by Robin Caroll
“Why?” Brannon asked. “Steve will get somebody out here to us before too much longer. We don’t have any equipment to get out of this cave.”
“Why not? You must get calls for people stuck in caves.”
Lincoln nodded. “Tennessee has more caves than any other state, but the ones that are logged in the park are closed to the public.”
“We had to remove the spelunking cables and anchors to bring food and first-aid supplies.” She didn’t appreciate Roark’s accusing tone. They’d left the gear behind because he rushed them from her Dolphin.
Roark shifted his weight, staring at the ground as if avoiding her look. “We’ve got to get this heart to the hospital pronto.”
“I don’t think we’ll make enough progress to beat the helicopter coming to get us.” She chuckled. “Besides, like you said, the heart will still be viable for several more hours.”
“You don’t understand.” He lifted his face and stared at her. “The recipient—you know, the witness who can put away the child traffickers? Well, he’s not doing so hot. He needs the surgery now. Otherwise, he won’t make it.”
Brannon’s stomach roiled. “What would happen then?”
Roark’s stare seemed to go straight through her, right into her very soul. “The child traffickers get off—free to keep selling young girls into prostitution like slabs of meat.”
She couldn’t let that happen. Not if she had anything to say about it. Pushing to her feet, Brannon glanced at Lincoln. “Come on, it won’t hurt to check for another way out.”
Lincoln hesitated, then nodded. He didn’t look convinced.
She set her jaw and concentrated on finding a way out, all the while keeping her ears on alert for the helicopter. Steve would find someone to come get them—he was as dependable as the day was long. But would help come in time to save the witness?
Something caught her eye. “Lincoln, there.” She directed the flashlight’s beam. About four feet up, maybe five, was a small hole in the stone wall. “Is that a pancake crawl?”
Please, Lord, let it be a way out.
FOURTEEN
Saturday, 12:10 p.m.
Great Smoky Mountains National Park, Tennessee
ROARK’S MIND ATTEMPTED TO wrap around what Brannon had said as she and Lincoln studied the hole in the cave. Did she really believe in all that Bible talk?
Could faith be real? Could he depend on it again? He had for a long time, but God had abandoned him in that elevator shaft. Had abandoned little Mindy.
“It is a pancake crawl!” Brannon’s voice was tinged with excitement.
Roark jerked his focus back to the present, where Brannon pointed in the cave. “What’s that?” He didn’t like feeling so out of the loop. So out of control.
“It’s a small connecting tunnel, if you will, from one underground room to another.” Lincoln set the flashlight on the floor before inspecting the space. “I see light, which means there has to be an opening on the other side.”
“But it’s not big enough to crawl through.” Roark’s heart hammered.
“We lie flat and slide through.” Lincoln grabbed the rock Brannon had been sitting on. “Help me push this over so I can see inside.”
Before Roark could move to help, Brannon helped Lincoln shove the small boulder under the hole in the cave. The injury on her shoulder must be a surface wound, like she’d claimed. Lincoln stood atop the stone, peering into the space.
Roark eyed the hole. It couldn’t be much larger than three feet in diameter. Lie on his back and slide through? No way.
B-ring! Brr-ring!
Brannon glanced over her shoulder. “Roark, your phone’s ringing.”
He shook his head. “My phone doesn’t have a ring like that.” His pulse spiked. “Wait a minute.” He dug into his coat pocket and pulled out the SAT phone he’d taken off the shooter. He glanced at the caller ID—Zimp. What kind of name was Zimp? Pressing the cell against his ear, he held up a finger to silence Brannon and Lincoln.
“Tom, where in tarnation have you been? The boss has been calling me every five minutes to see if I’ve gotten in touch with you. Man, glad you finally have reception.” The squeaky voice on the phone paused for a moment before launching into another tirade. “Boss is anxious to find out your status. Have you taken care of the heart yet?”
Roark stood still, even calming his breathing.
“Tom . . . you still there, man?”
“What is it?” Brannon moved beside Roark, her eyes soft as she studied his face.
He held a finger over his lips.
“Tom? Man, the phone must be cutting out again. Listen, if you can hear me, the boss said to take out everybody in that group. Got it? Take them all out. He’s sent Milt your way to help.”
Roark pressed the end button, his mind racing and his adrenaline surging. Pulling his own satellite phone from his pocket, he dialed as fast as his almost frozen fingers would allow him. “Demott, it’s Holland. We have a serious problem.”
“We’ve talked to the ranger station—they’re sending one of the National Guard units out. Also sending out a rescue land unit to recover the bodies from the coordinates that ranger gave.”
“Fine. Listen, Demott, when I took down the shooter, I lifted a phone from him. I just got a call on it.”
“What? You didn’t mention a phone before.”
“It slipped my mind since the weather kept blocking reception. But here’s the deal: The caller ID showed the man who called is named Zimp. Z-I-M-P. Run it through the systems, will you?”
“Got it. Zimp. What’s the number of the phone you have?”
