Truman gave an inquiring glance at Jeff, who shrugged one shoulder. Ghattas caught Truman’s eye for a moment, and he knew the SSA wasn’t happy to have him listening, but he would let it slide for the moment.
“I need to hear from Jason himself that he’s being treated fairly,” Hodges’s voice came through the speakers.
“Jason?” Truman mouthed to Jeff.
“The sick boy’s father,” Jeff whispered back.
“I’m sure we can arrange a phone—” Sanchez began.
“No. Not a phone call,” said Hodges. “I need to see that he hasn’t been injured or isn’t being threatened. I don’t have any reason to trust the ATF.”
“And this will help establish that trust?” Sanchez asked into his mic while eyeing Ghattas.
Ghattas nodded.
“It will help,” said Hodges.
“I can make this happen. I can get Jason Trotter up here for you,” Sanchez answered. “But before I do, I’m going to ask something of you in return for the same reason. Trust. We need a two-way street here.”
“I’m listening.”
Truman recalled a negotiator’s guideline: make concessions, but always get something in return.
“I’d like you to let some of the children come out,” Sanchez said.
“I don’t think so. This is their home.”
“I understand. But maybe their parents are a bit worried now since the Trotter boy became so ill. If their parents want to leave with the children, they are free to go wherever they please. We will not detain them.”
Hodges was quiet for a long moment.
“We’re just looking out for these kids,” added Sanchez. “At the moment, you and I are simply having a talk. No one is in any trouble. Let’s keep it that way by making certain that the children have access to medical care.”
Another negotiator guideline: minimize the consequences.
“I’ll see what the parents think. Hodges out.”
Sanchez spun around in his chair with his hands up in the air. One of the other men slapped his palm. “Yes!”
Now that Truman understood what the negotiators were looking for from Hodges, he knew that call had been a solid step forward.
“He even signed off,” Agent Aguirre said. “All very civil so far.”
“But no mention of an FBI agent,” Truman reminded her, concerned that the team had forgotten one of its primary reasons for coming to the compound: to get Mercy out of a hostile situation.
“I’m thinking that no complaints about Agent Kilpatrick is good news,” said Ghattas.
Truman’s acid stomach didn’t agree with him; no one had heard from Mercy in five days.
Anything could have happened.
“I’ll send some agents to get Trotter out of the county jail and bring him up,” said Ghattas. “If Hodges wants to see one of his men, we can do that.”
“My men will transport Trotter to the meeting spot and provide backup at the gate. Out of sight of course,” said the SWAT leader, determination on his face. “We’ll figure out the logistics immediately.” He left the RV.
“Now,” said Ghattas as he rubbed a hand over his face. “What to do about the safety of our agent inside.”
“Her name is Mercy,” Truman stated. Beside him, he felt Jeff stiffen.
Ghattas exhaled and shot Truman an exhausted look. “Special Agent Kilpatrick,” he conceded. “We’ve received no indication of her status whatsoever from Hodges, and the HRT snipers haven’t seen anyone of her description inside.”
“What have they seen?” Agent Gorman asked. The question had been on the tip of Truman’s tongue, but he’d held back; he’d already learned from Cook that it was considered none of his business.
“There is a guard rotation on the perimeter, and our men are trying to establish the pattern. They have eyes on the command center, the children’s cabin, and the mess hall. All the intel that was received from Agent O’Shea on the layout of the compound has been accurate.”
The RV went silent at the mention of the murdered agent’s name. Aguirre pressed her lips together, her eyes suddenly bright. Gorman set a comforting hand on her shoulder. Guilt flowed through Truman. He’d nearly forgotten about the man Ollie had discovered.
“So far,” Ghattas continued, “we haven’t seen any odd actions. People come and go from all the buildings. It appears to be business as usual.” He looked every person in the eye. “I expect to see that change now.”
***
An hour later Hodges told the negotiators he’d let all the children out after he saw that Jason Trotter wasn’t being mistreated. An agreement was reached that three government vehicles would park one hundred yards from the gate at 7:00 p.m. to transport the exiting children and their parents. Two FBI SWAT agents would accompany Trotter on foot within fifty feet of the gate. Once Hodges had spoken with Trotter, he would release the children and their parents.
The base camp had erupted with action. SWAT and HRT geared up. They would park out of sight two hundred yards from the gate but move closer on foot through the woods to observe and provide cover for the release of the children.
Truman watched the agents put on their body armor and helmets. The men were silent, their expressions showing deep focus. Their helmets were equipped with cameras, and all the agents had earpieces and microphones to stay in constant contact. The camera feeds from the snipers and the helmets would be monitored at the base camp, where other members of the teams would observe and relay information.
Truman and Eddie found a place with Aguirre and Gorman at the monitors in a second RV that had arrived that morning—the FBI’s command hub. This vehicle had a semi’s cab instead of looking like a traditional RV. Inside it was stocked with as much high tech as the negotiators’ SWAT RV, if not more. Truman stayed to the back of the group while watching, keeping his expression neutral, hiding that his heart felt as if he’d drunk ten shots of espresso.
Once the children were out, new negotiations would begin to empty the compound of all residents. If Hodges failed to comply promptly, HRT would enter to find Mercy.
We’re one step closer to getting her out.
Truman still refused to consider the other possibility: Mercy was dead. He had decided to believe she would soon be out. Because if he paused or looked back, he might not find the strength to go on.
His inner fortitude grew weaker by the hour.
He had to keep looking forward.
He moved his gaze from monitor to monitor, primarily watching the three snipers’ scope transmissions, fascinated by the sight of people moving in the compound. His eyes ached as his brain attempted to turn each figure into Mercy. The sun had set, and the camp was displayed in shades of gray on the monitors. The snow was a constant dust falling across the screens, affecting the clarity of the images.
“I don’t like that this is happening after dark,” Ghattas murmured.
“We can see better than anyone inside,” said another agent. “We have the best equipment, and our men are used to working in the dark.”
One of the snipers’ scopes was trained on the gate, which was estimated to be three hundred yards from the center of the compound. It was a simple livestock gate made of horizontal steel bars, the type available at any farm equipment store. Two of Hodges’s men sat in a truck with several inches of snow piled on the hood and cab. For a very, very brief moment, Truman pitied them their freezing, dull guard duty. The snipers’ earlier reports had stated that both men were armed. Each with a rifle and a pistol.