Shaw nodded. “Yeah.”
The woman on the floor started to weep.
“And get her,” Shaw pointed to Emma, “out of my sight.”
“You want me to put her in the bullpen?” Carl asked.
Shaw shook his head. “She doesn’t deserve it. Take her to the root cellar.”
Carl waved his gun and Emma rose. He grabbed her by the arm and pulled her past the staring women. They walked through a hallway to a mudroom with an exit door to the backyard. Opposite that door was another, which Carl opened. He flicked a light switch on the wall and Emma saw a long narrow stairway and smelled the damp, musty air that she associated with a basement.
“Move,” Carl said.
“What’s the bullpen?” Emma asked.
“Where the girls are kept before they marry Shaw.”
“You mean before Shaw rapes them,” Emma said flatly.
Carl shoved her, and Emma grabbed the handrail. She started down. Her running shoes were quiet, but she heard Carl’s boot heels on the wooden steps behind her. She reached the cement floor and moved into the basement.
Exposed conduit pipe and metal ventilation shafts ran across the ceiling, and a single bulb in a white receptacle provided the only illumination. The dank air and smell of dust and cement was strong. To Emma’s left was a sturdy wooden door secured with a padlock, and to the right as you faced the door a collection of gardening tools leaned against the wall; a heavy rake, long-handled shears, and a push broom. Carl walked over to the wooden door, removed a set of keys from his pocket and applied one to the padlock.
It swung open on creaking hinges, revealing a small room, perhaps eight by eight, with a cement floor and matching walls. The single bulb threw a fitful glow into it. A small bundle in the corner that looked like discarded clothing lay against the far wall. As Emma watched, it twitched, then moved, and formed into shape of a man. He rolled over, and in the wan light she saw his face. It was Sebastian Ryan.
Carl shoved her and she stumbled inside. Ryan met her gaze, and the hope that washed across his face was the last thing imprinted in her mind before the door slammed shut behind her and they were plunged into darkness.
“SUMNER, YOUR BUDDY Banner’s on the phone.” Steinberg handed a cell phone to Sumner, who was leaning against an FBI issue black sedan and watching the compound through his binoculars.
“I hope you have good news for me,” Sumner said, “because this situation is starting to take on a Jim Jones quality that I don’t like.”
“We’ve located Ryan,” Banner replied. “The app was broadcasting after all, and the last known location was from coordinates that matched the compound’s. It also seems that someone’s been accessing the phone for a while. There was a request from law enforcement in Utah—my contact can’t get me any more specifics—to track him some weeks ago. It matched the period that Caldridge and Ryan were at Vanderlock’s. It explains how they were followed there.”
“What about Caldridge?” Sumner directed his attention to Consalvo as he spoke. Shaw’s fifteen minutes had expired ten minutes ago, and the FBI team leader was conferring with the negotiator about the next step.
“She gave her GPS watch to the Yoder girl,” Banner said. “I have no idea where she is, but Yoder said that the last she’d seen her, Caldridge was on the run from a posse. And I use that term advisedly. She actually said posse.”
Sumner gave a small smile. “We’re not in D.C.”
“That much is clear. You should know that the FBI’s been receiving tips on and off for years, but the tipsters were universally unwilling to sign any real complaint or testify in court. Apparently, Shaw’s also managed to get the local law enforcement to keep most of the complaints from ever reaching them, so there was never much to act on. But now someone called the FBI and was willing to sign a complaint. It seems the local population is finally done protecting him.”
“My concern,” Sumner said, “is that they’ve caught Caldridge and she’s being kept under wraps. She knew that I was an hour away, and if she was still free I think she’d be here.” He watched as Consalvo finished his conversation with the negotiator and started back toward the sedan. “I’ll call you back. The lead agent is on his way over.”
“Call me with any developments. I’ve got some operatives nearby I can send if you need backup, but I hate to step on an FBI mission. If you do decide to use them, I’d appreciate you doing it without FBI input.”
“Got it. I’m out,” Sumner said just as Consalvo reached him.
