Free Stalling for Time by Gary Noesner

position behind a steel girder supporting the roof over the platform. This put us about a hundred feet from Mario’s compartment, just alongside one of the other cars attached to it. The only problem with this location was that Mario stood between us and the command post, back inside the train station proper. This meant that anytime we needed to consult with the chief, or even use the restrooms, we had to follow the same circuitous route through the parking lot to stay outside the potential range of Mario’s weapons. Fred in particular made many, many trips, serving as liaison and information source. Still, sniper/observer teams were there, hidden from view, both to protect us and to use force if Mario suddenly came out with guns blazing.
    As darkness fell, the warmer daytime temperatures dropped precipitously, and Ray and I appropriated blankets from the passenger car sitting on the track next to us. Even wrapped in a blanket, I was still standing on the cold cement train platform in loafers. Then it began to rain, a steady drizzle that would continue through the night.
    The SWAT team had set up transmitters with microphones andspeakers that would allow us to hear Mario and him to hear us. We now put on headphones, and Ray took a deep breath and purposefully picked up the microphone.
    Ray’s an incredibly affable and outgoing guy, one of the more upbeat people I’ve ever met. As he launched into his monologue he projected a sense of calm and kindness. “Este es Ray,” he said. Then, continuing in Spanish, he said, “I’m here to help you. How are the children?”
    No answer. Ray continued along the lines we’d suggested to Heineman. No one wanted to hurt Mario; he should speak with us so that we could help him. Again, no response, but Ray kept up the patter, which is more difficult than you might imagine. It can be counterproductive to keep saying the same things over and over—as well as torturous for both speaker and listener alike—so I tried to help Ray come up with fresh ways to make the representations that we thought would be most effective. “Think about the children. You don’t want them to suffer.” “Let us get you some food and some drinks. Those kids need to eat.” “Think about yourself. Life is still worth living.”
    I was struck by Ray’s ability to come off as entirely genuine, speaking to Mario as if they were brothers. He carefully avoided the stereotypical “voice of authority” so often associated with law enforcement personnel. The cold monotone of Sergeant Joe Friday from
Dragnet
is not what you need when you’re trying to convey empathy and establish rapport. It’s also true that individuals likely to engage in a standoff usually have a negative view of the police already. They expect law enforcement to be autocratic, demanding, and stern, so when someone like Ray projects real understanding, it disarms the subject and can help win his cooperation. As my psychologist friend Dr. Mike Webster says, “People want to work with, cooperate with, and trust people that they like.” It’s hard to like someone who is threatening you or challenging you.
    Ray had attended the FBI negotiation course at Quantico fifteen months earlier, and now he was getting his initiation by fire—this was in fact his first negotiation. Knowing this, I tried to help as much as I could, first sorting through the translation of all that was said, then whispering or jotting down my suggestions on a yellow legal pad and holding them up for him to see: “Mario, we know you must be scared, but nobody wants to hurt you.… We’re really concerned about the childrenand want to make sure that they have something to eat and drink.… Help us to help you.” We soon fell into a comfortable pace that enabled us to keep the monologue going.
    After two solid hours, Mario finally responded to a comment about the children. He began to shout at Ray: “You no-good son of a bitch. Stop talking to me. You’re a no-good