A Maidens Grave

compromise that. If it’s between you and the hostage, save yourself first.”
    “Well—”
    “That’s an order, Trooper,” Stillwell said solemnly. He’d grown into his role of containment officer like a natural.
    Potter continued, “Walk up there slowly, carry the food at your side, in plain view. Don’t move fast, whatever happens.”
    “Okay.” Oates seemed to be memorizing these orders.
    Tobe Geller stepped out of the doorway of the van, carrying a small box attached to a wire burgeoning into a stubby black rod. He hooked the box to the trooper’s back, under the vest. The rod he clipped into Oates’s hair with bobby pins.
    “Couldn’t use this with Arthur here,” Tobe said. “Need a full head of hair.”
    “What is it?”
    “Video camera. And earphone.”
    “That little thing? No foolin’.”
    Tobe ran the wire down Oates’s back and plugged it into the transmitter.
    “The resolution isn’t very good,” Potter said, “but it’ll help when you get back.”
    “How’s that?”
    “You seem pretty cool, Stevie,” LeBow said. “But at best you’ll remember about forty percent of what you see up there.”
    “Oh, he’s a fifty percenter,” Potter said, “if I’m not mistaken.”
    “The tape won’t tell us too much on its own,” the intelligence officer continued, “but it should refresh your memory.”
    “Gotcha. Say, those burgers sure smell good,” Oates joked, while his face said that food was the last thing on his mind.
    “Angie?” Potter asked.
    The agent walked up to the trooper and tossed the mass of dark, windblown hair from her face. “Here’s a picture of the girl who’s coming out. Her name’s Jocylyn.” Quickly, she repeated her assessment on how to best handle her.
    “Don’t talk to her,” Angie concluded. “She won’t understand your words and it might make her panic, thinking she’s missing something important. And keep smiling.”
    “Smiling. Sure. Piece of cake.” Oates swallowed.
    Potter added, “Now, she’s overweight and can’t run very fast, I’d guess.” He unfurled a small map of the grounds of the slaughterhouse. “If she could hustle I’d tellyou to duck into that gully there, the one in front of the place, and then just run like hell. You’d be oblique targets. But as it is I think you’ll just have to walk straight back.”
    “Like the girl who got shot?” Budd asked, and nobody was happy he had.
    “Now, Stevie,” Potter continued, “you should go up to the door. But under no circumstances are you to go inside.”
    “What if he says he won’t release her ’less I do?”
    “Then you leave her. Leave the food and walk away. But I think he’ll let her go. Get as close as you can to the door. I want you to look inside. Look for what kinds of weapons they have, radios, any signs of blood, any hostages or hostage takers we might not know about.”
    Budd asked, “How could more’ve gotten in?”
    “They might have been waiting inside for Handy and the others to arrive.”
    “Oh, sure.” Budd looked discouraged. “Didn’t think of that.”
    Potter continued to Oates, “Don’t engage him in a dialogue, don’t argue, don’t say anything, except to answer his questions directly.”
    “You think he’ll ask me stuff?”
    Potter looked at Angie, who said, “It’s possible. He might want to tease you a little. The sunglasses—he’s got a playful streak in him. He might want to test you. Don’t rise to the bait.”
    Oates nodded uncertainly.
    Potter continued, “We’ll be monitoring your conversations and I can feed you answers through your earphone.”
    Oates smiled a faint smile. “Those’ll be the longest hundred yards of my life.”
    “There’s nothing to worry about,” Potter said. “He’s a lot more interested in food right now than he is in shooting anybody.”
    This logic seemed to reassure Oates though the memory loomed in Potter’s mind that some years ago he’d said similar words to an officer who a few moments later had been shot in the knee and wrist by a hostage taker whodecided impulsively that he didn’t want the painkillers and bandages the officer was bringing him.
    Potter added an asthma inhaler to the bag of hamburgers. “Don’t say anything about that. Just let him find it and decide to give it to Beverly or not.”
    Budd held up several pads of paper and the markers Derek had provided. “Should we include these?”
    Potter considered. The pads and pens would give the hostages a