Hostage

'You're drowning in deep water, Talley. You're just some fuckin' cop who doesn't have a clue. You're killing your family. You're committing suicide.'

'I'll give you five minutes. Call Benza. Ask him if he wants to spend the rest of his life in prison.'

'I'll ask him how many times he wants me to fuck your daughter.'

'Ask him if I can keep the money.'

All Talley heard was the hiss of the cell connection.

'I have something else that belongs to you. I found some money in the house. Looks like almost a million dollars.'

Talley had learned from a hundred negotiations that all liars think everyone lies, all thieves think everyone steals, crooked people think everyone is crooked. The strain in the silence was the sound of Howell trying to read Talley just as Talley was reading Howell. He would be scared and suspicious, but he would also want to believe. His belief was everything.

Howell answered slowly.

'What do you want, Talley?'

'How much money did I find?'

'One-point-two million.'

'I'll sell you a pass. My wife and daughter, and the money, for the disks. If you hurt them, the disks go straight to the FBI and I'll keep the money anyway.'

Talley knew that Howell would never consider a straight-up trade, his family for the disks, because there was no reason for Talley to keep his word. But the money changed things. Howell would understand greed. He would see himself in Talley and believe that a cop might think he could get away with that.

Talley didn't wait for Howell to answer.

'I'll tell you how this is going to work. I'll bring the disks to the north entrance of the mall by the freeway. You bring my family. If they're okay, we'll trade. If I don't make it home tonight, my officers will still have Smith and your phony FBI SWAT team.'

'You make it home, you'll cut them loose?'

'I'll cut them loose.'

'Okay, Talley, I think we can do this.'

'I thought we might.'

'But not at the mall. We'll do this where I want to do this.'

'As long as it's not in the middle of nowhere.'

'The Comfort Inn west of Bristo.'

'I know it.'

'Be there in ten minutes. Someone will be waiting in the parking lot. One minute late, there won't be anyone there to find.'

Talley ended the call. He placed the Nokia carefully on the seat, then closed his eyes. The Comfort Inn was less than a mile away. He got out of the car, stripped off his sweatshirt, then strapped on the vest. He pulled the sweatshirt over it. He checked his pistol; one in the chamber, safety on. He left his radio on, but turned the speaker volume down to zero. He got back into the car. He still had much to do.

GLEN HOWELL

Howell was shaking when he put down the phone. Talley had caught him off guard and jammed him into making a deal that might be a setup, but he didn't see what other choice he'd had. His job was to recover the disks.

Howell picked up the house phone. Duane Manelli was sitting in a room two doors down with LJ Ruiz.

'I need you and LJ outside. Talley's coming here.'

'What the fuck!'

'I don't know if he's coming alone. Get your ass outside and set up to watch the area.'

'What happened to Jones?'

'Jones is down.'

Howell hung up. He checked his watch. He didn't want to make his next call, but he didn't have a choice about that, either. Making the next call scared him more than waiting for Talley.

He dialed Sonny Benza.

PALM SPRINGS

'Sonny? Sonny, wake up.'

Benza opened his eyes, and saw Phil Tuzee. Charles Salvetti was pacing by the desk, looking upset. Benza was stretched out on the couch, the three of them still in his office at four in the morning. Benza's back ached like a sonofabitch. Another fuckin' trip to the chiropractor.

'What?'

'Glen Howell's on the phone. We got a friggin' mess here. Look.'

Benza sat up and squinted at the television. Smith's house was in flames.

'Jesus Christ. What happened?'

'It's a fuckin' bloodbath. Howell's team went in, and everything went to hell. Now they're pulling bodies out of the place.'

'Did we get the disks?'

Benza knew the answer from Tuzee's expression. Acid flooded his stomach.

'No, skipper. Talley has the disks.'

Salvetti called from the desk.

'C'mon. Howell's on the speaker. He says we don't have much time.'

Benza went to the phone, trying to control his anger.

'What the fuck are you doing down there?'

Howell cleared his throat, leaving Benza to conclude that the man was rattled. Benza didn't like that. Glen Howell wasn't a man to rattle.

'It isn't working out the way we planned.'

'I guess it fuckin' well isn't.'

Howell explained the situation. Talley not only had the disks; he had Smith, Jones, and Jones's team. Benza saw himself killing Glen Howell. He saw himself driving Howell to the desert and chopping him into sausage with a machete.

'Sonny?'

Benza's rage cleared, and he saw Salvetti and Tuzee watching him. Howell was still talking. Sonny Benza was more frightened now than he had ever been in his life. He interrupted.

'Glen? Listen to me, Glen.'

He spoke softly, trying to keep his voice from shaking. Salvetti and Tuzee watched him.