The Big Thaw - Donald Harstad [135]
The team commander, who was aware of Gabriel’s background and the likely anti-Fed mentality of his group, suggested that we have either a local or a county officer go with him to approach the stretch van.
No names, but I looked around the office. I was the only one who fit that bill.
We came up with our plan. “You sure you’re comfortable with this?” What could I say? No? Of course I wasn’t comfortable about it. I didn’t want to do it. One of those lovely little moments, when you agree with everything that was going to be done, but had a little reservation about who was going to get stuck with it.
“Just remember, we aren’t going over there to arrest anybody. Just to give them something to think about.”
“Like shooting the pale deputy?”
He laughed. “You’ll be fine.”
I hoped he was right.
The view of the stretch van from street level was a bit different. We were much closer, for one thing, and the fog wasn’t much of a factor. You could see at least one head inside. The driver. The rest were fairly well obscured by shadow. I mean, it looked kind of lumpy in there, but you couldn’t make out individuals. It was hard to believe there were seven of them in there.
The stretch van was down by the bow, as they say, with both front tires flattened, and the right rear as well. Although I knew it wasn’t intentional, leaving that one tire up was a good thing. The occupants had to be just a little more uncomfortable, with a list like that. If we’d been able to shoot out all four tires, they’d have been on an even keel. Kind of reminded me of the old-fashioned interrogation chairs, with the front legs an inch shorter than the rear. The sensation of being about to slide out of the chair apparently made the interviewee most uncomfortable.
The engine was running, presumably for the heater. Even with the flat tires, I had to remind myself that they could move if they needed to. Just not too far or too fast.
We stopped just across the street from the stretch van, near the front of the fire truck. As planned, we climbed up into the cab, and scrutinized the radio and siren boxes, until we were sure we could turn on the truck’s PA system. I was always a little nervous with an unfamiliar siren box. You had to turn the rotary switch to “PA” and then activate the siren switch. With this one, and we’d been warned, you also had to switch the mike box over from “radio” to “PA,” or you’d just set off the siren. We were extracareful, because we didn’t want to startle the occupants of the stretch van into something regrettable. Like shooting us, for instance.
Click. Click. So far, so good. Key the mike. Well, you can’t win them all. We both had our heads down, and pulling the mike to my mouth only got it about three inches from the radio. Feedback. The resulting squeal sounded like fingernails on a blackboard, magnified about a thousand times. It only lasted about half a second, but it scared the hell out of me. I released the “talk” button, and slid back across the passenger’s seat, so that my feet were on the paving, and just my elbows were in the truck.
“Wanna try that again?”
“Shit,” I said. “Yeah. Should have thought of that.” I cleared my throat, and stood on the running board with the mike in my hand. I keyed it again, and there was just a hiss from the speaker on the roof of the truck. So far, so good.
Following that squeal wasn’t easy, so I figured I’d better keep it simple and straightforward.
“Two of us are coming over to talk to you. Don’t shoot. Understand?” There was no reaction. I put the mike down. “That okay?”
“Don’t do much public address work, do you?” said Adams, with a grin. “It’ll do. Let’s go.”
We both stood in full view of the stretch van, took off our coats, and turned slowly. No obvious guns. We’d decided earlier that losing the coats would have to be enough. Cold made your voice shake, and that wasn’t what we wanted, so we weren’t about to take off our shirts. Just let them know