Terms Of Surrender

“Recker! Conrad! Get back to the NOC unit!”

Lewis’s barked order shattered the moment, and Jolie retrieved the glasses he’d removed before heading back toward the converted ambulance. Dace followed, strangely shaken. He had no idea what he’d been about to say earlier, but whatever it might have been would have been a mistake. It was too late for words between them. There was too much history, most of it painful. Better that they get through the next few hours and then go their separate ways.

He’d spent the past sixteen months getting some sort of order back into his life. New apartment. New furniture. New women. He’d moved on, and he had no desire to revisit whatever had existed between him and Jolie Conrad.

There was a cluster of individuals standing outside the NOC unit, too many to fit inside. The tension, when they joined the group, was palpable. Besides Lewis, Dace and herself, there were nine others, five of whom Jolie recognized as the agents who had taken over the negotiation.

“Special Agents Dawson, Hart and Truman.” Lewis gestured to each newcomer in turn, before indicating the lone female. “And Special Agent in Charge Fenholt, all out of the Los Angeles field office. The FBI’s negotiators haven’t had much luck with the HT since our team left.”

“I’m sure given enough time, the gunman would respond to the Bureau’s negotiators,” Hart said stiffly. Jolie wondered if he was as young as he looked. He could have been a pledge for a college fraternity.

“We don’t have time,” Lewis said bluntly. “We just wasted an hour.”

“That’s right.” SAC Fenholt was a woman who looked to be pushing the Bureau’s mandatory retirement age. Her dark hair, liberally streaked with gray, was pulled severely back from a face with strong bones and an angular jaw. “Looking over a summary of your contacts, I didn’t think we had anything to lose by trying a new team. But the HT hasn’t answered a call since he discovered the change in negotiators. He demands to speak to Conrad.” Fenholt flicked a glance her way. “Each time he answers and doesn’t hear your voice he hangs up again. It doesn’t make sense to waste more time trying to reestablish a rapport with different negotiators. We want you two to resume the duty, under our supervision.”

Dace sent a pointed look at the crowd of individuals. “Sure. Maybe we can stack agents in a corner of the NOC so we don’t have to sit on each other’s laps.”

Fenholt ignored his sardonic tone. “In addition to you two, we’ll keep Agents Meadow and Spading on the team to serve as scribe and profiler.” She indicated two of the men from the FBI negotiation unit that had replaced the MCPD squad. “Special Agent Dawson will act as command center liaison. Special Agent Truman will serve as tactical liaison.” Truman, a forty-ish man with a graying buzz cut and a permanent scowl, pulled open the NOC door and heaved himself inside. Jolie and Dace stepped aside, waiting for all the other agents to enter first.

Fenholt paused, shot them a hard look. “Get the subject talking again. I understand that threats were issued earlier. I want him defused.”

“Why don’t you let us first assess the changes to his mood since you reassigned negotiators?” Jolie kept her voice bland but she saw the flicker in the woman’s expression before she turned and walked away. She hadn’t made a new friend, but she couldn’t bring herself to care.

Jolie and Dace sat down at the table inside. She scanned the notes that had been added to the situation board in their absence. Other than the HT’s demands for their return, there was no new information except for a few tactical details.

Dace picked up the phone and handed it to her. “He’s asking for you, so go ahead and make the call. We may have to make up some ground with him after this.”

She nodded, scanning the other members as each picked up headphones. Special Agent Dawson sat closest to the door. He hadn’t said a word through the entire exchange. His face, the color of fresh-brewed coffee, was completely expressionless. Yet she couldn’t shake the feeling that every word she and Dace uttered from here on out would be weighed and evaluated.

She made the call, let it ring. Eight times. Nine. Then it was picked up, but no one spoke.

“John, it’s Jolie Conrad. How are you? Everything okay in there?”

“Where’s Recker?”

“He’s here. Do you want to talk to him?”

“That’s okay.” The strain in his voice eased infinitesimally. “Took them long enough to get you two back. They were feds, right? The other two bozos on the line earlier? What’d they do, come in and claim jurisdiction?”

