Breaking Point

20

Underwood covered the microphone on the satellite phone and whispered to Joe, “We’re going to agree with whatever he says, got that?”

Joe nodded, but it was more of an acknowledgment of the words than agreement with them. With that, Underwood leaned over in his saddle and handed Joe the satellite phone. When Joe took it, he heard Butch Roberson say, “Is he on?”

“Butch, this is Joe Pickett.”

“Hey, Joe.”

“Butch.”

“Is that asshole still with us?”

Joe’s first urge was to say “Which one?” but Batista broke in: “This is Regional Director Julio Batista. I’m still here.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Joe saw Underwood stifle a smile. He could clearly hear the conversation in the silent and dead forest.

“Is anybody else on the line?” Butch asked.

“Just us three,” Batista said quickly. Joe knew he was lying. He could picture a team of agents with headphones in one of the communications vans at the FOB, listening to every word and coordinating with technical experts to triangulate the satellite phone transmissions and pinpoint the exact location of Butch Roberson.

“I’ve got Dave Farkus and the former sheriff here,” Butch said.

Joe shook his head. McLanahan. Joe and the ex-sheriff had never seen eye to eye. Joe considered McLanahan all foam and no beer.

Butch said, “I don’t want to hurt them, but I’ve got to have some leverage with you people. I found out over the past year that you play a rigged game, so I need some insurance.”

Batista said, “Butch, there’s no need to take hostages. You’re already in enough trouble, but that doesn’t mean we can’t talk it out and figure out a way for you to turn yourself in. This can all end now. You’ll get a fair trial and the ability to make your case-”

“Bullshit,” Butch said, cutting him off. “Bullshit. There’s nothing fair about any of this. I’m through with thinking you people play fair, not after what you did to me and my family.”

“Butch, listen. .”

“You put up a reward like I’m some kind of desperate outlaw,” Butch said, his voice rising. “Then you sent a damned drone up in the sky to look for me. I hope you know I shot the son of a bitch down.”

He knows, Joe thought.

“Look, Butch. .”

“Quit using my name like we’re friends,” Butch barked at Batista.

Joe guessed that over the past few minutes, Batista had received coaching from someone with experience in hostage negotiations who had told him to be calm, friendly, and reasonable. . to try to establish a relationship with the gunman. Keep him talking. It didn’t sound like it was working.

Butch said, “I need you to shut up and listen. I know you’re probably trying to find me right now, so quit dragging this out. Joe, are you still there?”

“Yes, Butch,” Joe said.

“I wanted to tell you yesterday, but I just couldn’t. You know what they did to me, right?”

“I know some of it,” Joe said. “I talked with Pam last night, and she told us. Man, I wish you would have let us know. We had no idea you were going through this.”

“Pam?” Butch said, his voice softening. “Was Hannah there, too?”

“Both of them were at our house,” Joe said. “Hannah was there when I left this morning.”

“Are they okay?”

Joe paused for a moment. “They seem okay, Butch, considering the situation. I think they miss you.”

“I miss them,” Butch said, in a way that broke Joe’s heart.

“You can see them again, Butch,” Batista cut in with a salesman-smooth voice.

“Shut the fuck up, Batista,” Butch growled. “I’m talking to Joe.”

Joe was relieved Batista complied. He imagined him shrugging his shoulders with an I tried gesture to the hostage negotiator.

Joe said to Butch, “So Dave Farkus and Sheriff McLanahan are sitting right there with you, huh?”

“Yeah. They tried to collect the reward. Instead, they shot a hunter thinking it was me.”

Joe was startled and said, “They shot a hunter?”

“Yeah, the idiots. They saw an archery hunter and gut-shot him. They brought some idiot long-range shooter along with them.”

“Oh, man,” Joe said. “I’ll guess the hunter didn’t even know what was going on.”

“No shit,” Butch said. “The poor guy.”

“Is he dead?”

“Yeah, but it took a while.”

“You know,” Joe said, “for a while there I was wondering if McLanahan was really up there with you. But now I know he is because nobody else would be that much of a moron.”

Butch snorted a laugh and said, “I’ll tell him you said that.”

“Please do,” Joe said.

There was a beat of silence. Joe hoped Batista wouldn’t feel compelled to fill it. But he did.

“Butch, there’s really no reason to keep running. We can bring your wife and daughter up here and you can see them before we take you into custody. .”

“Stay away from them!” Butch yelled. “Don’t bring them into this again or I’m punching off and I start shooting.”

Joe closed his eyes and sighed. The rapport he’d been establishing with Butch Roberson had been blown up. Joe glanced up at Underwood and Underwood rolled his eyes in reaction.

Through the earpiece, Joe heard a gunshot. Instinctively, he pulled down the phone and closed his eyes to find out if he could hear it echo through the mountains. Silence, meaning they were a long distance away. When he raised the handset, he heard:

“That was Farkus,” Butch said. “I got him right between the eyes. Will you shut up and listen now, Batista?”

