The Big Thaw (40 page)

“Get a couple of ambulances in—close, but not in the hazard zone. But obvious. Let ’em wonder who they’re for…”

The group in the stretch van ought to really appreciate that. We had Sally call the ambulances to the scene.

We also started to marshal school buses across the river, in parking lots of the Conception County Sheriff’s Department. If we had to off-load a bunch of passengers, we’d want a way to get them to the nearest shelter. In this case, the school gym.

Based on Nancy’s report, and the reaction on the phone at the bank, it appeared that cracks were starting to appear in the opposition’s confidence.

The loose talk around the passengers was a very good sign, and the voice on the bank phone sounded stressed as all get-out. And we hadn’t heard from Gabriel for a while. Busy with the troops?

“Like I said, they don’t have a lot of really good people in this,” I said. “Just a couple. Discipline is going to be a problem.”

“Lack of training,” said Volont. “But not a failure of leadership. Gabriel is a very strong leader. Don’t underestimate that.”

“But with untrained people, he’s going to have to be right there. The ones that are separated from him, they’re the ones who are going to start coming apart.” Hester kept looking at the boat. “Makes me wonder, though. They’re getting sort of nervous on the boat. They are really nervous at the bank. You suppose he’s in the stretch van stranded on the ramp?”

Interesting thought. If he was in the van, it was the best thing that could happen to us. If we could take that van, and let the boat and the bank be fully aware of it … Decapitate the whole operation. How far could the rest of them be from surrender, if we took the stretch van and Gabriel really was in it?

“Alpha Lead,” called Volont on the radio, “report up here ASAP.” He was calling the TAC team commander. Volont beamed at Hester. “I like that idea.”

By the time the TAC team commander arrived, we had something of a plan. The little group in the stranded stretch van was really dangling out there. No place to hide. No place to run. In a clear fire zone, especially with the boat now away from the dock. There was absolutely nothing to prevent us from taking them apart, if necessary. All we had to do was come up with a plan to convince them that we were about to do it if they resisted in any way, and then simply arrest them. Piece of cake.

The team commander agreed that they could be taken out without a problem. Arresting he wasn’t so sure about.

It became a matter of approach. If, as we hoped, Gabriel was in the van, we’d have to be careful not to make any mistakes at all. One false step, and he’d grab any possible advantage.

The team commander, who was aware of Gabriel’s background and the likely anti-Fed mentality of his group, suggested that we have either a local or a county officer go with him to approach the stretch van.

No names, but I looked around the office. I was the only one who fit that bill.

We came up with our plan. “You sure you’re comfortable with this?” What could I say? No? Of course I wasn’t comfortable about it. I didn’t want to do it. One of those lovely little moments, when you agree with everything that was going to be done, but had a little reservation about who was going to get stuck with it.

“Just remember, we aren’t going over there to arrest anybody. Just to give them something to think about.”

“Like shooting the pale deputy?”

He laughed. “You’ll be fine.”

I hoped he was right.

The view of the stretch van from street level was a bit different. We were much closer, for one thing, and the fog wasn’t much of a factor. You could see at least one head inside. The driver. The rest were fairly well obscured by shadow. I mean, it looked kind of lumpy in there, but you couldn’t make out individuals. It was hard to believe there were seven of them in there.

The stretch van was down by the bow, as they say, with both front tires flattened, and the right rear as well. Although I knew it wasn’t intentional, leaving that one tire up was a good thing. The occupants had to be just a little more uncomfortable, with a list like that. If we’d been able to shoot out all four tires, they’d have been on an even keel. Kind of reminded me of the old-fashioned interrogation chairs, with the front legs an inch shorter than the rear. The sensation of being about to slide out of the chair apparently made the interviewee most uncomfortable.

The engine was running, presumably for the heater. Even with the flat tires, I had to remind myself that they could move if they needed to. Just not too far or too fast.

We stopped just across the street from the stretch van, near the front of the fire truck. As planned, we climbed up into the cab, and scrutinized the radio and siren boxes, until we were sure we could turn on the truck’s PA system. I was always a little nervous with an unfamiliar siren box. You had to turn the rotary switch to “PA” and then activate the siren switch. With this one, and we’d been warned, you also had to switch the mike box over from “radio” to “PA,” or you’d just set off the siren. We were extracareful, because we didn’t want to startle the occupants of the stretch van into something regrettable. Like shooting us, for instance.

