We both stood in full view of the stretch van, took off our coats, and turned slowly. No obvious guns. We'd decided earlier that losing the coats would have to be enough. Cold made your voice shake, and that wasn't what we wanted, so we weren't about to take off our shirts. Just let them know that, if we were armed, they could probably get off the first hundred rounds while we fumbled for our guns.

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. From rooftops, from between the buildings, from behind the cars." He said it very slowly and clearly.

Silence from the stretch van.

"We want you to think about this," I said. "We'll come back later and talk. If you want to talk to us, come out with your hands in the air where we can see them, and stand in the middle of the street. We'll meet you halfway. Got that?"

The kid nodded.

"Okay. We're going to go now. I trust you. I hope you trust me."

"We won't be far," said Adams.

I thought there was a small movement in the rear of the van, and froze. Nothing.

"Don't even think about it," I said. Bravado city. I fervently hoped it was just somebody adjusting his position for some innocuous little reason.

We backed away, well into the street, where we turned and walked quickly back behind the fire truck.

As soon as we rounded the corner, I grabbed for my coat. "Fuck!" I was just so glad to be back.

"Yeah!" said Adams. "You know, you're lucky you weren't shot when you hit that hood."

"Shit, I didn't know what else to do. I've never seen anybody freeze up like that."

"Fear. Pure, stark fear. I've seen it, but it took me a second to catch on to it this time."

"That fuckin' Gabriel ought to be shot for recruiting that kid."

"You got that right."

We walked the hundred feet past the pavilion, and took the elevator to Hester's office. We dutifully made our report.

"Just a kid, huh?" Volont was pacing. "All kids?"

"I don't think so," I said. I looked at Adams.

"I don't think so, either. I think he might have been coached by somebody."

"I'll tell you one thing, though." I spoke with conviction. "Gabriel ain't in the van."

"I completely agree," said Adams. "No sign of leadership. No sign of aggression. No sign of confidence. He's not in there."

I could tell by the look in Volont's eye that, if Adams hadn't agreed, he wouldn't have believed me. I just hate that. I was there. I'm as bright as anybody. But I'm not FBI.

"I can't believe," said George, "the way you hit that hood. Definitely not in the manual."

"Hey, I didn't volunteer for this one. Believe me."

If Adams and I were right, we had Gabriel either on the boat or in the bank. Fifty-fifty chance, I suppose, but I'd been picturing him on the boat all this time. I tried to remember, and thought it was something he'd said…

"Anybody… didn't Gabriel say something that led us to believe he was on the boat rather than in the bank?"

"He said he'd 'tell the crew to hand out the jackets' when he implied that they would sink the boat," said Hester. "At least, that's the way I took it."

"Me too," said George.

Apparently, everybody agreed. "Maybe we could call the boat and ask to speak with him?" Why not?

"We tried the boat while you were talking to the van people," said Hester.

"The land lines disconnected when she was cut adrift. They'd do that," said James.

Hmm. "Well, then, let's call the bank again. Ask to speak to him."

"Let me," said Art. "I'm good at that. Anybody got any name I could use to get 'em to talk to me?"

"How about Roger Bushnell?" Sally blushed as everybody stared at her. "Should work."

"How so?" asked George.