by Radclyffe
“It’s time for your television appearance.” Jane unholstered her Glock and trained it on Roberts. “Let’s go.”
Roberts silently rose and walked toward her. Her T-shirt and dark trousers showed signs of wear, with patches of grime and a rip just below one knee. Nevertheless, other than her dark hair looking slightly disheveled, she appeared as cool as if she were the one in control. Jane found her arrogant demeanor so aggravating she had the irrational urge to pistol-whip her, just to show her who was in charge. The impulse was so unlike her, she nearly trembled. So much depended on her plan going right—bringing Jennifer home, proving her worth to her father, advancing the cause.
She satisfied herself with pushing the barrel of her gun into Roberts’s back harder than was necessary.
“Let’s go. And be careful what you say to your friends in Washington. Remember, we still have Dunbar, and I don’t need to deliver her undamaged.”
*
The closed-circuit television image was being broadcast to Lucinda’s office and the Oval Office simultaneously. She and the president were the only viewers. At precisely 0600, she connected to the link she’d been directed to use and an image flickered onto the monitor. The image was murky, the background just a gray haze, but Cam was recognizable enough, seated in a plain wooden chair with a bright light trained on her. Other than looking tired, she seemed fine. She stared straight into the camera, as if trying to reach Lucinda with the force of her gaze.
“Director Roberts,” Lucinda said. “Are you well?”
“I’m unharmed,” Cam said, emphasizing the pronoun.
“I want to assure you, we’re doing everything we can to cooperate with your captors.”
“I don’t endorse releasing the prisoner,” Cam said calmly.
“I understand, but these are extenuating circumstances,” Lucinda said, understanding full well Cam would know she was lying. They would never negotiate with terrorists, foreign or domestic, so she hoped Cam would also deduce they had alternate plans under way. “We’ve already agreed to the exchange, and the prisoner is en route. The pilots have orders to continue on once we are assured of your well-being.”
“I’m fine so far. If the weather holds, it should be an interesting day.”
“Yes, well, I imagine you never can tell what might blow up in those parts.”
“Time’s up,” a woman said.
“Tell Blair I’m fine,” Cam said quickly as a shadow passed through the light trained on her.
“I’ll let her know that you’re all right and to expect you home soon,” Lucinda said.
Cam’s gaze burned brighter. “Tell her…tell her I’ll see her soon.”
The video disappeared, and the voice Lucinda recognized as that of the woman she’d talked to earlier came through. “Now you’ve had your proof. You are to deliver the prisoner at zero six thirty. The coordinates are as follows.” Lucinda grabbed her pen and jotted down the coordinates.
“I’m not sure we have enough time—”
“If you’re late, the exchange will be aborted. You’re to bring one vehicle with a single driver. We’ll be thermo-scanning to be sure that you comply. Turn off on the fire road at the location given to you and allow the lieutenant to leave the vehicle. She is to walk north on the road. Once she has crossed to us, we will release the director.”
“And the FBI agent?”
“Yes.”
“How do I know that you’ll release them?”
The woman laughed. “You don’t. But I can assure you if the lieutenant is not delivered to us, the director and the FBI agent will not be seen or heard from again.”
“I understand. If we could have a little more time, we might be able to find common ground—”
“There is no common ground, and your time was up a long time ago. You have no options now.”
“Where can I reach you if there’s some change—”
“There won’t be any changes. This is our final communication.”
The transmission ended, and Lucinda sat for a moment staring at the blank screen. Her anger was a living beast raging to strike back at those who threatened all she held dear. Violence might beget violence, but in this case, they’d left her no choice. They were not open to a peaceful solution, and she didn’t regret her decisions for a single second. Still, she had to control the fury before she could rationally analyze the next course of action. The door to her office opened quietly and Andrew entered. She smiled wearily. “You heard?”
“I did,” he said grimly. “What are our options?”