“Negotiator is going to try to open a dialogue,” Consalvo said. “We’ve been calling the house, but no one is answering, so we’ll use the bullhorn. Any news from Banner?”
Sumner gave him a short version of the conversation.
“You think Ryan’s alive?”
Sumner shrugged. “Hard to say. I’m not too hopeful, because if he was, why haven’t they made a ransom demand?” He raised the binoculars and scanned the compound. He saw a boy, about ten years old, walking slowly toward a gate that opened out onto the back. Strapped to his body was a crude device. Sumner noted the electric wires that ran to a bundle of some sort. “You’ve got trouble,” he told Consalvo. “Look.” He handed the other man the binoculars.
“Oh shit, is that an IED?” Consalvo sounded shocked.
“Looks that way.”
Before Consalvo responded, his cell phone began ringing. He stared at the screen. “It’s Shaw,” he told Sumner, and clicked on a separate walkie-talkie. “Steinberg, I got Shaw calling through. Get over here and bring Pringles.” Then Consalvo answered the phone.
“Agent Consalvo here,” he said. Sumner watched. Consalvo remained silent while Shaw spoke, then told the cult leader: “Tell that boy to return to the house and remove the explosive. Using an innocent child isn’t going to advance your case. You turn yourself in voluntarily and I’m sure the judge will take your cooperation into account, but anything happens to the child, and then it’s capital murder. You don’t want that.” Consalvo listened, then said, “I don’t think—”
He stopped abruptly and looked at Sumner. “Damn, he hung up. He wants a helicopter escort to the Canadian border and assurances that when he leaves the chopper he won’t be followed.”
“Can you assure that?”
“Not a chance,” Consalvo said. “Steinberg!” he yelled.
Steinberg jogged up to them.
“Shaw says we don’t get the chopper here in thirty minutes he’ll trigger the IED and kill the boy. Find a chopper ASAP and get the governor on the line. Tell him this thing is heading south fast.”
Sumner felt the gorge rise in his throat. The boy was standing at the gate’s edge but remained inside the compound. When he glanced at him through the binoculars, he could see tears running down his face.
“We have to get inside that compound,” he said. “Undercover. And then we have to kill Shaw quietly before he can trigger the IED. You got any SEAL teams that can handle that?”
Consalvo nodded. “I’m pretty sure we do, but they won’t get here in time. The real question is how to get close without being detected.”
“Cut the electric,” Sumner said. “If that IED can be triggered by a wireless device, it should kill the router. Might buy you some time.”
“Might also kill the phones, though,” Steinberg said. “We’re calling him on a landline. Most now require electricity to work.”
“We have his cell number?” Consalvo asked.
Steinberg shook his head. “Nothing on record.”
“You should kill the cell signal anyhow,” Sumner said, “because the explosive may be using a cell phone as a detonator. It’s okay, you can still use the bullhorn. But if cutting the electric will stop the trigger signal, I think it’s the best thing to do right now.”
Consalvo nodded. “Call the electric company to kill the lights,” he told Steinberg, “and ask the phone company if they can block transmission to the nearest towers.”
Sumner ste
pped to the side and dialed Banner.
“What do you need?” Banner said without preamble.
“A helicopter,” Sumner replied.
“RYAN, YOU THERE?” Emma said. She crouched down and started moving toward where she’d seen him. Before he could answer, she made contact with his arm, and she ran her hand down to his wrist until she felt his fingers close around hers.
“You came for me.” Ryan’s voice was hoarse, whether from emotion or disuse, Emma wasn’t sure.
“You left me ten thousand dollars, why wouldn’t I?” She kept her tone light, but it was difficult because she was also doing her best to control a wave of emotion.
“Sorry for that. It’s not enough. I don’t think I properly calculated the risk.”
That comment, so Ryanlike, made her smile.
“We need to get out of here fast. The FBI has surrounded the building, and Shaw’s not giving up.” She gave him a rundown of the situation, then asked, “What’s the schedule? Do they let you out to use the bathroom? When do you eat?”
“A woman comes with food in the morning and after that I’m allowed fifteen minutes to use the facilities.”
