Cemetery Dance

Chapter 77

Harry R. Chislett, deputy chief of the Washington Heights North district, stood at the central control point on Indian Road, a radio in each hand. Faced with an unprecedented and utterly unexpected development, he had nevertheless — so he considered — adapted with remarkable speed and economy. Who could have foreseen so many protesters, so quickly, all moving with the ruthless precision and purpose of a single mind? Yet Chislett had risen to the occasion. What a tragedy, then, that — for all his probity — he was surrounded by incompetence and ineptitude. His orders had been misinterpreted, improperly carried out, even ignored. Yes: there was no other word for it than tragedy.

Picking up his field glasses, he trained them on the entrance to the Ville. The protesters had managed to get inside, and his men had gone after them. The reports were chaotic and contradictory; God only knew what was really going on. He would go in himself except that a commander must not place his own person in danger. There might be violence; perhaps even murder. It was the fault of his men in the field, and that was how his report would most emphatically read.

He raised the radio in his right hand. "Forward position alpha," he rapped out. "Forward position alpha. Move up to defense position."

The radio cracked and sparked.

"Forward position alpha, do you read?"

"Position alpha, roger," came the voice. "Please verify that last order."

"I said, move up to defense position." It was outrageous. "In the future, I'll thank you to pleaseobey my orders without asking me torepeat them."

"I just wanted to make sure, sir," came the voice again, "because two minutes ago you told us to fall back and—"

"Just do as you're told!"

From the gaggle of officers milling around confusedly on the baseball diamond, one figure in a dark suit separated itself and came trotting over. Inspector Minerva.

"Yes, Inspector," said Chislett, careful to let his voice radiate a dignified, McClellan — like tone of command.

"Reports are coming back, sir, from inside the Ville."

"You may proceed."

"There is significant conflict between the inhabitants and the protesters. There are reports of injuries, some serious. The interior of the church is being torn up. The streets of the Ville are filling with displaced residents."

"I'm not surprised."

Minerva hesitated.

"Yes, Inspector?"

"Sir, once again I'd recommend you take… well, firmer action."

Chislett looked at him. "Firmer action? What the devil are you talking about?"

"With all due respect, sir, when the protesters began their march on the Ville I recommended you immediately call for backup units. We've got to have more people."

"We have sufficient manpower," he said fussily.

"I also recommended that our officers move quickly to take up positions across the road to the Ville, to block the march."

"That is precisely what I ordered."

Minerva cleared his throat. "Sir… you ordered all units to maintain their positions."

"I gave no such command!"

"It's not too late for us to—"

"You have your orders," Chislett said. "Please carry them out." He glared at the man as he dropped his eyes and mumbled a "Yes sir," while walking slowly back to the gaggle of officers. Honestly, it was nothing but incompetence, incompetence, even from those he had hoped to rely on the most.

He raised his binoculars again. Now, this was interesting. He could see protesters — first just a few, but as he watched, more and more — running out of the Ville and back down the drive, faces contorted with fear. His officers were finally flushing them out. Sprinkled among them were robed and cowled figures, residents of the Ville itself. All were streaming out of the Ville, sprinting away from the ancient wooden structures, falling over one another in a panicked effort to get as far away as possible.

Excellent, excellent.

Lowering the binoculars, he raised his radio. "Forward position delta, come in."

After a moment, the radio squawked. "Forward position delta, Wegman speaking."

"Officer Wegman, the protesters are beginning to disperse," said Chislett primly. "Clearly, my tactics are having the intended effect. I want you and your men to shunt the protesters back toward the baseball diamond and the street, to effect an orderly dispersal."

"But, sir, we're all the way across the park at the moment, where you told us to—"

"Just do as you're told, Officer." And Chislett shut off the man's protests with the flick of the transmit button. Weak as water, the whole lot of them. Had ever a commander in the history of organized aggression ever been burdened with such monumental ineptitude?

He lowered the radio with a disheartened sigh and watched as the crowd of people streaming out of the Ville became a river, then a flood.