A red error message appeared: it was unable to establish a connection with the tracking device. Just as Uzi had warned her might happen. A window opened asking if she wanted to enable an alarm that would alert her when the connection was reestablished. It warned her that constant searching for a signal would affect her battery life. Fine. Do it.
She clicked “yes” and was about to put her phone away when Ramos called through.
“Where are you?”
“FBI Academy library. Why?”
“Got a twenty on Gaines.”
“No shit?”
“He’s in the mountains. We were monitoring his cell phone in case he turned it on. And he did—less than a minute, but it was enough to get a fix.”
“What’s the plan?”
“Hurdle’s deploying SWAT. They need their Bearcat, so it’ll take them a bit to get up there. Tarkoff and I have four-wheel drive SUVs.”
“On my way.” Vail rose from her seat, the books still splayed open. “Leave that stuff as is,” she said to the librarian as she headed out of the room. “I’ll be back.”
“How are you gonna get there?” Ramos asked.
“Figure out a place to rendezvous and I’ll meet you there.”
TWENTY MINUTES LATER, Vail was climbing into Ramos’s Toyota 4Runner. The undercarriage was caked with a mixture of mud splatter and salt from his winter driving.
“I take it you do a lot of off-roading.”
Ramos chuckled. “I live in the hills. And when it rains, this thing’s the only way I can get home.”
They were half a mile from the ping they had gotten when Ramos’s phone rang. He put it on speaker. “Boss, you got me and Karen.”
“How close are you?” Hurdle asked.
“Be there in a minute,” Ramos said. “You?”
“Not far behind. And SWAT’s about twelve behind me. Take a look around, see what we’re dealing with.”
“Got it. We’ll take care of it.”
“Best views we could get from Google Earth show an old trailer of some kind. But the dense tree cover made it tough to see. If we triangulated on the signal right, it’s sitting on land owned by someone else, seventy-two-year-old Jack Welker. No priors on the guy, not even in the system. You’ll see what looks like a large log cabin on the property. No idea where Gaines is exactly—cabin or that trailer. Be careful. We don’t know what we’re dealing with, if Welker’s a hostile or if he’s got no clue who Gaines is.”
“Roger that,” Ramos said, and disconnected the call.
A moment later, they approached the coordinates. It was indeed an old trailer—but not the kind usually used for habitation. This was a large forty foot cargo container that was traditionally attached to a long haul eighteen-wheeler. The tires were removed and the axles had been sunk into the ground so that its undersurface was flush with the hillside, leveled with cinder blocks.
Ramos pulled to a stop about sixty yards away. “Is that it?”
“If it is, we’re too close. We should go back down the road a bit, get some cover from the trees where he can’t see us.”
“We’re just here to take a look around.” Ramos shut the engine and pulled a compact pair of binoculars from the armrest compartment. “SWAT’s gonna do the heavy lifting of flushing the jackass out.”
“I got that,” Vail said. “But I think we should pull back.”
Ramos frowned and squinted, as if to say Vail was speaking nonsense. “I think we’re good right here. We’re sixty or seventy yards away. Safe distance.”
“How do you define ‘safe’?”
“That trailer bugs me.”
“Did you hear me?”
He peered into the woods. “I heard you. But I’m driving. And it’s my truck. My call.”
“We’ve got a guy who’s already tried to kill us with an automatic weapon. If he’s got an assault rifle—”
“He doesn’t. He left it at that house in Lake Ridge, remember? Shit, after all the ammo he blew through, he may be out of that, too.”
“How can you be sure?”
“How can you be sure of anything in life?”
How did this turn into a philosophical discussion?
“We don’t even know if he’s here.” Ramos popped open his door. “Let’s go.”
“Go?”
“Take a look around. Those are our orders.” Ramos studied her face. “You can wait here if you want.” He brought the binoculars to his eyes. “I was expecting a small, you know, mobile home. That people live in. What do you think?”
