Chapter 4

"You should talk to him, Mark," Ed advised his captor. "He can help you."

The gunman shot him a sharp glance from across the shop floor.

"No," Mark replied. "He can't." The youth turned away abruptly, and picked up Ed's mobile phone from the counter. He hesitated for a moment, indecision written across his face, before tapping in a number.

"Come on, pick up, pick up..." he muttered impatiently, beginning to pace the floor. Ed watched the signs of agitation in silence, hoping Greg would be able to get through to the boy before it was too late.

"Jenny, it's me," he said, ceasing his pacing. "You've got to get out. Now."

Ed strained his ears, concerned by this new development.

"Go to your mum's. Don't pack anything, just go. Call me when you get there," he ordered. Ed wondered if Greg was picking up the conversation from outside, but knew the chances that his phone was being monitored were slim.

"You're not listening to me! Get out of the house now!" This Ed did not have to strain to hear. He heard the frustration in the shouted order, and wondered who "Jenny" was to him, to elicit such strong emotions despite the situation he was in.

"Just promise me," he begged, his voice barely above a whisper now. The other person's response seemed to placate him.

"I love you too," he whispered with longing.

He slowly pulled the phone away from his ear, staring morosely at the gun in his other hand. The cop watched him in silence, digesting this new information. He doubted that the gunman could be convinced to give himself up until he knew that "Jenny" had reached safety, and wondered if there was some way to alert Greg. If they could pick the girl up, Mark would have no reason to continue resisting them. He glanced sideways at his radio, abandoned on the floor where it had been thrown earlier. There was no way he could reach it without alerting his captor. No, the only way to reach Greg would be through Mark. He chose his words carefully, knowing he would get only one attempt to convince Mark that Jenny's best chance was if she were with Greg. He opened his mouth to speak, but a groan of pain ripped through the air.

The hooded gunman pivoted furiously to its source: the injured pharmacist. He raised the gun, but quickly turned it on the doctor.

"Shut him up," he demanded.

"He's dying!" the doctor retorted, his eyes blazing as anger overcame fear.

"So fix him," the youth growled.

"With what?" he demanded. "I need tools, bloods, medication – this isn't a hospital!"

"Fix him," Mark insisted, "or you'll be joining him."

The doctor's eyes flickered to the gun, and the anger left them, swiftly replaced by fear. Ed intervened quickly, before the situation could escalate further.

"Take it easy. He'll treat him. Doc?" He saw a flash of movement as the doctor nodded quickly in agreement, but did not take his eyes from the youth's face.

"But he's right; he can't treat him without the right equipment – things we don't have here."

Mark lowered the gun.

"Just keep him quiet – or I will," he promised. A shrill ringing pierced the tense silence, and the gunman's eyes flew to the silent phone in his hand, and then, dejected, they fell on the store phone. He walked reluctantly towards it, and dropped the blackberry on the counter. The gun he kept in his other hand. Slowly, he lifted the cheap plastic receiver to his ear, not bothering to speak.

"Hi Mark, it's Greg Parker again," Greg reintroduced himself to the silence. "How are you all doing in there?"

"Fine," Mark responded reluctantly. "We're fine." Greg was confident he knew the reason for the reluctance, and pressed on carefully. The admission had to come from the subject, and willingly.

"I'm glad to hear that. How about the injured man, how's he doing?"

The silence that followed told the negotiator that he was on the right track, and he allowed it to stretch for just a couple of seconds – long enough to let the hostage taker's guilt to build.

"His name's Gary, and his family are worried about him."

"He's not doing so good," Mark muttered at length.

"I have someone out here who thinks he can help. His name is John and he's a paramedic."

"Do you think I'm stupid?" the gunman growled. "It's gonna take more than an EMT costume to get a cop in here!"

"Come on Mark, you know I wouldn't do that," Greg said, rubbing his fingers against his temple. "I just want to help Gary, and you."

"No one is coming in here!"

"Ok, I hear you. Maybe there's another way we can fix this." Mark was silent. Greg knew that was a good sign – it meant the subject was still open to suggestion.

"I see you've got a doctor in there who's been trying to help Gary. How about we get him what he needs, how does that sound?"

Suspicion raced across the boy's features, followed swiftly by relief. HHHHe hadn't expected this concession without a fight.

"Yeah, that sounds good," he answered.

"Ok, good, that's great Mark. I know Gary's family will be really grateful that you're looking out for him. We're gonna get those supplies for you, and bring them over to you as soon as we can. Do you want me to talk you through what's going to happen?"

"Yeah."

"Ok. Two of my men are going to come up to the door with the bag. I'm not going to lie to you, they're going to have weapons, but they're not there to hurt you, ok? They're going to wait outside the door until you're ready – you don't have to open it until you feel comfortable. They'll give you the bag, and then they'll leave."

"No," Mark demanded at once. "No guns, and only one cop."

"I'll see what I can do."

"Do what I say or the door stays shut."

The dial tone sounded in Greg's ear and he placed the phone back on the desk. He wasn't fooled by Mark's attitude: the boy was afraid, but that didn't make Greg's decision any easier. He lifted his hand and activated his headset.

"The subject has agreed to let a doctor treat the casualty if we provide the medical supplies. But he's nervous – he'll only allow one person to make the drop, unarmed. Now, you know I would never agree to this if I thought there was any chance of the subject opening fire, but we can't afford to lower our guard. Jules, you have scorpio if you need it."

"Sarge, let me make the drop," Jules volunteered.

"Jules, it's too risky," Sam argued immediately.

"Sarge, I can do this, I'm a woman, he'll see me as less of a threat."

"Ok, good," Greg agreed, ignoring Sam's outburst – emotions ran high when a crisis became personal. "Sam will relieve you. Wordy, head back to the truck. You're my second."

"Copy," Sam responded resentfully.

"Copy that," Jules replied cheerfully.

.

It took Sam only a few short minutes to jog to Jules' rooftop perch. His heart hammered, but not from the exertion of the run. How could Jules be this reckless? And how could the rest of the team stand back and let her? Was being shot once not enough for her? Hadn't she seen what it had put the rest of them through – put him through? He shook his head angrily and rounded the corner to where the female cop waited for him. He took a breath to bring his emotions under control, and signalled to her to switch her mic off. Jules obliged willingly, her eyes blazing.

"Jules, this is a bad idea," Sam started.

"If you ever try to humiliate me in front of the team like that again…" she hissed at him. Sam took a step backwards, shocked by her anger.

"Humiliate you? What are you talking about Jules – can't you see I'm worried about you? You can't keep putting yourself in harm's way like this!"

"I don't need your protection Sam," Jules retorted, "or your permission."

"Jules," he implored softly in the face of her fury. "Please don't do this."

"I don't have time for this Sam," she snapped. She switched her mic back on, and Sam bit back his reply, eyeing her with frustration as he did the same.

"I'm on my way, Sarge," Jules said, turning and walking away from her ex-lover.