[2001] Public Enemy Zero

by Andrew Mayne

  Mitch stood up to look at the wreckage and then heard a huge crack and was thrown forward with a jerk. He ducked back down and then realized that was the sound of the anchor rope tearing the anchor cleat from the stern.

  He looked at the wreckage behind him. He could see a rage-filled face with bloodshot eyes pounding his fists and face against the glass cockpit bubble. How could the man even smell him? Mitchell was confused. He had no idea how it was possible the man in the chopper could have gotten his scent through the downdraft.

  Off to his right, a Marine Patrol boat was pulling alongside him. A man on a bullhorn shouted at him to shut down his engine. Mitch picked the radio microphone he’d dropped when he heard the helicopter coming at him.

  “I’ve already told you to keep your distance! No boats! No more god damn helicopters!”

  A voice came over the emergency channel. “Mr. Roberts, if you stop your boat, we can negotiate.”

  Mitch looked at the two Marine Patrol boats on either side of him trying to keep him boxed in.

  “I don’t see any kind of protective gear on anyone around me. Didn’t you guys learn anything today?”

  “We’ll pull the boats back if you slow down,” said the voice.

  “Every time I slow down, people try to kill me. I’ve told you what I need, for your sake and mine.”

  “We’re considering it.”

  Mitchell knew it was a waiting game. Sooner or later they’d try to use a high-powered rifle to take out the engine or just wait for him to run out of gas. After that, he’d be metaphorically and possibly literally dead in the water.

  He needed something to bargain with. He could threaten to kill himself, but he wasn’t sure if they’d take him seriously having realized he’d had an escape plan the last time he said he would do that. Mitchell thought about that for a moment. He was still an unpredictable element to them. There was something to creating a bluff that they’d be afraid to call him on.

  He also knew that he had the public watching what was happening. Mitch looked down and saw one of the spent flare guns. He picked it up and slid it into the zipper of his diving suit.

  “Let me ask you a question. Do you believe me now that there is something medically going on with me that’s making people attack me?” he asked into the microphone.

  “We don’t know what to believe. If you stop your vessel, we can talk about it.”

  “That’s not a helpful answer. I’ve already told you what I need in order for me to stop this boat.” Mitchell looked up to his left and saw the orange and white colors of a Coast Guard helicopter. He remembered how they’d stop go-fast boats like his.

  “If anybody else shoots at me today ....”

  The voice interrupted. “Nobody has shot at you today.”

  “Did I imagine gunfire on the bridge? Is this bullet hole in my suit a hallucination?”

  “The bridge was unfortunate.”

  Mitchell was shocked at how hard it was to get through to these people. “Yes. It was unfortunate. Unfortunate because it was your fault.”

  “We’re going to handle things differently. Please power down your vessel.”

  “Here’s what I’m going to do. If you do the simple thing I asked for, which quite honestly is not asking for much and is just as much for your safety as mine, then you will have my surrender when I think it’s safe.” Mitch held up the flare gun. “If you guys insist on handling this wrong and doing something like trying to shoot my engine or me on live television, I’m going to straddle the gas tank on this boat and shoot a flare into the leak the helicopter made.”

  “Mr. Roberts,” the voice interrupted.

  “I’m not finished! Here’s the best part. That explosion is going to send me into a billion tiny little parts all over the Intracoastal. Maybe nothing will happen, maybe everyone around for a hundred miles will get to breathe in a little Mad Mitch.

  “Maybe I’m not the suicidal type like the last guy said, but I know I’d rather go out by my hand than yours. I’ve told you what I want.”

  There was a long pause. Finally, the voice came back on. “All right Mr. Roberts. Just let us have your assurance that you won’t try to hurt anyone.”

  “I’m not the one who needs to make that promise. But I will. I’ve acted as open and ethically as I could. I beg of you to do the same.”

  “Agreed.”

