Чак Хоган - The Standoff

It was obvious by the clattering noises over the speaker that Ables was done with them again. Banish sat back. The sound man pulled down his headphones, saying, “He’s clear.”

Banish shut his eyes and was quiet for a moment. “He’s stringing this out,” he said.

Blood said, “He’s enjoying himself.”

Banish opened his eyes and sat forward. He spoke generally, reviewing things. “Still fairly coherent,” he said. “Wants a personal relationship with the negotiator. That’s common. They all want reassurance near the end. So you use that, you figure out what they want to hear in terms of similar problems, you empathize and exploit their weaknesses, show them they are not alone in this, even get them thinking you are on their side if you can.” He turned and looked at Blood. “What do you think?”

Blood was going to say that he didn’t believe Banish for a second, that it seemed as though he had gone too far and was trying to excuse himself here. “About what?”

“Ables.”

Blood nodded at that. “I’d say he’s sizing himself up to be a pretty good martyr.”

The sound man with the Southern accent contributed to Banish’s cause. “I think it’s good how you let him flex his ego now and again. I think that works.”

Blood said, “You going to ask him about Mellis?”

Banish shook his head lightly. “Not the sort of thing I’d want to introduce into the conversation,” he said. “I don’t think he will either.”

He stood then. His shoulders looked heavy. To the sound man he said, “Call over to the command tent, have them get a printout for me. I want to review the transcripts.”

The sound man nodded. “We’re silent up top,” he reminded him.

Banish stopped. “What do you have?”

“Depends. What are you looking for?”

Banish thought. “Something new. He needs more pushing.”

The sound man ticked off his selection. “I’ve got Tibetan monks chanting, military marching music, a clock ticking, baby rabbits being slaughtered, Andy Williams Christmas carols—”

“The clock,” Banish said, starting to leave. “Good and loud.”

Fagin was reading the transcript when Banish walked in. He had to catch up on the negotiations on his own because nobody fucking told him anything. He looked up at Banish as he entered. “Do you need a hug?” he said.

Banish took the printed sheets out of his hands. Then he recognized Ables’s voice on the CB. Banish turned and walked a few slow steps toward it.

“Bible lessons,” chided Fagin.

Coyle told him, “It just started.”

Banish looked around. “What part is he reading from?”

He was sure to get a quick answer. Half the FBI agents kept Bibles out on top of their desks. “Psalms,” one at the switchboard said. Then Fagin saw that it was Kearney, the local cop who had stood up for Banish.

“A scholar,” Fagin said to him, wondering what the hell he was doing at the FBI switchboard.

The young cop said, “Not actually. He said the name himself when he started to read it.” Then Kearney looked past Fagin. “Agent Banish?”

Banish raised a hand to hold off Kearney. He was standing there listening to Ables on the CB, or thinking. Either way, he was just standing there.

Fagin said, “Cut him off.”

Banish waited some more. “No,” he said. “Let him go. If we cut him off mid-verse, people listening down below and elsewhere will assume the worst.” He looked over at Coyle. “When he finishes reading, jam him. If he starts to ramble on about anything other than what he’s reading, jam him. But shut him down for good when he’s through.”

“Agent Banish,” Kearney said.

Fagin spoke first. He was starving and wanted to get in what he went there for. “I’m going to eat,” he said to Banish. “You coming?”

Banish said, “Hold on.” He was hassled. Ables on the radio obviously worried him. He looked over at Kearney. “What is it?”

“Call for you, sir.”

Banish told him, “Give it to Coyle.”

“It’s the outside line,” Kearney said. “A woman.”

Fagin watched Banish’s eyes hold on Kearney then. They held there tightly, as though seeing something else altogether.

“My office,” Banish told him.

“I’m going to eat,” Fagin said, but Banish was already moving toward the back.

Banish went right to the phone. He looked at the blinking light. He wiped his hands on his shirtfront and picked up the receiver.

“Hello,” he said.

“John? John Banish?”

“Yes,” he said.

“It’s Dr. Juliet Reed.”

Banish’s eyes searched.

“From the Retreat,” she said.

Banish turned and sat against his desk. “Dr. Reed,” he said. He put his hand to his hot forehead and held it lightly. After a moment he closed his eyes.

“Hello, John. I wasn’t sure I would be able to get through.”

“Yes.”

“How are you getting along?”

Banish opened his eyes. The disappointment drained him. “Fine,” he said.

“I read your name in the newspaper. You can imagine my surprise. I contacted some people at the Retreat rather on a whim. They got back to me and gave me this number. They thought it might be a good idea that I call.”

“I see,” Banish said. Hearing her voice again had triggered within him a subtle ebb of passivity. It was as though the years had not passed and he was still living in that small community of sterilized floors and broken men.

“I am no longer associated with the Retreat,” she said. “I have a private practice in Boston now. It is so rare that I come into contact with a former patient. Are you keeping up with the therapy, John?”

“Yes.”

“Poetry still?”

“Yes.”

“You excelled at that. Have you given any thought to publishing?”

“I’m working on a translation now. Just for myself, to keep my mind focused.”

“Translation of what?” she said. “If I may ask.”

“A notebook of German poems. Kept by a low-level guard at Buchenwald, recovered after the emancipation. Slipped to me by a friend of a friend from the old OSS.”

“Well,” she said, as though catching her breath. “That sounds absolutely fascinating. I can’t imagine — was he humane at all, or an ogre along with the rest?”

“I guess there’s no simple answer for that.”

“Fascinating,” she said. “How is the case progressing?”

“We are into negotiations now.” He spoke optimistically, as a matter of habit. “It should break soon.”

“An awful situation. And the dead young girl — tragic. I’ve been following it in the newspapers here. Remarkable, and terrible.”

Banish rubbed his face. “Dr. Reed, I’m sure you can understand, I am pressed for time—”

“Are you strong, John? Do you feel strong?”

Her words cut him. “Strong enough,” he said.

“You recovered fully from your wounding?”

He touched his lower torso over the scar, a gesture of remembrance. “It was kind of you to visit me in the hospital,” he said. “I do remember that.”

“An awful thing. I treated Lucy Ames myself, in another wing of the facility. After you dropped the charges. She grew to be quite strong before her discharge. Quite solid and rational.” She paused then, reflective for a moment. “I am not sure why I was so moved to call you, John. What exactly it was that compelled me. Concern, perhaps, although it is not at all professional to take an interest in a former patient. Especially, I suppose, a patient from the Retreat, due to the sensitive nature of that place. But I’ve always felt your therapy there was unfinished. That we did not have enough time. That has always concerned me.”