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.”
Office
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.
Command Tent
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?”
“Yes,” Brian said.
“That is your sole responsibility from here on in. Clear?”
“Yes, sir,” Brian said, nodding.
Agent Banish went out then, Brian didn’t question it. He didn’t even tell Agent Coyle. He just started dialing.
Sound Truck
Fagin paced past Banish’s chair. Banish was sitting there with his head in his hands. The Indian sheriff was standing off to the side with his arms loosely crossed, leaning back against the wall.
This deathwatch was driving Fagin crazy. “What time is it now?” he said.
Perkins said behind him, “Four.”
Fagin said, “Mother fucker.”
“Watson.”
Banish was quick to react, switching on the mike. “Mr. Ables, are you coming down now?”
“I’m tired, Watson,” Ables said. He sounded weak. “I never been this tired.”
“Why don’t you come out, then. Come down and face your legal problems, Mr. Ables. Then you and your family can put this all behind you and get on with your lives.”
“Watson,” Ables said. He sighed then, or stifled a chuckle. “You have a forked tongue, Watson. I am charged with the murder of a federal official. I wouldn’t ever live to see the outside of one of your federal prisons.”
Even the sheriff stood off the back wall then. There couldn’t be any bigger flashing red light than that. Banish was sputtering. “Mr. Ables — I know it looks bleak in there — but out here there are no foregone conclusions. I guarantee that you will receive a fair trial—”
“In a federal court of law. The government establishment is looking forward to that. A legalized lynching. Or will your men save the taxpayers’ money, Watson?”
“Mr. Ables, listen to me.” Banish was leaning into the microphone. “You do not sound well.”
“Thorny-tongued... bastard,” Ables said. He was in-and-out like that, talking tired, taking deep breaths. “Who will you surrender to, Watson? Who will execute your sentence?”
“Mr. Ables,” Banish said. “Mr. Ables. Will you come down now?” He said it again, harder. “Will you come down?”
They waited, but that was it. Ables hung up and went away and Banish sat back in his chair. Fagin stepped up to him then, knowing what needed to be done. “He’s getting desperate,” Fagin told him. “We should go in there right now.”
“No,” Banish said without turning. He told the sound man, “Try and get him back.”
Fagin said, “Listen to me. He’s going fucking loopy up there, and growing more dangerous every second. We’re not so refreshed ourselves, but we’ve got speed, surprise, superior tactics—”
Banish turned on him then. “The kids, goddammit,” he said, getting to his feet. “What the hell do you think this” — he waved awkwardly — “this whole goddamn thing is all about? What do you think we came here for in the first place? We’re here to save lives, for Christ’s sake. Not take them. The kids, Fagin.”