  The Naked Man in the Forest was in a different place. He didn’t know where to look for the face of the Earth Mother. The trees and the plants were different. This wasn’t his familiar spot. Of course it was all part of the Earth Mother. He just needed to be able to see that.

  He dropped a half tab of the blotter and waited.

  He jerked his head to the side when something scurried through the brush. He hoped it was Earth Mother. Instead, it was just an armadillo. Just an armadillo? He felt shame for denigrating one of her creatures. It was a thing of light, not a thing of dark like him.

  The Naked Man in the Forest scratched a huge welt into his leg for thinking that he was special. He looked down at the red mass of his testicles and penis. Hadn’t he learned his lesson already from the poison ivy? This time it was going to be worse. He’d failed the Earth Mother. For the first time, he feared her eggs may be in danger.

  He had come far away from them and wasn’t able to protect them. All because of that damn man. That horrible man shrouded in darkness. Because of him he was sure the Earth Mother was going to make him pay.

  Wind blew through the clearing and the Naked Man felt a cold breeze on his back. She was here. But she wasn’t showing herself. This was bad.

  “Earth Mother,” he pleaded. “I’ll do anything you ask. Anything.”

  I know, my child.

  Her voice was sweet. He began to turn his head to look behind him where the voice came from.

  Do not turn around!

  The words came out like thunder claps. The Naked Man in the Forest froze.

  The eggs. Protect my eggs.

  Her voice was sweet again.

  “Why can’t I see you right now, Earth Mother?” He began to wail.

  I don’t want you to see how angry I am right now. I don’t want you to see my face and forget that I ever loved you.

  Loved?

  “What can I do, Earth Mother?”

  Are my eggs ready?

  “Yes, Earth Mother. They’ve been ready.”

  Then go to them. Stop this man if you can. But go to my eggs. I may have you bring them to him.

  “Bring them to this man? I don’t understand.”

  The entire forest shook with her fury. Tree limbs snapped and a cold wind stirred up a tornado of dead leaves.

  DON’T QUESTION WHAT I ASK OF YOU!

  The Naked Man in the Forest buried his face in his hands.

  When you came to me, you were lost. You were confused about the things you did. You didn’t understand what was light and what was dark. Who showed you?

  “You did, Earth Mother,” he whimpered.

  Who told you what to say? Who told you what to do? Who told you about my eggs?

  “You, Earth Mother. Everything I owe to you.”

  Then if I tell you to bring my eggs to this man, then that is what you will do.

  “Yes, Earth Mother. Yes.”

  He felt her presence leave the clearing. He sat alone, naked. “Loved,” she had said. She said she had loved him, as in the past tense. All because of this horrible man.

  He put on the Otherself’s clothes. He would do what she asked. He’d try to bring the eggs to this man. But she hadn’t said anything about trying to stop him before then.

  She would love him again. She would love him when she saw that the eggs were his responsibility. That he, The Naked Man in the Forest, not the horrible man or his Otherself, was the one to see to it they were hatched.

  He heard a twig snap behind him as he put one leg into the Otherself’s pants. He turned his head and saw an athletic man with cutoff shorts and a tank top whistling
at him. The Naked Man in the Forest froze. He’d never been seen changing back into the Otherself.

  “You don’t waste time. I like that.”

  The Naked Man in the Forest tried to focus on the man’s face, but the acid was making his goatee stretch and distort into a beard. He just smiled back.

  The man walked toward him. “So what’s your thing?”

  The Naked Man in the Forest looked around the clearing. “Over here.” He pointed to a log. “Sit here and watch.”

  The man sat down on the log and looked up at him. “All right. Now what?”

  “Close your eyes.”

  The man looked up at him skeptically.

  “Just close your eyes. Let me get something out of my wallet.”

  The man closed his eyes. The Naked Man in Forest leaned down to his pants and grabbed a large rock.

  “This better not get ....”

  The man’s words were cut off when he was struck in the temple. He struggled to get up but The Naked Man in the Forest hit him again and again until his skull cracked open and blood poured to the ground.

