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The Game of Chicken
Within half an hour, Cardinal had convinced the Head ELF to let him take over hostage negotiations. He really didn't care if the ELFs got what they wanted, or if the hostages got out. He only slightly cared if he himself got out. John Cardinal put himself in the middle of things because, live or die, he had to be in charge.
"To hell with it," he was shouting into the ELF's cell phone. "I'm just going to blow this thing. This is too much stress!"
"No, wait," the voice on the other end said, "We can work this out. There's no need to do anything rash."
"Rash? Rash? That's all you have to say while hundreds of innocent embryos lie in a permafrost prison at the Gulag you call a fertility clinic?"
"The embryos are coming. We are having problems with transport, that's all. They're frozen at thirty below zero. We don't want them to thaw out, and we can't just toss them into the average refrigeration truck. But I still don't understand what you are going to do with four hundred frozen embryos."
"Don't you worry about that. We have the necessary incubators. Four hundred women in locations known only to key members of the religious right."
Head ELF stepped up. "Mr. Cardinal, maybe I should handle this. You seem a little, um, volatile right now."
Cardinal covered the receiver on the phone. "Guy, we change negotiators and we're toast -- you get me? These guys are probing us for weaknesses, and a rotating team of spokesmen is a prime indicator of weakness. We switch off and you can kiss your sweet conceptions goodbye."
He continued to negotiate, but the agent on the line seemed to be stalling. After an hour of back-and-forth, Cardinal turned to the ELF team and said, "They're not taking us very seriously, or things would be moving faster. Its time to prove that we're serious. We're going to have to throw a corpse or two out."
"We'll wha--?" Head ELF said. Cardinal waited for him to say more, but nothing came out of his mouth.
"Guy, you hijacked an airplane. You know, like, threatened to kill 200 people if you didn't get your way. They're calling our bluff, and we're going to have to demonstrate that we're pros. There are two kinds of people in the world --" Marsha, listening from her seat, had the feeling Cardinal had given this speech before, because it came out so easily, "those who will kill and those who won't. Those who won't have no negotiating power over those who will. Believe me, if they could get a clean shot at you, they'd take you out. So, you have to step up."
He looked up and down at the anxious rabble. "How about the blonde who came with you?" Ah, testing him.
"Love to help you out, pal, but she's housing one of my own personal embryos, if you know what I mean. It would run counter to our stated mission if we pulled something like that, don't you think?" Marsha groaned in her seat.
Head ELF leaned close and whispered. "We appreciate what you're trying to do, but we're not up to killing someone to prove a point." He paused, adding, almost ashamedly, "We're just not."
Cardinal paused a moment to fill in the last blank in his assessment of this case. This wasn't a band of killers, no way. Worse, if he hadn't come along, they probably would have lost their nerve and been pruned away by snipers a long time ago.
"All right then, plan B. Get one of the passengers to strip. Preferably an attractive woman. Stuff the clothes with newspaper, pour on a jar of ketchup, and dump it out the door. That'll get their attention. But do it quick."
"Won't they see through the trick?"
"Not at this distance. And especially not if you set it on fire. And another thing, guy. You confiscated all the cell phones, right?"
"Uh, no."
"You fool! Don't you realize somebody is texting the Feds about our every move right this second!" Cardinal ran over to the window in time to see a SWAT truck pull up on the runway. A dozen hunched men were filing out and taking positions in a half circle, facing the main hatch.
"Dammit!" Cardinal roared. He kicked open the airplane door, removed his shoe and hurled it out. Then he took his revolver out and shot it in mid-air. The shoe exploded, rocking the plane. Quickly the SWAT team scrambled back into the van, and it mortifiedly slunk away.
"The shoe bomber was an amateur," Cardinal said. He turned to address the passengers. "I have one shoe left. Whoever the hell is in contact with the cops, you tell 'em that." Then he turned to the stewardesses, trembling in the food prep area. "Girls, serve us up a meal. And pour me a scotch, neat. I'm not paying any damn $5 for it, either."
Next Episode: Here We Go. Embryo