Roark pulled the shooter’s phone out again, went into the directory, and located the phone number. He recited it to his supervisor. “Listen, this Zimp who called said the boss had sent some guy named Milt my way. Have you heard how long it’ll be until the National Guard shows up?”
“An hour at the earliest.”
Great. “Send the Guard as fast you can and let me know what you find out about Zimp and the number.” He shut his phone before turning to Brannon and Lincoln.
“What’s going on?” Lincoln had moved beside Brannon, his arm rested over her shoulders.
Roark explained. “How many rounds do each of you have left?”
Both rangers checked their weapons. Brannon answered first. “Ten.”
“Nine,” Lincoln added.
Roark did a count. He had two magazines left in his pockets and six rounds left in his Beretta.
“When will the Guard be here?” Brannon’s face didn’t reflect fear but rather quiet strength and fortitude.
“At the earliest, an hour.”
“We need to get out of here and to a place that has cover but close to a clearing where the chopper can land.” She pushed to her good foot, swayed a moment, then used the toe of her injured leg to balance.
“That would be ideal.” Not only had she thought of getting cover, but she also considered a landing area for the helicopter. Yep, she was back at the top of her game. Cool under pressure.
Her eyes closed, as if making a mental map. She lifted her finger to her mouth, chewing on her skin the way she often did. Why did he find her so charming and engaging? He swallowed hard.
Brannon grabbed his sleeve. “We’re pretty close to Rainbow Falls now. We can get there and have plenty of cover and still be able to access a clear area for the helicopter to land.”
“Good idea. Let’s get moving.” Roark lifted the cooler containing the heart and swung one of the packs over his shoulder. Then froze.
That little hole.
“Is there no other way out of this cave?”
Lincoln shook his head. “Not without proper rigging.”
Roark steadied his breathing. “Maybe we should
just stay in here. It’s good cover, and surely the National Guard will have the equipment to get us out.”
“No place for the helicopter to land around here.” Brannon shook her head. “Once we get to the other room of the cave, we’ll be able to get out.”
“Are you sure about that?” He could only hope he didn’t sound as much like a wuss as he felt.
“Well, Lincoln saw light, which means there has to be a big enough opening to let the sunlight spill in.”
“But what if it’s overhead, just like how we fell in? We still wouldn’t have the equipment to get out.” Roark’s pulse zinged.
“I’ll go first and check it out.” Lincoln moved toward the hole, Brannon at his heels.
They’d called it a pancake crawl. Pancake was about right.
“Let me go first. I’m smaller.” Brannon balanced with one leg in the air. “Give me a lift.”
“But your foot . . . your shoulder—”
“I’m fine, Lincoln. Help me up.” She lifted her arms toward that little hole.
Lincoln gave Brannon a boost and passed her the flashlight.
A creepy finger traced Roark’s spine. Was this Milt guy already here? Watching for them—waiting for the perfect shot to avail itself? Were they moving into target range?
Saturday, 12:25 p.m.
Parkwest Medical Center
Knoxville, Tennessee
WARREN CLOSED HIS PHONE and continued pacing. Things were not going as he’d hoped. Now what? He needed to think, needed to make a game plan. The heart was out in the open. Wilks wasn’t doing so well. There had to be something he could do to put a positive spin on the Coalition. Otherwise, his political career might be as dead as Wilks in a few hours.
He headed to the elevator. While he waited for the car to arrive, an idea hit him. He glanced over his shoulder and called to his aide.
Kevin rushed forward, a puppy eager to do his master’s bidding. Warren bit back a smile at the correlation. The elevator chimed a second before the doors slid open. Once he and Kevin were inside and alone, he forced a stern expression to his face. “I want you to call all the local news stations. I want to call a press conference.”
“Here, sir?”
“Right outside the hospital doors.” He chuckled at the ingeniousness of his plan.
“But why, sir?”
Warren shot Kevin a scathing look and gnashed his teeth. “Because the public has a right to know the status of such an important situation. The US Attorney’s office let the fact that they even had a witness slip to the public before they contacted me. I figure turnabout is fair play. I’ll let the public know about the dire situation of the government witness and the status of the donor heart.” He rubbed his hands together, already imagining the look on the US attorney’s face. “I need to put a positive spin on this, boy. Understand?”
“Oh. Yes, sir.”
“Get it set up pronto.” The doors slid open. Warren stepped into the foyer, pulling his lighter from his pocket. “Can I trust you to get it done?”
“Y-yes sir,” Kevin mumbled as the doors closed.
Warren strode out the hospital’s entrance, lighting his cigarette before he’d even cleared the second set of glass doors. The afternoon chill settled around him as he marched to the smoking area one hundred yards from the entrance. He could turn the situation around, make it work for him. Yes, he could come out of this smelling like a rose—he just had to make sure all the morons did their jobs properly.
Will that make you proud of me, Dad?
Saturday, 1:40 p.m.
Underground
Great Smoky Mountains National Park, Tennessee
BRANNON LAY ON HER belly, shining the flashlight toward the opening of the pancake crawl. The scrape on her shoulder burned, but she disregarded the discomfort. Only about twenty more feet and she’d be in the other room of the cave.
