"If there's nothing else -"
Henderson buttoned his suit jacket. "Oh, there'll be something else. Don't you worry." He stalked off, ignoring Potter's matter-of-fact suggestion not to present too much of a target to snipers in the slaughterhouse.
11:31 A.M.
Arthur Potter stepped back into the van, the eyes of the assembled troopers following him cautiously. He wondered if they'd overheard the exchange between him and Henderson.
"Now," the agent continued, "the rules of engagement."
Potter dug a fax from his jacket pocket.
On the jet from Glenview, Potter had spoken via conference call with the Bureau's director, its assistant director of criminal investigations, and Frank D'Angelo, commander of the Bureau's HRT, and had written the rules of engagement for the Crow Ridge barricade. This had taken much of the flight and the result was a single-spaced two-page document that covered every eventuality and gave Potter specific orders about handling the situation. It had been written with much circumspection. Alcohol, Tobacco and Firearms and the FBI had taken serious flak for the handling of the Koresh standoff in Waco and the Bureau itself had been vilified for the Randall Weaver barricade in ' 92, in which the rules of engagement had been written so broadly that sharpshooters believed that they had orders to shoot any armed adults if they had clear shots. Weaver's wife was mistakenly killed by an FBI sniper.
Potter was looking mostly at Stillwell when he said, "Your job is to contain the HTs. Containment is a tactical function but it's purely passive. There'll be no rescue attempts whatsoever."
"Yessir."
"You'll keep the takers inside whatever perimeter I decide is active. It might be the building itself, it might be a line a hundred yards around the building. Whatever it is, they are not to cross that boundary alive. If any one of them does, whether or not they have a hostage with them, your troops're green-lighted. You know what that means?"
"They're cleared to shoot."
"That's correct. And you shoot to kill. No attempts to wound. No threats. No warning shots. Lethal fire or no fire at all."
"Yessir."
"There are to be no shots through open windows or doorways, even if you see a hostage threatened, without express authorization from someone on the threat management team."
Potter noticed that Budd's face grew dark when he heard this.
"Understood," Stillwell said. The commanders nodded reluctantly.
"If you're fired upon, you'll take defensive positions and wait until you have the okay to return fire. If at any time you or another officer are actually threatened with deadly force, you may use deadly force to protect yourself or that person. But only if you're convinced that there is a true present danger."
"A present danger," a trooper muttered sarcastically.
They're hoping for a turkey shoot, Potter thought. He glanced at the clock on LeBow's computer. "We're going to establish contact in about five minutes. I'm going to warn the takers about the perimeter and I'll let you know, Sheriff, that they've been so notified. From that moment on you're instructed to contain them as I've outlined."
"Yessir," the sheriff answered calmly, and brushed his mop of hair, mussing it further.
"For the time being, the kill zone will be any area outside the building itself. After they send somebody out to get the phone,nobody comes outside unless it's under a flag of truce."
Stillwell nodded.
Potter continued. "Henry here will be feeding you data that's tactically relevant. Types of weapons, location of hostage takers and hostages, possible exits, and so on. There's to be no contact directly between you and the HTs. And don't listen in on my conversations with Handy."
"Right. Why not?"
"Because I'm going to be establishing rapport with him and trying to be reasonable. You can't afford to have any sympathy for him. You have to be able to green-light him instantly."
"Fine by me."
"Now, I don't want any accidents," Potter said. "Lieutenant Budd has already told all the troopers to unchamber weapons. That correct? Snipers included?"
Budd nodded. His mouth tightened. Potter wondered just how angry the captain was. Thinking: He'll be angrier yet before this is over.
"My men," one of the troopers said stiffly, "don't have itchy trigger fingers."
"Not now they don't. But they will. In ten hours you'll be drawing down on your own shadow. Now, Dean, you might see reflections from inside. You'll be thinking rifle scopes. But they'll probably just be mirrors, like periscopes. Takers who've done time learned that trick inside prison. So tell your people not to panic if they see a flash."
"Yessir," Stillwell said slowly, the way he seemed to say everything.
Potter said, "Now a few final words. Generally, criminal hostage takers are the easiest to deal with. They're not like terrorists. Their purpose isn't to kill anyone. It's to escape. Given enough time they're going to realize that the hostages are more of a liability than anything and dead hostages mean nothing but trouble. But the psychology of what's going on now is that they're not thinking rationally. They're pumped up on adrenaline. They're scared and confused.
"We have to defuse the situation. Make Handy believe that he'll survive the incident through rational action. Time works in our favor. We don't establish any deadlines. We want to stretch this out longer than any of us can stand. And then longer. And then longer still.
"When HRT gets here we'll prepare for a tactical resolution but that'll still be our last resort. As long as Handy is still talking to us there won't be any rescue attempt. We'll call it the pork belly approach to hostage rescue." Potter smiled toward Stillwell, then continued, "Delay is the name of the game. It wears down the HTs, makes them bored, brings them and the hostages closer together."
"Stockholm syndrome," one of the commanders said.
"Exactly."
"What's that?" another one asked.
Potter nodded to LeBow, who said, "It's the psychoanalytic process of transference as applied to a hostage taking. The term comes from a bank robbery in Stockholm about twenty years ago. The robber forced four employees into the bank vault. They were later joined by a former prison-mate of the taker. They all stayed together for over five days and when they finally gave up, several of the hostages were madly in love with their captors. They'd come to feel that it was the police who were the bad guys. The robber and his cellmate had formed strong feelings of affection for the hostages too and wouldn't think of hurting them."
"Time to get to work," Potter announced. "Sheriff, you'll proceed with containment. I'll make initial contact with the takers."
Bashful Dean Stillwell motioned to the commanders. "If you all'd come outside, maybe we'll move some of those troopers of yours around a bit. If that's all right with you. What do you say?"
"Pork belly" was the only response, but it was said very softly. Potter believed he was the only one who heard.
The water poured like a shower, a silver stream falling through gaps in the ceiling high above them, probably from rank pools of old rainwater on the roof.
It dripped onto rusting meat hooks and chains and rubber conveyor belts and disintegrating machinery, just outside the killing room, where Melanie Charrol sat, looking over the girls. The seven-year-old twins, Anna and Suzie, huddled against her. Beverly Klemper brushed her short blond hair from her face – round with baby fat still, though she was fourteen – and struggled to breathe. The others were clustered together at the far side of the killing room. Ten-year-old Emily Stoddard rubbed frantically at a rust stain on her white tights, tears running down her face.
Melanie glanced at Mrs. Harstrawn and Susan Phillips, crouching together, speaking in abrupt sign. The teenage girl's pale face, framed by her stark hair, was still filled with anger. Her dark eyes were the eyes of a resistance fighter, Melanie thought suddenly. Their conversation had to do with the students.