Click. Click
. So far, so good. Key the mike. Well, you can’t win them all. We both had our heads down, and pulling the mike to my mouth only got it about three inches from the radio. Feedback. The resulting squeal sounded like fingernails on a blackboard, magnified about a thousand times. It only lasted about half a second, but it scared the hell out of me. I released the “talk” button, and slid back across the passenger’s seat, so that my feet were on the paving, and just my elbows were in the truck.

“Wanna try that again?”

“Shit,” I said. “Yeah. Should have thought of that.” I cleared my throat, and stood on the running board with the mike in my hand. I keyed it again, and there was just a hiss from the speaker on the roof of the truck. So far, so good.

Following that squeal wasn’t easy, so I figured I’d better keep it simple and straightforward.

“Two of us are coming over to talk to you. Don’t shoot. Understand?” There was no reaction. I put the mike down. “That okay?”

“Don’t do much public address work, do you?” said Adams, with a grin. “It’ll do. Let’s go.”

We both stood in full view of the stretch van, took off our coats, and turned slowly. No obvious guns. We’d decided earlier that losing the coats would have to be enough. Cold made your voice shake, and that wasn’t what we wanted, so we weren’t about to take off our shirts. Just let them know that, if we were armed, they could probably get off the first hundred rounds while we fumbled for our guns.

Butterflies wouldn’t do my feelings justice, as we walked across that street. I can’t remember being so tense in my life. Not only were we in a perfect position to be gunned down in our tracks, but I was going to have to act self-possessed. And I was now very cold. It was awfully damp, and the breeze was picking up as it came upriver from the south.

We approached on the passenger side. We got about five feet from the window, and were staring eye to eye with a man in a ski mask. Armed with what looked like a Mack 10 submachine gun. There was a face at each of the two side windows, also with a ski mask on. I couldn’t see any guns, but I had no doubt they were there.

We just stood there. “Roll your window down,” I said, rather loudly. Nothing. “Your window,” I said, a bit louder. “Roll it down.” The eyes in the ski mask didn’t even blink.

I realized that, with the engine running, and the defroster on, it might be a bit hard to hear. But, honest, I was beginning to wonder if we might be all wrong, and dealing with some foreign nationals who didn’t speak English.

“Roll down your window,” said Adams. Also quite loudly. No reaction. The eyes just stared. No reaction, although they had to be able to see our lips moving, at least. We stood there for another thirty seconds. No reaction. Neither Adams nor I wanted to take our eyes off the occupants of the van, and neither of us should get any closer. The last thing we wanted was for them to grab one of us as a hostage. But this was turning into the stupidest moment of my career. I took two steps forward, and stayed well ahead of the door handle, so that if he did open it, the door would be between me and him. That way, if they tried to grab me, I could turn and run. I’m slow, but catching me in the middle of the street would have been really dumb on their part. It would take three of them to drag me back. Size does count, sometimes.

Thus emboldened, I continued the eye contact with the passenger, and motioned downward with my hand. “The window. Open the window.” Loud enough to be heard. Clear enough to be understood, or so I thought. Still nothing. It was like he was drunk. Stupidly drunk. Or stupid with fear. Ah.

I pulled my right hand back, made a fist, and struck the hood just in front of the windshield. Hurt like hell. At the same time, I yelled at the top of my lungs, “OPEN THE FUCKING WINDOW!”

He energetically cranked the window down, at the same time yelling back, “BE CAREFUL OF THE FUCKIN’ HOOD!”

Ah, communication.

“Hi,” I said, in a more normal tone. “My name’s Houseman, and I’m a deputy sheriff in this county. I think it’s time you surrendered.”

Even under that mask, I got the feeling this “warrior” was about nineteen or twenty. “We ain’t gonna surrender. We … we … demand safe, uh, safe passage.” It was just like he was reading it. “We don’t acknowledge your laws. We don’t have to obey the laws of this state. We’re freemen, we’re twenty-one, and you have, uh, no rule over us.”

Oh, God. Gabriel, you asshole, I thought. Using these people for this, and the kids, to boot.