Although the words brought a smile to her lips, Jolie said only, “We all want the same thing here, John. For you to get through this okay. For the people inside to remain unharmed. Everybody still all right in there? I see the food has been delivered. It’s still setting outside the door. You’ve got to be getting hungry.”

“I’ll send someone out for it.”

“And then it will be time to release the second hostage. That was our earlier agreement.” She glanced at Dace, who gave her a slight nod. “I know you want to do the right thing.”

“We never agreed that you’d turn this over to the feds, though, did we? I feel a little betrayed, Jolie.” Despite his words, the man sounded calm. “You don’t want to do that again.”

“It was just bureaucratic politics. You understand that, right?”

“Now you understand why I went into business for myself.” There was dark humor in the words. “Being your own boss can be very rewarding.”

She didn’t need Dace’s gesture to pursue this line. Anything they could find out about the captor’s background would assist them in judging whom they were dealing with. And what he was capable of. “You sound like you have some experience with difficult bosses.”

“Enough to know that I never want another one. Nine-to-five wasn’t my thing.”

“I hear you there. The routine can get tiresome. What about it—”

There was a loud clatter, then the line went dead.

“What the hell happened?” Jolie threw out the question even as she tried to ring the phone again. “Find out what’s going on.”

Truman exchanged his earphones for a radio headset and listened intently. “The kid is putting up a struggle. Sounds like the HT is having trouble subduing him.” He turned away to speak urgently into the mike, alerting tactical that a hostage was about to be released. Special Agent Dawson slipped away, presumably to the command center.

Jolie tried the phone several times, but got no answer. Agent Meadow added notes from the last conversation to the situation board. Spading looked at her, his pale blue gaze assessing. “Sounds like he missed you.”

“We were making headway when our team got pulled,” she said shortly. “We’d won concessions. But another hour’s been wasted and the child has to be exhausted.” The HT didn’t strike Jolie as the patient sort. “The longer this goes on, the more upset he’s going to get.”

“An increasing danger to the child will be a big consideration in the decision for a tactical response,” Spading pointed out.

“As it should be,” she retorted. There was a tense knot in her chest that wouldn’t dissipate until Truman delivered the tactical report about what was happening in the bank. She threw an impatient look at the man, but his expression as he listened to his headset gave away nothing. “But I don’t think the HT’s at that point yet. He still thinks he’s going to get out of this thing.”

Spading gave a slow nod. “Agreed. But sooner or later it’s going to occur to him just how unlikely that is, and that’s when he’s at his most dangerous.”

“Unless we convince him to give up by that point,” Dace interjected.

Finally, Truman took off the headset. “A second hostage has been released unharmed. Hopefully he’ll be able to provide more intelligence than the first one did.”

Dawson picked that moment to reenter the NOC unit. “Special Agent in Charge Fenholt is growing increasingly concerned about the child’s welfare. She’s putting a time limit on negotiations. You’ve got no more than two hours before we mount an assault.”

“So far none of the hostages have been harmed.” The snap in Dace’s voice was barely discernible, but it was there. “An assault ensures injuries. Time limits are counterproductive when talking to—”

“Two hours,” the man repeated, taking his seat again.

“Go ahead and make contact,” Dace instructed.

But Jolie already had the phone ringing. And although she’d half expected otherwise, John answered after only a moment. “You okay in there, John?” First and foremost, a negotiator had to express concern for the hostage taker. It was crucial to maintain the rapport that was built one painstaking conversation at a time. A rapport the feds had disrupted with their arrival.

“I’m fine. You’ve got your second person released. I’ve kept my word.”

“Never had any doubt about that.” There was definite tension showing in his voice, Jolie decided. “But I’d be even more excited to see you come out. Unharmed. How about it? Put down your weapon and come out with your hands raised. That’s the surest way to end this thing peacefully. I don’t want to see you get hurt.”

“I’ll be out. When the time is right. I want the car’s gas tank full. See to that.”

Jolie sent a questioning look at Dawson, who shrugged. “I’ll check on that for you, John.”

“I don’t want anyone charging in here,” he warned. “I’ll come out, but I set the timeline.”

“That’s good. I like to hear you talking about coming out. No one wants to go in there, John. No one wants to hurt you.”