Mighty and Strong (The Righteous)

by Michael Wallace

  “Okay, but tell me something. What happens when they solve the crime? If it turns out Brother Timothy had nothing to do with it, can we come back?”

  “Whatever for? We were making a good life in Salt Lake.”

  “No, Jacob. Really, we weren't. We were holding on. We were surviving. We weren't living.”

  “As soon as we figure out this garbage with the Attorney General and I get my job back, get a couple of paychecks banked—”

  “I'm not talking about money, I'm talking about everything else. About walking into the grocery store and having people stare, about needing help and not having a single person to call. I used to dream about getting out of the desert and going to live with real people, living real lives.” She shook her head. “It's a different kind of desert in the city. People are like—I don't know—like tumbleweeds blowing down the street. Every once in a while they pile up together, but then the wind comes and they're all gone. Does that make any sense at all?”

  “Yes.”

  She grabbed his hand, so hard it almost hurt. “I want to live where I'm nurtured and supported. Where people put down roots.”

  “I hear what you're saying, I really do.”

  “Do you? Do you really? Zarahemla is different. People care. They're good people and they want us here.”

  “But I don't want to come back. I don't want what they're offering, and I can't give them what they're asking.”

  “Is this nothing more than you don't want to marry Devorah?”

  “No, it's not.”

  “But you don't, do you? You don't want to marry her. I knew it.”

  “Fernie, you must be the only woman who accuses her husband of staying faithful behind her back.”

  “I want to follow the will of the Lord, is that so bad?”

  “So do I. And as soon as he tells me personally, I'll be sure to do it.”

  “Oh, Jacob. Do you always have to be so glib?” She sighed. “Never mind, I'm too tired to argue. Let's make sure we're ready when Sister Miriam comes.”

  #

  The helicopters lifted into the sky. Krantz's stomach lurched. Even with headphones, it was loud. The thumping rotors throbbed through his body.

  “Birds are in the air,” he said into his headset. “Drop on schedule.”

  The response crackled in his headphones. “Perimeter team on alert.”

  It was dark in the helicopter and the others weren't moving or making a sound, but he could sense their presence around the interior. They would be running through the playbook, like football players after the snap.

  As they dropped into the courtyard, each member would cover his or her Area of Responsibilities. This ensured full coverage, kept them from tripping over each other, and enabled members to react to threats as they appeared.

  Krantz heard chatter from the pilots up front, two men from the FBI's Tactical Helicopter Unit. They were flying dark, so they kept direct communication with the ground and with the second black hawk, coming in behind. Once over the compound they would hover over their respective targets while the two teams fast-roped into the two preselected courtyards.

  He double-checked his equipment, his M-5 submachine gun, the stun grenades at his belt, extra ammo, night-vision goggles. Why was it taking so long? In that thin moment, when the battle was inevitable, but hadn't yet arrived, time seemed to slow. His thoughts raced, tried to imagine every contingency.

  Impossible. Until the action started, until guns fired or didn't fire, until the enemy fled or attacked, until the play worked, or the opposing defensive tackle burst through your offensive line and slammed your quarterback to the ground, there were only guesses. It drove him crazy to sit there, thinking.

  And so he checked equipment. And checked again.

  The helicopters swooped in at 150 miles per hour and within minutes they'd covered the distance from their base to the compound. Krantz's harness tightened as the birds slowed. A red light blinked overhead.

  “Bird One in position,” he said into his headset.

  “Bird Two in position,” came Chambers's voice in the headphones.

  He pulled on night-vision goggles. From around him came the sound of harnesses unbuckling. Then, in the red light, Krantz saw the hoist pole thrust the rope into the darkness. It was braided, almost 40 centimeters thick to keep from getting whipped around in the rotor wash.

  He stepped to the open door. He couldn't see the ground. He clipped his belt harness to the rope, then grabbed the first figure-eight descender—meant to slow him from absolute freefall—and leaned his weight onto the rope. He gripped it with his gloved hands, his knee pads, and his boots. Trusting your weight to the rope that first moment was the hardest. After that, instincts kicked in.

