The Standoff

by Scott Blade

  She stepped back into the hall and felt around her pockets for a flashlight, but she had none. She pulled out her phone and clicked the button to convert the flash to a flashlight. A bright, but short beam flashed out. She used it to check out the room. It was a basement. She saw the top of the steps and part of a wall along the bottom of the basement’s ceiling, but nothing else, just darkness.

  “Anything?” a voice asked from behind her. It startled her and she jumped. The phone sprung out of her hand like it was covered in cooking oil.

  “Shit!” she said.

  Her phone clattered and bounced and clanged down the stairs all the way to a cement floor in the darkness below her. The light bounced and shone all over the basement, revealing it to appear completely empty. The final bounce on the cement floor was the end of the phone. She knew it because it made a loud crashing sound that sounded bad. And then the light from the flash shone up and back at her and then died away. It flashed once and twice and didn’t come back on.

  She glanced back over her shoulder and found Shep standing there with the shotgun pointed up the staircase. A second later, she saw Ramirez coming back from the other hallway.

  Shep said, “Oh. Sorry.”

  Adonis said, “Nothing so far. What about you?”

  “Nothing for me.”

  Ramirez said, “Same here. Just an empty house. I found a mattress. It looks slept on, but that’s it.”

  “Let’s go upstairs.”

  “Want me to grab your phone?” Shep asked.

  Adonis looked back down at it.

  “Nah. I’ll get it.”

  Shep pulled a flashlight out of his belt and clicked it on.

  “I’ll light the way for you.”

  “Thank you.”

  Adonis started descending the staircase. She stepped lightly, not knowing how old the wooden steps were. They creaked under her weight. She made it to the bottom and quickly swept over the basement with her Glock as best she could. There was too much darkness to see everything. At the bottom, she scooped her phone up with one free hand and shook it.

  “It still work?” Shep asked.

  “Nope.”

  She brushed her fingers over the phone and screen, feeling for damage. She found a long crack along the screen that spiderwebbed as she moved it. The phone was black. No power.

  Shep asked, “Anything down there?”

  “No. Nothing.”

  “Let’s get upstairs.”

  She slipped the shattered phone into her pocket and got back up to her feet and scrambled back up the stairs and to the hallway.

  Shep closed the cellar door behind her, and they prepared to ascend into the second level. But before they could, they heard something—voices calling out to them from the front of the house.

  “Agent Adonis,” the voice called out.

  “Who’s that?” Shep asked.

  Ramirez said, “Sounds like James.”

  Adonis nodded and they followed her back down the hall to the front door.

  Shep asked, “Want me to check the upstairs?”

  “No. But keep an eye on it in case someone comes down.”

  Shep nodded and pulled up the rear. He followed them walking backward, keeping the Mossberg trained on the bottom of the stairs.

  Adonis and Ramirez walked back out to the front door, through it, and onto the porch.

  This time, she kept her Glock pointed at the ground for safety. She didn’t want to shoot James by accident. But the moment she stepped out onto the front porch, she regretted it. She wished she would’ve had it pointed straight out.

  She and Ramirez stepped onto the porch and saw the guys they were hunting—all of them, minus two. Dobson was technically there. His body rotted in the barn in a dirty, old horse trough. And Jargo was posted up in a sniper’s nest in the barn’s loft.

  The most of their targets stood in the center of the large space between the barn and the farmhouse, just in front of Walter White’s truck.

  Five feet in front of the Athenian men stood James. His hat was gone. His assault rifle was gone. His sidearm was gone. His hands were zip tied behind his back. Blood streamed down his face from a fresh rifle butt to the nose, which was cracked and broken, obviously.

  Swan was next to him; only he was on his knees. All his weapons were also gone. His nose hadn’t been broken, like James’s, but the zip ties were there, wired around his wrists, which were also pulled back behind him.

  Both men looked defeated, scared, and ashamed.

  “Get down on your knees,” said a man standing behind James. He kicked James in the back of the knees, crumbling James down onto his knees and into the dirt and snow.