“Tactical challenge, for sure. No windows, no idea what’s inside. Who’s inside. Harder to breach.”
“The blindness works both ways,” he said. “Assuming Gaines’s here, he can’t see us, either.”
“Good point.”
He pushed open his door. “I’m gonna take a look around. If he’s here and watching, at this distance, I won’t pose much of a threat.”
“I think we should pull back or wait for SWAT.”
“I heard you the first two times.” He dropped a leg out and slid his ass off the seat. “So wait.”
Ramos closed his door and passed in front of the SUV.
Shit. I feel like a goddamn coward.
He continued another ten feet when Vail cursed under her breath and joined Ramos as he trudged through the frozen snow and mud.
“Thanks for having my back. I knew you’d come around.”
“You did.”
“I can tell what you’re made of. You wouldn’t leave a teammate to do the dirty work while you cower in the safety of a car.”
“I wasn’t cowering. I just don’t have a death wish.”
“I don’t think anyone’s inside,” he said, ignoring her comment. “Why live in a rectangular metal box when there’s a cabin with all the comforts of home a few yards away? That trailer could just be storage.” He handed her the binoculars.
Vail surveyed the structure. “Don’t think so. Look at the electrical lines that run into it. Thick cables. More than you’d need to light up a storage room.”
He glanced over his shoulder at her. “Listen to you, Ms. Electrician. Do you actually know what you’re talking about?”
“No. But it sounded good, didn’t it? If you really want to know, the satellite dish on top is what tipped me off.”
Ramos squinted into the distance and said, “Oh.”
“Not ‘oh.’ Uh-oh. There are cameras.” Keeping the binoculars against her face, Vail pointed. “One o’clock and eleven o’clock. More toward the back. He might be watching us right now. I’m not getting a good feeling about this.”
She handed him the glasses and he slowed as he studied the trailer.
Vail stopped suddenly and grabbed Ramos’s arm. “Hang on.” She crouched and gestured at something. “Trip wire.”
Ramos growled. “Sonofabitch.”
Is he watching us? Vail rose up. “I think we should get back to the truck.”
“We’re not a threat, especially if he’s heavily armed. What are two cops gonna do with pistols?”
“I thought you were sure he didn’t have any more assault rifles.”
“I said we can’t be sure of anything.” He shoved the binoculars against her shoulder. “We keep our distance, we’ll be fine.”
She took another look. As she let her gaze roam over its metal skin, she saw cutouts, narrow slots, almost like gun turrets—
Vail pulled the glasses away from her face. “I’m going back.” The crunch of tires on the frozen ground drew her attention. She turned to see Hurdle’s SUV pulling to a stop. Walters, Tarkoff, and Morrison were visible in the passenger and rear seats.
As she continued on to Ramos’s car, she saw another booby trap a few feet to her left. She stopped and turned toward Hurdle, who was getting out of
his truck.
“Hold it!” she said. “Place is rigged. Trip wires. Could be mines.”
Hurdle froze in mid-step, his boot hovering above the hard-packed terrain. “You shitting me?”
“What do we do now?” Walters asked.
“Retreat,” Vail said, “a hundred yards back down the road.”
“And wait for SWAT,” Hurdle said. “Back in the truck—now.”
That seemed like a sound plan.
Until automatic gunfire erupted.
Rounds struck the ground by Vail’s feet and the tree trunks nearest her head. Lacking any cover, she and Ramos fled back toward his car.
Holy Jesus. What a choice. Do I want to get shot or do I want to step on an IED?
They made it back to the Toyota, its sides and windshield now pocked with large holes.
“Sonofabitch!” Ramos said as they got into the truck. “I’m still making payments!”
“Keep your head down,” Vail said over the cacophony of gunfire. “Stay behind the engine block.”
“And pray he doesn’t hit the fuel line.”
“I’d pray that none of the rounds hits us. Much more likely scenario.”
