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typed and read the screen. He said, “All indictments have involved at least one firearms count. He’s shot four individuals, killed two of them. Fort Dix, M-16 training, he consistently shot low nineties on the range. No record of sidearm scores.”
    “There you have it,” Potter told Budd. “Tell them to keep their heads down. ”
    A light flashed toward them. Potter blinked and saw, in the distance, a combine had just turned on its lights. It was early of course but the overcast was oppressive. He gazed at the line of trees to the right and left of the slaughterhouse.
    “One other thing, Charlie—I want you to leave the snipers in position but give them orders not to shoot unless the HTs make a break.”
    “HTs—that’s the hostage takers, right?”
    “Even if they have a clear shot. Those troopers you were telling me about, with the rifles, are they SWAT?”
    “No,” he said, “just damn fine shots. Even the girl. She started practicing on squirrels when she was—”
    “And I want them and everybody else to unchamber their weapons. Everybody.”
    “What?”
    “Loaded but not chambered.”
    “Oh, I don’t know ’bout that, sir.”
    Potter turned to him with an inquiring look.
    “I just mean,” Budd said quickly, “not the snipers too?”
    “You can pull the bolt of an M-16 and shoot in under one second.”
    “Not and steady a scope you can’t. An HT could get off three shots in a second.” The initials sat awkwardly in his mouth, as if he were trying raw oysters for the first time.
    He’s so eager and talented and correct, Potter mused.
    What a day this is going to be.
    “The takers aren’t going to come out and shoot a hostage in front of us before we can react. If it comes to that, the whole thing’ll turn into a firefight anyway.”
    “But—”
    “Unchambered,” Potter said firmly. “Appreciate it, Charlie.”
    Budd nodded reluctantly and reiterated his assignment: “Okay, I’m gonna send somebody down to give a statement to the press—or not to give a statement to the press, I should say. I’ll round up reporters and push ’em back a mile or so, I’ll get us a block of rooms, and tell everybody to keep their heads down. And deliver your message about not loading and locking.”
    “Good.”
    “Brother.” Budd ducked out of the van. Potter watched him crouching and running down to a cluster of troopers. They listened, laughed, and then started herding the reporters out of the area.
    In five minutes the captain returned to the command van. “That’s done. Those reporters’re about as unhappy as I thought they’d be. I told ’em a Feebie’d ordered it. You don’t mind me calling you that, I hope.” There was an edge to his voice.
    “You can call me whatever you like, Charlie. Now, I want a field hospital set up here.”
    “Medevac?”
    “No, not evacuation. Trauma-team medics and triage specialists. Just out of clear range of the slaughterhouse. No more than sixty seconds away. Prepped for everything from third-degree burns to gunshot wounds to pepper spray. Full operating suites.”
    “Yessir. But, you know, there’s a big hospital not but fifteen miles from here.”
    “That may be, but I don’t want the HTs to even hear the sound of a medevac chopper. Same reason I want the press copters and our Hueys out of earshot.”
    “Why?”
    “Because I don’t want to remind them of something they might not think of themselves. And even if they do ask for a chopper I want the option to tell them that it’s too windy to fly one in.”
    “Will do.”
    “Then come back here with your commanders. Sheriff Stillwell too. I’m going to hold a briefing.”
    Just then the door opened and a tanned, handsome young man with black curly hair bounded inside.
    Before he greeted anyone he looked at the control panels and muttered, “Excellent.”
    “Tobe, welcome.”
    Tobe Geller said to Potter, “Boston girls are beautiful and they all have pointy tits, Arthur. This better be