"If security is being restrained," asked George, "who's moving the people around like that? The bad guys?"

"The dealers and the waitresses," said Hester. "And the deckhands. They're trained for that."

As she spoke, we could see the black slacks and white ruffled blouses of the employees going to the big lockers, beginning to hand out the personal flotation devices. They seemed calm. The passengers, though, were starting to move toward the edge of the decks, and you could almost see them thinking of jumping in. So far, the icy water and the small PFD they'd been issued seemed to be dissuading them from leaving, but it was a funny thing. I was certain that as soon as the first one jumped, we'd get lots more. Anybody in that water for more than ten minutes was as good as gone, especially given they were mostly in their fifties.

The General Beauregard stabilized again, with the portion of the deck we could see angling down at about a 15 degree angle, and the last half of the main deck had to be awash. Steam was wafting out of the gangway doors, where the warm air inside met the cold water.

Just seeing her like that gave me butterflies. I fully expected something to give way, and for her to slide stern first beneath the water.

The phone rang again, and we all expected Gabriel. I know that Sally did, because she put it on "speaker" automatically.

It was Nancy, her voice sort of quivery, and no longer bothering to whisper.

"Houseman, this fucking thing is sinking!"

"No, no, it's not. Not yet." I am sometimes honest to a fault.

"'Not yet'? 'NOT YET'!"

"No, we have a captain here, and he says it's not. Here. Just a second… This is a lady we know, and she's on the boat," I said to Captain Olinger, gesturing for him to help.

"That's right, ma'am," he said, loudly. "It's not going to sink after that explosion. Please tell the rest of the passengers that…"

"Get us OFF this thing!"

"We're working on it," I said. "We gotta clear this line…"

"Nancy, isn't it?" said Volont. "Could you look around and get a number on the terrorists for us?"

"What? What? Not on your stupid little life," she said, and hung up.

"Wait a minute," I said, after Nancy had terminated the conversation. "Wait… What's happening here? I mean, Gabriel doesn't kill for no reason, right?"

"No reason in his own mind," said Volont.

"Right. So, the stretch van has been eliminated… and now the bank is back in our possession. So, what the hell is he doing still trying to sink the boat?"

I didn't get an answer.

"Is there any indication that he's suicidal?" I asked. "I mean, if he's not, now that the other aspects of the operation are done for, there's no point in continuing to play with the boat. He won't sink it. He'd be sinking himself."

"I wish I could count on that," said Lamar.

"We gotta keep up the rescue effort… sure we do," I said. "Just to be safe." I pointed to the crippled gambling boat. "What we really gotta do is understand that this might be a distraction."

"For what?" asked George.

"For him getting away," I said. "Get some surveillance on the other side of the boat. The river side. Gabe's going to try to make his getaway while we try to save the passengers. He's got to have a plan to get himself off that damned thing…"

We set up an observers point in an iceboat, about 300 feet east of the Beau. They said they could see everything, and there was no movement that looked like the bad guys were trying to get off the thing. We also closed off the Mississippi River bridge. We closed the thing off completely, and had officers and agents observing the riverside of the boat, watching the bluffs above the fog line, and making sure nobody had gotten off and was climbing to safety.

"Crap, do you think he's going to wait for dark to make his move?" Good old Art.

Shamrock called with Nancy's phone. Interesting news. "Nancy has been, like, upstairs, and she says to tell you that the robbers have changed their clothes. Like, they are blending in, you know? Like you can't tell them from the rest of us."

"Okay…"

"And that she thinks there might have been, maybe, six or seven, like at first? And that nobody has been hurt yet, so far as she knows."

"All right…"

"And," said Shamrock, "I got some great shots of them, Houseman, great, like at the truck and pushing people around out here."

"Good for you."

"If we sink, I'm going to throw my film out onto the ice. I taped the cans shut, and I taped them to this stupid little life jacket, and I'll throw it out if we sink. Don't forget to look for it…"

The big railroad diesel yard engines arrived a few moments later. The attendant fire departments had rounded up sufficient cable. Now it was time for volunteers to get the cable out to the boat. Although it always surprised me, there was no shortage of volunteers. It was quickly determined that a DNR officer who was off duty and was on scene with the Volunteer Fire Department would drive an iceboat out to the Beau. He was accompanied by a state trooper with arms like tree trunks, who would handle the cable and attach it to the Beauregard when the time came.

Both men were given two Kevlar vests, the outer one with plates, to protect them as well as possible from any shots fired at them during their mission. They also wore large orange life jackets. We almost had to lift them into the boat.

Volont issued the order to have half the FBI TAC team sharpshooters become visible to those on the boat, and to let them see the rifles with the scopes before they settled into a shooting position on the roof and the dock-side. The four of them were each accompanied by a spotter, with a fairly large scope mounted on a tripod. About half a dozen state troopers and four of our deputies were also made prominent, with rifles. The message to the suspects on the boat was pretty clear. Try to take a shot, and see what happens to you. It was the best we could do.

"All shooters have a green light," said Adams over the once-secure radios. "Anybody on the boat with a gun, take him out. Spotters, if a shot is fired, give the location to everybody on the radio, not just to your shooter."

We watched as the iceboat's prop revved up, and it slid off the ramp and began to move toward the Beauregard. The original plan had been to carry the cable to the Beau, attach one end, and then move back to shore, and attach the other end to the big yard engines. That was changed, when it was pointed out that if they were shot after attaching the cable to the gambling boat, we'd lose them, the cable, and any other chance of towing the General Beauregard to shore. It was also determined that we could begin to tow immediately when the cable was attached to the boat, if it was attached to the yard engines beforehand.

Consequently, with the cable already attached to the yard engines, the iceboat crabbed slowly toward the stricken Beauregard, trailing cable over the side. It seemed to take forever, with the DNR officer exposed by sitting in front of the huge propeller cage, and the trooper on his knees in the open bow, cable in hand.

"All shooters, if anybody tries to detach the cable after it's in place, take them out." Adams was talking his sharpshooters through the scenario.

The iceboat moved steadily on, with the trooper in the bow occasionally looking over his shoulder to see that the cable paid out properly. I could feel my pulse in my neck.

When the iceboat was about ten feet away from the tow ring on the Beau's bow, the secure radio crackled to life.

"Alpha Two Spotter has a masked subject with a long gun. He's, uh, on the main deck, and he's behind the glass, just right of center."

I couldn't see him, as there were lots of reflections in the glass.