The Standoff

by Scott Blade

She said, “You’re a fake!”

  “What’s that?”

  “You’re a fake! All this religious bullshit! You don’t believe in God! Or anything else! You’re a fraud!”

  One of Abel’s eyebrows arched.

  “How so?”

  “You know who the pilot is. Your guy in the barn watched us. He saw who got out of the helicopter. You all probably did. You’re just toying with us.”

  Abel cracked a grin and shifted his aim to Ramirez.

  “You the pilot? ‘Cause we could use that bird.”

  Ramirez stopped moving. He raised his head. Hope filled his eyes, thinking they needed him to fly the helicopter. He was of value and Abel wouldn’t kill someone he needed.

  “Yes. I’m the pilot.”

  Flack stood behind Ramirez, but just then he took a big step back and sidestepped to the left.

  Abel said, “Too bad. We don’t need a pilot.”

  He shot Ramirez in the head. The head and body jolted back from the bullet. It was through and through. The bullet slammed down into the snow and dirt where Flack had been standing. The bullet buried itself somewhere underneath the snow, into the earth below. Snow kicked up high and a snow cloud filled the air around Ramirez.

  James and Swan both squeezed their eyes shut, but Adonis kept hers open. She watched as the snow cloud slowly wafted off in the breeze. She was the first to see the look on Ramirez’s face as his body slowly slumped back forward and he landed face-first. A big chunk of the back of his head was gone.

  Adonis’s fear of death was gone, replaced by guilt. She knew it because it had been the second thing she felt all morning long, right after revenge. That feeling was gone.

  Abel waited for the snow cloud to clear and then he stared at her.

  She screamed, “You’re insane! You’re just tormenting us!”

  Abel shrugged.

  Adonis said, “Just kill us already! If you’re gonna kill us in cold blood, get it over with.”

  He stared at her. He stared deeply into her eyes, deeper than any man had ever stared into them before. She was terrified of him, but she struggled to keep that from being read on her face or in her eyes.

  Finally, he lowered his Glock, reholstered it somewhere inside his garbs. He stepped back away from her.

  He said, “You’re not scared. You’re different, Agent Adonis. Different from these other clowns. But not that different. You’re not the first to defy me.”

  Abel stepped away and turned and looked up to the sky. Then he returned and looked up at Jargo in the sniper’s nest.

  “Brooks, give me the radio.”

  Brooks tossed his radio to him. Abel caught it and clicked the button.

  “Jargo?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Any movement?”

  “No. Nothing on the road. Nothing in the sky.”

  “Good. Keep a lookout. They must’ve heard that shotgun blast over at Walter’s place.”

  “Got it, boss.”

  Abel pocketed the radio this time. He went back over to the group.

  “Boys, I think we have almost everything we need.”

  He looked at Tanis.

  “Get over to the bird and make sure you can operate it.”

  Tanis nodded and took off, running toward the direction of the helicopter.

  Abel said, “Cucci, grab the keys off that body and move that police car off the road. Bring it into the driveway. Don’t block the trucks. Leave it running for now.”

  He pointed into a field off the drive.

  “Flack, get the keys from the good sheriff and move this truck off somewhere too. Just get it out of the way of the driveway.”

  Adonis was staring at Brooks when he looked up as if a light bulb had gone off in his head. He had an idea, and she didn’t like the way it made him smile.

  Brooks interrupted Abel.

  “Sir, wait.”

  “What?”

  Brooks went over to Abel, leaned in, and explained his idea to him. Adonis watched the whole time. She cringed when Abel’s smile matched Brooks’. It was a sinister grin from ear to ear.

  Abel stepped back and looked at Adonis.

  “That’s why you’re my number one, Brooks. Whatever I don’t think of. You think of. Okay. Get over to Walter’s place on the double. Just sit on them till we get there.”

  “Don’t want me to take them now? They might call the cops.”

  “Take out their phone lines. And wait for us.”

