Depraved Indifference by Robert K. Tanenbaum

replaced the phone and went back into Pillman’s office. With a jaunty wave he started towards the outer door.
    â€œUh, Karp?”
    â€œYes?”
    â€œHave a seat.”
    Lucky for me you’re a sneak, Karp thought.
    For the next half hour Elmer Pillman gave as good an imitation of interagency cooperation as he could contrive. The scene in Paris was much as V.T. had described it (although Pillman significantly left out the mysterious Dettrick, and the mixed signals) with one important exception: about an hour ago, the gendarmes had shot out the tires of the airplane, immobilizing it.
    â€œSo they’re not going anywhere,” Karp said, feeling considerable relief. “What happened then? Did the hijackers do anything?”
    â€œYeah, they want a new plane by sundown or they’ll set off the bomb. The same shit they’ve been handing out all along.”
    â€œWhat’s the French position?”
    â€œWho the hell knows? Facedown with their ass in the air, as usual, probably. Their main worry was keeping the plane from taking off again and flying over Paris with a bomb in it, which they’ve settled. Now we think they’re willing to let the other guys make the next move.”
    â€œBut what’s our move?”
    Pillman looked away, his face suddenly tense. “How do you mean?”
    â€œI mean we want them back here. They killed a cop. The last thing we want is for the French to screw around with them for a couple of years and then maybe trade them back to Yugoslavia for a tractor contract. I want to offer the hijackers a deal that’ll break them loose now, today.”
    â€œLike what?”
    Karp’s brain spun for about two seconds. He had not, in fact, given the problem any thought. However, he was in his natural element. One thing he knew how to do was make deals with crooks.
    â€œThree choices. They can surrender to the French authorities for trial under French law. They can go back to Yugoslavia. Or they can come back here for trial.”
    Pillman frowned. “What makes you think they’ll choose the one you want?”
    â€œBecause the Yugoslavs will put them up against a wall and shoot them. The French are pissed off at the Croatians already, and they’ve got no leverage in France. But on the other hand, some of these guys have been in New York for a while. They’ve got support here, friends, lawyers. Plus they read the papers. They know how easy it is to beat a rap in New York. But I doubt they’re familiar enough with the New York State penal code to know how seriously we take killing an officer in the line of duty. Or about the felony murder rule. They should roll our way on this.”
    â€œThere’s a fourth option,” Pillman said, chewing the plastic tip of his cigar. “They could blow up the plane.”
    â€œNot a chance. These guys aren’t maniacs. They haven’t hurt anybody on the plane. They let off the women and kids. They’re some kind of big patriotic front. They want positive publicity, which is exactly what they’ll get from a big New York trial. I’m telling you, they’ll go for it.”
    Pillman considered this for a long moment, his face reflecting a frantic search for some element in this scheme that he could turn to his personal advantage. At last he saw a glimmer of one and allowed himself a thin smile.
    â€œOK, Karp. I got to make some calls, but I’ll buy it for now. I’ll keep in touch, hey?”
    When Karp had left, Pillman lit another cigar and called the assistant director, his boss. After listening to a lecture about how upset Mr. Bloom was, and about how important good interagency cooperation was, Pillman said, “Harry, don’t worry about it. The whole thing’s fixed. I just had a great idea about how to get those people back.”
    Back in the lobby again, Karp felt that he had done pretty well in Pillman’s office, although he was by no