Чак Хоган: The Standoff

He ducked and leaned out the other way. Through the trees he saw a lone man approaching the cabin. Older, like a neighbor, except that all the mountain residents had long since been evacuated.

Ables, his daughter, and the third armed man — tall, burly, bearded — greeted the older unknown with their guns hanging loose, meeting him near the front right corner of the cabin. They were chewing the fat. Bascombe was too far off to hear anything. The dogs rooted around them, sniffing the dirt hungrily, happy just to be outside.

Bascombe straightened again and squared off to the south. Whatever the hell was going on, he was stuck there, but well out of sight. He was OK. He nodded his head and tried to stay loose, watching the gully for directions.

There was Lobach moving laterally to his right, establishing position. That reassured him. He nodded to himself again.

A single dog barked first, almost playfully. Then all three at once, snarling and gargling and gobbling up air. Like beasts laughing and cursing at the same time, cries choked by collared throats. Then movement, hesitant boot-steps and paws tearing up dirt and brush. Then voices calling out.

Bascombe stiffened. He slipped his finger in over the trigger.

Barking distorted by galloping now, the dogs turned loose. Things happening fast. One dog closer than the others. Furious snarling, paws beating the hard ground like hooves, now nearly upon him. Bascombe stood tight against the tree. He was shaking in anticipation, gun ready.

The lead dog shot past him. Legs blurred, head dipping and rising. Ignored, Bascombe watched it go. Then he realized it was charging the gully and Lobach.

Bascombe’s mind went into overdrive. He quickly patted his chest. High-powered rounds wouldn’t stop for the vest, he knew. He found his marshal’s ID and brought it out fast. Head throbbing, he spun out suddenly into the clear, gun out flat, ID up, exactly as he was trained to do.

“Bascombe, U.S. Marshals! Stop where you are!”

He realized as he did this that no one was able to hear him over the dogs. His ears pounded with such force, he wondered if he was even speaking at all. Still nothing on the radio net. Ables had stopped twenty yards uphill.

“Federal marshals!” he yelled. “Freeze!”

The second dog was upon him. Bascombe sighted and squeezed and kicked off a single round, and the dog yelped and collapsed onto its chest, somersaulting forward and dead.

Bascombe looked back up and re aimed His ears were ringing and roaring now. The individuals had dropped into defensive positions but the third dog was bearing down on him — jagged teeth, body hurtling forward. Then Bascombe was aware of slots opening in the walls of the cabin beyond, and various-sized gun barrels emerging from them. He wondered briefly what Lobach was doing behind him. But he didn’t see the girl until it was too late.

Behind a dead stump, the barrel of the AR-15 resting on top. Young forehead wrinkled in anger and aim. A few quick bursts. Something hit Bascombe hard in the throat and he pitched back and fell.

He slid back a few feet headfirst, then lay still. He clutched at the dirt and dead leaves under his now-empty hands. He turned his head this way and that way but could not get up. No one was near him and he was dizzy. He needed help. Voices talking in his ear now. There was the brrpt of far-off gunfire. A sweet taste in his mouth. The morning sky above. And a bird, a crow, lifting off from the high black branches, frightened by all the noise.

Memorandum, SA Coyle to [title and name deleted]:

PARASIEGE

Sir:

In reference to your request of 22 October 1993, this confidential report has been compiled from personal recollections and is presented in light of the circumstances and questions surrounding the outcome of operation PARASIEGE and the current ongoing investigation. It is intended neither as a recommendation nor as a conclusion of this agent or of the FBI. Verbal exchanges have been reconstructed and should not be considered verbatim.

On 4 August 1993 at approximately 14:00 hrs. (Mountain Time), Special Agent MARY GRACE COYLE and Special Agent DOUGLAS TAYLOR of the Butte Field Office arrived at the FBI Resident Agency in Skull Valley, Montana. The Skull Valley RA is a solitary one-story, Bureau-provided residence on the outskirts of the town, supported by a single resident agent and identifiable as FBI property only by a mailbox shingle on which is depicted the official FBI emblem.

The Skull Valley RA was originally established in 1971 to monitor and investigate acts of conspiracy and gross theft of government property regarding illegal logging operations in the nearby Fort Belknap Indian Reservation and the Charles M. Russell National Wildlife Refuge. Severe timberland depletion, however, as evidenced by acres of razed hills, had long since driven even legitimate loggers from the region. The current operative function of this RA, therefore, was not immediately apparent.

The Butte Field Office had been out of contact with the Skull Valley RA for at least twenty-four hours (last logged interoffice communication: 23 March). On emergency assignment, SA Coyle and SA Taylor touched down via helicopter and proceeded across the street to the front door of the residence. The telephone wires from the sidewalk poles appeared to be intact and the structure appeared secure.

SA Taylor pressed the doorbell twice without answer. SA Coyle then left the front stoop to investigate further, whereupon she gained visual access into the residence through a front window. Nothing inside appeared to be upset or disturbed. SA Taylor then tried the doorknob and found it to be unlocked. SA Coyle rejoined him on the landing and both agents drew their service weapons and entered the premises.

The front room was neatly if sparely arranged and evidenced no signs of struggle. There were several indications, such as a quality of air consistent with proper ventilation, that the RA had recently been occupied. SA Coyle determined upon cursory examination that the telephone and teletype unit wires had been disconnected from their respective wall sockets. The agents then proceeded further with their investigation.

Of the two inner doorways, one to their immediate right was open. The agents approached with caution and entered a small kitchen, which was found to be unoccupied and undisturbed. As the agents were inspecting detailed meal, work, and sleep charts posted on the kitchen cabinets, dated as recently as the day before, a voice from the main room behind them ordered that they disarm immediately. They were instructed to place their hands behind their heads and to turn around. SA Coyle and SA Taylor had no alternative but to comply.

The individual was armed with a large-caliber handgun. He was a white male, early fifties, six-two, medium build, gray hair, blue eyes, wearing khaki pants and a light plaid shirt, white socks without shoes, wire-rimmed half-glasses, short gray beard. He had entered from the door across the front room behind them. He appeared to be agitated and disoriented, and potentially dangerous.

The individual relieved both agents of their FBI identification, which he read and flipped back against the agents’ chests to fall to the floor. He demanded to know their reason for being there. SA Coyle advised the individual that they were federal agents and that the individual was trespassing on federal property. The individual then inquired further, to which SA Coyle responded that she and SA Taylor were investigating the apparent disablement of the RA and the possible disappearance of its resident agent, SA John Banish. SA Coyle then advised the individual to set down his weapon and comply peacefully.

The individual instead proceeded to criticize both agents in a disparaging manner. Specifically, he addressed FBI rules of SOP regarding hostile entry: that all doorways be checked and secured before attempting further examination of the premises; that all agents identify themselves immediately upon entry in a loud and clear manner.