"Roger that, boss. Out." Sergeant Johnston propped himself up on his elbows and watched the area through his 7x50 binoculars. The sun was warm. He'd have to get used to that. Johnston thought for a moment and reached for his canteen. Just then the car he'd ridden up wheeled forward and then dropped from sight. He heard the steel overhead wheels roll along the metal tubing and wondered what it was like to ride the damned thing. Probably right up there with skydiving, something he knew how to do, but didn't much care for, airborne-ranger training or not. There was something nice about having your fucking feet on the fucking ground, and you couldn't shoot a rifle while falling through the air at a hundred thirty knots, could you? He directed his binoculars at a window… they were flat on the bottom but curved into a point at the top, like in a real castle, and made of clear glass segments held together with leaded strips. Maybe hard to shoot through, he thought, though getting a shot at this angle would not be easy… no, if he got a shot, he'd have to take it on someone outside. That would be easy. He got behind the rifle scope and punched the laser-rangefinder button, selecting the middle of the courtyard as his point of aim. Then he punched a few numbers into his calculator to allow for the vertical drop, came up with an adjusted range setting, and turned the elevation knob on the scope the right number of clicks. The direct line of sight was three hundred eighty-nine meters. Nice and close if he had to take a shot.
"Yes, Minister," Dr. Bellow said. He was sitting in a comfortable chair-Mike Dennis's-and staring at the wall. There was now a pair of photographs for him to stare at they were unknowns, because Tim Noonan didn't have them in his computer, and neither the French nor the Spanish police had turned either into a name with a history attached. Both had apartments a few miles away, and both were being thoroughly tossed now, and phone records checked as well, to see where they'd called.
"They want this Jackal fellow out, do they?" the French Minister of Justice asked.
"Along with some others, but he would seem to be their primary objective, yes."
"My government will not negotiate with these creatures!" the Minister insisted.
"Yes, sir, I understand that. Giving over the prisoners is generally not an option, but every situation is different, and I need to know what leeway, if any, you will give me as a negotiating position. That could include taking this Sanchez guy out of prison and bringing him here as… well, as bait for the criminals we have surrounded here."
"Do you recommend that?" the Minister asked.
"I am not sure yet. I haven't spoken with them, and until I do I cannot get a feel for what they're all about. For the moment, I must assume that we are dealing with serious, dedicated people who are willing to kill hostages."
"Children?"
"Yes, Minister, we must consider that a real threat," the doctor told him. That generated a silence that lasted for a full ten seconds by the wall clock Bellow was staring at.
"I must consider this. I will call you later."
"Thank you, sir." Bellow hung up the phone and looked up at Clark.
"So?"
"So, they don't know what to do. Neither do I yet. Look, John, we're up against a number of unknowns here. We do not know much about the terrorists. No religious motivation, they're not Islamic fundamentalists. So I can't use religion or God or ethics against them. If they're ideological Marxists, they're going to be ruthless bastards. So far they haven't been really communicative. If I can't talk to them, I got bupkis."
"Okay, so, what's our play?"
"Put 'em in the dark for starters."
Clark turned: "Mr. Dennis?"
"Yes?"
"Can we cut the electricity to the castle?"
"Yes," the park engineer answered for his boss.
"Do it, doc?" John asked Bellow, getting a nod. "Okay, pull the plug now."
"Fair enough." The engineer sat at a computer terminal and worked the mouse to select the power-control program. In a few seconds, he isolated the castle and clicked the button to turn their electricity off.
"Let's see how long this takes," Bellow said quietly.
It took five seconds. Dennis's phone rang.
"Yes?" the park manager said into the speakerphone. "Why did you do that?"
"What do you mean?"
"You know what I mean. The lights went off."
Dr. Bellow leaned over the speaker. "I am Dr. Bellow. Who am I talking to?"
"I am One. I am in control of Worldpark. Who are you?"
"My name is Paul Bellow, and I have been asked to speak with you."
"Ah, you are the negotiator, then. Excellent. Turn the lights back on immediately."
"Before we do that," Bellow said calmly, "I would like to know who you are. You have my name. I do not have yours."
"I told you that. I am One. You will call me Mr. One," the voice replied evenly, devoid of excitement or anger.
"Okay, Mr. One, if you insist, you can call me Paul."
"Turn the electricity back on, Paul."
"In return for which you will do what, Mr. One?"
