“Morgan, Carla?”
No reply. The house had a deserted feel to him. He closed the door and switched on the lights. Morgan’s room was the first stop. Empty. He grabbed the cordless phone and dialed the police station, just to make sure. He continued to the master bedroom as the call went through.
“Hello, my name’s Gus Wheatley. I’m checking to see if my six-year-old daughter and my sister are there. This may sound strange, but I told them to go there because something happened and they were afraid to stay here at the house alone.”
“I’ll check, sir. What are the names?”
“Wheatley is the last name. Morgan and Carla.”
Gus heard a click, then elevator music. He was on hold. The line crackled as he entered the master closet, but the cordless reception soon cleared. With the phone tucked under his chin he pulled Beth’s big box of old photographs down from the shelf, sat cross-legged on the floor, and dug in.
It was the same box he had gone through the other night while reminiscing about Beth and the way things used to be. Some he had lingered over. Others he had breezed through. At first he had focused only on pictures of Beth and him or Beth and Morgan. By the end of the night, however, he had gone through nearly every photograph. Some had been taken before he and Beth had even started dating. That night had been his rediscovery of Beth, a chance to meet friends of hers he had never met before.
One of those friends was now the focus of his suspicion.
If his memory was correct, she was in just one photograph among thousands. The other night it hadn’t meant anything to him. Just another old snapshot of Beth with friends. He probably hadn’t looked at it for more than five seconds. But earlier tonight, when he had seen that five-year-old photograph of Meredith Borge in her dining room, it hit him. He would have sworn that somewhere in Beth’s stack of old photographs was a picture of her and Meredith. If it was really there, Gus had to find it. He had to know how Beth had gotten mixed up with a cult.
He wasn’t sure which packet contained the right photograph. Like a Vegas card dealer he flipped through one stack after another with lightning speed. Finally, he stopped. He had found it. He laid it on the carpet beside the five-by-seven he had taken from Meredith’s house and compared the two. No doubt about it. The woman in the photo was a younger and much fatter Meredith Borge with long brown hair. The woman on her right was Beth. Curious, he checked the remaining shots from the same roll of film, photos that had seemed so meaningless he hadn’t even bothered to look at them the other night. He found another one of Beth and Meredith. But this one was different. There was a third woman, one with her arm around the woman he now knew was Meredith and who seemed particularly chummy with her.
It was Gus’s sister.
The operator came back on the line. “Sir? There is no Morgan or Carla Wheatley here.”
Before he could speak, Carla interrupted. “Hang up the phone, Gus.”
He whirled. She was standing in the closet doorway with a gun pointed at him. The phone was in the other hand. She had been listening to the call.
“Sir?” asked the operator.
Carla said, “Tell her everything’s fine, and hang up. Now.”
“Sir, are you still there?”
“Uh—you know what, operator? They’re pulling up in the driveway right now. Thank you for checking, though.”
He hung up and snapped, “What did you do with Morgan?”
“She’s fine. And she’ll continue to be fine if you just do as I say.”
“Are you crazy? What are you doing?”
“I tried to warn you. That note on your windshield. You just ignored it.”
“That was in Beth’s handwriting.”
“You don’t think I know what her handwriting looks like?”
“You were behind the ‘Mary Had a Little Lamb’ message from that pay phone, weren’t you? You’re the only one who could have known Beth and Morgan’s little secret.”
“Just shut up, Gus. I’m in control now.”
Sixty-six
Ash and burning cinders floated like glowing snowflakes from the barn. A cool wind carried them toward the farmhouse, where a dozen frantic people scurried to the backyard. Two men wearing camouflage fatigues like Tom stood at the open cellar doors and herded them below. Andie knew from her lie-detector meeting with Blechman that the cellar wasn’t nearly big enough to hold all the cult members. Between the hangings and gunfire, the ranks had seriously thinned.
Culled, she thought, recalling the term Tom had used at the chicken coop.