  Abel took out the radio and called Jargo.

  “Yes, boss,” Jargo answered.

  “Take a look around for cell towers.”

  Silence came over the radio for a moment.

  Jargo came back on.

  “There’s one due south. Maybe six to eight klicks.”

  “Thanks. Keep an eye on that driveway across the street.”

  “Ten-four.”

  Abel spoke into the radio again.

  “I’m not worried about it. I’d bet we got the county’s only cop right here. Just sit on them. We’ll be over momentarily.”

  Brooks nodded and started off, jogging to the Whites’ house.

  Abel stopped him one last time.

  “Brooks.”

  “Yeah?”

  Abel showed him the radio.

  “Take it with you.”

  Abel tossed it. Brooks caught it and tucked it into his coat. He turned back and ran off down the driveway to the Whites’ house.

  Adonis watched him go.

  She asked, “You going to kill us now?”

  “I’ve got use for you yet,” Abel said. He retreated to the barn and signaled for Flack to come over. Flack was already in the sheriff’s truck, the ignition on and running. He had to slip the truck back into park before he could get out.

  Adonis watched as Abel explained the new plan to him. They looked like two men conspiring.

  James spoke.

  “Are they going to kill us?”

  Adonis said, “I don’t know.”

  But she did know.

  Chapter 39

  “ W E HEARD A GUNSHOT!” Dylan shouted. Excitement filled his voice.

  He and Lauren stood at the top of the stairs, phoneless. Maggie was behind them on the railing, looking down at the main room. Foster paced the hallway. Abe and Widow stepped back into the house. Abby shut the slider behind them.

  Just then, like out of the sound effects of an old radio show, they heard a new sound. Thunder cracked and rolled deep in the sky.

  Maggie called down.

  “Was it thunder?”

  Abby said, “It might’ve been.”

  Abe tugged on Widow’s arm, readjusting to keep the rifles in his arm.

  “That’s what we heard.”

  He looked at Widow and whispered.

  “No reason to tell the kids yet.”

  Widow disagreed but kept it to himself. The kids should know, in his opinion, because being prepared for battle was part of being victorious in battle. But they weren’t his kids and this wasn’t his house. Besides, Dylan was the youngest at eight years old. He was going to figure it out in seconds because they were transporting a small armory into the house.

  They moved into the dining room with the rifles and the boxes of ammunition. The laid them out on the dinner table with care, all unloaded, minus Widow’s Winchester.

  Abby followed them in and helped to take things from Widow’s arms. After they laid them all out, she began doing grandmotherly things like shuffling boxes of ammo around and placing them in rows of caliber as well as ordering them alphabetically according to the name of the manufacturer—A’s first, B’s second, and so on.

  It was a pointless endeavor, Abe thought, but he knew better than to question his wife’s way of helping.

  Widow helped her.

  After they were through, she asked, “Want me to make some fresh coffee?”

  Abe didn’t think they would be able to drink any more coffee, but Widow smiled and figured it
was best to keep Abby busy doing what she felt like she could do to help.

  He said, “Coffee is always brewed and available in the mess on a Navy ship or in the officer’s hall. Twenty-four, seven.”

  “Okay, Widow.”

  She shuffled off to the kitchen and poured out the old pot and made a new one. It took only seconds before the aroma carried over into the dining room and Widow’s nose caught it. To him, the effect was working already.

  Abe interrupted him.

  “Now what?”

  Widow said, “We’ve got to prepare for a siege.”

  “You really think that something bad has happened?”

  “You heard the same gunshot I heard. Besides, they’d be back by now. We’d have heard from them.”

  Foster came into the dining room.

  “What’s going on?”

  Abe said, “Nothing. Just some thunder.”

  “Dad, I know a gunshot when I hear one.”

  Abe said nothing to that.

  Foster asked, “If nothing’s going on, then why the hell did you bring in all the guns?”

  Widow spoke to Abe.