Lord, please let there be a way out on the other side. We need a miracle.
How could these child traffickers send someone else after them? Roark had killed the guy shooting at them. Wasn’t that enough? Who would dare come out here in this weather? Had to be someone very knowledgeable of the area. Chills trickled over Brannon as she inched farther through the little tunnel.
Her hands hurt as she pushed the flashlight first, then herself over the jagged stone. Rocks dug into her stomach, but she ignored the pokes. Child trafficking, based out of Tennessee. The idea was ludicrous, preposterous, yet Roark said it was true. And someone was willing to murder numerous people to keep it a secret.
“How’re you doing?” Lincoln’s voice steadied her, just as it always did.
She used her uninjured leg to shove herself. “About five more feet and I should clear the crawl.” And hopefully find a way out of this cave. Please, God.
The flashlight fell, landing with a thud. “Oh!” Her hands found nothing but air.
“Brannon, are you okay?”
“Fine, Lincoln. Reached the end of the crawl.” She inched herself to the edge and glanced about.
The flashlight lay on its side, the beam casting eerie shadows on wet stone, but the chamber had plenty of natural light filling the area. The crawl’s opening was only about four feet above the floor of the cave. Even with a bum ankle, she could make the drop. “I’m going to enter the other room now,” she yelled over her shoulder.
This was going to be a doozy. There wasn’t enough headroom for Brannon to sit and let herself drop legs first. Not even enough space to turn around. How would Roark and Lincoln make it through? She needed to figure something out. And fast.
Lord, I need a little help here.
Maybe she could get ahold of the edge above her. That seemed to be her only option. She rolled over onto her back and looked at the top of the pancake crawl’s edge. Was that a rock jutting out? If she could just reach it . . .
She shuffled her back against the space, her shoulders clearing the crawl. She extended her right arm up as far as possible, despite the pain. There, just an inch more. Brannon scooted a little farther. Her hand made contact with the cold rock. She gripped it before using her left hand to brace against the edge.
Ever so slowly, she pulled herself free of the tunnel. She supported her body weight with her right toe as she stood at the mouth of the crawl. Whispering a prayer for a landing that wouldn’t hurt her left ankle any more, Brannon let go of the rock and jumped to the ground.
Landing on the ball of her right foot, she bit back a cry as the weight pushed her to the ground. Soft dirt cushioned her fall. She sent up a prayer of thanks, then stood. “I’m in.”
“Can you see a way out?” Lincoln hollered.
“Just a sec.” That this chamber had a dirt floor held promise for a way out. She grabbed the flashlight for better viewing and shone the beam left, then right. Her heartbeat picked up as she spied where light spilled into the room. “I think there’s a way out. A walking path.”
Lincoln’s woops brought a smile to her face.
“Come on. Who’s next?”
“Hang on.”
While she waited for Lincoln and Roark, she hobbled toward the keyhole squeeze. It’d be as tight vertically as the crawl had been horizontally, but she could smell the fresh air through the crevice.
“Uh, Brannon?”
She hurried back to the pancake crawl. “Yeah, Lincoln?”
“Roark’s gonna come through first. He’ll be coming feet first. Think that’s a problem on your end?”
“Actually, that’d probably be the best way. Come on your stomach, Roark.”
“He’s getting in the crawl space now.”
“Ready.” She leaned against the wall, listening to her partner guide Roark. Why was Lincoln talking to him like a frightened child? The man was a US marshal—surely he could maneuver his way through twenty-
five to thirty feet of a pancake crawl.
“You’re doing great. Keep going.”
Lincoln’s words drifted to Brannon. She smiled. That was her partner, the encourager. Maybe Roark’s broad shoulders made the tunnel too narrow for easy passage.
She pushed off the cave’s wall and peered up to the crawl’s opening. Little pebbles drifted down on her like the snow had earlier.
“Keep going, Roark. You’re almost there.” Lincoln definitely sounded too upbeat for something so easy.
“How would you know?” Roark growled.
Brannon bit back another smile just as a pair of feet came into view. “Whoa, Roark. You’re here.”
The feet froze.
“Just lower yourself to your waist and then drop. Go slow.”
Before she could spout off any further directions, Roark stood beside her. His face was red and a bead of sweat lined his upper lip, despite the iciness of the chamber. She grazed his cheek. “Are you okay?”
He brushed off her touch. “I’m fine.” But his words held both a snarl and a quiver.
“All okay on that end?” Lincoln asked.
“We’re good.” But she ran an inspecting glance over the marshal.
“I’m going to douse the fire and load the crawl with the backpacks and cooler.”
“Holler when you’re on your way.” She turned to find Roark sitting against the wall, his breathing more labored than it should be. She sat beside him. “Seriously, are you okay?”
“I just don’t like small spaces.”
Ah. Claustrophobic. The pancake crawl must’ve been hard on him. But he’d done it anyway. She masked the respect she knew would reflect on her face. Time to deflect, change the subject. “So why did you become a marshal?”
He chuckled, and Brannon found herself wanting to hear more, learn all she could about this intriguing man.