  Adonis looked out over the Athenian men in front of her. They were armed. Sound suppressors were screwed into the ends of their weapons. She glanced up behind them at the barn where she had seen the flapping shutter in the loft with the sniper rifle set out with no one at the helm—only, now, there was someone there.

  The sniper was in a shooter’s seated position, one elbow up on one knee and butt on the ground like he was curled into a half-ball.

  He was staring right back at Adonis. One eye trained through the rifle scope. The other wide open next to it. She stared back at him. They shared a brief staring contest. But then the sniper did something different, not weird, but menacing. He moved his head and took his eye off the scope and looked at her with both eyes. She saw his face.

  He smiled and winked at her.

  It reminded her of seeing a bad guy that she caught and arrested at his sentencing in court. He was sentenced to life in prison. That look he gave her, she would never forget. It was the most menacing expression she had ever seen. That was until today.

  Today, the sniper took that trophy.

  Five other guys from her list were there. They were all on the ground, fanned out beyond the parked trucks in perfect proximity like a tactical military unit would be.

  The man behind James who kicked him in the legs was a tall black man. It was Brooks, the same guy who went to the Whites’ farm.

  Adonis recognized him too.

  Beyond the group of men, the barn’s doors were wide open, propped open by two homemade wooden wedges, jammed underneath each door.

  She saw in the very back of the group of men, the two missing guys—Walter White and Sheriff Rourke. They were zip tied to the grille of a black panel van. Dirty rags were stuffed into their mouths.

  Adonis’s eyes refocused back onto the black man and then over the others until she found the one she was looking for.

  Right at the head and center was Joseph Abel—big and obvious. She was surprised that she hadn’t looked directly at him first.

  He stood there tall, but scrawny, more so than she pictured. He was outfitted all in white.

  He spoke and the others stayed quiet, pointing their rifles straight up at Adonis and Ramirez, who stood frozen like deer in headlights. Adonis could literally feel him quivering in his boots.

  Both of them raised their Glocks at the same time, pointing them at the enemy. Adonis swept across the Athenian men for a second and then focused her sights on Abel only.

  Abel was the only one of the Athenians not pointing a weapon back at them. In fact, Adonis saw he wasn’t even holding a firearm.

  In a slow, I-am-your-Messiah type way, Abel stepped forward. He stretched his arms up and out like he was going to give them a bear hug. His reach was long. From fingertip to fingertip, Adonis thought of it as the full wingspan of a California condor.

  Adonis’s presence loomed and impended, like doom itself.

  He spoke in a charismatic and enigmatic voice.

  “Agent Adonis, I presume.”

  Adonis stared at him in utter disbelief.

  She asked, “You know my name?”

  She asked, even though it was obvious that he probably knew it because James had just called out to her.

  That notion went out the window when he explained how he knew her name.


  Abel said, “I know you. Tommy told us all about you.”

  Ramirez glanced over his shoulder at her.

  Adonis stayed quiet.

  Does he know me? she thought.

  She asked, “Where is he?”

  Abel didn’t play with her. No teasing or beating around the bush. He just told her flat out.

  “He’s dead. I killed him.”

  Adonis felt her heart plummet in her chest. She felt, for the first time, the wound on her head pound. She wondered if it had been pounding the whole morning only she hadn’t noticed.

  “He’s dead?” she asked out of instinct, out of blindness, out of having no words to express the gut-punch of knowing.

  “He is. Dead as a doornail, as they say.”

  Adonis’s head pounded harder. Her heart hurt. Her throat swelled. Knowing that Dorsch was dead was the straw on the camel’s back. Abel saw it on her face.

  “Oh, dear. I know you loved him.”

  Adonis stayed frozen.

  Ramirez lowered his aim and his gun a degree and glanced back over at her.

  “What’s he talking about? You loved him?” he asked.

  Adonis whispered, “It’s a secret.”

  “You were having an affair with him?”

  “Yes,” she said with shame in her voice.

