“Oh, shit!” said the weatherman.

“Take it easy,” said Theo. “If there’s a bomb in there, this is no time to be yanking on any wires.”

Falcon clutched the wires tighter with his free hand. Carefully, he continued to unzip the jacket with his gun hand, his index finger still on the trigger, his middle finger pressing the metal zipper tag to the gun butt. He didn’t stop until the jacket was completely unzipped. Slowly, he swung open the right half of the heavy coat, like a model showing off the lining to a tailored suit.

Theo could see the bulge in the inside pocket-and the wires leading to it.

“Curious?” said Falcon.

The weatherman’s eyes were like saucers. “You don’t have to prove anything. Just leave it alone, all right?”

Falcon was perfectly still for perhaps a minute, though it seemed much longer to Theo. Then his hand started upward. The wires went taut, and the bulge in his pocket began to climb.

Theo said, “The weatherman is right. Just leave it alone.”

Falcon ignored him. He was like a magician pulling a rabbit out of his hat in slow motion. The weatherman cowered in the corner. “Stop, just stop already!”

Falcon’s expression changed once again, the vacant look giving way to something that Theo could only assume was pure amusement. He jerked the wires upward. The weatherman screamed, and Theo rolled toward the wall, as if that would save him from the blast.

Nothing happened.

Theo looked back and saw a small black metal box dangling from the end of the wires. “What is that?”

Falcon flashed a sardonic smile. “It’s just an old generator,” he said.

Theo’s heart was in his throat. It did appear to be some kind of battery-powered generator, which was better than a bomb, but it was still confusing. Falcon was apparently one of those homeless people who kept his treasured possessions with him at all times, no matter how bizarre or useless. Theo said, “I guess you never know when you’re going to need your own electricity.”

Falcon went to the bag, reached inside, and ran the strand of metal beads through his fingers as if it were a fine pearl necklace. “You’ll know,” he said in a voice that seemed to come from another place, the remote part of Falcon’s world that Theo had intruded upon. “Trust me, smart mouth. You will know.”

chapter 41

T he relief was written all over Sergeant Paulo’s face.

Jack felt exactly the same way, and to that extent, looking at Paulo was like looking in the mirror. It had been Paulo’s idea to plant the tiny electronic listening device in the bottom of the double paper bag, buried between the seams. No one, however, had expected such a big payoff so soon: no bomb. On some level, it seemed bizarre to rejoice in the fact that they were dealing only with a paranoid killer who had plenty of ammunition and was a crack shot with his pistol. Small victories, however, were a relative concept, especially in hostage negotiations.

“So, who’s the weatherman?” said Jack.

“We think it must be Walt the Weather Wizard from channel seven,” said Paulo. “He left the station at eleven-thirty last night and never came home. His wife reported him missing this morning.”

“His wife?” said Alicia. “I thought he was gay.”

“Everybody does,” said Paulo. “Maybe that’s how he ended up in a hotel room with two prostitutes. A metrosexual with something to prove.”

“More to the point,” said Jack, “we now know that there are two male hostages and two females. That’s an awful lot for Theo to deal with.”

Alicia said, “You mean it’s a lot for Falcon to deal with.”

“No, I meant Theo,” said Jack. “I know how my friend thinks. He won’t come out of that hotel room unless they all come out together. Now it turns out that he’s stuck in there with two teenage girls and Walt the Weather Wizard. It’s all on Theo’s shoulders.”

No one disagreed.

“At least there’s no bomb,” said Alicia.

Paulo said, “It’s interesting, though, the way he talks about his generator. You can hear it in his voice. It’s as if he thinks a generator is more scary than explosives.”

“I heard it, too,” said Jack. “But it’s hard to imagine how that could be.”

“Depends on your imagination, I suppose,” said Alicia.

“What do you mean?” said Jack.

She hesitated and looked away. “Just, you know, this Falcon has already shown himself to be highly delusional. There’s no telling what he thinks his little generator can do. Maybe he’s convinced himself that it has the power to change the magnetic charge of the earth’s poles or the gravitational pull of the moon.”

“You sure that’s what you meant?”

“Yeah. What else would I mean?”

Several possible answers to that question tumbled through Jack’s mind. The same intuition that had raised his antennae a few hours earlier was gnawing at him again. He could have sworn she was backpedaling. “Tell me something, Alicia. What scares you the most about Falcon?”

She gave him a curious expression. “That he’ll kill the hostages, of course.”

“Let me ask a different question. What does your father fear most about him?”

“The same thing, I’m sure.”

“How do you know that?”

“Because I know my father.”

“Do you?”

“Yes,” she said, somewhat annoyed.

“Do you know what your father’s bodyguard was doing along the river, down by Falcon’s car, the other night?”

“I don’t know anything about that.”

“How about you, sergeant?”

Jack had hoped to catch Paulo off guard and get some kind of reading from his expression. Paulo was too savvy for that. “Funny thing about people with something on their chest. If they’re afraid to get it off, they usually end up with a chip on their shoulder.”

“Meaning what?”

“Spare us the cross-examination mode, counselor. If you’ve got something to say, just say it.”

“All right,” said Jack. “I’m all for the direct approach, so long as it’s a two-way street. Does somebody want to tell me what the mayor’s bodyguard was doing down there, or are you going to keep pretending that you didn’t know anything about it?”

“I’m sure he had a good reason,” said Alicia.

“I’d sure like to hear it. Because a woman was killed that night.”

“She was beaten to death with a lead pipe that has Falcon’s fingerprints all over it,” she said.

“Alicia,” said Paulo. It was clearly an admonishment, as she was sharing confidential details about the investigation with a guy who was (or at least had been) Falcon’s lawyer.

“I don’t care,” she said. “I see where you’re headed with this, Swyteck, and it’s nothing but a distraction. You think something smells fishy. Maybe you even think my father sent his bodyguard down to the river to make sure Falcon doesn’t come after me again.”

“Maybe I do,” said Jack.

“Alicia,” said Paulo.

“No, I want to clear this up right now. It’s ridiculous. Even if my father were the type of man to do such a thing-which he’s not-your insinuation just doesn’t make any sense. If Falcon himself had ended up dead, maybe you would at least have some semblance of logic on your side. But why in the world would my father’s bodyguard kill a defenseless woman who has been homeless for so long that not even the medical examiner can identify her body?”

She had a point, but at this stage of the discussion, Jack wasn’t ready to concede anything. “I’m working on that.”

“Your work would be better focused on helping Vince solve this crisis.”

“That I agree with,” said Paulo. A moment later, his phone rang. It was the outside line, not their negotiation line. Paulo answered, then covered the mouthpiece and spoke to Jack. “It’s Darden, the Miami officer who went with you to the Greater Bahamian Bank and Trust Company. Can you excuse me for a minute please?”

Jack didn’t move. “Two-way street, remember?”