The gunfire continued but was erratic, as if they were missing intentionally. Andie crouched low as she and Tom crossed the yard toward the house. Hot cinders landed in her hair and burned her face. It was only a matter of time before the house would be ablaze. Just ahead, people hurried into the cellar, eager for protection. It was certain to be a death trap. She had to break loose.
An argument broke out at the cellar doors. A woman refused to go below. From somewhere in the field a burst of gunfire erupted, killing her instantly. The crowd scattered. In the confusion Andie broke free from Tom’s grasp and ran. She dived toward the shrubs alongside the house, where one of the slain workers had fallen off his ladder. He was stone dead, but his pistol was still in its holster. Andie grabbed the gun and stuffed it in her jacket.
Tom barked out some orders to his subordinates, then turned and saw Andie. “Willow!” He hadn’t seen her take the gun. She ignored him.
“Get in here!” he shouted.
Andie ran the opposite way, up the back porch and into the house, baiting him to follow. He did. She continued at full speed through the kitchen and down the main hall. The house had been evacuated and no lights were on. Steel shutters covered most of the windows, but not the one over the kitchen sink. That was the only source of light, a faint and flickering glow from the burning barn some thirty yards away.
Or had the house caught fire?
Andie posted herself in the hallway beneath the staircase. She checked her pistol. It was fully loaded. Out of sight in the darkness and with her back to the wall, she waited.
A bullet ricocheted off the shutters on the front picture window, but she didn’t flinch. Some of Blechman’s lieutenants were apparently still in the field stirring up trouble.
The kitchen door flew open. “Willow!” Tom shouted. “Get your ass down in the cellar.”
She didn’t answer.
“I’m giving you five seconds to come out.”
She counted off in her mind but didn’t make a sound. Exactly on the count of five, Tom popped the spent ammunition clip from his rifle and attached a new one. “Have it your way, baby,” he said loudly, then started across the kitchen.
They were in the large dressing area of the closet. Beth’s clothing was on shelves and hangers all around them. Gus lay flat on his stomach on the floor, as Carla had directed. She stood over him with the gun aimed at his back. She was tugging at a robe, trying to remove the belt so she could tie his hands.
Gus looked up at her. “You’re the one who got Beth into the cult, aren’t you?”
“Brilliant, Gus. How many years did it take you to figure that one out?”
“You and your buddy Meredith. She’s dead. Do you know that?”
She smiled thinly, as if her brother were stupid. “Of course I know. Meredith hasn’t been my buddy since she turned against us and pulled her daughter off the farm.”
“Is that why Shirley tried to kill her?”
“It wasn’t Shirley by her lonesome. She just took the fall, and like a good kid she didn’t name names. She was loyal to the group. Until you waved a quarter million dollars under her nose.”
“You’re the one who got Shirley killed. You told Blechman she was talking to me.”
“Careful. Don’t go figuring it all out. You were much safer as the workaholic attorney married to his job.”
“That was my ticket to safety, huh? Just stay busy and happily oblivious while you
indoctrinate my wife into some cult.”
“If it makes you feel better, she never really joined. Our teacher has been working on her since the day I brought her by the farm. He’s still working on her. He likes her look.”
“If this teacher,” he said angrily, “so much as lays a hand on her—”
A scream broke the tension. It had come from somewhere in the house. In that same instant Gus vaulted toward Carla and knocked her backward into the hanging clothes, legs and arms flailing. She tried to gouge his eyes with her nails as they wrestled for the gun. When the tumbling stopped, Gus was on top with the gun in her face.
“What was that scream?” He spoke sharply but quietly.
“I don’t know.”
“Where’s Morgan?”
“She’s okay, I swear. I locked her in the basement until…”
“Until you got rid of me?” he said with disbelief.
There was another scream. It seemed to have come from the basement. With the gun to her head he lifted her up and pushed her toward the door. “Come on. You’re going with me.”
