by Steve Gannon
Chapter 49
From his perch high in the canyon, sheltered from the storm by the walls of his rocky outcrop, Jacob gazed down upon his compound. With a feeling of satisfaction, he decided that his morning service had gone well. Extremely well, in fact. Even the storm seemed to have enhanced his sermon as he spoke the gospel of God, an occasional stroke of lightning and the subsequent rumble of thunder adding both power and authority to his words.
Although recent setbacks had skewed Jacob’s timetable, he had faith that his holy mission would continue unabated once certain obstacles had been removed, obstacles that included the troublesome Detective Kane. The decision to remove Kane before others were taken was a necessary delay, as Kane’s death would serve as a warning to all.
Besides, it was God’s will.
It had been days since God had spoken to Jacob. Although puzzled by his Creator’s silence, Jacob sat patiently beneath his outcrop, hoping to hear the sound of God’s voice once more.
And as he waited, Jacob noticed something puzzling.
A quarter-mile down the canyon, hidden from the compound grounds but easily visible from his elevated position, Jacob noticed that two vehicles had been parked off the road, partially concealed beneath the branches of a large oak. One of the vehicles, a dark sedan, was occupied by several men, although Jacob couldn’t make out their faces. The other, a large SUV, looked empty.
Alarmed, Jacob eased back beneath the rocky ledge, focusing his attention on the surrounding hillsides. Within minutes he saw the first of them, the watcher’s position betrayed by the brief flash of a binocular lens. Moments later Jacob discovered two more.
They had found him.
Jacob didn’t know how, but of that he was certain. They had found him.
Where had he gone wrong? The stolen van? The magnetic signs? The murder videos? His visit to Kane’s house?
Think!
Forcing himself not to panic, Jacob pondered the situation, his mind racing. The authorities couldn’t be sure. Not yet, anyway. Otherwise they would have come for him, instead of lurking out there in the woods.
They couldn’t be certain, Jacob assured himself. Besides, God wouldn’t allow him to be discovered like this. It had to be a mistake.
No, they know, Jacob realized, finally accepting the horrible truth.
They might not be able to prove it, but they know.
Think!
Although it didn’t matter how he had been discovered, Jacob suspected that Kane had somehow played a part. Kane had ruined their operation in Rivas Canyon. Kane had demeaned their holy cause during his insulting news conference. Worst of all, Kane had killed Caleb and Parker and Ethan. God had told him that Kane was the Devil, and Jacob berated himself for not acting sooner on that knowledge.
Nevertheless, what mattered now was what happened next.
For almost every situation in life, Jacob had made contingency plans, should something go wrong. He needed to continue doing the will of God. Everything else was secondary, as was everyone else. Evidence could be destroyed, witnesses eliminated, and escape was still possible. Thanks to funds amassed from his intentional community donors, Jacob had the resources to begin again . . . but only if he were free to do so.
Shaken, Jacob rose to his feet. Following an almost invisible trail down the hillside, his mouth set in a grim line of determination, Jacob descended to the compound. God, in His wisdom, had helped Jacob prepare a plan for just such an occasion.
The time had come to set that plan in motion.
Chapter 50
Toward the end of my second watch, people in the compound again began flocking into the central building. This time things were different. The earlier assembly had been a casual, unhurried affair. This one smacked of panic.
Taylor glanced over at me from her position thirty yards to my left. Hoping our presence hadn’t been detected, I shrugged, letting her know I wasn’t sure what was going on. I looked over at Arnie, who was hunkered down behind a clump of bushes to my right. Arnie shook his head, indicating he didn’t know what was happening, either.
Shortly afterward, Long’s team arrived to relieve us. I decided to stay, hoping to learn what had sparked the compound’s sudden activity. Taylor and Arnie stayed, too. Minutes later, although we still hadn’t determined the cause of the rush to the central building, something else happened that none of us had anticipated.