  “Look, we don’t have much time. We need all hands on deck. No reason to hide anything from the adults.”

  “Okay. Okay. We’re preparing in case something bad is going down.”

  Foster asked, “How can I help?”

  Widow said, “You know how to shoot one of these?”

  Foster grabbed one of the hunting rifles and the correct box of ammunition for it. She loaded it and showed him.

  “I’m a woman, but I’m a countrywoman.”

  “Good. Can you shoot that one?”

  Abe said, “She can.”

  “Then that one’s yours. Who else is best with the scope? Can Maggie shoot?”

  Abe and Foster looked at each other.

  “Maggie?” Abe asked.

  Foster said, “No way!”

  “I can,” Abby said, and she stepped out of the kitchen with a single hot cup of coffee.

  Abe said, “She can shoot straight enough.”

  “I can shoot,” Abby repeated.

  Widow said, “Then take the other scoped rifle and a box of ammo for it.”

  Abby asked, “What about you?”

  “I’m going to have to go out there. If they come over here, they won’t expect me to be out there. They probably don’t even know that I’m here.”

  Foster said, “Unless Walt told them.”

  Abe shook his head at her immediately. At first, she couldn’t figure out why until it hit her. If he told them anything, it would have been under duress.

  Foster said, “Oh.”

  Widow said, “Let’s not think about that. Right now, we need to secure the house as best we can. Afterward we can talk about getting Walter back.”

  Widow looked over at Abby. She still held the coffee for him. He walked around the table and took it, set it down.

  “Thank you, ma’am.”

  Widow put the coffee down on the tabletop and looked at Abby.

  “Can you tell Maggie to keep trying her phone? Someone needs to keep trying the cops. Tell her to call the nearest county over and try their sheriff. She can try the ATF’s line. Or the local FBI’s field office. Whatever. Just keep trying. Tell her to take both kids up to an upstairs bedroom and stay there.”

  Abby nodded and left them.

  Abe said, “What now?”

  “We need cover on as much of the house as we can. Foster, take your rifle and get to a corner window, close to the south side as possible. Make sure you have the driveway in view. Abe, where’s the best window to cover the back from?”

  “The master.”

  “Okay. Take the other hunting rifle and ammo there. Set it up for Abby and make sure she knows where it is. Then I want you back down here. Stand guard on the first floor. Quarterback the whole thing.”

  “What about the other Winchester?”

  There was one left, unassigned.

  Widow said, “Give it to Maggie. Show her how to use it.”

  “That’s a bad idea. I’m telling you. She’s more likely to shoot one of us.”

  “Then set Foster up with it.”

  “Okay.”

  “Also, you mentioned a handgun?”

  “Yeah. Follow me.”

  Abe picked up both the last hunting rifle and Winchester, but Widow took the extra Winchester from him and scooped up the extra boxes of ammo. They both went up the stairs and past Abby helping Maggie wrangle Dylan into one of the bedrooms and out of the way. They turned a corner, opposite where Widow had slept, and came to a room with the door shut.

  Abe pushed it open. It was a huge bedroom with a bathroom and three big windows—the master.

  Abe picked a window with a big sill and a small nook of built-ins with a cushion on top for sitting by the window. He set the hunting rifle and his ammo boxes down.

  “Put the extra rifle there. I’ll give it to Foster later.”

  Widow nodded and set down the other Winchester and all his extra ammo. He followed Abe back out into the hallway. They walked down the hall and came to a closed door. Abe pushed it open. It was another bedroom.

  The bed, the dresser tops, the nightstands, the closet, and the floors were all cleaned and neatly organized.

  Widow asked, “The corporal’s room?”

  He already knew it was because it looked like a Marine lived in it, which was to say it looked like no one lived in it. It was kept and maintained so well it could’ve been the model room for a house they were trying to sell.

  “Yeah. We haven’t changed a thing. I’m very insistent on that. I know he’s dead, but I like to keep it just as he left it. Like he might still come home someday.”

