The Kingdom - Peter Collinson

The inmates were stopping their partying. They were starting to look at one another and the vents in the walls.

Then back to Trait standing outside the penitentiary fence.

“Securing this broadcast facility was no accident. We will not be packaged and we will not be misrepresented. We will not be spun. Any provocation by your government will place your lives, perhaps those of your family and friends, directly at risk. Two targets give us one to waste if we are needlessly tested or provoked. I urge you to contact your elected officials and make your voice heard. Any transgression toward the convict township of Gilchrist, from tampering with our utilities to a full-blown military assault, will result in the genocide of an innocent American town.

“There are plenty of us left here. You need not know who or how many. Only that we are dedicated and united. Along with this land we have claimed, we are also seeking reparations from your government in the amount equal to the total annual expenditure necessary to support the facility formerly known as ADX Gilchrist. Reports put the prison budget at $68 million. That sum, plus five percent for inflation, will be paid to us each year, in perpetuity. Consider it a tribute. And from this point forward, consider this town a separate nation from the rest of your United States.

“I hope I have impressed upon you the sincerity of our mission. We have secured the town, and we have proven our resolve to you. All you have to do from here on in is what you’ve always done: Forget us. Put us out of your mind and leave us alone, and we will do the same.”

The image cut back to the prisoners roaming the Gilchrist halls, riled now, moving about in soundless confusion and anger.

Rebecca, like the others, stared dull-eyed at the screen, too shocked yet to speak. Having traveled so far that morning, they were due brighter news.

“They did it,” said Kells.

The others turned toward Rebecca, looking at him. Terry was nearest to the television. “What do you mean, ‘They did it’?”

“A bluff,” Bert said. “A fantasy. There’s no such...”

Darla shivered. “He was so calm .”

“They let the rest go,” Dr. Rosen said. “They let every-one else go, so they would be alone here. We’re the only ones left.”

“Trapped,” said Mia. She pressed against the others to get out of the small room, like a swimmer fighting toward surface air. Robert followed her out.

“What have we done?” Terry was becoming manic. “Why didn’t we stay at the inn like I said?” His hat-rumpled hair made him appear bewildered. “He led us here. He took us deeper into town, instead of out.”

They looked for Kells, but he had left the office. Darla pushed toward the doorway and the rest followed her.

Some returned to the fire, sinking deeply into chairs or just sitting on the floor, stunned. Kells remained apart from them, as always, standing on the top step of the lounge before the long hallway. A navy blue wool sweater with a seaman’s collar covered his broad chest. If he was aware of Terry’s insinuation, he did not show it. His mind was elsewhere, as though he were working through another problem entirely.

The others looked his way. Rebecca did too.

A muffled chirping noise broke the spell. Mia gasped in surprise. After a moment Rebecca looked for her cargo bag on the floor.

She unzipped the bag and dug through her clothes, finding her cell phone and feeling it vibrate in her hand. She hesitated before answering, but all eyes were on her now.

“Bee! Bee, do you believe this?” It was Jeb. He sounded far away. “Where are you now? Did you meet Trait?”

There was only one bar of reception showing on her display, and it was flashing. She nearly choked on her words, unwanted emotion rising. “I’m still here, Jeb. I’m still in Gilchrist.”

“No, Bee. Everybody got out. They let everyone go.”

Saying it was like confessing that she was in trouble, and she did not want to confess anything to him. “We didn’t make it,” she said.

“We? Who’s we?”

She faced the rest to include them in the conversation. “My literary agent,” she told them.

“The people I was staying with at the inn,” she said into the phone. “We’re at a golf course — a country club.”

“A country club? Don’t you know what’s happened?”

“We know, Jeb. There’s a TV here.”

“Okay. And you’re okay?”

“We walked all night.”

“Okay. How do we get you out of there?”

“I don’t know,” she said, emotion rising again.

“Okay. This isn’t good. Who have you talked to? Have you talked to anybody?”

“No one. No one knows we’re here. It needs to stay that way, Jeb.”

“Okay.” The negotiating side of him had kicked in. “The Unabomer book I did with what’s-his-name at the FBI, the special agent in charge of something. Ginnie! ” He was calling his assistant. “What’s that noise, Bee?”

Her phone was beeping. “Shit. My battery.”

“Get me a land line number there. Is there a phone? I’ll have somebody from the FBI call you back in ten minutes.”

This was what Jeb did best: reassurance, hand-holding. Rebecca sent Coe to the reception desk for the phone number.

“Bee — I don’t know what to say. You’re okay there? These people you’re with?”

“Yes,” she said.

“And you did meet with Trait?”

“I met with him.”

“This is very big. Hugely big, if we can get you out of there.”

Coe had the number and Rebecca repeated it to Jeb. The line went dead before he could respond. She was left holding a dead telephone, yet something made her pretend he was still on the line for the sake of the others. “Okay. I’ll be waiting. Right. Okay.”

She collapsed the phone and dropped it into her bag. The others waited.

“Let’s keep that main line open,” she said. “The FBI will be calling in a couple of minutes.”

Smiles, a surge of relief and hope — exactly what she had wanted.

Coe said, with awe, “The FBI?”

“Oh, thank God !” Darla exhaled.

Kells came down off the hall step, moving slowly to the hearth. He had everyone’s attention. “They won’t be able to do anything,” he said.

Something popped in the fire. Fern’s anxiety was beginning to show. “Why would you say a thing like that?”

Terry said, “Yeah, what do you know?”

Kells said, “We’re on the wrong side of the fence here.”

His manner put everyone off. He was squandering their hope. Rebecca stepped up for the others. “Look, I’ve met many of these agents. I’ve seen them in action. You’d be amazed by what they can do.”

“They’ve already been outmaneuvered. Trait is a terrorist now, and even if the U.S. negotiated with terrorists — which it does not — there is no need for Trait to negotiate anything because he is in total control of this situation. He has taken the entire country hostage with one bold stroke.”

“He’s impressed!” said Terry.

The telephone rang on the reception desk. Rebecca answered it as the others — except for Kells, who remained at the fire — gathered near.

The voice said, “Is this Rebecca Loden?”

It was a male voice. Rebecca was cautious. “Who is this?”

“My name is Sam Raleigh, I’m with the FBI.”

Rebecca turned and nodded to the others. “Yes,” she said. “This is Rebecca Loden.”

“The author?”

“Yes.”

“Sony — I was just handed this phone number. Can you tell me where are you, Ms. Loden?”

“At the country club. The golf course in town.”

“In Gilchrist, Vermont.”

“That’s right. There are eleven of us, we walked here. We were all staying at the Gilchrist Country Inn. We were watching the riot on TV, and then they started to take over the town. We packed up and walked here.” Strange pride in recounting this now.