The six convicts conferred among themselves for a few seconds. Two of them left the room and went in different directions, probably to see if the noise had brought out any unwelcome people. Leah didn’t have much hope that any shots had been heard. The old building was local stone and masonry built over tree-trunk-beam frames, with planks planed two inches thick. The interior layers were wood, lath, and plaster, and the roof was slate. The inner finish was all marble floors and oak woodwork. The buildings on all sides were municipal or commercial, and not occupied at night. Very soon both men trotted back into the room looking confident.

Leah was aware that the other captives all occasionally glanced in her direction, or tried to appear to stare into space while keeping her in the periphery of their vision. She kept her mind off them and on the six captors, and thought about the opportunity to do something. She had been in this building many times in the past few years, usually for trials in the courtroom near the back of the building. She was hoping the members of the council would know much more about the building than she did.

She was watchful, making calculations. She was six feet two inches tall, so her reach was probably about three feet with either arm, but if she stretched or half-turned and bent toward an object, it might be four feet, or even five. She knew she could deliver a punch that way or grasp something in a half second or so. If she stood on the balls of her feet and pushed off, she could add nearly another foot. She had been a natural athlete who had trained hard and worked at it, and after she became a cop, she had stayed in shape. Even after she was promoted from the street to a desk, she kept at it because she liked gyms better than hospitals and health better than weakness. But the odds against her were terrible.

Lee Wolf didn’t want to let the hostages calm down or do any thinking, so he kept on talking. “What we need at this point is gasoline, gentlemen. There’s no need to keep these good people marinating in their own sweat any longer. That means we’ve got to get the five-gallon cans we bought on the way here, and the siphon. There are cars out in the back parking lot, and these people won’t be driving home tonight, so they should be able to spare the gas. Joe and Jim and I will stay here and have a talk with the council while the rest of you bring what we need.”