  For a moment, the man’s face changed into the face of the hunted man on the television but The Naked Man in the Forest knew that was just wishful thinking.

  51

  Mitchell slowed the engine down and looked at the pier. Once they’d come to terms for his surrender, his escorts gave him a wide berth. The fact that none of the men on either the Coast Guard or Marine Patrol vessels had proper gear also made a difference. The people Mitchell was negotiating with didn’t want a replay of what happened that morning.

  The pier ran 1,000 feet out into the ocean. Mitchell could see that it had been cleared of fishermen and sightseers. The beach on either side had also been evacuated in a mile radius. He looked to his left at the various Coast Guard and other patrol vessels. They were moving into position to keep other boats away and to form a blockade if Mitchell decided to run again.

  He could count at least three television news helicopters in the sky along with various law enforcement ones. Since that morning, having things be public wasn’t as reassuring to him. They had no problem acting stupid with the world watching. From the news reports, it was clear they were catching hell for what happened.

  One hundred feet away from the floating dock at the bottom of the pier, Mitchell stopped the boat and then went into the cabin. He dug through some drawers and found a roll of high-test fishing line.

  He took the other flare gun from the floor of the cockpit and tied the fishing line around the trigger. He flipped open the gas cap and pointed the flare gun down into the tank. He then gently pushed the throttle forward and brought the boat up alongside the dock.

  Still holding the spool of fishing line, he tied the boat off. He knew it wasn’t going to work because he’d already shot the flares from both guns at the sniper in the trees. He’d found extra flares but decided to only reload the one he had on him.

  The fishing line was his own bit of theater. Maybe they could tell the trigger probably wouldn’t work. But as long as there was the possibility it would, it gave Mitchell’s threat some additional weight.

  Mitchell unspooled the fishing line and walked up the stairs that led to the pier above. As per his request, there was a table and a chair at the end of the pier within sight off the boat. On it were two cell phones, a walkie-talkie, a bottle of water and a bag of takeout from Outback Steakhouse.

  Mitchell hadn’t eaten all day and didn’t want to enter into negotiations on an empty stomach. He walked over and sat down.

  A voice came over the radio. “Are you happy?”

  Mitchell looked inside the takeout bag, “You forgot the steak sauce.”

  “It’s inside the container.”

  Mitchell opened the Styrofoam container. “Oh. Thank you.”

  “Are you ready to talk now?”

  Mitchell pulled the food out and unwrapped the knife and fork. “I need to make a phone call first.”

  He looked down at the food. He’d heard stories about the police drugging food they sent to hostage-takers. “If I feel the least bit woozy after eating this, I’m going to pull the cord. Is it safe to eat?”

  “Yes, Mr. Roberts. No games on our part.”

  Mitchell picked up the phone and dialed. Rookman’s familiar voice answered. “Mad Mitch! I’m watching you eat right now on television. Couldn’t you have gone a little more upscale?”

  “I’m sticking to what I know,” said Mitchell as he ate a mouthful of baked potato. “Do you have a name for me?”

  “Yep. I got the biggest cock puncher of them all for you. He’s the guy you go to whenever somebody needs to stick a thumb in the government’s eye.”

  Mitchell remembered the name from a few high-profile cases. “Thanks. So what do you think my chances are?”

  “You know how in movies it’s your most trusted friend telling you it’s safe to come in? I’m telling you it’s safe to come in. So where are you?”

  Fuck. Mad Mitch dropped a piece of steak back in the container. Rookman telling him things were safe was his way of telling him things were absolutely not safe. In every thriller, if a friend tells you it’s safe and then asks where you are, it means people are coming to get you.

  Mad Mitch stood up. He looked around. There was nobody anywhere near him. Of course he knew that didn’t mean there weren’t Navy SEALs using gear like he had, waiting to disable his booby trap and shoot him.

  Mad Mitch picked up the radio. “Is there anyone within 500 feet of me on land or in the water?”

  There was silence. “Everyone is a safe distance away from you.”

