Die Trying

yelled.
    There was another silence. Then the voice came back, quiet and firm.
    “I want you to stop yelling,” it said. “I want you to apologize for yelling at me. I want you to apologize for calling me a rude name. I’m the President of the Free States, and I’m owed some courtesy and deference, wouldn’t you say?”
    His voice was quiet, but McGrath heard it clearly enough. He looked across at Webster in panic. They were close to losing, before they had even started. First rule was to negotiate. To keep them talking, and gradually gain the upper hand. Establish dominance. Classic siege theory. But to start out by apologizing for yelling was to kiss goodbye any hope of dominance. That was to lie down and roll over. From that point on, you were their plaything. McGrath shook his head urgently. Webster nodded back. Said nothing. Just held the radio without speaking. He knew how to do this. He had been in this situation before. Several times. He knew the protocol. Now, the first one to speak was the weaker one. And it wasn’t going to be him. He and McGrath gazed at the ground and waited.
    “You still there?” Borken asked.
    Webster kept on staring down. Saying nothing.
    “You there?” Borken said again.
    “What’s on your mind, Beau?” Webster asked, calmly.
    There was angry breathing over the air.
    “You cut my phone line,” Borken said. “I want it restored.”
    “No, we didn’t,” Webster said. “Doesn’t your phone work?”
    “My faxes,” Borken said. “I got no response.”
    “What faxes?” Webster said.
    “Don’t bullshit me,” Borken said. “I know you cut the line. I want it fixed.”
    Webster winked at McGrath.
    “OK,” he said. “We can do that. But you’ve got to do something for us first.”
    “What?” Borken asked.
    “Holly,” Webster said. “Bring her down to the bridge and leave her there.”
    There was another silence. Then the laughter started up again. High and loud.
    “No dice,” Borken said. “And no deals.”
    Webster nodded to himself. Lowered his voice. Sounded like the most reasonable man on earth.
    “Listen, Mr. Borken,” he said. “If we can’t deal, how can we help each other?”
    Another silence. McGrath stared at Webster. The next reply was crucial. Win or lose.
    “You listen to me, Webster,” the voice said. “No deals. You don’t do exactly what I say, Holly dies. In a lot of pain. I hold all the cards, and I’m not doing deals. You understand that?”
    Webster’s shoulders slumped. McGrath looked away.
    “Restore the fax line,” the voice said. “I need communications. The world must know what we’re doing here. This is a big moment in history, Webster. I won’t be denied by your stupid games. The world must witness the first blows being struck against your tyranny.”
    Webster stared at the ground.
    “This decision is too big for you alone,” Borken said. “You need to consult with the White House. There’s an interest there too, wouldn’t you say?”
    Even over the tinny handheld radio, the force of Borken’s voice was obvious. Webster was flinching like a physical weight was against his ear. Flinching and gasping, as his heart and lungs fought each other for space inside his chest.
    “Make your decision,” Borken said. “I’ll call back in two minutes.”
    Then the radio went dead. Webster stared at it like he had never seen such a piece of equipment before. McGrath leaned over and clicked the button off.
    “OK,” he said. “We stall, right? Tell him we’re fixing the line. Tell him it will take an hour, maybe two. Tell him we’re in contact with the White House, the UN, CNN, whoever. Tell him whatever the hell he wants to hear.”
    “Why is he doing this?” Webster asked, vaguely. “Escalating everything? He’s making it so we have to attack him. So we have to, right? Like he wants us to. He’s giving us no choice. He’s provoking us.”
    “He’s doing it because he’s crazy,” McGrath said.
    “He must be,” Webster said. “He’s a maniac. Otherwise I just can’t understand why he’s trying to attract so much attention. Because like he says, he holds all the cards already.”
    “We’ll worry about that later, chief,” McGrath said. “Right now, we just need to stall him.”
    Webster nodded. Forced himself back to the problem in hand.
    “But we need longer than two hours,” he said. “Hostage Rescue will take at least four to get over here. Maybe five, maybe six.”
    “OK, it’s the