The Big Thaw

by Donald Harstad

  “Glad to meet you,” said Volont. “I can see some activity on the front end of the boat, Captain. Can you tell what they’re doing?”

  Captain Olinger looked carefully through Hester’s binoculars for a moment. “Well, it looks like some amateurs are preparing the rescue boat for launch,” he said. “One of them is trying to release the boarding ladder … Not much of a sailor, is he?”

  “Captain,” said Volont, “these people have threatened to sink the boat. Can they do it?”

  The captain looked down at Volont. “Beats me. What do they have to work with?”

  Volont cleared his throat, embarrassed and irritated. Nobody likes to ask a dumb question. “Maybe I should ask what it would take to sink it?”

  “And you are?”

  James intervened. “He’s FBI,” he said.

  “Oh. Well, she’s got five watertight compartments. If the doors are properly closed … you’d have to breach the hull on either side of each of two of the transverse bulkheads to sink her. Flood two of the compartments.” He looked back out the window toward the Beauregard. “I’d say that’d sink her, all right.”

  Twenty-six

  Sunday, January 18, 1998, 1316

  I got busy about then with another phone call from Nancy and Shamrock. They had been on a quick scouting expedition, and had made careful observations.

  “There are about five or six onboard, and they’re doing something up front with a raft, or something, and they’re pissed off and worried about something to do with that van on shore.”

  Not bad. “What are they worried about the van for?”

  “I don’t know. But they don’t seem to know why it’s still there, like it shouldn’t be …” Nancy’s voice, though rapid, was pretty calm.

  “They got that right,” I said, with just a hint of pride. “Where are they?”

  “Up front. One or two above us, but the others are out on deck, as far as I can tell. Are they going to leave us?”

  “I don’t know. They might.” I was really encouraged. If they were talking so that Nancy could overhear, and if they were worried about the van not moving, they weren’t the best of troops. That meant that we might be able to handle them like ordinary criminals, not like pros.

  She slowed her voice way down. “Are they going to sink us?”

  “They can’t.”

  “Oh, right, Houseman. Just like Titanic.”

  “No, really. You’re in fourteen feet of water. That means the bottom of the boat is only seven or eight feet above the river bottom. Worst you can do is get your feet wet. Best thing for you two to do is to go up one deck.”

  “I’m gonna get a drink,” said Nancy.

  “Yeah, right…”

  “No shit, Houseman. The bars are still open. Hell, these idiot terrorists are letting people do their thing. There are still a bunch of people playing the slots.”

  “You’re kidding?”

  “No. For real. The only thing different is that there aren’t any boat security people or any dealers around.” She said good-bye, and broke the connection. To go get a drink, presumably.

  I shared the information with the group.

  Hester thought it was a good idea. “I mean, it keeps the people calm. It lets the gamblers go back to their thing. Keeps everybody happy. Why not?”

  “Especially now,” said Volont. “With about half your people sitting in that van. You don’t really want to do crowd control. Keep everybody happy, like there wasn’t any problem at all. Pretty smart.”

  “Call the bank,” said Volont. “See how things are in there.”

  Sally did, on speaker phone. You could hear the phone ringing, and then a man’s voice.

  “What the fuck is taking so long?”

  “This is a police dispatcher …”

  Click.

  Well.

  It was time to discuss things. We did. Not at length, naturally, but we got a bunch of thoughts together, and found that we were in substantial agreement on most points.

  Stopping the van was an excellent idea, and had taken control from Gabriel. It hadn’t put us in control, not yet. But there was at least more of an even playing field.

  The boat, while it could be hurt, wasn’t going to be sinking in the traditional sense. Passengers might be jeopardized in the long term, but not immediately. The captain explained that he thought the worst danger was that, since the engines would become inoperative if submerged, and that since the upper decks were mostly windows, it was going to get pretty damned cold onboard if they did anything drastic.

  Not an urgent thing, at least not in the current environment.

  We had apparently put a lot of pressure on the bad guys at the bank. Good. We also got confirmation that they couldn’t see anything but the boat’s stacks from the bank, in the best of times. Therefore, they were probably unable to see the stopped van at the boat dock. Uncertainty. Good.

  We didn’t want the gunmen to panic. All we wanted to do at this point was severely undermine their confidence, and it looked like we were making good progress there. All we had to do was just hold our ground, wait for the negotiator, and make preparations to get the passengers off the boat as soon as we could. Hester had an excellent suggestion.

  “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 mentali
ty 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 sa
id 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.