“Kids? Plural?”
“Yes. There’s a sixteen-year-old daughter still in the compound, according to the father.”
“She’s alone in there right now?” Truman asked. “No family? Doesn’t sound like an ideal place for a teenage girl.”
“It’s not. The father also told the agents that there’s a woman in the compound about to give birth.” Eddie shook his head. “Who would risk having a baby in the middle of nowhere with no medical help? The negotiators are debating how to use that news.” He grimaced. “I don’t envy their job. If they say the wrong thing, everything can turn upside down in a split second.”
“Do you know where Jeff is?” Truman asked, wanting to find out the team’s next move.
“Last I saw he was taking the negotiators some lunch in the RV. And speaking of lunch, I’m going to get some before it’s gone. You coming?”
Truman wasn’t hungry. He swore his fries and burger from last night still sat in his stomach. “Later.”
“You might regret that,” Eddie said as he headed toward the other side of the base camp.
Thirstily draining the water bottle from Eddie, Truman headed toward the RV. It was huge, easily one of the longest RVs he’d ever seen. On the roof were several small satellite dishes along with two high-mast antennas. On both sides, pop-out sections had been extended, increasing the square footage indoors.
The door on the far side was open, and he heard people talking. He stuck his head inside and found himself in what looked like a set straight out of an action movie. A half dozen screens of every size covered one wall, along with high-tech electronics he couldn’t identify. A large room at the end could be sectioned off with sliding doors, and he spotted chairs, tables, and more screens in that room. Truman winced as he thought of his office’s ancient radio system back home. At least his department’s computers were up to date, but they had only three for the whole office.
Jeff spotted him and waved him in. Truman moved up the two metal steps, brushing the snow from his shoulders and eyeing Mercy’s boss. Usually Jeff Peterson never had a hair out of place or a wrinkle present. Now he’d clearly slept in his clothes and had shoved on a cap over his hair. So far showers were nonexistent at the base camp. Truman hoped they’d finish their mission before they were required.
Jeff introduced him to the three negotiators, who were all eating thick sandwiches. They were calm-looking older men. Jim Sanchez, the negotiator he’d met last night, was the primary who would communicate directly with the subject—if they ever managed to make contact. The other two men would listen and take notes, ready to take over the primary role if the compound leader showed a dislike for the first negotiator. For a split second Truman was surprised there wasn’t a woman on the team, but then he realized that the militia leader would not be happy to speak with a woman.
“Time,” said one of them with his mouth full.
Agent Sanchez nodded and took a drink from a water bottle to wash down his sandwich. He pulled on a set of headphones and pushed a few buttons. “This is Jim Stapleton with the ATF,” he said calmly into his microphone. “Can someone answer the radio please?”
Truman raised a brow. Stapleton? ATF? Again, the FBI had prepared carefully, aware of Pete Hodges’s white supremacy views and hiding the fact that the FBI was heavily involved in this operation.
Every half hour for nearly the last twelve hours, they’d repeated the plea.
Did Hodges destroy the radio?
Truman wondered if they were wasting time.
“This is Commander Pete Hodges,” came a polite, low voice over the speaker. “What can I do for you?”
Everyone in the RV jerked to attention. The other two negotiators shoved their food aside and grabbed headsets. Jeff jumped to his feet from his perch on a countertop and quietly radioed for Ghattas to report to the RV. Truman froze, every nerve focused on the voice filling the command center from the speakers. He’d expected the agents to hear Hodges only through the headsets.
“Good afternoon, Commander,” Sanchez answered pleasantly. “We’d like to discuss the children who are living in your compound. It’s come to our attention that one of them was very ill when he arrived at the hospital recently.”
“Why is the ATF involved in personal matters?” The tone was still polite.
“Medical professionals are required to report when they feel a child’s health is in danger. After interviewing the boy and his father, we’re concerned for the health and safety of the other children.”
“That doesn’t answer my question about the ATF.”
Truman tensed.
“You’re right,” Sanchez said smoothly. “The local authorities were concerned about being able to reach you. As you know by the radio in your hand, we have the equipment necessary to conduct a conversation and keep a respectful distance.”
“I don’t believe for a second that the ATF is only here because they have access to radios.”
“That is correct,” said Sanchez. “We were already looking into a few reports of illegal weapons being sold in the area. But the safety of children will always take priority over a few sales.”
“Have a good day, Agent Stapleton.”
“Commander Hodges?”
Silence.
“Commander Hodges?”
Truman held his breath.
Agent Sanchez removed his headphones. “I’d say that was a successful first contact.” The other negotiators nodded enthusiastically. The three of them put their heads together and started an intense discussion about the content of the call.
Truman looked to Jeff. “That was a success?”
“He didn’t threaten anyone, and he was polite. Baby steps.”
“He also didn’t mention the FBI or Mercy,” Truman pointed out.
“Another good thing. We want him to believe only the ATF is here. If he brings her up, we can inform him of an FBI presence.”
If he brings her up, does it mean she’s already dead?
Foreboding raced through his blood, making him struggle to hold still. This could take days.
Ghattas darted up the steps and into the RV, panting for breath. ATF agents Carleen Aguirre and Neal Gorman were directly behind him, concern on their faces.
“Call’s over,” Jeff informed them.
“Shit. How’d it go?” asked Ghattas.
“Very good,” Sanchez said over his shoulder. “We’ll continue to call every half hour.” He returned to his three-man huddle, peering at the notes of the other men.
“Pete Hodges didn’t mention the FBI,” Jeff told the three agents. “He wanted to know why the ATF was here. Sanchez emphasized concern for the children inside and casually mentioned the gun sales, then Hodges politely ended the communication.”
“Sounds like an excellent start.” Carleen nodded with enthusiasm.
Truman steamed, his chest swelling. Jeff did a double take at his face and excused the two of them, dragging Truman outside. He hauled him several yards away from the RV.
“You need to find some patience,” Jeff said, his face close, his grip on Truman’s upper arm. “I get it, Truman. I really do. But you’re going to get your ass sent home if you’re a distraction.” Jeff’s own concern for Mercy flashed before he packed it back in the box of emotions that every law enforcement officer tried to keep under lock and key.