Donald Harstad - The Big Thaw

"Let me speak with Volont."

"I'm here."

"Stop playing with my people," he said. "In a short while, we'll be leaving. Stay out of the way," and he terminated the conversation.

"I think," said George, "we're definitely getting to him…"

About a minute later, the phone rang. Nancy, for me.

"Houseman," she whispered, "how are you coming with getting us off here? These people are starting to act kind of squirrelly."

"The bad guys or the passengers?"

"Don't be silly," she said. I thought it had been a pretty reasonable question.

"We're getting there," I said, trying to be a comfort.

"No progress, huh? You're gonna have to do better than that. One of the passengers is a little tipsy, and went over to one of the ski masks and asked him for a light. The ski mask knocked him down with his gun, and threatened to kill him."

"No shit?" We must be getting to the ones on the boat, too. I couldn't figure that out. They were the ones who cast off, apparently stranding themselves in the river. With explosive charges that had obviously been placed by them. Planned. With Gabriel there for leadership. So, what was screwing up their program? Something to do with the stretch van?

"No shit. This isn't a good situation here, Houseman. Not at all."

"Who's in charge? Can you tell?"

"It's supposed," she said, testily, "to be you."

"No, but in charge of the bad guys. Where's the leader? Where on the boat, I mean."

"I don't have the faintest. I didn't even know they had one."

Hester signaled me. "The suspects in the your little van seem to want to talk…"

"Gotta go. Hey, talk to Hester, will you?" I handed Hester the phone, and headed for the elevator.

When Adams and I got to the van, the young male I'd talked to was standing in the middle of the street, with his coat still on and his hands in his pockets. He was making everybody very nervous.

Adams and I approached him, and stopped when we got to the curb on our side of the street. "Put your hands where we can see them, would you?" I shouted. "We'll keep ours out in plain view, too."

That seemed to work. He took his hands out of his pockets, and kept standing there. We approached.

"What do you want to tell us?" Adams was a lot better trained than I.

"We been talking. We don't think you can do this, but we… we know we have rights under your laws. Right?"

"Sure. Same as anybody else. Isn't that right, Deputy?"

"Absolutely."

He nodded. "Okay, then. Then we want to surrender under the Geneva convention."

He sounded so damned sincere, and so scared…

"Just tell me your name, and I'll accept your surrender," said Adams. "I'm authorized to do so."

"Oh, good… Timothy Frederick Olson."

"Maybe you better tell your friends that we can accept your surrender. But only if you lay down your arms."

"Oh, oh, sure. Oh. Be right back, okay?"

"Okay."

"This is Alpha Lead," said Adams. "It looks like they might come out. If they do, get a team here to secure them."

Neither of us looked at the other. We didn't want to take our eyes off the van. "Are we going to be this lucky?"

"Well," he said, "if the kid is any indication, we sure are."

"I agree. And why else send him? Just to blow away two older cops?"

"Speak for yourself."

About ten seconds later, they began to emerge from the van. Seven men, still with their ski masks on, but without any visible weapons. They were all dressed in olive green trousers, boots, and patterned rust-brown, gray, black, and green rain smocks. They sure hadn't all been dressed like that when I'd seen them on the dock. They must have put them on while they were waiting. Solidarity?

As they walked toward us, Adams barked, "Hands on your heads, gentlemen, and please roll the ski masks off your faces."

They did. I didn't recognize any of them. As the kid I'd talked to went by, I stopped him for a second.

"Why did you all put on the same clothes?"

"If you catch us out of uniform, you can have us executed as spies," he said, very matter-of-fact. "It's in the Geneva convention."

I shook my head. "Go on with the others."

"Did I hear him right?"

"Afraid so."

"Boy. Twenty-two years in the FBI, and I never heard that one before."

But, now, regardless of anything else, our most direct path to the boat was cleared. The odds were getting better all the time.

We reassessed, as they say. It was decided to begin to bring rescue equipment toward the boat, since the threat in the stretch van had been neutralized, and we could begin to bring people in a bit closer. We called the main office, and asked for Captain Olinger to come back up to the DCI office. We needed to plan.

Sometimes it's hard to see any real progress in a given situation. I mean, here things were, with better access to a boat we still couldn't get to, which was still occupied by several hundred gamers as hostage, held by a few armed individuals who were not about to let us get much closer than we were. A small increment, at best. But, I thought, progress, nonetheless.

Until I talked with George.

"You know, what we've done is eliminate the only suspects we could hold hostage…" He looked at me, startled at his own thoughts. "If Gabriel ordered them to surrender, he just saved their lives, eliminated the threat that they could be killed or injured, and has kept the ante the same."

"Smoothed out the lines," said Adams. He shivered in the cold, damp air. "Looks like we just rescued some of his people for him."

Art had come up while we were talking. "Well, that means we got some people to charge if things go to hell on us."

Always practical.

Captain Olinger came in. "You have a plan? I understand you have a plan…"

Lamar arrived a few moments later. I'd never been so glad to see him in my life, because I knew what was coming, and I honestly didn't want the decision on my shoulders. We had another little impromptu get-together. The upshot was that, to pressure Gabe and to force his surrender, we had to take the bank. Volont really pressed Lamar, because it was Lamar's decision. His primary jurisdiction.

"He's a soldier, Sheriff. He is. He won't kill just to be doing it. I know that. You know that. Once we take the bank, the whole reason for his whole operation is over. Done."

Lamar looked at him for a moment, and then just walked off a few feet, stomping his good foot in the slush. "Carl, Hester, come here, will ya?"

We stood with him, nobody saying a word. Finally, he asked our opinion. "So, what do you think?"

"My best guess," I said, "is this: He hasn't hurt anybody on the boat or in the bank. We have no indication that he's going to do bad things on the boat. Unless we do, I say wait him out."

"I agree," said Hester. "When he has to try to feed several hundred people out there on the water, he's done. Forty-eight hours or less, and he just drops into our laps."

"So, you don't think we should try the bank, then?"

We both said, "No."

"Unless he does something to the boat?"

Right.

"Even then, it depends on what he does. As sheriff, it's my call." Lamar was quiet for a few more seconds, and then he turned back to the FBI agent in charge. "Let it wait. Plan it, set it up, and then wait. It ain't time, yet."

I thought it was a fine decision.

We just got back into Hester's office at the pavilion, when the phone rang. Sally made her now familiar "It's Gabriel" signal, and put him on speaker phone.

"Let me speak to Volont."

"This is Sheriff Ridgeway. I think you'd better talk to me, first."

"The sheriff himself. Well, this is an honor. What kept you?"

"Business," said Lamar. "Why don't you just knock off the shit, and give up. You know we ain't gonna let your people out of the bank. You know you're gonna have to give up the boat. Why prolong things?"