Andie barely breathed as she waited beneath the stairs. The darkness was her only real shield. It wasn’t totally black but dark enough to conceal her. Tom crossed cautiously. One step. Stop. Another step. Stop. Each step a little closer, a little louder than the next. Finally, she could see him in the shadows, his image slowly gaining definition. The entire house seemed to be brightening, and it wasn’t just her eyes adjusting to the darkness. The fire outside was intensifying, blazing more light through the kitchen window. She heard a rumble outside, like the barn collapsing. The sudden burst of flames was like a flare in the hallway.
Their eyes met, and she knew she was toast.
She made a dash for the living room. Tom fired and missed. Andie fired back. A hit to his right hand sent his gun flying. Andie vaulted toward him and knocked him to his back. She tried to pin him. He squirmed beneath her.
“Freeze!” she shouted.
He swung wildly in defense, but his shattered hand was useless. She brought a knee to his groin and shoved her pistol in his face. “I said, freeze!”
Tom groaned and went limp.
“Take me to Beth Wheatley.”
“Who?” he said, breathless.
She cocked the hammer and pressed the barrel into his eye socket. “Take me to Beth Wheatley or I’ll blow your eyeball out the back of your head.”
Andie wasn’t sure Beth was there. She wasn’t even sure if Beth had been taken against her will. She hoped the bluff would work.
“She’s in the attic.”
It had worked. She rose slowly and kept the gun on him. “You make just one move I don’t like, you’re dead. Now let’s go,” she said as she directed him toward the stairs.
They climbed the main staircase to the second floor, then a smaller staircase to the third floor. At the top of the stairs was a semiprivate sitting area that led to an outdoor widow’s walk. The rear half of the sitting area had been enclosed in an ugly fashion. It was clearly built for security, not aesthetics. The door had a deadbolt that locked with a key from the outside.
“She’s in there,” said Tom.
If she really was in there, it was clear she was a prisoner. “Unlock it.”
“I don’t have a key.”
“Lie down on the floor, facedown.”
He got down. Andie called out, “Beth Wheatley, are you in there?” No one answered. “If you’re in there, stand away from the door.”
With one quick shot Andie blew the lock off. A woman screamed inside. “Beth, you’re safe. It’s the FBI!”
Tom shouted, “It’s a trap, Flora!”
Andie turned the gun on him. “Shut up!”
“She’s the enemy, Flora! They’re killing all of us!”
Andie said, “Beth, come out now!”
“Stay down, Flora!”
Andie yanked him up by one arm. “Come on, we’re going in.”
She kicked the door open. Beth screamed even louder. She was huddled in the far corner beneath a boarded-up window. “Leave me alone!”
Gunshots suddenly pelted the metal shutters outside. Just as Beth screamed, Tom whirled and flung Andie over his shoulder. She hit the floor hard. Her pistol slid across the room. Beth sprang from the corner and grabbed it.
“Stop!” she shouted.
Andie and Tom froze, both on their knees. Beth was shaking and confused, moving the gun back and forth from Andie to Tom erratically. She wasn’t treating Tom like a friend, but Andie still had to convince her she wasn’t the enemy.
“I’m Agent Andie Henning with the FBI. Please, I’m here to help you.”
“She’s no FBI agent, Flora. She’s leading the revolt. They’ve come to kill us all.”
Beth aimed unsteadily at Andie. “If you’re with the FBI, then show me your badge.”
“I don’t have one. I’m working undercover.”
“She’s one of the rebels,” said Tom. “Kill her before she kills us both.”
“Keep away from me!”
“Shoot her, Flora! You’ve already killed for us. Kill one more.”
“I never killed anyone!” She looked at Andie, pleading, but still not convinced she was an FBI agent. “He’s lying. He’s trying to box me in.”
“I believe you,” said Andie. “Now just let me stand up, and give me the gun.”
“No!” Beth shouted. “Both of you, just stay where you are!”
Tom rose and started toward her slowly. “Come on, Flora. You’re one of us.”
“No, I’m not!”
“Give me the gun.”
