Shed
A crash behind Banish as part of the roof collapsed and sparks shot out into the open land behind the burning cabin. There were flashlight beams in the trees. Marshals or agents moving along the outlying grounds. Banish quickly scanned the area. He was in the zone directly behind the cabin, beyond what the spotters in the no-man’s-land could see.
There were three small shacks and the outhouse between the cabin and the cliffs. The nearest was a skeletal frame of rafters and beams, only half-constructed. He went to the one in the middle ground, made of wafer board and flathead nails, with a box window facing the cabin and a four-foot latch-handle door on the right side. The door was closed.
Banish went to it. He stood and listened over his own harsh breathing for movement inside, then lightly tugged up on the door latch. It lifted and the door fell open a few inches. No noise. He pushed it open wider and stepped inside.
There was sudden, jerking movement from within and he stopped fast. Orange flame light slanted in through the box window. He saw one young Ables girl, then another, seated side by side on the floor, in the shadows between the wooden end-legs of a broad workbench and the far-left wall. The older one, Ruth, was sitting with her arms hugged around her knees, frightened, staring up at him. The five-year-old, Esther, had one arm tangled up inside her sister’s. Her other arm hugged what appeared to be a Bible. Esther began immediately to cry. Both skinny girls wore T-shirts and soiled skirts and sandals. Both wore leather holsters. Small-caliber guns hung in each.
Banish was so gratified to see them alive that at first he could think of nothing to say. He took another slow step inside and then showed them, without being too obvious, his empty hands. He saw that Ruth noticed.
“Hello,” Banish said.
Esther turned away, burying her face in Ruth’s arm. Ruth looked at him with wary eyes, then turned her head back toward the window. Flickering orange played over her dirty face. The cabin outside was now completely engulfed. They had huddled in the small toolshed to watch the blaze.
“Hello,” Banish said again. “Are you girls all right?”
Ruth turned and looked at him. Neither girl spoke.
“Where are your sister and brother?”
Again they said nothing. Ruth’s nine-year-old face was dark-eyed and tight with suspicion.
Banish entered more fully. He did so slowly and without looking at their holsters, removing his own jacket for further reassurance. Ruth saw that he was unarmed. A helicopter buzzed overhead and for a moment the dark shed glowed under the searchlight.
“No one is going to hurt you,” Banish said. Esther’s face was hidden. Both girls appeared particularly fragile, like rag dolls tossed into an attic corner. “Are you hungry?” he said. “We have food for you. Whatever you like.”
Ruth turned to look at the blaze again.
“What happened?” Banish said.
Ruth answered him then, blankly, bravely, staring at the fire. “Daddy lit a fire and told us to get out and run,” she said.
Banish nodded. “He was worried about you.”
Esther was peeking out at him now, sniffling, urchin-eyed. Banish took another small step forward into the center of the shed.
“I have a daughter,” he said. “She looked just like you two when she was your age. Same dark hair, big eyes.”
Ruth said, “You tried to take our daddy away.”
“No,” Banish told her. “We just wanted to keep you safe. Your grandparents asked us to come up here and get you.”
Footsteps rushing outside. HRT. Banish stepped back to the door as agents in black ninja gear ran up. He showed them a harsh face and an open, insistent hand, then turned back slowly to the girls. They were still sitting there on the floor, captivated by the blaze. Their guns remained holstered.
“We’re here to rescue you,” Banish said, coming back toward them. “To bring you to your mother. She’s safe too. She’s waiting for you out in front. Do you want me to take you there?”
Esther said, sniffling, “Mommy in back room.”
Banish stared at her until his eyes glistened. His eyes glowed. He moved close to them then, almost blinded. “Come on,” he said quietly, arms out. “Come on.”
Esther stood first, reluctantly, not letting go of her sister or her Bible. Then Ruth. Ruth’s head was turned, still watching the flames through the window, as Banish knelt on one knee before them. “You’ll be all right now,” he said, unbuckling Ruth’s holster belt, then Esther’s.
Ruth’s upturned, vacant face glowed like brass. “Mommy,” she said.
When they were both disarmed, Banish waved the HRT agents in behind him. He stood and handed the first one the holster belts, then grabbed the man’s sidearm from him and went racing out of the shed.
Cabin
Banish came around the front of the cabin with the gun up and aimed. The medical helicopter had landed in the foreground, rotors whining, waiting to take off again. Two EMTs led Mrs. Ables toward it. She was walking on her own, between them, wearing a loose sweater, a loose gray skirt, and a long, singed dark-haired wig. Banish came up behind them and stopped ten yards away. They were too close to the helicopter for him to risk waiting any longer.
“Mrs. Ables!” he yelled.
She stopped dead. The EMTs on either side of her stopped as well and turned back and looked at him strangely.
“Mrs. Ables!” Banish yelled again.
He was aware of Perkins and the other agents around him turning and watching in confusion as he stood there aiming the gun. The helicopter beckoned. The EMTs were looking at her now. She was not moving. Banish called her one last time, yelling, dizzied.
“Mrs. Ables!”
She threw a fist suddenly and then an elbow with the same, good arm, and both EMTs collapsed to the ground. She turned fast, holding a gun. It was Ables himself. The wig hung ragged and low on his head and his face was darkened with soot, which obscured his identity. The clothes were shapeless on his small frame and soiled with ash, his left arm bent in its sling.
The surrounding agents all dropped and drew. The EMTs realized what was happening and scurried away.
Ables was staring at him darkly from behind the .45. “Watson,” he said. “You son of a bitch.”
Banish brought out his ID, ten yards away. “Banish,” he told him. “FBI. You’re under arrest.”
Ables’s face shook a moment, staring, then regained its outlaw composure. “Son of a bitch,” he said. His eyes glanced left and right. “Move and I’ll kill him!” he warned, then looked back to Banish. “I’m getting on that copter.”
Banish just shook his head.
He saw Fagin moving in front of the helicopter to his right. Fagin knocked on its bubble windshield and gave the pilot a quick thumbs-up sign and the pilot needed no more than that. He throttled up quickly and took the bird into the air.
The rotor wash whipped at Ables as the helicopter turned above, then dipped sharply down behind the tree cover and disappeared. Everything was quiet then except for the fire. Ables looked around desperately. More marshals and agents emerged from the woods and behind the cabin. Each had a gun or rifle out and was aiming at him. Ables saw them all and raised his arm a bit, reasserting himself, leveling the gun at Banish as though to shoot.
“You murdered my wife and my daughter,” he said loudly.
“You shot at policemen,” Banish said. “You killed a United States Marshal.”
“I was framed.”
“You wanted this,” Banish said, shaking his head. They were standing there pointing guns at each other. “This is what you wanted.”