Gillian didn't dare to linger in the restroom any longer. She washed her face, made sure the radio was still hidden, wore the coolest smile she could manage and headed out. She was circling the counter to fix herself a coffee when the phone rang.
"Phil, it's Agent Coleman. Everything okay in there?"
"You tell me, Agent. Are the big guns outta the picture?"
"Yes, for now."
"So you're calling to tell me you've found Strafford?"
"Yes, we've found him."
"Then why isn't he here? Send'im in so I can let these people go!"
The team traded a look as Russell met Brock's eyes. The stress of the situation was draining Phil. He wanted it all to end. It was his most vulnerable moment, and also the most dangerous.
"First we need to secure the people you're keeping, Phil."
"You want me to let them go, so your commandos can storm in and shoot me down like a dog!"
Gillian scowled at Phil when he said that, but he ignored her.
"That's not our plan, Phil. How about setting a few more free?"
"And you're bringing Strafford?"
"Let's go step by step. Let some more hostages go and we can talk about your father."
That single word made him snap. "HE'S NOT MY FATHER!" he yelled, and hung up.
For a horrible moment, everybody at the tent expected to hear shots from inside Orlando's, but nothing happened. Then, out of the blue, needing to vent out the building stress, they started debating alternatives to breach in, take Palmer down and free the hostages.
Brock took a hand to his earphone, stepped away to listen and turned to Tanya. "Isolate Gillian's audio," he said. "Listening to all we say is getting in her way. Keep her audio linked only to me, unless I tell you otherwise."
Gillian gave a paper cup of warm milk with sugar to the little girl, sitting on the floor against the wall in her mother's arms. She heard Brock and winked at the little girl to justify her smile. The stupid bitter man was a damned control freak that morning. Now she could only hear him.
"Ma'am!" called Phil.
She hurried back to the counter and he nodded at the phone. "The feds want me to let more people go. But if I do, I'm sure they're gonna break in. They wouldn't care about a few casualties."
"They care, Phil. They don't want anybody to die today."
"Sure, 'cause they give a shit about me."
Sorry, stupid control freak, but I never got your manual on negotiation techniques, so I'm gonna improvise here. "They care about me," she said, and when Phil frowned, taken aback by her words, she smiled. "Why else did we agree to use me to threat my father?"
Phil narrowed his eyes, not quite believing her. "Why would a bunch of feds care about you? They've come chasing me down from Lawrence."
"Okay, time to come clean. A coffee?"