"I'm on your side so far. I know you, Dennis. I don't know Baltimore Internal Affairs." Coulter cut me off. "I want you to listen to me. Don't talk. Just hear me out." "All right," I said. "I'm listening." I sat down on the ground behind a Baltimore PD cruiser, and I got ready to listen to the armed man who was supposedly holding a dozen of his family members hostage. Jesus, I was back on the Job again. "They want to kill me," Dennis Coulter began. "The Baltimore PD has me in its crosshairs." POP! I jumped. Someone had pulled open a can of soda and tapped me on the shoulder with it. I looked up to see none other than Ned Mahoney, head of the Hostage Rescue Team at Quantico, handing me a Diet Coke, caffeine-free. I had taken a couple of classes from him during orientation. He knew his stuff - in the classroom, anyway. "Welcome to my private hell," I said. "What am I doing here, by the way?" Mahoney winked and dropped down beside me. "You're a rising star, or maybe a risen star. You know the drill. Get him talking. Keep him talking," said Mahoney. "We hear you're real good at this." "So what are you doing here?" I asked. "What do you think? Watching, studying your technique. You're the director's boy, right? He thinks you're gifted." I took a sip of soda, then pressed the cold can to my forehead. Hell of an introduction to the FBI for the FNG. "Dennis, who wants to kill you?" I spoke into the cell phone again. "Tell me all you can about what's going on here. I also need to ask about your family. Is everybody all right in there?" Coulter bristled. "Hey! Let's not waste time on a lot of bullshit negotiation crap. I'm about to be executed. That's what this is. Make no mistake. Look around you, man. It's an execution." I couldn't see Coulter, but I remembered him. No more than five-eight, goatee, hip, always cracking a wiseass joke, very tough. All in all, a small-man complex. He began to tell his story, his side of things, and unfortunately I had no idea what to make of what he was spilling out.