The Big Thaw - Donald Harstad [136]
Butterflies wouldn’t do my feelings justice, as we walked across that street. I can’t remember being so tense in my life. Not only were we in a perfect position to be gunned down in our tracks, but I was going to have to act self-possessed. And I was now very cold. It was awfully damp, and the breeze was picking up as it came upriver from the south.
We approached on the passenger side. We got about five feet from the window, and were staring eye to eye with a man in a ski mask. Armed with what looked like a Mack 10 submachine gun. There was a face at each of the two side windows, also with a ski mask on. I couldn’t see any guns, but I had no doubt they were there.
We just stood there. “Roll your window down,” I said, rather loudly. Nothing. “Your window,” I said, a bit louder. “Roll it down.” The eyes in the ski mask didn’t even blink.
I realized that, with the engine running, and the defroster on, it might be a bit hard to hear. But, honest, I was beginning to wonder if we might be all wrong, and dealing with some foreign nationals who didn’t speak English.
“Roll down your window,” said Adams. Also quite loudly. No reaction. The eyes just stared. No reaction, although they had to be able to see our lips moving, at least. We stood there for another thirty seconds. No reaction. Neither Adams nor I wanted to take our eyes off the occupants of the van, and neither of us should get any closer. The last thing we wanted was for them to grab one of us as a hostage. But this was turning into the stupidest moment of my career. I took two steps forward, and stayed well ahead of the door handle, so that if he did open it, the door would be between me and him. That way, if they tried to grab me, I could turn and run. I’m slow, but catching me in the middle of the street would have been really dumb on their part. It would take three of them to drag me back. Size does count, sometimes.
Thus emboldened, I continued the eye contact with the passenger, and motioned downward with my hand. “The window. Open the window.” Loud enough to be heard. Clear enough to be understood, or so I thought. Still nothing. It was like he was drunk. Stupidly drunk. Or stupid with fear. Ah.
I pulled my right hand back, made a fist, and struck the hood just in front of the windshield. Hurt like hell. At the same time, I yelled at the top of my lungs, “OPEN THE FUCKING WINDOW!”
He energetically cranked the window down, at the same time yelling back, “BE CAREFUL OF THE FUCKIN’ HOOD!”
Ah, communication.
“Hi,” I said, in a more normal tone. “My name’s Houseman, and I’m a deputy sheriff in this county. I think it’s time you surrendered.”
Even under that mask, I got the feeling this “warrior” was about nineteen or twenty. “We ain’t gonna surrender. We … we … demand safe, uh, safe passage.” It was just like he was reading it. “We don’t acknowledge your laws. We don’t have to obey the laws of this state. We’re freemen, we’re twenty-one, and you have, uh, no rule over us.”
Oh, God. Gabriel, you asshole, I thought. Using these people for this, and the kids, to boot.
“Look, son …”
“I’m not your son! You have no force over me!”
“No, you’re younger than any kid I’ll ever have,” I said. “The point is this. There are about twenty armed officers around you. If we open fire, you will be shredded like hamburger. You understand that?”
“We aren’t in your jurisdiction.”
“You are completely within my jurisdiction. Period. No question.”
A voice came out of the rear, somewhat older. Well, at least a little deeper. “You ain’t got thirty cops in this whole county! Liar! He’s lying, Timmy”
“Adams, you want to show them some ID?”
Very slowly, Adams’s hand came into my field of view. I could see the black nylon ID case opened up, and it was apparent that the passenger could see the ID.
“Tell them what you’re doing here, what you do,” I said.
“I’m the commander of the FBI Tactical Response Team that has you surrounded. The team that took out your tires in one second.