Fagin nodded, looking back up, then skyward again. “What’s with these fucking stars?” he said, meaning to change the subject. “Jesus. It’s like Vegas.”
Banish nodded. “You get used to it.”
The bonfire snapped loudly and they both turned their attention toward it. The blaze had lost some of its strength, blowing more white smoke than before. Fagin’s men were obviously lingering at that point, done with their meals and just shooting the shit, hanging around the bonfire to kill time and delay the inevitable return to duty. Fagin let them. This brief fire was their whole Saturday night and he wanted his men to have it.
He saw then the rookie cop crossing in front of the bonfire and heading toward the mess trucks, alone. He noticed that Banish saw the cop too, then turned right back around to the table. He seemed angry, maybe with a bit of surprise. Then it seemed as though he was reconsidering it or thinking of something else. Gradually he came to look heavy-eyed, staring down at the table. He might even have looked sorry. It was a strange look for Banish.
“That rookie cop,” Fagin said with a jab of his chin. “What’s his name?”
Banish was looking at his plate. “I think, Kearney,” he said.
Fagin nodded. “There’s a story there. The short version is: A couple of my men were making noise over dinner last night about you Fibbies, and also a little about how you yourself were handling things here. Just talk, right?” Fagin leaned forward, pointing toward the fire and grinning wide. “Kearney here was the only one who stood up for you. With all the GS grades on this fucking mountain, the only one willing to take on the entire nail-chewing, bad-ass U.S. Marshals Service SOG was him. A traffic cop from North Bumfuck. I don’t know — tough, or just shit out of brains? What do you think?”
Banish gave no response. He was staring at the square of cornbread left on his plate. He seemed to have been saving it, but now he looked as though he didn’t want it at all.
Fagin was about to ask him for it when another agent came rushing up to Banish’s side. Coyle, her name was, the librarian from the command tent.
“Sir,” she said, talking fast. “Agent Banish. We received a transmission signal from the mountaintop and a voice on the CB. I think it’s Ables, sir. He says he wants to talk to you.”
Command Tent
Banish entered, Coyle in front of him, Fagin behind. Perkins was there already with the other command tent agents, including a few technicians, standing around the CB radio at the switchboard desk. “Hook up the recorder,” Banish instructed one of them; to another, “Get this all down.” The technician went to work on the CB wiring, the agent grabbing a pad and pen. Banish looked over at Perkins and said, “We’re sure it’s him?” and Perkins was about to answer in the affirmative when a hiss of static came on over the CB, then the voice.
“Watson. I know you’re out there.”
It was breathy and not too heavily accented, slight, not deep. Banish licked his dried lips, watching the agents hurrying around the CB. It was a broadcast channel and therefore unsecured. The entire county could be listening in, but too much time had passed and Banish needed to talk to Ables now. He realized he would be playing to two audiences.
It was respectfully quiet in the tent. He set himself mentally as he watched the technician work. He reviewed some must-ask questions and fleshed out a rough preliminary strategy. Ables was catching him off-guard but not unprepared. The technician switched on the recorder and the tape reels began to turn. He backed out of the way and Banish sat down and picked up the handset, thumbing down the trigger.
“This is Special Agent Watson,” he said. “Mr. Ables?”
The voice came back. “Watson.”
“Mr. Ables. Is everyone all right in there? I want you to know first of all that your family’s safety is our primary concern.”
No response. Nothing over the CB but the hitch of dead air.
“What happened with Mr. Mellis?” Banish asked.
“Don’t worry. He made it back safe and sound. We’re all here together.”
Brick wall. Banish bore down.
“Mr. Ables, listen. I was not injured, and neither was the county sheriff with me. Now I want to work with you to end this thing as soon as possible, before someone on either side gets overanxious and there’s a loss of life.”
Ables said, “There already was.”
Banish said, “We’re still not entirely clear on what happened to the marshal.” It was thought displacement — Banish feeling Ables out. An isolated suspect could often be made to believe what he wanted to believe through simple suggestion, even when the truth facing him was certain and contradictory.
Ables said, “I’m talking about my Judith.”
Banish looked up. He saw the tape reels slowly turning, then glanced beside him and found Fagin. Fagin said simply, “Fuck.”
Banish returned to the CB, pressing the thumb switch down. “That is exactly what I’m trying to avoid more of, Mr. Ables. I was actually, however, referring to future charges possibly being brought against you.”
Ables’s flat voice rose for the first time. “I couldn’t get a fair trial in these Jew courts.”
“Mr. Ables, I have no bearing or opinion on your current case. I am here simply to expedite your safe delivery over to the proper authorities.”
“What’s that?” Ables said, as though he hadn’t heard correctly. “You out there are the authorities. You’re the FBI. You’ve got orders to shoot and kill me. It’s all one big cartel of freedom oppression come over from the East. You people are the murderers here.”
“Mr. Ables, let me say that we regret, deeply, the initial altercation and subsequent misfortune that has befallen you and your family—”
“I don’t want your words, Watson. You listen to me now, phone cop. Don’t you talk about my daughter.”
“Mr. Ables—”
“Shut up. Don’t you talk to me about Judith, Watson. Just shut up out there and listen. Here is why I am talking to you at all. You stinking sons of bitches lie. You talk and you double-talk, and all of it lies. You think I’d listen to you now? I got a radio up here. I know what they’re calling me on it. They’re calling me a child molester. All up and down the dial. I keep hearing it over and over and over.”
Banish shut his eyes again. He could feel Perkins standing behind him, but it was not worth the effort to turn around.
Ables kept going. “You dirty sons of bitches. This is how you want me to go out. You’re clearing the way for the kill. You, the child murderers, calling me sick—”
“Mr. Ables,” Banish said, “the FBI has no belief, knowledge, or reason to suspect you of any criminal or immoral activity whatsoever involving your family.”
“I have a radio,” Ables said.
“Mr. Ables — you have to understand the situation down here. I am but one man. When you don’t talk to me, the other personnel here have a job to do, to try and induce you into giving up your family and coming out, and I have no influence over their actions.”
“Then put on someone who does. Put on the son of a bitch who called me a child molester.”
“No, Mr. Ables — your talking to me now gives me some leeway. If we can make progress together working things out through a dialogue, you and I, then this whole thing can proceed a lot more smoothly and safely. Which is why I am encouraged that you finally contacted me. Why haven’t you taken the telephone inside, Mr. Ables?” Banish was trying to regain control over the conversation.
Ables said, “If I step one foot out of this house, you will blow me away. You proved that.”
“Mr. Ables — if you give me your word that they will not be harmed, I can dispatch men immediately to deliver that telephone right up to your front porch—”