“Aren’t you the optimist,” Ramos said, struggling to stay low.
Vail was doing the same. She had twisted her body and was now facing the back of the Toyota, kneeling on the floor, elbows on the seat. “You have the cell for the SWAT commander? We’ve gotta warn them they could be driving into a minefield.”
“Text Hurdle, he might have a way of contacting them.”
She did just that and got an immediate reply:
already done
Two minutes later, the armored SWAT truck slowly crested the hill and pulled in well behind Hurdle’s SUV. They activated the PA system and directed Booker Gaines to throw down his weapon and come out with his hands on his head.
Gaines responded by treating the SWAT vehicle to the same bodywork that Ramos’s Toyota received—but with a far different result. Designed to stop .50-caliber ball ammo, the Bearcat’s half-inch steel shell and four-layer bulletproof glass absorbed the pounding well.
A moment later, the SWAT commander ordered them forward. They did not stop in front of the trailer, however. With a sniper in the Bearcat’s turret and officers at the ready in the gun ports on its sides, they deployed the ram at the front of the Bearcat and punctured the short end of the cargo container, ripping off the metal siding as if it were the lid of a tin can.
Now exposed, Booker Gaines was standing there, assault rifle tucked against his shoulder, looking very much like a man at a crossroads in his life: challenge the SWAT team, which had just proven it was not going to be bullied, or surrender and spend arguably the best remaining years of his life behind bars.
He moved left and another man was visible in the dust fog: Vail believed it to be Scott MacFarlane.
The officers launched penetrating rounds of CS gas, a riot control agent that causes a burning irritation of the eyes, nose, and throat. They tore into the open end of the barricade, a dense, smoky haze filling the interior.
Vail counted the seconds, expecting to see Gaines and MacFarlane driven from the trailer, hands interlinked behind their necks. Instead, they ran forward in tandem, through the gaseous cloud, weapons blazing.
That was the last action the men took, as two SWAT officers opened fire.
“WAIT HERE,” the SWAT commander said as they got back in the Bearcat and then drove up to the log cabin.
“Maybe you should run after the truck,” Vail said to Ramos. “Through the minefield. Seems like your kind of gig.”
He looked at her but did not reply.
“You could’ve gotten us killed.”
“You didn’t have to follow me,” Ramos said. “You made your choice.”
“You made it an impossible choice. I couldn’t let you go alone. Anything happened, I would’ve had a really tough time living with myself.”
“Whatever. Rationalize it any way you want.”
“You know what, Ramos? You really disappoint me. Partner with someone else.” Vail walked away and joined Hurdle behind his SUV.
“Everything okay?”
Vail kept her gaze focused on the Bearcat as it pulled up in front of its target. “Everything’s great.”
“Didn’t look like it. You and Ram—”
“I said everything’s great. We just had a disagreement.”
“Fire!” Tarkoff started toward the open end of the trailer—then stopped, no doubt remembering the potential mines. “Anyone got an extinguisher?”
Vail pulled out her phone. “Calling it in. Doubt FD will get here before the blaze takes out everything in that sardine can. But they can prevent it from spreading to the forest.”
“The trees and flora are draped in snow and ice,” Hurdle said. “I don’t think there’s much of a risk.”
She reported their location and then watched as SWAT encircled the cabin.
“You think Gaines or MacFarlane set that fire?” Morrison asked.
“Not necessarily. It can happen from SWAT’s gas canisters.” As she started to reholster her phone, it buzzed in her hand. A red alarm icon was blinking, informing her that Jasmine’s tracker was back online.
She opened the app and a moment later, a string of GPS coordinates appeared: Jasmine’s current location. That doesn’t mean she’s safe, just that the unit’s working and transmitting a signal.
She thought of updating Hurdle on Underwood, but the sounds of gunfire snatched her attention. Her head snapped up and she saw the windows of the cabin shatter, gas filling what she figured was the main room.