  “That’s not answering the question!” Mad Mitch looked over at the boat. How would they try to disable his threat? He looked at the water around the boat. There was less than a foot of visibility. “If I see so much as one drop of fuel come from the side or some hole one of your divers made in the bottom of the hull to empty the fuel tank, the deal is off.” Mad Mitch thought for a moment. “I’ll tell you nothing.”

  “Tell us nothing about what?”

  Mad Mitch took the cell phone and the radio off the table and walked back down the stairs to the floating dock. He put the cell phone in his suit and pulled the other flare gun out and aimed it at the boat. He couldn’t see any fuel leaking into the water, but that didn’t mean they weren’t about to try.

  Mad Mitch stepped into the cockpit. He looked at his console and turned on the depth finder. The screen showed him a sonar image of the ocean floor below.

  “I see two very large fish under my boat.” Mad Mitch flipped a button that made a sound whenever something came within a few feet of the hull. It pinged. He held the radio to the speaker. “I shouldn’t be hearing that sound.”

  The voice on the radio spoke up. “It’s a fishing pier. There are going to be fish there.”

  Mad Mitch was looking at two very big fish on the screen. “Then tell Aquaman that he needs to call his friends back.” Mad Mitch looked over at a gaff stick under the sidewall of the boat. He picked it up and held it aloft for the helicopters to see.

  Mitchell spoke into the radio. “Are we being sincere with each other?”

  “Yes, Mr. Roberts. We’re very sincere.”

  “Then if I stick this gaffing stick under here and try to stab the ‘fish’ under my boat, you won’t be bothered by that?”

  There was a pause. The images on the screen drifted away. The sound of the depth finder dropped. “We may have had some people who were trying to secure the area who drifted away from their position.”

  Mitchell did a face palm. He let out a sigh and then spoke into the radio. “Listen, man. I know what happened today was a clusterfuck of epic proportions and you guys are profoundly embarrassed by what happened. I’m sure some genius there is telling you that you can make up for it by doing some commando-style shit to get the upper hand on me.

  “I got news for you. You probably can outsmart me and wear me down and have your guys take me do
wn in some kind of face-saving way that makes it look like you guys are in control and some third-rate DJ nobody listens to is no match for you. But that won’t erase the fact that you guys didn’t listen to me earlier and people got hurt. It also doesn’t mean you suddenly have a grip on the situation. There’s something seriously fucked up going on. The sooner we can come to simple terms, the sooner you can march me down that pier and we can all figure out the bigger problem.

  “You’ve got a lot of people watching us on television right now and listening in on our discussion. You’ve told me twice that you were up to no tricks. There’s no hostage here. You’re not ethically obliged to lie to me to save them. I want to help.

  “If you send some Navy SEALs to shoot me or tranq me while my back is turned, all you’ve done is shot the guy who knocked on your door to tell you your house is on fire. I didn’t start it.

  “And the more crazy-clever bullshit you try to pull on me, the more people are going to be convinced that the reason you’re trying so hard to not let me surrender the way I’m asking is because you’re the ones who started the fire. Are you the one who started the fire?”

  “No, Mr. Roberts. We are not.”

  “Do you have any idea who that helicopter belonged to and why they were trying to shoot me and decapitate me?”

  “No, Mr. Roberts. We do not.”

  “Then please keep your word to me. Let me finish my phone calls and take care of what I need to on my end to make sure everything can go smoothly.” Mitchell stepped out of the boat and walked up to table and sat down. He pulled out the cell phone.

  “You got all that?”

  “Yes, sir,” replied Rookman. “I’d get a hold of that lawyer soon.”

  “I agree.” Mitchell hung up with Rookman and got the number of the lawyer from a Google search on the phone. While he assumed the feds could listen to the phone call, he was even more paranoid about them pretending to be the lawyer.

  A receptionist answered.

  “I’d like to speak with Trevor Smith,” said Mitchell.

  “Who shall I tell him is speaking?” she asked.