The Kingdom - Peter Collinson

“To a golf course?”

“It’s new, it’s not on the map. We’re guessing the prisoners don’t know about it yet.”

“I see,” he said, obviously surprised. “That’s good.”

“Are you in charge?”

“I am a crisis negotiator, I am assigned to this case.”

She said, “So there are negotiations?”

“No. Not yet.”

The others saw the answer in her face. Terry pushed through to the desk. “Tell him we want out,” he said.

“What was that?” said Raleigh.

Rebecca turned away from Terry. “Can you help us?”

“Do you have a radio or television there?”

“Yes,” she said. “We just watched Trait. We heard what he said.”

“They’ve closed off all the roads. I don’t know if you know. We learned from some of the released hostages this morning, they were collecting all the weapons they could find in town.”

Rebecca repeated to the rest: “They’ve taken all the weapons.”

Quiet alarm. Even Kells turned his head at that one.

Raleigh said, “Do you have any weapons?”

“Yes — one.” She wasn’t sure about Kells’s gun yet.

“One. Okay. Any climbing gear perhaps?”

“Not really.”

“I was just wondering if you were thinking about trying to escape. The snow right now would make for a treacherous ascent. Are you reasonably comfortable where you are?”

“For now.”

“Because it sounds like you’re in a pretty secure situation there. Probably the best position you could be in, considering the circumstances. I want to advise you strongly against attempting any escape at this time. The thing you most want to avoid is antagonizing the prisoners in any way. I’m sure you understand why...”

“The ricin.”

“Yes. We are taking this threat very, very seriously. There are thousands of lives at stake, apart from your own. You’ve got a good-sized group there. How many men?”

He was taking notes, which for some reason comforted her. “Five men, five women. A seventeen-year-old boy.”

“Okay. Let me work out a few things here. My advice to you right now is to sit tight—”

“For how long?”

“Hard to say just now.”

“What about a rescue attempt?”

“Impossible, given the current weather conditions and the fact that any incursion on our part would be perceived as a hostile action.”

“You could do something. There’s only a fraction of the prisoners left. You can sneak in some sort of Delta Team squad to take them out.”

“It is much too early to decide anything, but even if we wanted to consider that, there is a constitutional problem here. Something called the Posse Comitatus Act forbids the use of armed force against U.S. citizens by federal troops, except by a special act of Congress.”

“These aren’t citizens,” said Rebecca. “They’re criminals. Terrorists.”

“Yes, but unfortunately it seems the town incorporated the prisoners into the population a few years ago, for tax reasons. They are legal residents of Gilchrist.”

She was exasperated. “So? What about the penitentiary? That’s federal property.”

“The president could issue a proclamation to disperse, but the only people occupying that facility now are basically dead men. Trait is right: There is no cure.” Raleigh took a breath. “I have to do a difficult thing here, Ms. Loden. I have to ask you and your friends to wait. I understand how you must feel. But let me marshal resources here on my end. It might take a little time, but know that you have the full resources of the FBI and the U.S. government on your side. We will find a way to get you out, if you folks can just bear with us. I will call you back as soon as I can.”

She realized with a chill that Kells was right. FBI negotiator Raleigh was playing her, talking the talk. He was stalling.

“Why don’t you give me the names and addresses of everyone there,” Raleigh continued.

The act of registering their identities with a higher power was supposed to comfort her, but it was just paperwork in place of real action. Rebecca turned to the hopeful faces watching her. Kells remained behind, arms folded, studying the fire.

“We can contact your families for you,” Raleigh went on, through the silence. “Let them know you’re all right.”

“We have telephones here,” said Rebecca. “We can call them ourselves.”

“Right. Of course.” He felt her cooling off. “But please impress upon the others the danger involved. The prisoners will be monitoring the media. You don’t want to tip them off that you are still inside the town.”

“No,” she agreed, her spirit sinking.

“Let me give you a special direct phone number.” Rebecca copied it down dutifully on a scorecard with a green-leaded golf pencil. “Just sit tight and stay low,” FBI Special Agent Raleigh concluded, “and I’ll get back to you shortly.”

“Right,” she said, numbly, hanging up the telephone.

Fern watched with a hand at her cheek. Rita was clutching Bert’s arm, and Mia’s eyes were wishing for the best while expecting the worst.

“They’re not going to help us,” Rebecca said.

Dr. Rosen’s defeated gaze drifted to the floor. Mia just stared.

“They won’t do anything to upset the prisoners,” Rebecca went on. “They want us to sit here and wait.”

“You weren’t forceful enough,” said Terry. “You’ve got to tell these people exactly what you want. You’ve got to be explicitly clear.”

His reaction shamed the others. Rebecca was furious. “You call him back,” she said. She threw the phone number at him and the scorecard hit his chest and fell to the floor. “Call him back yourself and be explicitly fucking clear.”

“Okay,” said Bert, stepping in. “Let’s not fall apart here.”

Rebecca went over to Kells, emboldened by her anger. “How did you know?” she asked.

Kells was infuriatingly even-tempered. “The FBI is out of it now,” he answered. “This is a national security situation now. Department of Defense.”

“Enough,” said Terry, still near the reception desk, shaking. “I’m a bonds analyst. He’s a doctor, she’s an innkeeper, we have a social worker, a thriller writer, the rest. Who the hell are you, and how do you know so much about this, and why do you carry a gun?”

“I’m a government employee,” said Kells. “I work for the Pentagon.”

Terry kept pushing. “And what do you do for them?”

“Special investigations for the Defense Threat Reduction Agency.”

“The ‘Doomsday’ Agency,” said Rebecca.

Kells was mildly surprised. “That’s right. We deal with weapons of mass destruction and unconventional warfare. Primarily the development of NBC weapons outside the dissolved Soviet Union. That’s Nuclear, Biological, and Chemical.”

“You’re a physicist,” she said. It was all she could remember about the agency.

“Not me. Just a street agent. That incident in Montana, the ricin exposure? The ex-con bled out in quarantine with the rest, but the FBI traced his movements back to a ranch outside Mesa, Arizona. There was a small factory in a work shed there on the property. Inside they found a partially constructed delivery device and nearly four pounds of ricin stored in coffee cans, baby food jars, thermoses. That’s when I came onto the case. We don’t get many domestic investigations, but the ex-con was carrying thousands in cash, semiautomatic rifles and ammunition, even a surface-to-air missile launcher. His intended target was never identified. Every lead dead-ended. I was delving deep into the con’s background, which is how I wound up here. He had done some time in Marion with Trait and wore a Brotherhood of Rebellion tattoo on his arm.” Again, he looked at Rebecca. “But even a government official on a special investigation couldn’t get in to talk to Trait.”