"Lou?"

"Yeah."

"You asked me what I looked like. Let me ask you about yourself."

"Fuck, you've got pictures in there, I'll bet."

"What do mug shots show?" Potter asked, and laughed.

When Handy spoke, his voice had calmed considerably. "What do I look like?" he mused. "Let me tell you a story, Art. I was in a prison riot one time. All kindsa shit was going down like usual in things like that. What the fuck happens but I find myself in the laundry room with a fellow I'd had it in for for a long time. Now, you know where you hide things when you're inside, don't you? So I crapped this glass knife, unwrapped it, and started to work on him. You know why?"

Echo his questions and comments, Arthur Potter the negotiator thought. But Arthur Potter remained silent.

" 'Cause when I first was in he come up to me, all macho and that shit, and said he didn't like the way I looked."

"So you killed him." A matter-of-fact statement.

"Fuck yes, but that's not my point. While he was dying there, his gut all split open, I leaned down. See, I was curious. I leaned down real close and I asked him what exactly it was he didn't like about the way I looked. And you know what he said? He said, 'You looked like cold death.' Know something, Art? I was sorry I killed him after he told me that. Yessir, cold death."

Don't play his game, Potter thought suddenly. You're falling under his spell. With an edge to his voice he asked, "Lou, give us until seven. You do me that, I think we'll have some good news for you."

"I -"

"That's all. What difference does it make?" Potter kept all supplication from his voice. He made it sound that Handy was being unreasonable. It was a risk but Potter assessed that the man would have no respect at all for whiners.

Still, he was very surprised when Handy said, "All right. Jesus! But have the chopper here, Art. Or the little one in the dress goes."

Click.

Potter calmly instructed Tobe to adjust the deadline clock accordingly.

The door to the van opened and a trooper looked in. "The two girls are here, sir. They're in the medical tent."

"Are they okay?"

"One fell and scraped her elbow. Otherwise they're fine."

"I'll go over there. I could use some fresh air. Frances, could you translate? Henry, get yourself unplugged and come with us. Angie too?"

In a grove of trees not far from the van Potter ushered the girls into folding chairs. Henry LeBow joined them, portable computer in hand. He sat down and smiled at the girls, who stared at the Toshiba.

Potter tried to recall what Frances had taught him and spelled their names in sign language. S-H-A-N-N-O-N and K-I-E-L-L-E, bringing a smile to Shannon 's face. They were the same age, Potter knew – eight – but Shannon was taller. Kielle, however, with her grim face and cynical eyes, gave the impression of being far older.

"What's the matter?" Potter asked Kielle.

Frances 's face went cold when she received a response. "She said she tried to kill him."

"Who?"

"Handy, I think she means. She calls him Mr. Sinister."

Potter produced the flyer of the fugitives. Kielle's face screwed into a tight mask and she poked a finger at Handy's picture.

"She says he killed Susan and she was going to kill him. Melanie betrayed her. Melanie is a Judas."

"Why?" Angie asked.

More brutal signing.

"She threw her out the door."

"Melanie did that?"

Potter felt the chill down his spine. He knew there'd be a payback of some kind.

Shannon confirmed that the men didn't seem to have any rifles, only shotguns – her father hunted and she knew something about guns. Beverly 's asthma was bad, though Handy had given her the medicine. She reiterated that the "big man," Bonner, hovered over the girls and kept looking at Emily because she was "prettier and looked more like a girl."

Angie asked delicately, "Has anyone touched any of you?"

Shannon said that they had. But Kielle waved her hand and signed, "Not the way you mean. But Bear looks a lot."

So, Potter reflected, Bonner's a discrete threat, separate from Handy. And probably more dangerous. Lust-driven criminals always are.

"Who picked you to be released?" Angie asked Shannon.

"Him." She pointed at Handy.

"The one Melanie calls Brutus, right?"

Shannon nodded. "We call him Mr. Sinister. Or Magneto."

"Why did he pick you, do you think? Was there any reason?"

"Because Bear" – Shannon pointed at Bonner's picture – "told him to." Frances looked at Angie and said, " Shannon kicked him and he was mad."

"I didn't mean to kick him. I just didn't think… And then I got really scared. I thought it was my fault he was going to burn us up."

"Burn you up? Why'd you think that?"

Shannon told them about the gas can rigged right above their heads.

Frances's face went pale. "He wouldn't."

"Oh, yes he would," Angie said. "Fire. His new toy."

"Damn," Potter muttered. This virtually eliminated the possibility of an HRT rescue. Henry LeBow's concession to the horror was to pause before he typed a description of the device.

Potter walked to the doorway of the van, called Budd out, and then motioned Dean Stillwell over. The negotiator said to them both, "We've got a hot trap inside -"

"Hot?" Budd asked.

"Armed," Potter continued. "We can't give him the least excuse to trip it. There's to be absolutely no action that could be construed as offensive. Double-check – all weapons unchambered."

"Yessir," Stillwell said.

Potter then asked Shannon if there was anything else she could remember about the men and what they did inside.

"They watch TV," Frances translated. "They walk around. Eat. Talk. They're pretty relaxed."

Relaxed. Jocylyn had said the same. Well, this was a first for a barricade.

"You saw the tools they have?"

Shannon nodded.

"Have they used them?"

"No."

"Do you remember what tools they had?"

She shook her head no.

"Can you tell what they talk about?" Potter asked.

"No," Frances explained. "Neither of them can lip-read."

"They watch you all the time?" Angie asked.

"Pretty much. He's scary. Him." Shannon was pointing at Handy. Kielle reached forward viciously and grabbed the picture. She tore it up and signed violently.

"She says she hates Melanie. She could have killed him. And now he's alive to kill more people. She says she wouldn't have minded dying. But Melanie's a coward and she hates her."

As he had done with Jocylyn, Potter warmly shook the girls' hands and thanked them. Shannon smiled; Kielle did not but it was with a strong, self-assured grip that the little girl grasped the agent's hand. Then he sent the two girls off with a trooper, to meet their parents at the motel in Crow Ridge. He conferred with Angie for a few minutes then climbed into the van. She followed him.

The negotiator rubbed his eyes and leaned back and took the cup of the dreadful coffee Derek set beside him. "I don't get it," he said to no one in particular.

"What?" Budd asked.

"A hostage escaped and he's angry. That part I understand. But he doesn't seem angry because he lost a bargaining chip. He's angry for some other reason." He looked across the van. "Angie? Our resident psychologist? Have any ideas?"

She organized her thoughts, then said, "I think Handy's big issue is control. He says he's killed people because they didn't do what he wanted. I've heard that before. A convenience store clerk didn't put the money in the robber's bag as fast as he wanted so she's the one guilty of an offense, not him. That gave him, in effect, permission to kill her."

"Is that why he killed Susan?" Budd asked.

Potter rose and paced. "Ah, a very good question, Charlie."

"I agree," Angie said. "A key question."