  Krantz dropped into the compound.

  Chapter Twenty-six:

  Sister Miriam didn't bother to knock. She pushed open the unlocked door and stepped into the room, then pulled it shut behind her.

  Jacob and Fernie were awake. He sat on the bed, turning over details of Emma's murder in his head. One person or two? A crime of jealousy, anger? Did it have anything to do with her interest in Jacob? Meanwhile, Fernie sat at the table, reading her Book of Mormon by the half-dimmed lamp light. She'd had the book open to the same page for fifteen minutes and was visibly struggling to maintain attention. As soon as Miriam entered, she sprang to her feet.

  “Ready?” Miriam asked.

  Fernie shoved her book into the bag she'd brought to the compound. She swung the strap over her shoulder, made her way to the baby, wrapped him in his blanket, and lifted him gently from his bedding. Nephi stirred, but didn't wake.

  Jacob picked up Daniel, who muttered something, opened his eyes, then fell back asleep against Jacob's shoulder.

  He turned to Miriam. “Can you get Leah?”

  “Hate to have my hands full, but I guess there's no other choice.”

  “Anyone catches us, it won't matter if our hands are full or not,” Fernie said. “Unless one of you has come up with a good story to explain all this.”

  “Explain why we're sneaking out in the middle of the night?” Jacob asked. “Uhm, the devil made us do it?”

  “Guess we can always finger you,” Miriam said. “Say that you made us do it.”

  “Right, we're just women,” Fernie said. “How could we tell you no?”

  “So yeah,” Jacob said, “the devil made you do it.”

  Miriam had their daughter now. They were three for three on sleeping children. Thank goodness for small miracles. “You ready?” she asked. “Good, then one final thing and we go. I'm in charge. Sorry about the priesthood and all, but it's time to trust the FBI training.”

  “So it's Agent Kite again, is it?” he asked.

  “Yes. For the moment.”

  “You got it,” Jacob said.

  They slipped into the arcade outside their room. A sharp wind blew down from the hills. As it hit the interior it thrumbed like the deepest string on a bass guitar. Moonlight cast the courtyard in shadows.

  Miriam led the way. At first they moved deeper into the compound, following the arcades, beneath each archway and into the subsequent courtyard. Daniel stirred and Jacob wrapped the blanket over his head, slowed to let him settle down. His arms were already complaining, but he didn't dare shift Daniel's head to his other shoulder.

  The two women carrying the other children waited at the next archway until he caught up. He started to continue through, but Miriam blocked his way with her shoulder.

  “Listen,” she whispered.

  At first he didn't hear it, just the wind, which was louder, even more resonant here, beneath the archway. That thrumming, almost a throb. Rhythmic. Louder, still.

  And then the sound came into focus. It wasn't the wind, and there was a double thump that had confused him at first.

  “What is that?” Fernie asked. “A helicopter?”

  “Two helicopters,” Miriam said.

  “What's happening?” he asked.

&n
bsp; “Shhh, listen.”

  One in front, the other behind. And then the thumping sound lifted up and away, retreated to the south.

  “FBI,” Miriam said. “They're raiding Zarahemla.”

  “Are you sure?” Jacob asked.

  “Hostage rescue team. The helicopters dropped them into the compound. They'll have agents around the perimeter. Nobody will get in or out.”

  It should have been a good thing. Krantz and Fayer must be behind this and all they had to do was hole up and wait to be rescued.

  Sure, if they'd stayed in their rooms, instead of running around in the dark where there were armed agents with fingers on triggers. They'd already cut halfway through Zarahemla, and from the sound of that helicopter to their rear, there would be FBI Agents between here and there. Agents expecting a violent response to their penetration into the compound. Stumbling into them in the dark would be extremely dangerous.

  “We've got to stay still,” Jacob said. “Let them find us.”

  “Yes,” Miriam said, “And when they find us, don't everyone start shouting at once. Stay still and let me do the talking.”