“Look, son…”

“I’m not your son! You have no force over me!”

“No, you’re younger than any kid I’ll ever have,” I said. “The point is this. There are about twenty armed officers around you. If we open fire, you will be shredded like hamburger. You understand that?”

“We aren’t in your jurisdiction.”

“You are
completely
within my jurisdiction. Period. No question.”

A voice came out of the rear, somewhat older. Well, at least a little deeper. “You ain’t got thirty cops in this whole county! Liar! He’s lying, Timmy”

“Adams, you want to show them some ID?”

Very slowly, Adams’s hand came into my field of view. I could see the black nylon ID case opened up, and it was apparent that the passenger could see the ID.

“Tell them what you’re doing here, what you do,” I said.

“I’m the commander of the FBI Tactical Response Team that has you surrounded. The team that took out your tires in one second. From rooftops, from between the buildings, from behind the cars.” He said it very slowly and clearly.

Silence from the stretch van.

“We want you to think about this,” I said. “We’ll come back later and talk. If you want to talk to us, come out with your hands in the air where we can see them, and stand in the middle of the street. We’ll meet you halfway. Got that?”

The kid nodded.

“Okay. We’re going to go now. I trust you. I hope you trust me.”

“We won’t be far,” said Adams.

I thought there was a small movement in the rear of the van, and froze. Nothing.

“Don’t even think about it,” I said. Bravado city. I fervently hoped it was just somebody adjusting his position for some innocuous little reason.

We backed away, well into the street, where we turned and walked quickly back behind the fire truck.

As soon as we rounded the corner, I grabbed for my coat. “Fuck!” I was just so glad to be back.

“Yeah!” said Adams. “You know, you’re lucky you weren’t shot when you hit that hood.”

“Shit, I didn’t know what else to do. I’ve never seen anybody freeze up like that.”

“Fear. Pure, stark fear. I’ve seen it, but it took me a second to catch on to it this time.”

“That fuckin’ Gabriel ought to be shot for recruiting that kid.”

“You got that right.”

We walked the hundred feet past the pavilion, and took the elevator to Hester’s office. We dutifully made our report.

“Just a kid, huh?” Volont was pacing. “All kids?”

“I don’t think so,” I said. I looked at Adams.

“I don’t think so, either. I think he might have been coached by somebody.”

“I’ll tell you one thing, though.” I spoke with conviction. “Gabriel ain’t in the van.”

“I completely agree,” said Adams. “No sign of leadership. No sign of aggression. No sign of confidence. He’s not in there.”

I could tell by the look in Volont’s eye that, if Adams hadn’t agreed, he wouldn’t have believed me. I just hate that. I was there. I’m as bright as anybody. But I’m not FBI.

“I can’t believe,” said George, “the way you hit that hood. Definitely not in the manual.”

“Hey, I didn’t volunteer for this one. Believe me.”

If Adams and I were right, we had Gabriel either on the boat or in the bank. Fifty-fifty chance, I suppose, but I’d been picturing him on the boat all this time. I tried to remember, and thought it was something he’d said…

“Anybody… didn’t Gabriel say something that led us to believe he was on the boat rather than in the bank?”

“He said he’d ‘tell the crew to hand out the jackets’ when he implied that they would sink the boat,” said Hester. “At least, that’s the way I took it.”

“Me too,” said George.

Apparently, everybody agreed. “Maybe we could call the boat and ask to speak with him?” Why not?

“We tried the boat while you were talking to the van people,” said Hester.

“The land lines disconnected when she was cut adrift. They’d do that,” said James.

Hmm. “Well, then, let’s call the bank again. Ask to speak to him.”

“Let me,” said Art. “I’m good at that. Anybody got any name I could use to get ’em to talk to me?”

“How about Roger Bushnell?” Sally blushed as everybody stared at her. “Should work.”

“How so?” asked George.

“The first uniformed cop that drove up to the stretch van ran the plate. It’s just what they do. Comes back to a Roger Bushnell”—she looked at her notes—“of Eden, Wisconsin. Plate expired three years ago. No other vehicles registered to him. Should be, if he registered cars anymore. I’ll bet he doesn’t because he doesn’t believe in the vehicle laws.” It all came out in a burst.