“I’ll discuss it with command, but I agree with our previous conclusions. Attempting to secure the hostages at the rendezvous point is too dangerous. We can’t bring in enough forces—they’d be seen before we ever arrived. A surprise assault before they leave the camp is still our best chance.”
“Shock and awe.” He shook his head. “Ironic, isn’t it? The war abroad has prepared us to fight here at home. Still, it’s risky. If the militia panic, they might kill the hostages.”
“Yes. But the chaos may also give Cam and Dunbar a chance to escape. We have no choice but to play the odds.”
Andrew sat heavily in the chair across from Lucinda’s desk. “If something happens to Cam, I’ll never forgive myself. And Blair”—he shook his head—“Blair will be beyond consolation.”
“We’re going to get them back, Andrew. We have the best people in the world at our disposal. You have to believe.”
He smiled. “You’ve always told me that. And so far, you’ve always been right.”
“Trust me this time.” Lucinda came around the desk and held out her hand. He took it and stood beside her. She kissed him lightly. “You should get some rest. We’ve still got a little ways to go before the Predators are in position.”
“You don’t have to bear this all yourself, you know,” he said.
“I’d rather you know as little as possible. Go now. I’ll let you know when we’re ready.”
He sighed and cupped her cheek. “Sometimes I doubt I’d be here without you.”
“You would. You belong here.”
He left, closing the door quietly behind him. Luce leaned back against her desk, thinking about the next few hours. If they were wrong, if this didn’t work, more than Blair’s heart would break.
*
Quincy pulled over at the last turnoff before the climb into the Bitterroots. While they waited, they all climbed off to stretch. They’d been riding nonstop for close to six hours with only a twenty-minute break to transfer the guns from the Russians into the truck. Quincy lit a cigarette and Loren bummed one. He raised an eyebrow as he flicked his lighter under the end of her cigarette.
“What’s up?” he said.
“Just cold,” Loren said, taking a drag. Thirty minutes until the meeting with the militia. Thirty minutes and then they could all be dead. That prospect didn’t bother her nearly as much as the thought that if they couldn’t infiltrate the camp, she wouldn’t have a chance to find Sky. Finding her was all she could think about.
“Here they come,” Quincy said.
Loren looked back down the road they’d just traveled and saw headlights approaching. Three vehicles—two trucks and a van. They all pulled into the turnaround and parked. Twenty men climbed out, Ramsey in the lead as they trooped over to Quincy and Loren.
“Any problems?” Ramsey said, looking at Loren.
“No. The exchange went fine.” Loren lifted the gate on the truck Jetter had driven, piled to the roof with crates of weapons. “We can offload most of the guns now, stash them in the warehouse, and just take what we need to arm everyone here.”
Ramsey motioned to a couple of the prospects. “You heard her. Move these crates into the truck and the van.”
Once Jetter’s truck was nearly empty, they stacked the remaining crates to form a barrier, leaving ample room behind them for ten men to crowd inside.
“I’ll drive the other one with the rest of the men,” Ramsey said
. He looked over the Renegades congregated around. “Nobody shoots until we get to the compound. We need them to escort us inside. Everybody got that?”
A chorus of grunts responded in the affirmative.
“Once inside, you shoot anybody who gets in your way. We’ll teach them that no one double-crosses us.”
Loren dropped her cigarette on the gravel and ground it out. “Let’s roll, then.”
Ramsey nodded. “Yeah. Let’s go get us some justice.”
Chapter Thirty-eight
The woman in charge of the militiamen who’d come to pick up the guns wouldn’t talk, even when Ramsey threatened to put a bullet between her eyes. Her second in command wasn’t as brave, though. After staring down the gun barrel for a scant three seconds, he spilled his guts. Loren, sitting in the back of the truck with her Glock pointed at the woman in fatigues while Armeo followed the guy’s directions, estimated they were within ten minutes of reaching FALA’s encampment. No one had tried to stop them, and she doubted the militia had posted lookouts on this narrow fire trail in the middle of the night when they had no reason to expect a threat from the outside. She leaned close to the woman, pressing her gun against the woman’s chest over her heart. She spoke quietly so the roar of the motor and churning of the tires on the uneven ground would cover her words. “I’ve got a cell phone in my pocket. You’ve got about five minutes to make a deal with me. Tell me where the captives are, and you can make a phone call to warn your people that a fight is coming unless they stand down and meet us unarmed and ready to talk peace.”
