Takeover

trusted?”

“What are you going to do, hold one of those seance things?”

“Your brother is not dead, Bobby.”

“Sure.”

“I know this for a fact. One of our officers interviewed him this morning. He works for Continental Airlines, right?”

A pause. Bobby started pacing again, within the length of the phone cord, back and forth, back and forth. He had room, since Lucas had moved their hostages away from the desk.

Patrick retook his seat. “Records has nothing on Eric Moyers. No arrest for DUI. Neither does Lakewood. They’re checking the other suburbs as well.”

“Bobby? Your brother was never arrested for DUI. I don’t know why your friend told you that. He must have gotten Eric confused with someone else.”

“He knew who my brother was.”

“Well, so do we, and he’s very much alive and well. More than that, he’s here with us, in the library across the street from you. If I get him on the phone, then you’ll have to admit that I told the truth, right? That if I say I can get something to happen, then I can. Right?”

It didn’t take a Ph.D. to see where Cavanaugh was heading. He needed Bobby and Lucas to believe that they could come out, give up, and not be killed or even mistreated. And they wouldn’t do that unless they trusted him.

“Sure,” Bobby said at last. “Go ahead, get him on the phone.”

“Okay. It will take a few minutes. He’s downstairs.”

“Is that truck here yet?”

“I don’t see it.” Of course he didn’t, unless he could see through stone walls.

“Then we got time.”

He covered the mouthpiece and whispered to Patrick, “Go get him.”

Patrick returned in four minutes with Eric Moyers in tow. The man seemed considerably less enthusiastic about the idea than his brother had. “What am I supposed to say to him?”

“Just tell him you’re not dead,” Cavanaugh said. “Otherwise just keep it neutral and calm. Don’t be judgmental or tell him he’s screwed up.”

“Even though he has.”

“But we’re trying to make him calm and sentimental here, right? Don’t get drawn into an argument. I’ll be right here listening to every word, but we’re not going to be on speakerphone, in case you and I need to consult. Are you ready?”

Moyers couldn’t have looked gloomier if he had been in line for the guillotine. “I suppose.”

“Bobby? I have your brother here.”

“Sure you do.”

Cavanaugh plugged a second receiver into his console and handed it to Eric Moyers. He put it to his ear, carefully, as if he might need to pull it away again in a hurry. “Bobby?”

“Is this supposed to be Eric?”

“It is Eric, Bobby. I don’t know why you think I’m dead, but I’m not.” No answer. He looked at Cavanaugh, who made a rolling motion with one finger-keep it going. “I see you’re in a jam over there. I want to help you out of it.”

“I’ll just bet you do.” Eric Moyers glanced at Cavanaugh again. The hostage negotiator said, “Talk about something only you would know.” “Bobby, listen to me a minute,” Eric tried. “For Mom’s sake.” “Don’t say a word about my mother! You cops will stoop to any thing to blast me out of here! I don’t know who you are, pal, but you’re not my brother Eric, so get off the phone and put Cavanaugh back on so I can tell him to go to hell.”

“Bobby, it’s me.” “You don’t sound anything like Eric.” Calm and nonjudgmental had been thrown out. “I have a cold, you idiot!” “Call back when the truck is here,” Bobby said. A clicking sound came from the phone’s speaker. “Did he hang up?” Eric Moyers asked. “I can’t say I’m surprised. Listening never was a specialty of Bobby’s.”

Cavanaugh rolled his head from side to side, stretching neck muscles. “It was worth a try. Maybe he’ll think about it. In the meantime I can’t stall them about the money anymore, and there’s no reason to try. There is the possibility that he’s telling the truth, that they’ll just take it and go.”

“Go where?” Moyers asked. “That’s the hard part.” Somewhere behind the books, Patrick heard the voice of a very young woman: “-don’t care. I don’t give a crap whether they like it or not. That’s my mother-” He hadn’t thought that the situation could get much worse. He’d been wrong.

Cavanaugh started to turn toward the noise and caught the look on Patrick’s face. “What’s the matter?”

Patrick pinched the bridge of his nose between forefinger and thumb. “If you thought Theresa was a handful,” he told Cavanaugh, “you’re not going to believe her daughter.”

25

2:10 P.M.

“Okay,” Lucas said, surveying his motley brigade. “Are we clear on this?”

Theresa stood in front of the open door, feeling the cruel heat and the even crueler glimpse of freedom. Flowing in as a wave of hot air that pricked her pores into sweating before her skin even felt the warmth, it beckoned to her, a slice of paradise more irresistible than a glittering canyon or a Caribbean beach. The street stood empty, her path unencumbered except by an armored truck and a group of armored men.

The blinding sun reflected from slowly moving automobiles along St. Clair, two streets over; the secretary of state’s luncheon had finally ended. Metal barriers along Rockwell kept back the curiosity seekers, people who had left their offices for lunch and wanted to see what would happen. People who were free to come and go. Free.

She could make it if she ran. The guards wouldn’t stop her.

I have to live, Theresa thought. Rachael might forgive me for this risk if I live. If I die, never.

But did that mean she should dart through the door in front of her if she saw an opening, leaving the other hostages to their own fates? Lucas would almost certainly start shooting, start a firefight with seven innocent people in the way.

Or should she stay calm, stay in place, pass him his money and hope he’d take it and run?

Out at the reception desk, the phone rang. Lucas merely nodded at Bobby, and by craning her neck she could see the other robber cross the floor to pick it up. Lucas, against the northwest wall, must have been out of the line of sight of the clear windows, or he would never allow Bobby to walk into it.

Bobby held a lengthy conversation, then put the receiver down with what sounded like enough force to break it. A minute later it rang again, but this time Bobby kept the chat brief and didn’t slam down the phone. He told Lucas that the cops were ready to start moving the money. Everyone in the lobby sighed.

“Missy, you have to unwrap all the money packs before putting it in the bags. No dye packs, no GPS, no booby traps. I’ll be watching you.”

Brad, behind Theresa, groaned. “Is this day ever going to end?”

“Sooner or later,” she told him. “Though the circumstances of ‘sooner’ might not make it the best choice.”

“Shut up,” Lucas told them. He had Jessica and Ethan Ludlow in front of him, against the wall on the other side of the door. He used them as human shields to protect him from invading security guards, but also, he explained aloud, because Jessica could not both hold her son and pass packages of money to and fro, and he didn’t want the little boy running around loose.

The phone rang again.

“Answer it,” Lucas called to his partner.