“Stop! Don’t come any closer.”
He kept coming slowly. “It’s time to break with the past. Join the inner circle.”
“Not another step! I’ll shoot!”
“That wouldn’t make Steve very happy, now would it?”
Her face flushed with anger at the mere mention of his name. It was clear he’d played the wrong card. He leaped toward her and reached for the gun. A shot erupted, then another. Andie ducked. Tom fell. Beth tried to speak, but her voice merely quaked. A pool of blood oozed from beneath Tom’s twisted body. He didn’t move.
Beth dropped the gun, almost threw it down. Andie slid across the floor and grabbed it. Beth cowered against the bed, sobbing. Andie checked Tom’s pulse and got nothing. Cautiously, she approached Beth and gently touched her arm.
“It’s all right. It’s over.”
Beth was crying as she struggled to regain control. “Are you sure?”
“Yes. I’m sure.”
“Where’s Blechman?”
Andie felt a chill. She didn’t know. “Everything is under control,” she said, doing her best to mask her own concerns.
Sixty-seven
The basement door squeaked on its hinge as it slowly swung open. Gus wanted to rush down and get Morgan, but he feared a trap. He stood at the top of the stairs with Carla in front of him like a human shield, the gun pressed to the back of her skull.
“Morgan, are you down here?”
The silence confirmed his fears. She wasn’t alone.
He switched on the light. The single low-watt bulb barely illuminated the top half of the steep and narrow wooden staircase. Beyond the tenth step was total darkness, the bowels of an unfinished basement that smelled of mildew and gave up not a sound. There was only one way in or out—through this door.
“If there’s somebody down there, I called the police,” said Gus. “They’re on their way.”
Gus waited, the seconds ticking in his mind. He actually had called the police. But the earlier screams had told him there was no time to wait. With a firm grip on Carla he called out, “Who’s down there?”
A light suddenly switched on from below. A man was standing at the base of the stairs, the same attacker from Meredith’s house. “We are.”
Blechman, Gus presumed, the handsome young leader Meredith had told him about. He was using Morgan the same way Gus wa
s using Carla, as a human shield with a gun to her head. Morgan would have been too small to protect his whole body, except that she was standing on the higher step and he was kneeling behind her on the lower one.
“Morgan!” Gus cried.
“Don’t waste your breath,” said Blechman. “She can’t hear or see you.”
A set of headphones filled her ears with music. Duct tape covered her eyes. A blessing, thought Gus. He noticed her hands and feet were tied as well. He pressed the gun more firmly to Carla’s head. “Let go of my daughter, or Carla’s dead.”
“And where does that leave you?” Blechman said coolly.
“Let her go!”
“You can’t win this, Gus. Isn’t it obvious? I’m holding someone you would die for. You’re holding someone who would die for me. Tell him, Rosa.”
“Rosa?” said Gus, confused.
“The woman who used to be your sister,” said Carla.
Blechman smiled. “Tell him you’d die for me.”
“I would gladly die for you.”
“See, Gus? Now hand over the gun and save your daughter.”
“You think I’m an idiot?”
“We don’t like to kill children,” said Blechman. “Give us your gun, and we kill only you. Morgan goes free. Keep your gun, I blow your daughter’s brains out right before your eyes.”
Gus trembled. “You’ll kill us both anyway!”
“Your daughter doesn’t know anything. No need to kill her.”
Carla said, “I won’t kill my own niece, Gus.”
“Oh, but you’ll kill your brother?”
“You made us do it. I tried to warn you. You wouldn’t listen.”
Blechman shouted, “That’s enough, Rosa.”
Gus could barely think. “Just let Morgan go. The police are on their way. I wasn’t bluffing. I called them.”
“Is that true, Rosa?”
“Yes. He called again from the bedroom after he got my gun.”
His eyes blazed. He tightened his grip on Morgan. “You shouldn’t have done that. And you,” he said to Carla, “shouldn’t have let that happen.”
Under Cover of Darkness Page 37
