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Services at the top of the staircases on every side of the room, a medic with
em, and a boss in each corner. Kerry and I do the drill. We re in charge. You
two know more of the facts, so you stand by in case I need info.
The first rule in hostage negotiation was establishing a perimeter. Sending
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one man or team in to work with the hostage taker, but having everyone else
backed up at the ready.
We think our pal in there is Erik Poste. D you find anything in the basement
to help connect this to him? Mike asked Mercer.
Arsenic? I asked, fearing he may have used it again on Clem.
Eve Drexler thinks she found the answer to that. Thibodaux did, actually,
Mercer said. Looks like every time Bellinger submitted an order for arsenic
for his work at the Cloisters, Erik Poste requisitioned a bit more of it for
the restorations in his department at the Met.
He probably never even touched the stuff they ve got in taxidermy over here,
but he wanted it to look like someone fromthis museum could have been
responsible for the poisoning, Mike said. So if he wasn t expecting to see
Clem tonight when he headed over here, he probably didn t bring any of his
private supply along with him.
We re gonna give it a shot. Our method, Mercer said, talking to Mike. You
gotta be patient and stay out of my way. We ve never lost a life, and I m not
planning to start tonight.
Mike kneeled on the floor and sketched out the exact location of the
storeroom in which we thought Erik Poste was holed up. Mercer stood and turned
away from us, and Kerry followed him down the narrow alleyway between
compartments. The outlines of their bodies were swallowed up in the murky
darkness, and all that stood out was the sharp scarlet lettering on the back
of Kerry s jacket:TALK TO ME .
The pair positioned themselves adjacent to the enclosed space, but not in
front of it. Mr. Poste, I heard next, Mercer s deep bass voice speaking
softly and gently. Erik? This is Mercer Wallace.
No reply, no sound at all. The negotiator never refers to himself as a cop,
never mentions rank. Never reveals the fact that there s an arsenal backing
him up.
But now there was movement behind us. I turned to look, and two men dressed
in jet-black jumpsuits were climbing onto the catwalk. High-powered rifles
were slung over their shoulders, and they kept walking with far more
confidence than I had evidenced out over the spaces on either side of Mercer s
position. Snipers were inside the museum as well as above it.
Mercer squatted a bit closer to the storage area. Erik. I want you to listen
to me. He needed to find a way to engage his target in a dialogue without
striking the wrong nerve. It was a delicate task at best, and this one, with
so many unknowns, was like sitting on a powder keg.
Mercer s goal was to find out what had become of Clem. It would be one thing
to force an end to Poste s standoff if he was alone, but if he had Clem, and
she was still alive, it would be an entirely different operation. He didn t
want to start his conversation with the subject of the body in the
sarcophagus. There would be little way to fool Poste out of the knowledge that
he was facing a life sentence for the murder of Katrina Grooten.
Develop an intimacy, Mercer had told me when I had asked him about how men
and women were trained to do this work. Start by grounding the subject and
connecting him to people and things he cared about, wanted to see again.
Mercer kept talking, even though there was no response from within the
storeroom. I ve got a patrol officer bringing your wife over here, Erik. She
wants to see you. She wants you to come out of there safe and sound. Nobody
gets hurt, that s the plan.
Mike put his mouth to my ear. What if he hates his wife, huh? That d be the
last straw for some guys I know. They d just as soon blow their brains out
than have to face the little woman after a night like this.
Mercer went on speaking for more than ten minutes without any kind of
response. He had been given enough of a briefing before he came upstairs to
know what in this world meant something to Poste. The kids, Erik. Think about
your children.
Still no sign of life.
I ve been talking to Mamdouba and he was telling me about your father, about
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the work he did in Africa, how brave he was. What a great character he was.
Kerry backed up to where we were standing, toying with the small receiving
device wrapped around her ear. Someone was transmitting information to her.
She looked up and my eyes followed her glance.
One of the men on the catwalk was making motions with both of his hands. He
looked like a mime, pretending to be lowering a rope to the ground. I couldn t
see anything dropping.
I held my hands out, palms upward, and mouthed to Kerry, What s going on?
Mike put his mouth against my ear again and whispered. Fiberoptic camera.
It s no thicker than a sewing needle. They can slip it between the slats on
top of the storage room and we ll be able to see what s inside. Who s with
him, whether she s you know.
Three minutes later, Kerry nodded her head and gave us a thumbs-up. Clem s
there. Looks like she s alive. Information kept coming in from whoever was
viewing the monitor at the command center within the museum. She s bound and
gagged. Looks like gauze. No movement except her eyes. She paused to receive
more word. Yeah, her eyes are open. She s okay.
No doubt the gauze was the same kind of old linen rag that had been wrapped,
mummy fashion, around the body of Katrina Grooten.
He s got a pistol in his hand, Kerry said, and a rifle across his lap.
He s sitting next to the girl. He s got her lying on the floor, hogtied from
behind.
Can Mercer hear the commentary, too?
Exactly what I m getting. It s being relayed to both of us.
The negotiators were not permitted to decide whether or when to take the
door. These new high-tech devices took much of the guesswork out of the job.
If the perp wasn t cooperating, the chief of detectives would eventually make
the call about whether to storm the storeroom or wait until fear, hunger, or
exhaustion caused the bad guy to give in.
Talk to me, Mercer said again, calmly and evenly. Talk to me, Erik. We ve
got to resolve this situation.
Those three words were the squad s motto for a good reason. They had to get
the subject to open up. Find out what it is that would draw him out of the
situation. If they could absorb him in conversation sports, weather, stamp
collecting, European paintings they could keep him preoccupied, away from his
captive, and they could eventually wear him down.
It had worked dozens of times, I knew. When it failed, the results were
deadly.
Mercer focused on the work of Willem Van der Poste. Someone, maybe in a phone
call to the wife, had suggested that Erik had idolized his late father.
Mamdouba s got photographs in his office, Erik. Fascinating pictures of your
father. Pictures of you as a young boy with him.
It seemed to me that Mercer had talked for more than half an hour before he
got a reaction of any kind. Poste didn t speak a word until Mercer asked him
to put down his guns.
I know you ve got them in there, Erik. You re not going to shoot anyone. You
want to tell me what we can do to bring you out of there?
You all figure I won t use the guns, do you?
The sound of his voice echoed in the corridor. It was Poste, all right. It
sounded eerily calm, but greatly magnified. I didn t think that was his
intention, but rather a product of the acoustics in the vast hall.
How about you let the girl out, Erik? Then we can
What s in it for me, Mr. Wallace? You re going to allow me to go home?
Poste laughed.
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