“They came all this way to perform,” he said.

“Let’s give them a room.

Brendan, keep an eye on your phone.” He crossed to the intercom and pressed the release, and the great iron gate began to swing inward.

I understood, watching him, that he had read the entire situation the moment they arrived and had already decided how it would end.

A lesser response — going out to argue, calling the police to simply remove them from the gate — would have scattered them, and a scattered enemy learns and adapts.

My father did not want them removed.