Чак Хоган - The Standoff

Banish flashed on the sound man’s report of having monitored one or more of the girls crying sometime before dawn.

Ables said, “My children don’t want me to go outside. They’d rather have that tank bomb us all into oblivion than see me go.”

“I’m having the tank moved back, Mr. Ables.”

“I will only be arrested by a white man.”

Banish nodded. “All right,” he said. He could not appear too eager.

“The house will be put in my wife’s name. She and Shelley and my children will not be arrested. Cameras will be there when I come out. They will have lights on so I can see them. I will not be handcuffed on my property, and I will be allowed to salute my supporters.”

The subtle sounds of disapproval from the men crowded behind him reflected the disappointment and exhaustion Banish felt himself.

“Mr. Ables,” he said, “that is unacceptable.”

Silence for a while, then Ables’s voice again over the speakers. “Watson,” was all he said. He sounded tired and dispirited.

Banish said, “You heard on your radio that people were keeping a vigil down at the foot of the mountain. First of all, those numbers have been exaggerated by the press. Secondly, it’s been nine days now and there are simply very few people left.” In a hostage negotiation, lying was known as disinformation . “Still, I cannot allow you to do anything that might bring about a civilian uprising.”

Ables said, “I know there are people down there, Watson. I know it. Good people, loyal people. Christian people. You will lie to me when it serves your purpose. They are down there waiting and they expect something of me.”

Banish came back quickly. “What do you want from me, Mr. Ables? Would you rather I agree to everything you say, that there are hundreds of people down there, that you can salute them and wave to them and give speeches and do whatever you want when you come down — and then double-cross you once we have you in custody? I am bargaining with you in good faith here. As unreasonable as things might seem to you right now, I am bending over backward for you.”

It was a measured risk. Ables was silent for a long while.

“Mr. Ables,” Banish said.

He looked to the sound man, who reassured him that Ables was still on the line.

“Mr. Ables,” Banish said.

“My children hate you, Watson.”

Banish went cold. “Mr. Ables,” he said.

“They will spit on your grave.”

“Mr. Ables.”

“No salute, then — but no handcuffs either .”

Banish looked over at Fagin. Fagin showed him a light shrug. Banish turned back to the microphone and made his decision, then waited, then waited some more.

“All right, Mr. Ables,” he said. “I accept your terms. Do we have an agreement?”

“I am still a man here, you bloodsuckers. A free man, an innocent man.”

“Mr. Ables, do we have an agreement?”

“Bastards,” he said. “Cowards.”

“Mr. Ables—”

“Do you believe in Yahweh, Mr. Watson?”

Banish, suddenly alarmed, reasserted himself. “Mr. Ables, I have accepted your terms and will honor them. Do we have an agreement?”

“You could take my life.” Ables’s voice was lower now. “You bloodsucking heathens — you could take my land and trample vilely upon it. But you will never take my faith.”

Banish straightened in his chair.

“Mr. Ables, we have an agreement. Will you come down now?” Banish hung on that, waiting a long time for an answer. “Will you come down now, Mr. Ables?”

Ables said, “I believe Yahweh has a plan for all of us.”

Then the thin click of the connection being broken. Banish said after him, “Mr. Ables— Mr. Ables—”

Fagin said, “Fuck.”

Banish tried again, becoming more anxious. “Mr. Ables—”

“What?” Blood said behind him. “Crazy talk?”

Perkins said, “Worse than that. The thing about the Surrender Ritual is—”

Banish switched off the handset and sat back fast. “It is identical to the Suicide Ritual,” he said. He turned to the sound man. “Ring him. Get him back on the line.”

“Screw it,” said Fagin. “I say fuck him. Let him twist.”

Banish turned. A sense of alarm was overwhelming him. “We need him alive.”

“Easy for you to say,” Fagin said. “I’m a black man.”

“He could turn right around and do the entire family.”

The sound man said beside him, “Not answering...”

“Sweet,” Fagin said, nodding, “real fucking sweet. Now all we have to do is worry about trying to save the life of the fucker we were sent here to kill.”

Banish stood then. “I wasn’t sent here to kill anybody.”

“Jesus Christ.” Perkins was standing behind everyone, seemingly in a daze. “We can’t turn this guy into a martyr. If we give them a grassy knoll here — Jesus Christ—”

“Agent Banish?” Banish swung around at the sound of his name. Kearney was standing outside the open door of the van. “The ATF agents are here.”

Banish was reeling. He avoided all faces, trying to rein in his desperation.

“Get HRT up to the cabin on standby,” he directed. “And keep trying that phone.”

Banish in. Riga and Crimson seated, waiting.

“Why did you sting Ables?” Banish said, dispensing with formalities. No time for that now.

“What’s the idea,” Riga said, “pulling us off a job to come back here? You have the file.”

“Forget the file.” Banish was in front of them now. “Why Ables?” he said. “With all of the active WAR members inside the camp, why Ables?”

Riga said, “What do you mean?”

“You had a CI deep inside the WAR camp and you put him on a religious gun nut with delusions of grandeur, a non-Aryan racist malcontent living on top of a mountain miles away.”

“What does that mean?” Riga said. “What do you care?”

“Why did you get him on only one submachine gun and no explosives?”

“We told you why.”

“Why weren’t there any eyewitnesses to your meet with Ables?”

Riga opened his mouth to answer, then reconsidered. Crimson was sitting next to him watching Banish silently.

Banish said, “Why wasn’t either one of you wired?”

Neither agent said anything.

“Why wasn’t any money recovered from Ables after he sold you the Beretta? What prompted you to take him down without any backup?”

Nothing.

“How much prior contact did you have with Ables?”

Riga glanced over at Crimson.

Banish said louder, “Did you ever visit him at his cabin?”

Nothing.

“Did you ever threaten him with arrest if he did not cooperate?”

Nothing. They sat there.

Banish had worked himself up into a fury. “Why don’t you goddamn answer me?” he said.

The agents looked at each other. Riga sat slowly back in his chair, stern and narrow-eyed, while Crimson stayed where he was, his polite facial expression now betraying hints of concern. This was not at all how the game was played.

“You’re not asking the right questions,” Crimson said.

Agent Banish came back into the tent immediately after the ATF agents were asked to leave. He came up and used Brian’s telephone and dialed a number. Brian could hear the phone ringing without answer through the earpiece. Agent Banish waited fretfully. He rubbed the burned side of his face. When he hung up, Brian noticed him whispering to himself. Then he wrote down the phone number, area code included, and turned Brian around in his chair and showed it to him. “Forget what you are doing right now,” Agent Banish instructed. “I am reassigning you. Dial this telephone number and keep trying it until you get through. When you do get an answer, come and find me immediately. This is the home number of my wife and daughter in Cincinnati, Ohio, and it is imperative that I speak with them. Do you understand?”