Plowing up the muddy road, a dark SUV fishtailed into the compound, skidding to a stop inside the compound grounds. Badge in hand, Agent Duffy stepped from the vehicle. A second man I didn’t recognize exited the other side of the SUV, also waving his credentials.
“What the hell?” said Long.
“Jesus, Duffy,” said Taylor, staring down at the compound. “What are you doing?”
“Damn, Taylor,” I said, getting a bad feeling as I watched Duffy and his partner exit their car. “Looks like Agent Duffy took your facial-recognition request and ran with it.”
A door to the central building swung open. A short, muscular man stepped out. He was holding a newspaper over his head to shield him from the rain. I trained my binoculars on him, feeling a surge of excitement. “That’s one of the guys who broke into my house.”
“Are you certain?” asked Long, raising his own binoculars. “My eyes aren’t as sharp as yours, Kane. A warrant requires a positive ID.”
“I’m sure,” I said.
“Me, too,” said Taylor. “And my eyes are just fine. That’s one of the guys on Kane’s security video.”
Newspaper overhead, the muscular man approached Duffy. The two exchanged words. Then, with a glance at the sky, the muscular man began walking back toward the central building, indicating for Duffy and his partner to follow.
“Oh, God, Duffy,” said Taylor softly. “Don’t go in there.”
Seconds later Duffy and his partner disappeared into the compound building.
“Now what?” said Arnie. “Call for backup, or just bust in?”
“Too many people down there,” I said. “We’re going to need backup.”
An instant later we heard the bark of a gunshot. The sharp report came from the direction of the central building. Moments later we heard the sound of a second shot, followed in rapid succession by two more. Then silence.
“God damn it, Duffy,” said Taylor, tears starting in her eyes. “What the hell were you thinking?”
“It may not be . . . what you think,” I said. “There could be another explanation.”
“Yeah, maybe,” Taylor mumbled.
I could tell she didn’t believe it. Neither did I.
I glanced at Long. “The keys are still in our cars, right?”
Long nodded. “Driver’s side floor.”
I turned to Taylor. “Go back to our vehicles. Take my Suburban down the canyon,” I said, hoping that giving her something to do would take her mind off Duffy. “As soon as you get into cellphone range, call LAPD for reinforcements. Tell them we need SWAT out here ASAP. Have them send a hostage negotiator, too. And call the Bureau. We’re going to need all the help we can get.”
Her face pale with shock, Taylor turned and started down the canyon.
Lowering my head against a gust of rain, I watched as Taylor’s slim figure disappeared into the downpour. Then I returned my attention to the compound, worried that I couldn’t tell what was happening inside.
I remembered reading somewhere that in war, even the best battle plans rarely survived first contact with the enemy. Our situation seemed proof of that. Despite efforts to the contrary, our surveillance had probably been spotted, explaining the sudden rush into the central building. And now Duffy and his partner were inside the enemy camp, being held hostage . . . or worse. We all wanted to do something, anything, to help them. But we couldn’t.
There was nothing to do but wait.
*****
With a nightmarish sense of déjà vu, Jacob ran, thorny undergrowth tearing at his arms and legs as he climbed higher into th
e canyon. Slipping on the muddy path, he raced past his rocky overlook without looking back. Though his muscles ached and his lungs burned, he forced himself to keep going. When the time came, the more distance he had put between himself and the compound, the better.
Earlier Jacob had heard gunshots, followed by silence. Wondering whether authorities had finally decided to attack, he kept moving, forcing himself not to panic. He had tasked Rudy with covering his escape, which might explain the gunfire. If nothing else, Rudy was dependable when it came to violence.
A half-mile higher on the ridge, his breath now coming in ragged sobs, Jacob began descending into an adjacent drainage. Picking his way down a steep incline to the west, he made his way toward Encinal Canyon Road, a parallel byway that accessed other roads to the north.
And those roads led to freedom.