  Abel said, “Now, Toni, be a good ATF agent and drop that gun. Both of you.”

  Adonis held back tears, which also coursed a feeling of shame through her veins, as if showing tears now, during a standoff with the man who had killed the guy she loved, was shameful.

  “Adonis,” Abel said, “I’m not going to ask twice.”

  Ramirez said, “Adonis?”

  “Lower your weapon,” she whispered.

  “Toni?”

  “Lower it.”

  “No. We can’t.”

  Abel arched an eyebrow at her. She locked her eyes on his.

  “Adonis?” Abel asked.

  She stayed still, with her eyes locked on his.

  Adonis said, “Do it, Ramirez.”

  Ramirez waited like he was waiting for Adonis to act first.

  She lowered her Glock slowly like the hour hand on a clock face. She lowered it all the way to her side. Reluctantly, Ramirez did the same, changing his firing stance as if a regular at ease command had been given.

  “Toss the pistols,” Abel said in a calm voice.

  Adonis tossed her Glock ten feet to the right. It slumped into the snow near Walter’s truck’s front tire. Ramirez paused a long beat.

  “Both of them,” Abel said in the same calm voice.

  “Ramirez, get rid of it,” Adonis said.

  Ramirez threw the Glock off to the left but kept it in sight in a last shred of hope that he could make a run for it if he needed to. That was completely shattered a moment later.

  Abel said, “Tanis, pick up the guns, please.”

  One of his guys, the one called Tanis, Adonis figured, stood farthest from her left. He nodded at the command and kept his combat shotgun aimed at Adonis as he walked past the sheriff’s parked truck. He walked around the tail end and over to Ramirez’s Glock in the snow, bent over, and scooped it up. He stepped out in front of the two agents, keeping his eyes on them, and walked over to Adonis’s thrown gun. He scooped it up. Then he took a position to the far right of her. He stopped, reversed the combat shotgun, and wedged it under his arm. He ejected the magazines from both Glocks, one at a time. Next he racked the slides on both weapons, expelling the round in each chamber out into the snow. Last he tossed both weapons into the back of Walter’s truck along with their magazines.

  Tanis returned to aiming his combat shotgun at the agents.

  “Now, that wasn’t so hard, was it? And no one had to die,” Abel spouted like he was pleased with himself.

  His eyes stayed glued to Adonis. She stared back with daggers in her eyes.

  “There, no more standoff. Now, we can all be friends,” Abel said.

  Adonis stayed quiet. She couldn’t take her eyes off his grin. Brooks burst the bubble between them.

  “General, there’s another one. In the house.”

  “What?” Abel asked, and realized one was missing.

  No one spoke.

  He turned on one foot and faced the farmhouse and called out.

  “You in there. Come on out or we’ll shoot one of your pals.”

  Brooks stepped back from James and stood behind both men. He lowered his rifle behind them, swaying back and forth between them like he was going to randomly pick one to shoot in the back, a sadistic game of Eeny Meeny Miny Moe.

  Abel looked at Adonis.

  “Tell him to come out.”

  Adonis paused a moment, contemplating what to do until she realized she had no choice.

  “Shep, come out here.”

  Nothing happened. He didn’t come out.

  “Shep! Get out here!”

  Nothing.

  She stared at Abel. He arched the other eyebrow this time.

  She called out, “Shep, if you don’t come out they’ll shoot one of us! Please get out here!”

  Abel said, “You really don’t have much command over your guys, do you?”

  “He’s not one of mine.”

  “What is he then?”

  Ramirez answered for her.

  “He’s just a highway patrolman.”

  Abel turned his head and looked at Brooks.

  He said, “Highway patrolman?”

  Brooks said, “Like the guy you killed this morning.”

  Abel nodded and called out.

  “Shep, is it? Guess you’re being stubborn because I killed one of your guys.”

