It felt as if the base camp had doubled in population when Truman returned. The Hostage Rescue Team had arrived, and more bodies strode purposefully about the clearing.
Truman spotted SSA Ghattas next to the mobile SWAT RV. He was talking to two men in olive fatigues and another agent in jeans and a jacket. Truman approached, his boots crunching in the snow, and the surprise in Ghattas’s eyes confirmed that the FBI agent had given Truman the hospital assignment to keep him busy.
“Chief Daly.” Ghattas introduced him to the other agents. One was in charge of the HRT, one was in charge of Portland’s FBI SWAT team, and the third was the lead negotiator. “Any luck?” Ghattas asked.
“There’s a young boy from the compound in the hospital right now who was brought in with a life-threatening infection. One that should have been treated a week ago. Supposedly his father is with him,” Truman stated.
“Excellent.” Ghattas’s face lit up in surprise. “I’ll get two agents to find the father. Some intel from him about the inside of the compound would be helpful.” The two agents in olive nodded emphatically.
“And I talked to a guy who said they tried to sell him underpriced weapons,” Truman added. “He backed off because the sale felt fishy to him. There’ve been a few other people in town who were approached for the same thing. My guy believes it’s how they raise money.”
Ghattas was pleased. “This is exactly what I needed to know.”
“We can use that medical information about the boy when we talk to them,” the negotiator said. “Could help us get the other kids out.”
“Get the kids out before we have to go in,” the HRT leader said, squaring his shoulders. The SWAT leader agreed. “At least we know one child is out. That leaves eight more inside.”
Truman hoped their intelligence on the number of children was accurate.
A truck pulled in behind the RV, and Truman noted it had come from the direction of the compound, not the town. Two ATF agents he had met earlier immediately got out of the vehicle and approached their group.
“Success?” Ghattas asked as the man and woman walked up.
“It wasn’t easy,” said the younger agent. “When we approached the gate, two guys got out of a parked truck near the fence and pointed their rifles at us.” He blew out a breath. “Thought that was the end of it right there.” He thumped a fist on the ballistic vest hidden under his coat. “I’m thankful for these things, but they won’t do shit for a head shot.”
“They told us we were on private property and to turn around,” added the female agent. “I think we made the right decision to have me drive.” She raised an eyebrow. “They were a little surprised to see me. I’m not much of a threat, you know.” Her partner snorted. “I told them we’d leave, but before I identified ourselves, I politely asked them to not jump to conclusions and to first hear what I had to say.”
The younger agent turned to Ghattas. “Webber was great. You’d think she was addressing the queen of England. They were suspicious, but they listened. I kept my mouth shut.”
“I said we were with the ATF and that our boss would like to speak with their boss. I offered them the handheld radio. They tensed up when they realized who we were and refused to take the radio. One insisted it was a bomb.” She looked at the negotiator. “That’s when I used it to call you guys and prove to him it was a real radio. I also popped the back off to let him see the inside.”
“I figured you’d need to do that,” said the negotiator. “No one is more suspicious than these types of people.”
“He still wouldn’t take it,” Webber continued. “He gave me some line about the ATF having no jurisdiction in America’s Preserve, but I pointed out that his boss would probably prefer to decide who he spoke to and wouldn’t be happy that the guards had made the decision for him.”
“He said he didn’t want to wake up his boss,” the male agent added. “It’s pretty clear that they revere Pete Hodges.”
“Or at least are scared to death of him,” Webber said. “I asked if his boss would be happy to wake up and find out that his guards had been sitting on important information all night. He finally took the radio.”
“Good work,” said Ghattas. “I don’t care that it’s the middle of the night. Are you ready to get started?” he asked the negotiator.
“Absolutely. We prepped the whole drive here.”
“Okay,” Ghattas said. “Let’s make a call.” He checked the time. “Maybe we’ll have some peaceful results by daybreak.”
Truman thought the comment was overly optimistic. He knew men like Pete Hodges. When they felt trapped, they didn’t give up without a fight. They swung and punched and kicked, their own blood splattering on the ground, hoping to inflict damage and pain on their enemy—now the ATF—until they could battle no more.
***
Truman jerked awake in his camp chair to find Eddie staring at him.
He blinked. “Did you shake my chair?” he asked the agent.
“Yep.”
Panic blossomed in his chest. “Is it Mercy?” Truman sat up straight, running a hand through his hair. “What happened? Is there word?”
Regret flashed in Eddie’s eyes as he handed Truman a bottle of water. “Sorry, no word yet. I shouldn’t have shaken your chair, but I said your name five times. You’d asked me to wake you at noon. It’s almost one.”
Still disoriented, Truman surveyed the base camp. He had fallen asleep below one of the huge tarps, apparently too tired to care about the cold weather. The snow had formed drifts around every tree and on top of the vehicles. He shivered.
People moved here and there, still unpacking and getting organized. Truman had stayed awake until eight that morning, hoping for word from the compound. Overnight the negotiators had called on the radio every half hour with no answer. Truman hadn’t been allowed in the RV to observe. He’d relied on updates from Jeff and Agent Ghattas. Frustrated, he had finally given in to an overwhelming need for sleep, Mercy’s face in his mind.
He was painfully aware that the federal Waco standoff had taken fifty-one days and Ruby Ridge eleven. Neither operation had ended well. Truman wouldn’t stay sane if he had to wait that long, and he just needed to hear if Mercy was still alive. His nerves were shot.
Not knowing was hell.
“The two ATF agents arrived right after you fell asleep. Aguirre and Gorman,” Eddie said.
Truman still held them personally responsible for sending Mercy on the dangerous mission. “Any new information on the stolen-weapons heist?”
“Not on their part.” He gave Truman a weak smile. “They immediately went into town to follow up on your leads from the restaurant. My understanding is your dinner companions from last night are the only fresh leads they have.”
“What do we do now?” he muttered to Eddie.
“We wait some more.” The agent took a seat facing him and kicked the ground with the toe of his boot. He was hurting too. Mercy and Eddie had joined the Bend FBI office at the same time after working together in Portland. Mercy regarded him as a younger brother, and Truman reminded himself that he didn’t have a monopoly on caring about her.
But damn, it hurt. He was missing half of himself.
“There was some excitement while you slept,” Eddie told him. “They arrested the father of the boy in the hospital. Child endangerment charges. The doctor had been about to call the county sheriff on the father, but our agents reached him before he did.”
“Good.”
Eddie rested his forearms on his thighs as he leaned toward Truman. “Turns out the father had run off with the kids while the mother was out of town. She returned home a few months ago, found an empty house without her kids, and has been out of her head with worry, not knowing what had happened to them. She’s at the hospital with her son now. Can you imagine what that reunion was like?”