she sees those blades coming close, she’s going to change her damn tune
pretty quick, I’m just about sure of that.”
Johnson turned whiter. All his blood just drained away. He fell back
and sat heavily against the rock. His mouth was working soundlessly.
“What the hell do you bastards want?” Webster 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 to 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 carried 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 hand-held 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