Several miles down Encinal Canyon Road, Jacob had hidden a pickup truck in an abandoned shack. The nondescript vehicle concealed there contained weapons, money, bank passbooks, and new ID. It was for the shelter of that shack that Jacob now headed. Once there he would have everything he needed to start over. Careful not to slip as he descended, Jacob smiled grimly, recalling his vow in Rivas Canyon. Before starting over, and despite the danger it would entail, there was still one thing left to do.
Lowering his head against the stinging rain, Jacob continued on, certain that the Lord would provide for his safety.
Chapter 51
Twenty minutes later, when nothing new had developed, Arnie and I decided to return to where we’d hidden the cars, leaving Long, Deluca, and Banowski to watch the compound. Just as we reached Long’s vehicle, I noticed my Suburban side-slipping toward us through the downpour—windshield wipers flapping, a thick layer of mud caking all four tires. Arnie and I stepped to the shelter of a nearby oak, watching as Taylor careened to a stop.
“Backup’s on the way,” Taylor announced as she piled out of the Suburban. “LAPD is dispatching a SWAT unit and a hostage negotiator, like you asked. The Bureau is sending an HRT squad, and every available officer from both agencies is on the way out here. Before long, this place is going to look like a police convention.”
“In that case, let’s move our vehicles up to the fire road,” I suggested. “I don’t want my car getting shot up, and I’m sure Long doesn’t, either—but they could provide cover if things go south.”
“Good idea,” said Arnie. “Not to mention that it would be nice to get out of this goddamn miserable rain.”
“That, too,” I agreed.
We drove the cars up to the compound, positioning them to block any cult members attempting to leave. Next we donned our ballistic vests, deciding to err on the side of caution. As Taylor had pointed out, the area would soon be swarming with men carrying guns. When that happened, compound members might start shooting, and a vest might come in handy. Also, although not often mentioned, in similar situations it wasn’t inconceivable for someone to catch a friendly bullet, in which case a vest could come in handy as well.
While waiting for backup, we decided to have two of our team guard the compound while the others stayed dry inside the vehicles, alternating watch every twenty minutes. Banowski, who was still sharing my raincoat, had just relieved me at my surveillance post when I heard the crack of a high-powered rifle. I turned in time to see Banowski’s right leg buckle. A red spray jetted from the back of his thigh.
Banowski collapsed, screaming in agony.
Heart in my throat, I raced back. A clump of ground exploded near Banowski’s head. An instant later I heard the crack of a second shot. I had thought we were out of gunfire range from the compound. Clearly, I was wrong.
“Hang on, John,” I said, grabbing Banowski beneath his shoulders. Digging in my heels, I began dragging him toward the cars.
A bullet thumped into a nearby tree, followed by another report from the opposite ridge. “I have to get you out of here,” I said, slipping in the mud as I hauled Banowski backward.
Banowski moaned, clutching his thigh. By then blood had soaked through his pants. From the angle of his twisted leg, it looked like the rifle slug had shattered his femur.
Another shot struck wide to the left. I looked over my shoulder in time to see a muzzle flash high on the canyon wall, accompanied by another bullet zinging over our heads. Gritting my teeth, I kept dragging, hoping to make it to safety before the gunman dialed in our range.
Somehow we made it. Once at the shelter of our vehicles, I stripped off my belt. Arnie found a tree branch, and together we fashioned a crude tourniquet to stem Banowski’s bleeding—at least temporarily. Then, leaving a sweaty, cursing Banowski in Arnie’s care, I rejoined the rest of our team behind Long’s Chrysler.
Although there were no further shots from the sniper, I knew the man on the ridge wasn’t done. And when our reinforcements began arriving, he would have a lot more targets. I thought a moment. “We need someone down the road,” I said. “Our guys need to know there’s a shooter up there with a rifle.”
“I’ll go,” said Deluca.
“Thanks, Paul,” I said. “And when our forces get here, make sure Banowski receives medical treatment ASAP. And inform SWAT there’s a friendly up on the ridge.”
“You’re going up there?” said Long.
“Someone has to. Otherwise, we’re all sitting ducks.”
