Our radios came to life again.

"CP, Alpha Foot's over by the boat, now. We're in a good position for the van."

"CP, Alpha One has a clear shot at the pilothouse, if you need it. We and the top of the boat are in lighter fog…"

They sounded very professional. Well, they should have. They were. And that got me thinking about professional versus amateur. Us versus them, as it were. We were pros. Even us deputies from "Nowhere County." I have to admit, that pissed me off. Besides, there were about a half-dozen deputies from "Nowhere County" on the way. Along with several state troopers and a state TAC team. And a federal TAC unit in a Huey. Resources. A bunch of 'em.

"Hey?" I interrupted at least two conversations. "Listen up. We're pros, right?"

"We don't need a pep talk," snapped Art.

"Just think about it for a second. Who are these people Gabriel is using for his troops? Think about it."

"So?" Art was having none of this.

"He's got one guy in the bank who knows explosives, right?"

"At least one," said George.

"I'd bet one," I said. "Maybe two on the boat, but for sure one. That's three sharp dudes out of fifteen. Who are the rest of them? Amateurs he's picked up. Nobodies, not when it comes to this stuff."

"They seem to be doing pretty well so far," said George.

"But they haven't encountered any resistance. All the real troops we have are being held on a tight leash. Gabriel counts on that. He knows nobody wants a hostage hurt, so he's betting one hundred percent that he gets a cakewalk, courtesy of us. Right?"

"But, Carl," said Hester, "he's right. We can't risk a hostage. Especially with Gabriel on the boat. He will do the deed, and we know that."

"Think this way. He's got, what, three guns, two or three drivers at the bank, right? That's six of them, with five questionables, against four to six really professional, really capable FBI TAC team members." I looked around. "So, we got 'em outclassed at the bank. Just tell our people there to take out the drivers of the trucks as they leave. We already know he isn't going to leave any of his people behind at the bank. Right? No point."

"But the boat is full of people…"

"Right. But look. We hit the trucks as they leave. Nobody at the boat can see the people at the bank. Not in this fog. So, what do we have there? We shoot, and anybody left alive in the truck either has to sit in the driver's seat and get himself shot, jump off the unit, or hunker down in the damned thing and hide. Piece of cake. We can scarf them up."

"Pointless," said Volont. "That just leaves six hundred or more people on the boat."

"But, unless Gabriel stays behind on the boat himself, if his peons hear that we just took off six of their finest, what are they going to do? Sink the boat? For what purpose? It's tied up at the fuckin' pier, for God's sake. All the passengers have to do is walk off!"

"We always figure seventeen feet under the bottom," said James. "That would swamp the oh-one deck, so all the passengers and crew would have to go to the second and upper deck. That could take some time."

"But not enough for her to turn over, is there?"

"No, I don't think so… look, let me get one of the captains here. He lives just up the street. Five minutes, and he can answer all your questions." He picked up one of the phones.

"Anyway," I said, "he can't sink her instantly. To do that, he'd have to open up the whole bottom. Boom. Probably blow the boat right out of the water if he did that, and he'd kill and injure lots of people. Including the members of his own team. Even himself."

"We can't count on that." But Volont was coming around.

"I think we can," said George. "He's not bluffing. But he'll sink her slowly, because he has to. I mean, fifteen minutes, even… right? Getaway time…"

"That's what I think," I said. "And with them tied up at the pier for the winter months, all they have to do is walk off. What I'm saying is that I think it's a risk we might be able to take. With the shock effect of taking out the trucks as they leave the bank."

"Well, we better hurry," said Hester, "whatever we do. I do know that those little bastards are about as busy as they can get, moving that money into the trucks. We aren't going to have much more time, and we need the fog on our side for a while. I don't know how long that stuff will last."

Sally informed us that the chopper with the TAG team would be above Frieberg in two minutes. They reported zero visibility really near us, but could land on the bridge deck, which was above the fog ceiling.

Volont had been getting hold of himself gradually, since Gabriel's first call. He began to speak with his old decisiveness.

"Have them set down on the bridge." He indicated the playground that had been built for the kids who came with the gamblers. Summer only. "A two-man sniper team to the bridge ramp where they can command the best exit from the bank. Four to the boat. Have Alpha Chase pick ' em up. Leave the rest with the chopper." He smiled. "Wouldn't want anybody to steal our Huey."

"I think they might be done at the boat," said Hester. "We're gonna need a decision pretty soon…"

I really thought that Volont was ready to take out the trucks. I really did. And he might have, if Gabriel hadn't had another little surprise for us.

"They're pullin' their ramp away from the boat," said Hester. "I counted seven suspects coming off with the last load. They're all getting in the van."

Suddenly, there was a loud, double-cracking sound. It was accompanied by what looked to be a momentary ripple in the fog all around the General Beauregard. Weird sight.

"Jesus!" said Art. "They're sinking it!"

"No… no… no, they're not! Not yet, anyway." Hester pointed, but I couldn't make out what she was looking at. Not at first. But, then, as I watched, I could see the bow of the Beauregard slowly pull away from the pier, as the boat herself slipped slightly sternward, with the current. They had blown off the bollards and cleats from both ends of the boat. The thick cables attaching her to the pier, with no grip on the boat, slowly slid off her open weather decks and dropped into the icy waters of the Mississippi.

"Where can she go?" I asked.

James watched, horrified. "There's sort of an ice-free area around the hull… warm water from bilge pumps, stuff like that. She can go a ways out into the water, but she'll hit the ice in a little ways, and stop, I think…"

As he spoke, the stern of the General Beauregard disappeared into the fog, while she came around by the bow. She stopped, her bow about 100 feet from the riverbank, and about 90 feet from the pier. Out of reach. No engines to propel her.

Art said something that, in other circumstances, would have had me rolling on the floor. "That rotten bastard really does think of everything."

"It's time to do something," said Volont. "We can't let him call all the shots…" He moved Sally aside, and picked up her mike. "Alpha Mobile, get down to the intersection and block off the street before the bank. Alpha Chase, do the same on the cross street and keep that stretch van where it is." He fumbled for a second. "How the hell do I talk to the fire trucks on this thing?"

Sally pressed one of the frequency keys.

"Fire units, bring a truck into the exit from the bank parking lot and stay there. Use any auxiliary light you have to shine on the building, Bring a truck to the boat landing, to the dock, and park there and try to keep the public away. Shine your floodlights toward the boat." He looked at Sally again. "Now the police cars?"