  Shep didn’t come out. He was in the farmhouse, back to the wall, next to a front room window. He held his shotgun up, pulled into his chest. Sweat ran down his cheeks. In one hand, he had his phone out. He was trying to get a signal, but there was none. Like a cheesy horror movie, his phone coincidentally, tragically was useless.

  “Damn it,” he muttered to himself. He tried calling his department. Nothing. He got a signal for a brief moment and dialed nine one one.

  “Thank you!” he muttered. He put the phone to his ear and got an automated message.

  “Due to high call volumes, the number you’re calling can’t be completed,” the voice said.

  “Shit!” he cursed. He redialed his department—hoping, praying he could get through this time.

  The phone rang, but he got the same automated message, with the same robotic tone.

  “SHIT!” he shouted. It was so loud he knew they heard him outside. He cursed himself for listening to Adonis, for making a deal with her. Giving up his body radio was a huge mistake. He never should’ve done it. He never should have left it behind. He never should’ve left his guys out.

  “Shep,” Abel called to him.

  “What?” he called back.

  “You’ve got three seconds.”

  Abel started a loud count, while Brooks continued the twisted game of Eeny Meeny Miny Moe , swaying the barrel of his M4 from man to man, behind their heads. The silencer on the end was only inches from each ATF agent.

  Adonis could see both James and Swan’s faces. James bled out from his nose, but she could still see the panic in his eyes. Swan squeezed his eyes shut tight. His lips pursed and then moved. He whispered to himself. She read his lips. He was praying.

  Ramirez whispered, “We should’ve never given up our guns.”

  Adonis said nothing, but felt more shame come over her. He was right. It was better to die fighting than like this, executed in the middle of nowhere, South Carolina, like dogs.

  “ONE,” Abel shouted.

  “TWO.”

  “Wait! Wait! I’m coming out,” Shep said.

  He frowned and cursed at himself. He slid his phone into an empty pocket and stepped away from the window. He stepped in huge strides to the front door and stopped. He grabbed the front door, which wasn’t shut all the way, and jerked it open. He
stepped out onto the porch with the Mossberg raised. He pointed it at the group of Athenian men, flicking it from target to target until he recognized Abel, the man he watched on Brant’s police cruiser’s dashboard camera murder his friend in cold blood. He stopped, leaving the gun pointed at Abel.

  Shep said, “You. You’re the one who shot my friend.”

  Abel’s grin remained.

  “I did. You must’ve watched it on the dashcam?”

  Shep said nothing to that.

  “Shep, is it? Do us a favor and toss the shotgun.”

  Shep didn’t respond.

  “Do it, Shep,” Adonis ordered, hoping not to lose more agents. But it was no good. He didn’t respond.

  Everyone stood their ground. Shep was the first to move. Foolishly—he knew—but he needed to close the gap, so he walked forward and stepped down off the porch. He was giving up any hope of cover he had, but he needed to get closer. He aimed to get as close to being behind the sheriff’s truck as he could. The Mossberg’s range was far enough to hit Abel or some of his guys, but it might hit Ramirez or Adonis first.

  He needed to shorten the distance between them. Maybe he could get close enough to dive behind the sheriff’s front wheel well. That would make for good cover.

  And even if he got shot, it was okay by him as long as he took out Abel, maybe give Adonis and Ramirez a running chance.

  But he had to think of a tactic first, something to keep them busy. Talking seemed to be the best option. From what little he knew of Abel, he knew the man loved to talk.

  Shep asked, “Why? Why did you do it?”

  He continued to step forward, closing the gap more and more.

  Abel said, “Why did I kill your friend? That’s simple. He got in our way.”

  Shep stayed quiet. He took a step, stopped, paused, and took another step. He repeated this as much as he could without drawing suspicion.

  Abel said, “Like you are. Right now.”

  Shep got as close as he could to a distance that would let him leap behind the truck’s wheel wells as he could and stopped.

  Abel said, “Really, Officer Shep or Patrolman Shep or whatever your name is, this little charade you’re doing, trying to get me to talk long enough for you to get into close range with the shotgun, is pointless.”