“Does she come alone?” Emma asked. From what she’d seen of the women in the compound, they were all too weak to fight for themselves. She figured she could jump whoever came with the food and gain her freedom that way.
“No. She’s always escorted by Carl or another one named Johnson.”
That wasn’t good. Emma discarded the idea of jumping the woman. They’d have to find a way to overpower the guard.
“I’ve seen enough of Carl to tell that he’s pretty tough,” she said, “but not too much of Johnson. Is he stupid?”
“Carl’s smarter, if that’s what you’re asking, but Johnson is a real country boy. What he lacks in brains he makes up in brawn. I don’t think either would be easy to overcome, if that’s what you’re thinking. Besides, they’re always armed.”
The air in the room was close, and Emma fought down a sneeze. It seemed as though it was growing hotter, but perhaps it was just her imagination.
“Does it feel like it’s getting hotter in here?”
“Yes. That door is solid and there’s no crack underneath it to get air. I think they altered an old root cellar to make this prison cell. It warms up a lot each day just from my body heat alone, and now with yours added to it, it’s going to become stifling. The only relief is when they open the door to bring the food.”
The rising heat worried Emma, as did the lack of ventilation. She told Ryan about the FBI’s presence and Shaw’s armed response.
“If they start shooting at each other anything could happen,” Emma said.
“My biggest fear is fire. If something goes up in flames, we’re not going to make it out of here. The smoke will kill us long before the flames get to us,” Ryan said.
Through the wood Emma heard the faint sound of boot heels on the plank stairs.
“They’re coming,” she said. “Get on either side of the door. Fast.”
“Don’t do anything rash. It’s too risky with them having a gun.”
“I agree, but if there’s any opportunity at all I’m going to take it. And if not, then I’ll talk him into letting me see Shaw.”
Emma worked her way to the entrance by holding her hand out in front of her and stopping when she made contact. Ryan bumped into her and muttered “Sorry” before taking up a position on the other side. She placed her back against the wall next to the opening and listened as the padlock rattled. The door creaked open and the pale light from the bulb illuminated the interior once again.
The woman with the angelic face, which Emma now thought of as evil, stood in the entrance, holding a small tray. Four feet behind her stood Carl with a gun in his hand.
“Give them the food and get out,” Carl said. The woman took two steps into the room and the light went dark.
“What the hell?” Carl said as the woman gasped.
Emma slid past the frame, moved left and dropped to a crouch. She knocked into the rake collection and a hard wooden handle hammered her on the side of her head. She pushed it away and it clattered onto the cement floor. She grabbed the portion of it she could, but in the pitch-black was unable to determine its dimensions.
“I’ll shoot you!” Carl screamed in the enclosed basement.
Emma grasped the handle, picked up the rake and swung blindly in the direction of the voice. It connected with Carl’s leg with a satisfying smack and the handle vibrated with the force of the blow. He screamed again, this time incoherently, and Emma hauled the rake back for a second swing. This time she hit something softer, perhaps his torso, and a gunshot echoed in the enclosed space. She used the muzzle flash to aim her next hit and felt the prongs of the metal rake dig deep into soft tissue. Carl groaned and was silent.
Using the handle of the rake as a guide, she scuttled up next to him, found his head at the working end and moved her fingers down. A warm substance covered his face and she followed the prong of the rake until she reached slimy contact with his eye socket. The rake had removed the eyeball. Carl didn’t move.
“Ryan, you all right?” Emma said.
“I’m at the stairs,” Ryan said. From above came the pounding of feet.
“They heard the shot.” She ran her hands along Carl’s right arm, stopping when she felt the wrist. He still clutched the gun. She pulled it free of his fingers and stood up. The basement was quiet, and she paused, trying to discern where the woman was, but could hear nothing over the thudding noises coming from above. In her mind’s eye, Emma visualized the basement and headed toward the stairs. She bumped into Ryan at the bottom.
“I have Carl’s gun,” she told him.
The door at the top of the stairs opened, sending a shaft of daylight into the basement. A man stood in the entrance. Emma shot him and he crumpled.
