The Big Thaw - Donald Harstad [130]
“How deep is it out there?” I wanted to know.
“Winter depth we’ve never really looked at…” said James. “It’s low. Probably lower. That’s for sure.”
I picked up a phone book. “Anybody mind if I call the lock and dam? To get the depth?” Nobody did. I got the lock master, and he had the data in about a second. They could only give me the main channel data, and the general river stage at Frieberg. They said it was fourteen feet.
I motioned James over. “How much does the boat draw? Like, how deep does she sit in the water?”
He thought for a second. “I’d have to check to make sure, but I think it’s seven or eight feet.”
I grinned. “Really … Look at this.” I showed him the figure fourteen, underlined. “That’s the current river stage data from the lock and dam, with the measurement taken by the robot sensors under the bridge, here. So it’s the depth of the water about five hundred feet from the Beauregard.” I thanked the master.
I went over to Volont, who was on the phone to the Coast Guard station in St. Louis. He was quite exasperated, from the tone. He hung the phone up, and almost ran into me as he turned. “What?”
“I might have the first surprise for our side, I think. Look at this.”
“Wait … what?”
“That’s right,” I said. “If the sensors are accurate, if she sinks, she goes down six or seven feet. And stops on the bottom.”
“What’s going on?” asked George.
“If Gabriel blows the bottom out of the boat, the people on the lowest casino deck are just going to get their feet wet.” I handed him the paper.
The phone rang again, and I expected it to be Gabriel. Nope. It was Lamar, for me.
“What the fuck is going on down there?”
I told him, being sure to get in the good news about the water depth.
“I thought you told me this was going to be a simple goddamned bank robbery at five goddamned banks?”
I explained the part about the five locations. How it all fit the information we had. Just in a different way. “Neater ’n shit, Lamar, you think about it…”
“‘Neat’?”
“Well, yeah.” I explained just what we had in as positive a light as I could. Not easy. I also said that we appeared to have Gabriel pretty well bottled up, and with a TAC team and a Huey, it was virtually impossible for him to escape. And this time, we even had his photograph.
He decided to come down.
“Before you do, Lamar, be sure to get a couple of people on Nola’s sister’s place. Linda Grossman’s. If we would miss him, for some reason, that’s where he might go.”
“‘Miss him’?! ‘Miss him’?! If that son of a bitch disappears this time, all of you better disappear right along with him!”
I thought that was a little unfair. But the message certainly was clear.
Volont was apparently encouraged by the river depth. He was on the no longer secure radio. “Alpha Chase, you clear to take out some tires on the stretch van?”
“Roger that.”
“Stand by…” He turned to me. “Come on, Houseman. Let’s go down by the tracks.”
We hurried out of the pavilion, down into the deepest fog I’d ever experienced. We headed due east, and stopped just behind the big fire truck. In the intense light from its big halogen floodlights, we had a pretty good view of the stretch van. Just sitting there, filled with very still shadows. Several of them.
Volont picked up his radio, and gave the order to shoot out the tires on the van. “Do it.”
I’d never seen that before. It was a bit of a disappointment, really. There was no discernible firing, either visually or audibly. Just a popping sound. The front and rear tires on the right side of the stretch van just went flat. Instantly. I think I might have seen a little bit of dust or something, or maybe just rapidly condensing air as it blew out of the tires. Very unremarkable. But now the little group in the van was totally screwed. Their vehicle was immobile. The only other refuge had been the boat, which was now across about a hundred feet of icy water. The concrete area they were parked