“Be careful, paisano,” said Deluca. “I’m too old to be breaking in a new partner.”
“Don’t worry, I’ll be fine,” I said, wishing I was as sure of myself as I sounded.
From the muzzle flash I had noticed earlier, I knew the approximate position of the rifleman. Assuming he hadn’t moved, my plan was to ascend the eastern ridge of the canyon, staying out of sight of the sniper. After reaching higher ground, I would drop down on his position. What happened then would be up to him.
Not much of a plan, but sometimes simple was best.
I withdrew my Glock and confirmed the presence of a chambered round, with thirteen more in the magazine. Along with a pair of fully loaded spare magazines, I figured I was ready.
After returning the pistol to my shoulder rig, I started up the slope, following a gully that shielded me from the western ridge. Lowering my head against the downpour, I scrambled up through low bushes and loose rocks, clawing my way up the steep incline. Twenty minutes of hard climbing brought me to a promontory with a commanding view of the valley. By then I was muddy, cold, and soaked to the skin.
Careful to stay out of view of the western canyon wall, I noted that police reinforcements had started to arrive. A SWAT van was parked several hundred yards down the road from the compound, flanked by a swarm of black-and-whites and several unmarked Bureau vehicles. Among the men gathered near the SWAT van, I thought I recognized Captain Snead, SAC Gibbs, and ASAC Vaughn, although at that distance I couldn’t be certain. I also thought I detected a flash of movement lower down on the opposite ridge, but I couldn’t be certain of that, either.
Hoping someone else might be attempting to flank the sniper’s position from the other side, I took a few seconds to catch my breath. Staying under cover, I watched as a SWAT team moved into position closer to the compound. An officer with a bullhorn accompanied them. A moment later I heard his amplified voice echoing up from below.
“Jacob Wallace, this is Officer Bruce Moore of the Los Angeles Police Department,” the voice said. “Your compound is surrounded. You and your followers have no chance of escape. We can end this peacefully, but first you must release Special Agents Duffy and Gutierrez.”
No response.
“Mr. Wallace, please allow Special Agents Duffy and Gutierrez to leave the building. You must let them leave so we can end this peacefully.”
This time there was a response, but it didn’t come from the compound. A shot rang out from the western ridge, striking a SWAT team operator. The officer fell to the ground, blood gushing from his throat. Staying low, several team members began dragging him back toward the SWAT van.
&nb
sp; I wasn’t sure whether the sniper’s bullet had been the work of a master marksman, or merely a lucky shot. Given the number of police personnel present, I hoped for the latter. Either way, the SWAT retreat seemed a signal for those inside the compound to begin shooting as well. Within seconds the area sounded like a war zone.
In response, additional police units moved in, firing at the compound. Tear gas canisters were lobbed as well—at that distance most of them coming up short.
Again, the rifleman on the opposite ridge resumed firing. I took a moment to memorize his location. From my elevated location, I could see that he was shooting from beneath an overhanging ledge, high on the far side of the canyon. I estimated it would take me ten to fifteen minutes to get into position to drop down on him from above.
Maybe less, if I hurried.
I set out again, topping the gully minutes later. From there I moved left, traversing to a position above the gunman. Breathing hard from the climb, I then began working my way down, taking care not to dislodge anything that might alert the shooter of my presence. By then the sniper had again stopped firing, making his position difficult to pinpoint. Worse, during my traverse I had lost sight of the overhang, and for a moment I thought I’d descended too far.
There!
Just below me, I saw the rock ledge.
I withdrew my Glock.
What now?
The overhang was more massive than I’d first estimated, the space beneath it easily large enough for a man to stand within.
Bushes blocked my view. I didn’t have a shot from my position. I considered retreating and approaching from the other side. Either that, or rushing the overhang and trying to take out the sniper before he could react.
“Don’t move, cop.”
The voice came from behind me.
I knew I’d made a fatal mistake.
“Don’t turn around.”
Sweat trickled down my back.
“You’re Kane, aren’t you?” the voice demanded.
