted to ask you something anyway-you said you don’t trust cops. I need to ask why, because if we’re all going to go home today without having shed any more blood, we need to establish a little trust between you and me, at least in some areas. You see what I mean?”

“Trust really isn’t an option here, Chris.”

“Why not?”

“You killed my family. I mean the Cleveland Police Department killed my family.”

“No one told me about this.” His voice dripped with sincerity and concern. Not for the first time, Patrick wondered how he did it. He had to feel like crawling through the wires and choking the life out of the scumbag. “How did it happen?”

Bobby didn’t waste time with sarcastic preambles as Lucas would have. “First of all, my dad had to skip town when I was a kid because you guys were going to arrest him for robbing a jewelry store, which he didn’t do. It was some other guy who lived on the same street and kinda resembled my father. So he had to leave town and never come back.”

“I suppose that’s what Mommy told him,” Patrick muttered. Cavanaugh glared at him, and he shut up.

“Then you guys could barely get your charges to stick the first time, so you sent me as far away for as long as you could on a probation violation.” He made buying drugs sound akin to jaywalking, and in his mind it probably was. “My mother had a heart attack after a month. You put my mother in her grave over a damn probation violation.”

Bobby sounded agitated, and on the monitor they could see him pacing back and forth in front of the reception desk. They did not want a hostage taker agitated. Cavanaugh’s voice seemed to walk a precipice, sympathetic without falling over the edge into a valley of schmaltz. “That must have been very hard on you.”

“I couldn’t even go to her funeral.” “What about your brother?” A pause. “My brother turned me in. He was the one who called you guys.”

Cavanaugh waited. On the screen Bobby had stopped pacing, and now he leaned on the desk, hanging his head as if worn out. Jason returned and took a seat but did not speak.

“I hated him when they sent me to Atlanta.” “Do you still hate him?” “How could I? He was right. I was destroying our mother-her hair went gray during my first term. She worried about me day and night. I would have killed her eventually if you guys hadn’t beaten me to it. He was right.”

“So now you think he did the right thing?” “He tried to protect Mom. I can’t blame him for that. But I never got a chance to tell him, because you bastards killed him, too.” Cavanaugh exchanged a frown with Patrick. “What do you mean by that?”

“What do you think I mean? He got picked up on a DUI charge, and two guys in the holding cell with him beat him to death. The guards threw him in with the biggest psychos they could find and then looked the other way.”

“When did this happen?” “A few weeks after you sent me to Atlanta.” “Your brother was arrested for DUI?” “My brother never drove drunk in his life-the jail cops wanted to get back at me, and I’d been sent out of reach. So they took the only person I had left.” Patrick retreated between the stacks and pulled out his Nextel.

He had already called Records for a criminal history on Eric Moyers-clean-but wanted to double-check. He listened to Cavanaugh and Bobby’s conversation while he waited.

“How did you find out about this?”

“A buddy of mine, the guy who drove my car down to Atlanta and put it into storage for me-he told me.”

“What’s your friend’s name?”

“I’m not going to tell you! You’d go and harass him, too. Forget it, he’s got nothing to do with this. What?” He spoke this last word away from the receiver, but loudly, apparently shouting to Lucas. The response sounded like a distant murmur to Patrick. “Lucas wants to know if the truck is here yet.”

Cavanaugh looked at Jason, who nodded a yes.

“It will pull up any minute now-that’s why you need to stay on the line with me. You obviously feel very bad about your mother and brother.”

“I’m alone now. How would you feel if I came into your house tonight and took out everyone but you?”

“At the moment I’m very confused, though, because as far as I know, your brother is not dead.”

“Yeah, sure. Did you wave your hands over his grave and bring him back to life?”

“Have you been to his grave?”

“No-o-o.”

“Is there any chance your friend was mistaken?”

“You’re just playing with my head. You think I don’t know that? I should believe you over a friend? You’d tell me the sky was orange if it made me toss down my guns and let your sniper take me out.”

“What if I could let you talk to your brother? That would show you that I’m not lying, right, that I can be