Known Dead_ A Novel - Donald Harstad [72]
As I got to the fence, I walked over to where they had Nancy pressed down between two cop cars.
‘‘Nancy,’’ I said, still breathless, ‘‘I never thought they’d do that . . .’’
About ten minutes later, while Nancy was being treated by the EMTs at the scene, Hester, Roger, George, Al, and I were having a conference under the awning attached to the rear of the camper I’d slept in. It was subdued.
‘‘I just can’t fucking figure it out,’’ said Al very quietly. ‘‘Nothing to gain at all. Nothing.’’
‘‘You’re right,’’ I said.
‘‘It was the stupidest thing he could have done,’’ said George.
‘‘Yeah, idiotic,’’ said Hester.
Silence. For what seemed like an hour.
‘‘So,’’ I said. ‘‘Now what do we do?’’
More silence.
‘‘Anybody think it might be time to go in and drag their asses out?’’ I was getting really frustrated. ‘‘Or do we wait for another casualty?’’
‘‘We should at least contact them,’’ said Roger, ‘‘and see if we can get Phil’s body back.’’
‘‘What?’’ I almost yelled at him. ‘‘You want to call them up and ask permission to retrieve a body? Permission?’’
‘‘Hey,’’ he said. ‘‘Don’t take it out on me!’’
I took a deep breath. ‘‘Sorry.’’
Silence, again.
‘‘It’s time they came out,’’ I said. ‘‘That’s all there is to it.’’
‘‘I agree,’’ said George.
‘‘What, just go in and take ’em out?’’ asked Al. ‘‘What, do you think FBI means, Superman?’’
George stood up at that one. ‘‘Not called for,’’ he said evenly. ‘‘But if you make it happen, I’ll be glad to take jurisdiction, and get our own team in here.’’
Al really didn’t want that. If that happened, the state would completely lose any influence or control, and would be reduced to providing crowd control services for the Feds.
‘‘Al,’’ I said, ‘‘what’s happening here is this . . . if some politicians over your head are worried about losing some of their constituents over this, just say so. I’ll be glad to talk to them and get some things straight. I know it isn’t you, because I’ve worked with you enough to know that you want to go in as bad as I do.’’
‘‘Nothing personal, George,’’ I said, standing up and reaching for some pop, ‘‘but the fewer Feds we have in this, the better. Otherwise, these idiots are gonna go nuts on us, and we’ll have even more problems.’’
‘‘That’s true,’’ said George. ‘‘I know that.’’
‘‘But,’’ I said, ‘‘if we have to go that way, then we do. I’d prefer state, but if I have to, I’ll go fed.’’ Like, I’d have a choice in the matter.
‘‘Let me make one more call,’’ said Al.
‘‘Sure.’’
He had a real problem, and I had some idea what it was. In my thinking about it, it was obvious that he had two bosses . . . the Attorney General and the Director of Public Safety. The AG was elected, the DPS was appointed by the governor. One, or both, had told him to hold off the violence. Period. Why? Well, traditionally, the governor’s office had felt that cops had no business interfering with political activities. Hard to disagree with that. Where they ran into trouble was with extremists. Mostly extremists on the right. The majority of them, after all, were farmers. Many of them were experiencing financial difficulties. I knew that no human being could ever get elected governor in Iowa on a ‘‘get tough on poor farmers’’ platform, and probably not on a ‘‘get tough on rich farmers’’ either. Hence the problem. Similarly, nobody could be elected Attorney General with that platform either.
Well, just a second, I thought. Let me qualify that. No human without courage could get elected. A leader, in the traditional vein, could. If he’d made the right decision and if he could defend it. But if he liked