  The silence lasted maybe five seconds longer and a shout came from the direction they'd come. A woman screamed.

  And then a man rushed through the arcade. He nearly collided with the group. He started flailing, crying out. Jacob let go of Daniel with one hand and grabbed the man's shoulder and spun him around. “Shut up. You're okay, calm down.”

  “It's the army. Wake everyone! They're going to kill us all! Get the guns, we've got to protect the women and children. Spread the word.”

  “Don't be an idiot, we can't fight them. I don't know what they want, but—”

  Jacob tried to hold the man, but he only had one free hand. The man pulled free with a violent jerk. “The army! Defend yourselves!” He ran off into the night, still shouting.

  “Oh, no,” Jacob said.

  Nephi picked that moment to wake up. First, movement in Fernie's arms, then an aborted fuss, more movements. The baby let out a loud wail.

  And then came a gunshot.

  #

  The operation went perfectly at first.

  Krantz let his legs buckle under him as he hit, then emerged in a crouch. He unclipped himself, moved to his AOR, and dropped to a knee with the M-5 at his shoulder.

  Night vision lit the courtyard in pale green. Still hard to see into the deeper shadows beneath the archways, but he saw no movement, except above and to his rear. This came from the other members of his team, dropping in hard and fast. A moment later and they were around him, fanning through the courtyard to take defensive positions.

  The helicopter pulled away. Its thump receded. The choppers would circle the compound at a distance, ready to make a landing in one of the courtyards to make a rescue.

  Krantz lift his hand and gestured for the others.

  They formed behind him in snake position. One high, one low, then high again. Alternating at 10:00 and 2:00 with their guns. It gave maximum coverage while presenting a minimum profile for enemies. At the rear, the last guy faced backwards and swung from right to left, turret-style.

  He had studied the map again and again until it was seared into memory. Start at the outside, sweep through the rooms, looking for Fayer. Meanwhile, Chambers would take the prophet prisoner, following their modified plan. The perimeter team would secure the compound from anyone trying to escape.

  They reached the first rooms in the empty, half-built addition. No people, just shovels, stacks of adobe bricks, bags of mortar, and other construction debris. One room after another proved empty. They team moved silently.

  Thirty seconds passed, then a minute. No sound but the wind.

  With every silent second, the chance of success grew. A moment for the assault team to divide the compound, to secure passageways, the weapons cache, isolate the church leaders.

  Chambers's voice came through his ear bud. “We're in. Main courtyard. Empty.” He sounded calm. Then silence again.

  The knot of anticipation rose. They reached the first occupied room, entered silently, swept flashlights across the bed and the open closet. Two young boys, sleeping. They didn't wake. Krantz retreated and passed to the next room.

  And then a single shot. Not here, further into the compound. It wasn't one of the team's guns, but like a whip-crack, probably a deer rifle.

  Immediately, the others stopped, fanned into cones of control again, with guns bristling in all directions. Raised vegetable gardens filled this courtyard between the arcades and the team took position behind stacked railroad ties.

  A burst of gunfire came from the same direction. It was high, staccato, the unmistakable sound of an MP-5 submachine gun. One of the weapons carried by the assault team. The roar of a shotgun; that could have been either side.

  Krantz got on the radio. “Chambers, dammit, what the hell is going on?”

  His voice came through, confused among the shouts and breaking off. “Can't see—get down! That one! Watch him!” Then more garbled shouts, a woman screaming.

  Krantz felt a sick twisting in his gut.

  He had a vision of his agents, surrounded by frightened, angry cult members, shooting. An agent down. The other agents angry, screaming for the cult members to stand down. More shooting. Cult members in their armory, handing weapons to anyone old enough to carry one. The assault team was trained, armed, and not given to panic. But they didn't know the compound and they'd lost the initiative. One small step from that to full-blown massacre.

  Three shapes burst through the doorway on this side of the compound. A flash of light at their back, the bang of a concussion grenade.

  The agent at the front, a young, wiry kid named Garcia barked at the approaching people, “Get down! Now!”