“Get behind me, I’m heading up,” she said, then started climbing the narrow staircase with Ryan behind her.
Reaching the top, she paused. Several voices clamored in the kitchen. Someone said “Shh!” and the room fell silent. Then she heard, next to the entrance, a soft inhalation and exhalation in a rapid rhythm. Presuming he had his back pressed against the wall and was waiting to pick them off as they emerged from the stairwell, Emma reached behind her and gave Ryan the signal to wait, and then waved him farther away. He nodded and retreated a step.
She checked the weapon in her hand. It was a Beretta pistol. She turned, taking care to move slowly in order to keep the tread beneath her feet from creaking. She put the gun’s muzzle against the drywall, hoping the spot she’d chosen wasn’t directly behind a stud, and fired.
Drywall projectile bits sprayed into the air and a man shrieked. She heard an uneven series of steps as he lurched away, turned to Ryan to tell him to follow her and saw the woman directly behind him. She held the heavy bush pruning shears in her hands and swung the pointed end at his head. Emma straight-armed Ryan against the stairwell wall and hammered her foot into the woman’s sternum, knocking her off balance. The woman tumbled down the stairs on her spine and stopped when her head hit the cement floor.
Emma didn’t stay to see if she was alive, instead plunging through the doorway into the attached mudroom.
Johnson turned into the hall holding a shotgun, took one look at her and jerked back into an adjoining room. Emma shot in his direction, which did nothing more than take out a window at the end of the hall.
She didn’t see the hit coming, only felt the pain explode in her head as something metallic and heavy knocked her to her knees. She started to crawl away but winced at the repeated blows that rained down on her back and shoulder blades.
When the pummeling stopped, it was replaced by the tip of a rifle muzzle, and she heard Shaw say, “Get up and walk to the back door. You’re going to be my second human sacrifice.”
THE HELICOPTER HOVERED over the nearby butte, making a massive racket as it started its descent. Consalvo, Ste
inberg, and Sumner stood nearby and watched it maneuver itself onto a clear area. It was a Bell, not fancy and not armored. It settled onto the ground and the pilot cut the engines. Sumner breathed a sigh of relief at the reprieve from the racket.
The pilot leaped out and jogged, with his head down, toward them. It wasn’t until he had cleared the rotors that he straightened and Sumner got a good look at him.
Wilson Vanderlock slowed to a loose-limbed walk. When he reached the three he locked onto Sumner.
“Where is she?” he said.
Sumner waved a hand at the compound. “In there, I think.”
Vanderlock took in the gathered and cordoned off FBI official vehicles and the tactical van with multiple antennas.
“I heard that there’s a boy with a bomb attached to his body. He still okay?”
Sumner nodded. “For the moment.”
Consalvo stepped forward. “I’m Agent Consalvo and this is Agent Steinberg. I understand that you were sent by Mr. Banner?”
Vanderlock reached out and shook the men’s hands. “Yes.”
“I heard Banner is former military. Are you?”
Vanderlock shook his head. “I work freelance. For Banner and others,” he said.
Consalvo grunted and gave the Bell a hard look. “You willing to fly that thing to Canada with a maniac onboard?”
Vanderlock nodded. “If it’s required to save the boy, absolutely.”
“Good answer. I think I’m going to like you, despite the hair.”
Vanderlock’s shoulder length hair was tied in a ponytail. This time Vanderlock smiled outright. “Why thank you, sir.”
Consalvo gave him a quelling glance and waved at the compound. “Shaw wants to board it in the backyard. Sumner tells me that patch is big enough to land the machine. You agree?”
Vanderlock squinted at the compound. Steinberg walked up and handed him some binoculars. Vanderlock checked out the area and handed them back.
“Piece of cake,” he said.
“Then let’s get to it. Give me five minutes. I’m going to give Shaw a chance to rethink his position. “
Consalvo waved at Steinberg and headed to the tactical van. Vanderlock walked up to Sumner.
Run: An Emma Caldridge Novella: The Final Episode Page 3