  Widow stayed quiet.

  Abe walked to the closet, paused, and brushed a hand over the hanging shirts. They fluttered like a glissando, the fingers over piano keys, as he brushed over them.

  He tried to reach up to the shelf above the clothes, but couldn’t quite reach the back. He stepped back.

  “It’s up there. In the far back.”

  Widow stepped up and reached all the way to back of the shelf and found a gun case. He slid it out and followed Abe over to the bed. He set the case down. There was a small lock on it.

  “Got the key?” Widow asked.

  Abe fished into his pocket, came out empty-handed, and then fished into his other one. This time he brought out the right key. It was a small set of two keys. One was the backup. They were gold and on a small ring.

  He unlocked the gun case for Widow.

  Inside, there were two magazines, fully loaded, and a Beretta M9, polished, and oiled as if Abe’s son was still alive, still keeping his gun to Marine standards.

  “It’s pristine. You’ve kept it clean?”

  Abe said, “I use the chair from the desk to get it down.”

  He blurted it out like he was stuck thinking that Widow thought he was short.

  Widow said nothing to that either.

  “You take it. You’ll make better use of it.”

  Widow thanked him and took out the weapon. He racked the slide, checked that it was indeed empty. After he confirmed there were no bullets in it. And he dry-fired it, as he always did, to make sure it worked properly. It did. To him, the sound of an empty Beretta M9 dry-firing was like hearing the voice of an old friend.

  Widow took out a full magazine, loaded the gun with it, and pocketed the other one. He chambered a round and slid the Beretta into the waistband of the jeans, tightening the belt afterward to make sure it stayed put.

  Another roll of thunder sounded loud and looming over the farm, followed closely by a second one.

  Abe said, “Now what?”

  “Now I go out there and see what the hell is going on.”

  Chapter 40

  C ELL PHONES WORK in a hexagonal tower system called a network. There is no standard range for a cell phone tower. One tower doesn’t measure the same range as another. T
hey don’t all equal X. Some are the same, some are similar, and many are different. A tower’s range depends on several factors, including the direction of antenna array, positioning, terrain, height and width of the antennas, signal frequency, and transmission power.

  Civilian communities use simple tower systems without much security. Phone calls and text messages and signals bounce from one local tower to another tower and so on. If you take out one tower on a network, local communication involving mobile devices go dark. Cell phones and mobile devices become handheld screens good for playing video games and keeping track of time and not much else.

  Police do not depend on this technology. Neither do military bases. They utilize more secure network systems. But Abel’s guys weren’t interested in police communications, and they were not going head-to-head with a military force. They were interested in silencing the Whites, the only witnesses for miles around. From what Brooks told them, there was only one male to worry about, and that was Walter. He wasn’t much of a threat. They had him zip tied and at gunpoint. No problem there. But the shotgun blast from Shep was a concern. The missing husband, son, and father in their possession would raise eyebrows across the street.

  The Bell 205 circled the closest cell phone tower, about ten miles from Cherokee Hill, with Tanis controlling the bird and Cucci seated in the rear. The tower looked to be the only one within a three-hundred-sixty-degree view from the Bell 205. The next closest one wasn’t in view from Cherokee Hill, so they didn’t worry about it. All they needed was to take out this one and create a black spot for them to operate in.

  The helicopter yawed, and the rotor blades rotated. Tanis kept the Bell hovering against the winds at about fifty feet above the tower’s base.

  Tanis called back to Cucci, who sat on the rear bench, packed in as close to the rear door as possible without falling out of it. The door was slid all the way open. Cucci was armed with one of the M4s, with a suppressor attached to the end, along with an ACOG scope.

  “Is this close enough?”

  “Yeah. Hold it here.”

  Cucci aimed through the scope at the base. He clicked the firing switch to full auto and squeezed the trigger. The weapon fired several rounds out of the magazine. He didn’t count them, but figured from this distance he might not need all thirty rounds from the magazine.