The officers entered and seconds later Hurdle’s phone rang.
“All clear,” he said. “Let’s go. We’ll follow the tire tracks of the Bearcat to avoid any trip wires or mines.”
Vail tapped the numbers and walked toward the cabin while the map loaded with a beeping dot. She zoomed in and the device’s location came into focus.
I know that address. Is she crazy?
“I need your car,” Vail yelled to Hurdle.
He turned and stopped, hesitating a second, then tossed her the keys. They landed at her feet and she retraced her steps to the SUV, revved the engine and made a tight circle, headed down the hill.
As Vail drove faster than she should have been going, bumping violently on the potholed road, one thought kept running through her mind:
What the hell is going on?
53
Vail waited until she reached the main road, which was smooth and flat. She took a second to get her bearings, then dialed Curtis. He did not pick up.
What is it these days? No one answers his phone?
“Meet me at Jasmine’s house,” she said to the voice mail. “We might have a problem. I mean, another problem.”
Vail arrived in Bethesda at 4:35 PM, the clouded sky resembling a deep bruise: charcoal with hues of blue-gray and swirls of black.
She pulled to the curb and walked up to the front door.
The tracker had said that Jasmine was at home—but there’s no way she would go there because of the risk involved. If there was one place her father would know to look for her, it was there. Jasmine knew that. Had she gone there to pick up some clothing? An ATM card? Risky, but maybe she thought she could tell if he was surveilling the place, waiting for her. That was something Jasmine would do—her enormous sense of self-confidence, however misguided, often led her to believe that she could adequately assess dangers as well as a trained law enforcement officer could.
Or perhaps she thought that Marcks had already determined she was not living there and would not take a chance on returning. There would be no need for him to watch her house—in which case it would be safe for her to go there. Still, it was a gamble, one that Jasmine had been careful t
o avoid.
Vail knocked. Waited. Nothing.
For that matter, Jasmine’s car was not out front. In the garage?
Vail tried the doorknob. Locked. She pulled out her phone and called the home line—heard it ring in the kitchen—but it went to voice mail. Opened the Find/Me app and waited for it to obtain the signal. But the spinning dial kept rotating. She waited fifteen seconds, then twenty.
What am I going to do, stand here like a fool? She went around to the back and tried the knob but had the same result. Kick it in? She checked the app one more time but that wheel, or whatever it was, was still spinning.
Before she could talk herself out of it, she lifted her leg and struck the jamb squarely with her boot. A second later she was standing inside the house.
“Jas! It’s Karen. Where are you?”
No response. In fact, there were no lights on, and with the setting sun, it was dark. She flicked on a lamp and glanced around, then walked to the foot of the staircase. “Jasmine!”
Vail ascended the steps, did a search of the second floor and found nothing: no Jasmine and nothing out of order. The downstairs looked much as she remembered the last time she was there.
She started for the garage when she saw the basement door. She pulled it open, turned on the light, and descended. “Hey, Jas, you down here?”
It was a finished room, fairly basic with a tile floor and a large area rug. An old sofa bed, washer and dryer. And no one down there. “C’mon, Jasmine,” she said under her breath. “I know you were here.”
As she turned to leave, a dog barked.
Jasmine doesn’t have a dog. After what her father did to her stuffed animal, she would never have a pet of any kind, especially a dog.
Where is it?
Vail whistled. It barked again, a deep baritone. It’s got some size to it.
“Hey guy. Where are you?”
More barking.
Vail moved closer to the far wall, put her ear to it, and listened. Called him again. “How’s my doggy doing?”
Crying. Friendly, excited growling.
Vail looked at the paneling and ran a finger over one of the seams. And then she saw it, a break, from floor to ceiling. She had some experience with these. After pulling out her handcuff key, she dug it into the ridge and pried it open. There was a concealed door—with a room beyond it.
The Darkness of Evil Page 31