The woman slowly turned her head and stared at Loren. Even in the dark interior of the truck, with only the dashboard lights filtering into the back for illumination, her eyes glowed as if on fire. She didn’t blink. Not a muscle in her face moved. She wasn’t wearing insignia of any kind, but Loren recognized her type—die-hard officer. Ooh-rah. “They’re going to kill you all the second you step out of these trucks.”
“You and your troops will be in the line of fire too.”
She glanced at the traitor in the front seat as if she wanted to shoot him herself. “Wages of war.”
Loren shook her head. “Are the two of them really worth it?”
She smiled thinly. “You wouldn’t understand.”
“Look, it’s going to be a bloodbath. Why risk it? All I want is the FBI agent. I don’t care what you do with the other one.”
The woman laughed. “If you’re after one, you’re after both. And when the first shot is fired, they’ll both be dead.”
Loren tamped down her rage. She was so close, but this icy soldier was right. Once all hell broke loose, she’d have a minute, tops, to figure out where Sky and Roberts were being held. As soon as the bullets started flying and blood started flowing, there was no telling who might panic and shoot them or who might give the order to eliminate witnesses. If she was right there and still couldn’t save Sky, she wasn’t sure she wanted to walk away.
*
The red phone on Lucinda’s desk rang and she picked it up before the first ring had died away. “Yes?”
“We have targets in sight. Recommend we eliminate the weapons arsenal first.”
“Are you able to locate the hostages?”
“Tentatively. The computers are working on imaging now.” A brief interval of static muffled his words, and then he said clearly, “Two vehicles approaching the compound transporting armed forces, twenty-eight in all.”
The bikers Loren had spoken of. Fighting was going to break out any moment. Cam and Dunbar would need all the diversion they could create if they were to escape. “Proceed with attack plan alpha.”
“Roger that. Weapons arsenal and unmanned targets priority one.”
“Thank you. I’ll expect an update shortly.”
“Roger and out.”
She gently set the phone back in the cradle, musing with half a mind as to who had decided red was the appropriate color for a device used to order the destruction of life, while she debated calling Andrew. Decided his guilt and helplessness were a burden he didn’t need. She felt no guilt, only anger she couldn’t do more.
*
An explosion rocked the building, and Cam jerked upright on the bed.
“What’s that?” Dunbar asked, her voice surprisingly strong. She swung her legs over the side of the bed and gripped the mattress on either side as if trying to steady herself. “Damn. Dizzy.”
“That’s incoming artillery,” Cam said. A second later, another closer explosion set off a series of earth-shaking tremors that rattled the doors and windows. A long cascade of secondary explosions boomed like cannon fire. Cam jumped up. “That was a weapons depot. We need to be ready to move. The camp is under assault.”
Dunbar stood, took a step, and swayed unsteadily. Cam put an arm around her, pulled her over to the door, and stationed her with her back against the wall. “They’ll be coming for us in a second. Let me handle it.”
The door slammed open and a man in camo rushed in, sweeping his rifle in the direction of the beds as if expecting to see the two of them armed and taking aim at him. Cam hooked her arm around his neck, jerked him back against her chest, and twisted. He slumped, a deadweight in her arms, and she lowered him to the floor. Crouching, she yanked his rifle free and cradled it in one hand while reaching for his sidearm. A scuffle and a muffled grunt behind her got her attention, and she spun upright. Dunbar grappled with another soldier, both hands wrapped around the soldier’s gun hand. The automatic was buried somewhere between them. Cam rammed the butt of the confiscated rifle into the back of the soldier’s head, and he fell next to the first one on the floor. Dunbar sagged against the wall, panting hard.