Joe couldn’t believe it. Butch had killed Farkus in cold blood.

Joe knew Farkus, and had run into him several times over the years. The guy was a loser but had an uncanny ability to find himself in the middle of things through no fault-or ambition-of his own. It had seemed strangely unsurprising to hear he’d been with McLanahan when Butch Roberson captured them. Farkus sold a few flies to the fly shops, fancied himself a guide, and lived off disability checks, even though he didn’t seem disabled in any way. Still. .

“I’ve got three demands,” Butch said to Batista. “You meet them and McLanahan can go on living. If you screw me around, the sheriff gets popped just like Farkus. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

“Yes,” Batista said, his voice hushed this time as if he, too, were stunned by the sudden turn in developments.

“Joe,” Butch said, “I’m trusting you to make sure they follow through. You’ve always been straight with me. Don’t let them fuck me over again, okay?”

“I hear you,” Joe said, feeling a knife of shame being thrust into his heart.

“First,” Butch said, “I want a helicopter sent for me. I’ll give you the coordinates for where it can land. It won’t be around where I am now because the terrain’s too steep and I don’t want to sit here like a target waiting for you to find me. And I don’t want anyone on that helicopter except the pilot and Joe Pickett. I’m going to bring Joe and McLanahan with me for a while. Got that?”

“I’ve got it,” Batista said. “Where do you want to go?”

“Somewhere where you people don’t exist,” Butch said. “I’ll tell the pilot, but not you. Joe, are you okay with that?”

Joe glanced up to see Underwood nodding.

“I’m okay with it,” Joe said.

“Don’t worry-if they screw me, McLanahan will get it first.”

“That’s a relief,” Joe said, deadpan.

Batista said, “It’ll take time to locate a helicopter and send it up there. .”

“Bullshit on that,” Butch said angrily. “If you can send a drone up here, you can send a helicopter. And make sure the pilot knows what he’s doing, because it’ll be a night landing. I won’t wait until the morning.”

“What’s next?” Batista said, his voice dead.

“I want a public apology for what you did to me,” Butch said. “I want you to stand in front of a national press conference and apologize for what you and your agency did to me and my family. People out there have to know what you’re capable of.”

Joe waited for a response from Batista, and each second that went by ratcheted up the tension. He’d lie and say he was working on sending a helicopter, but he wouldn’t lie and agree to a public apology?

“He’ll do it,” Joe said.

“You’ll make sure he does?” Butch asked.

“Yup.”

“So what’s the other demand?” Batista said, his tone still cold.

“Leave my family alone,” Butch said. “Call off your dogs. Don’t harass them anymore. No more fines or sending goons up here. Just leave my wife and daughter alone. If nothing else, they can build Pam’s dream home with my life insurance payment.”

Joe closed his eyes again. Butch had all but admitted that he saw the inevitability of what would happen to him.

“Repeat them back to me,” Butch said to Batista.

Batista sighed, and said, “A helicopter, a public apology, and a dismissal of the compliance order.”

“Good,” Butch said. “You heard that, right, Joe?”

“I heard it.”

“And you’ll swear to me you’ll make sure they do those things?”

“I’ll do my best,” Joe said, feeling the knife twist.

Butch said, “Okay, then. I’ll call with the location of the landing area.”

Batista said with too much force, “Keep your phone on, Mr. Roberson. That way I can keep you updated on the status of the helicopter.”

There was a beat of silence, no response, and Butch’s phone signed off.

But Batista was still on, and he said to Joe, “How dare you say I’ll make a public apology,” he seethed.

“You should,” Joe said. “Do one thing right in this whole mess.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Batista said, dismissing the idea.

Joe said to him, “I guess being a federal bureaucrat means never having to say you’re sorry, huh?”

Batista’s voice rose to a shout. Something about two dead special agents.

“I’m done talking to him,” Joe said to Underwood, handing the phone back. Batista was still shouting.

Underwood held the phone out away from him without raising it to his ear. Joe turned Toby away and walked him into the standing dead trees as if trying to erect a wall between him and Underwood.

After a few moments, Joe watched Underwood raise the handset and say stonily, “So, boss, what’s the plan?”

Underwood listened and nodded, grunting several assents before punching off.

After clipping the phone to his belt, he turned to his team and nodded toward the top of the summit and said, “Let’s get moving.”

“What about the helicopter?” Joe said. “Shouldn’t I head down to the FOB to meet it?”

Underwood scoffed, “What do you think?”

Joe let that sink in.

“How long does Butch have?” Joe asked Underwood.

“Not long,” Underwood said, casting an inadvertent but telling look toward the sky.

“What is it with Batista?” Joe asked.

Underwood shrugged and turned away.