people rejects fascistic holding of hostages und...' He was interrupted by bangs from the bathroom which tended to contradict his argument and gave Chinanda the opportunity to state his demands. They included five million pounds, a jumbo jet and the use of an armoured car to take them to the airport. Wilt, having shut the kitchen door to drown out Gudrun Schautz's activities, came back in time to up the ante.
'Six million pounds and two armoured cars...'
You can make it a round ten million for all I care,' said the Superintendent, 'it won't make any difference. I'm not bargaining.'
'Seven million or we kill the hostages. You have till eight in the morning to agree or we die with the hostages,' shouted Chinanda, and slammed down the phone before Wilt could make a further bid. Wilt replaced his own receiver with a sigh and tried to think what on earth to do now. There was no doubt in his mind that the terrorists downstairs would carry out their threat unless the police gave way. And it was just as certain that the police had no intention of providing an armoured car or a jet. They would simply play for time in the hope of breaking the terrorists' morale. If they didn't succeed and the children died along with their captors it would hardly matter to the authorities. Public policy dictated that terrorists' demands must never be met. In the past Wilt had agreed. But now private policy dictated anything that would save his family. To reinforce the need for some new plan, Fraulein Schautz sounded as though she was ripping up the linoleum in the bathroom. For a moment Wilt considered threatening to fire through the doorway if she didn't stop, but decided against it. It was no damned use. He was incapable of killing anyone except by accident. There had to be some other way.
In the Communications Centre ideas were in short supply too. As the echo of the last conflicting demands died away the Superintendent shook his head wearily.
'I said this was a bag of maggots and by God it is. Will someone kindly tell me what the hell is going on in there?'
'No use looking at me, old boy,' said the Major, 'I'm simply here to hold the ring while you Anti-Terrorist chappies establish rapport with the blighters. That's the drill.'
'It may be the drill but considering we seem to be dealing with two competing sets of world-changers it's fucking near impossible. Isn't there some way we can get a separate line to each group?'
'Don't see how, sir,' said the sergeant. 'The People's Alternative Army seem to be using the extension phone from upstairs and the only way would be to get into the house.'
The Major studied Wilt's clumsy map. 'I could call a chopper up and land some of my lads on the roof to take the bastards out.'
Superintendent Misterson looked at him suspiciously. 'By 'take out' I don't suppose you mean literally?'
'Literally? Oh, see what you mean. No. Doubt it. Bound to be a bit of schemozzle, what!'
'Which is precisely what we've got to avoid. Now, if someone can come up with a scheme whereby I can talk to one group without being drowned out by the other I'd be grateful.'
But instead there was a buzz on the intercom. The sergeant listened and then spoke. 'The psychos and the idiot brigade on the line, sir. Want to know if it's OK to move in.'
'I suppose so,' said the Superintendent.
'Idiot brigade?' said the Major.
'Ideological Warfare Analysis and the Psychological Advisers. Home Office insists we use them and sometimes they come up with a sensible suggestion.'
'Christ,' said the Major. 'Damned if I know what the world is coming to. First they call the army a peace-keeping force and now Scotland Yard has to have psychoanalysts to do their sleuthing for them. Rum.'
'The People's Alternative Army are back on the line,' said the sergeant. Once more a barrage of abuse issued from the telephone amplifier but this time Wilt had changed his tactics. His