  The three shapes didn't obey, but ducked from column to column in the arcade, toward the team.

  “Engage?” Garcia asked in a voice that sounded a full beat slower than the events unfolding around them.

  “No,” Krantz said in a sharp voice. “Hold.”

  Chambers's voice came through, shouting, “Man down. You there? I've got a situation. Repeat, man down.”

  A man was screaming from the next courtyard over. “The army!” His voice broke off. “. . .everyone awake!” Meanwhile, the three figures kept running toward them.

  Krantz had only seconds. Screw this up and someone would die. A woman and her children? Armed cult members? The three closed the gap.

  “Krantz?” Garcia asked. Urgency crept into his voice. “Engage?”

  Chapter Twenty-seven:

  After the man ran through the compound, screaming about invading troops, Jacob, Fernie, Sister Miriam and the kids stayed frozen in place. Their plan was to wait for rescue, but events were unfolding in a different direction.

  Gunshots ahead and behind. Jacob heard shouts, saw shapes moving in the courtyard in front of them. A flash of light from the roof, followed by bursts of return fire from the ground, the louder blast of a shotgun. Church members swarmed behind them, running from room to room. Two men with guns ordered a cluster of women and children to return to their quarters, then scrambled up a stairway that led to the roof.

  “Jacob, get us out of here,” Fernie said. The baby cried in her arms.

  “Back to your rooms,” Sister Miriam said. “We'll barricade the door.”

  “No,” he said. More gunfire. “Go forward. Listen, there was another team dropped in, remember? The other helicopter. They've got to be straight ahead, but they're not shooting. It will be safer.”

  “Safer, are you crazy?” Miriam said. “We'll be shot.”

  He made a quick decision. “Wait here. Do not move.”

  Daniel was awake in his arms, and he set the boy down, pushed him toward his mother. And then he entered the wide-open space in front of them. He raced around the edge of the courtyard, ducked behind columns of the arcade.

  A bundle of rags soaked in oil burned in the courtyard. It gave the air an acrid
tang. Firelight flashed from the roof. Gunfire returned in a chatter from the courtyard.

  Someone above had thrown the burning rags into the courtyard to light it and take away the advantage of the SWAT team below. Jacob could see the federal agents now. They crouched behind planters or pillars at the arcade edge. Three church members lay on their bellies on the ground, while someone cuffed their hands.

  “10 o'clock!” one of the agents shouted as he came through. Guns swung in his direction.

  “I'm unarmed!”

  “You!” someone snapped. “Hands up!”

  “It's me, Jacob Christianson.”

  “Now walk forward. Do not lower your arms. We will shoot.”

  He made it most of the way across when a rifle shot cracked off the wall. The agents lifted their weapons and returned fire. Jacob ducked his head and ran. He expected the hot stab of a bullet and was amazed when he reached the members of the SWAT team without getting shot.

  Rough hands grabbed him. “On your belly. Hands behind your head.”

  “Get him back here,” said a low, gravely voice. “No, let him go, he's good.”

  Jacob regained his hands and knees in the shelter of the corner, behind the planter. Something wet was on his hands and for a moment he thought he'd been shot after all, but it was just tomatoes. Bits of ripe tomato lay pulped around him.

  The man with the low voice was Agent Krantz. “Are you alone?”

  “I left the others back there. Agent Kite, together with my wife and kids. Can you get them out?”

  A curt nod. Krantz gave orders to the others. Three agents moved forward at a crouch, while others sprayed gunfire at the roof. The three soon disappeared beneath the entrance from which Jacob had arrived.

  Krantz turned to Jacob. “What about Fayer? You seen her?”

  “Is she with the other team?”

  “No, they took her hostage.”

  “Hostage?” He blinked in confusion. “What? No, I don't know anything about that.” Another rifle shot, more distant this time.

  “See anything, anyone moving a prisoner, anything like that?”

  Jacob shook his head. He still wasn't sure what Krantz was saying. Who had taken Fayer? Had it happened before the SWAT teams arrived, or was that what precipitated the assault?