“You okay?” Cam asked.
“Yeah,” Dunbar gasped. “Who is it, do you think?”
“Hopefully the good guys. Either way, it’s the best chance we’ll have. You ready?”
“Hell, yes.”
“Here.” Cam passed her the rifle, grabbed the rifle from the second soldier, and shoved both handguns into the waistband of her trousers. “Can you handle the rifle?”
“In my sleep.”
“Then let’s get out of here. Stay low and close to me. We’ll try working our way around the building and into the woods.”
They made it as far as the porch before small-arms fire burst out across the compound. Wood fragments showered from the railing in front of them and peppered the air behind them. Cam grabbed Dunbar and dragged her onto the floor, covering as much of Dunbar’s body as she could. Bullets pinged off the metal roof and ripped splinters a foot long from the building, hurling the spears of wood like deadly javelins. Something tore through Cam’s calf and she grunted in surprise.
“You hit?” Dunbar asked, her face muffled against Cam’s chest.
“No. You?”
“Don’t think so.”
“Can you crawl?”
“Point me.”
“Straight ahead and over the side of the porch. We have to get away from the building before it gets hit with something bigger than bullets.”
*
The gunfire started before the trucks had even stopped. The windshield shattered, showering the men in the front seat and Loren and her prisoner with shards of glass. The side of her face stung, and blood ran down her neck. The men in the front shouted in pain, and the truck veered wildly, finally caroming into something, probably the side of a building. The impact knocked Loren to the floor. She held on to her weapon, but her prisoner launched herself out the back. By the time Loren got to her feet and jumped down to the ground, the camp was consumed by gunfire. People ran everywhere, shouting and shooting. Several buildings were ablaze.
Disoriented, uncertain of where to go, Loren advanced cautiously, keeping to the shelter of the trucks while trying to assess where the captives might be held. A whining sound she recognized split the air above her, and she threw herself to the ground. A missile hit a nearby truck, and it exploded in a fireball. The stench of burning rubbe
r and diesel fuel coated her throat and stung her eyes. Rubbing tears from her face, blinking into the red-orange light cast by the soaring flames, she made out a figure running toward a low, narrow building across the compound. Loren lurched to her feet and raced after her.
Chapter Thirty-nine
Cam rolled off the far end of the porch and into foot-high brush. Dunbar landed beside her a few seconds later. Brambles and broken branches grabbed at her exposed skin. Rounds continued to dig up the twenty-five yards of open ground that stretched between the building and the surrounding forest, showering them with grit and debris. The fires blazing throughout the compound lit up the expanse as bright as day, the night sky blood red. Militia poured out of the few remaining buildings still standing, firing at anyone not in camo. From what she could make out, the ones firing back were civilians—men in hooded sweatshirts under denim vests and leather jackets. Whoever they were, they hadn’t come to rescue her and Dunbar, but they were providing a welcome diversion. The Hellfires methodically targeting the buildings had to have come from Lucinda. Only Lucinda could have pulled those strings, with a little well-placed assistance.
The two dead guards she’d left inside would be missed, even in this chaos. Someone else would be coming for them soon. They had to go now.
“We’ll have to run for it,” Cam said. “You go first. I’ll cover you.”
“I’ll be too slow.” Dunbar gasped. “I’ll draw them right to you.”
“I’ll worry about that.” Cam gripped her shoulder. “Keep your head down and don’t stop—now go!”
Dunbar rose, clutching her injured arm close to her body, and scrambled for the woods in a low crouch. Cam hugged the side of the building, scanning the ring of blackness beyond the crimson shadows, waiting to follow until Dunbar had reached cover in the trees. Dunbar was nearly there when the silhouette of a large man carrying an assault rifle seemed to step out of the flickering curtain of flames. He was bareheaded, with no body armor, just camo fatigues. Almost casually, he sighted his weapon on Dunbar. Cam stepped into the light and shouted, “Federal agent! Drop your weapon. Drop it now!”
