Hard Road to Redemption

by Alex Ander

  Bending over, Chrissy shielded her ears from the 357 Magnum’s deafening blasts.

  One man took three rounds in the chest.

  A second grabbed his arm.

  The head of a third misted when a 158-grain jacketed projectile pierced an eyeball.

  Stockwell: “Multiple bogeys are knocking on your front door.”

  Spinning away from the action and putting his back to the wall, he thumbed the 1911’s magazine release and reached under his right armpit for a spare mag while eyeing the front door beyond the top of Chrissy’s head. “Give them a proper welcome, will you?”

  ∞=∞=∞=∞=∞=∞=∞

  .

  Chapter 21

  Red Carpet

  12:06 A.M.

  “Rolling out the red carpet.” From her hiding place between two buildings, Stockwell had an unobstructed view of the compound in front of the main house. She acquired the lead assaulter in her red dot holographic sight and tickled the MP5’s trigger once.

  A three-round burst of nine-millimeter bullets escaped the rifle’s barrel.

  One man tumbled and rolled before coming to rest on his back, arms and legs spread wide.

  The FBI woman sighted in her next target, worked the trigger, shifted her sights, and pressed the trigger again.

  Six phuts came from her sound-suppressed H&K.

  A second assaulter arched his body, threw back his shoulders, and fell.

  A third clutched his right side and spun to the ground.

  The remaining men sprawled onto the earth. Their heads moving in all directions, they returned fire at the surrounding darkness.

  5.56x45mm reports shattered the night’s calm.

  *******

  Assistant Director Edgar Brolin heard the AR-15s from inside his Chevy Suburban and brought his walkie-talkie to his mouth. “All teams, you have a go.”

  “While I can’t just storm in there without a warrant,” AD Brolin had said to Jacob and Stockwell back at the bed-and-breakfast, “if I suspect wrongdoing, I should be able to investigate on probable cause. But I’d rather not have to go in at all...unless I have hard evidence.”

  Now, with two SWAT teams from the Atlanta office accompanying him, Brolin faced his driver and chopped a flat hand toward the windshield. “Go!”

  Two Suburbans trailed an FBI Ballistic Armored Tactical Transport. All three skidded to a halt at the main gate of the compound. Standing on the BATT’s running boards, eight SWAT team members hopped off, raised their rifles, and rushed toward armed guards while shouting commands.

  *******

  With her opponents having zeroed in on her location, a squatting Stockwell spun clockwise and jerked her body behind cover.

  The corner of the building above her splintered, sending fragments into the air and onto her head and shoulders.

  She let out a quick cry while extracting a spent magazine and inserting a full one. “I’m compromised, Jake. You’re on your own until I...”

  5.56mm bullets penetrated the building three inches to her left.

  “...I,” she rolled away from the incoming rounds and went to her belly, “until I can find new cover.”

  *******

  Their backs to the wall, Chrissy on his port side, Jacob slammed home a fresh seven-rounder and thumbed shut the Coonan’s slide. “You all right, Stockwell.”

  “Peachy.”

  “Watch yourself.”

  “Great advice.”

  Looking down the length of the hall, he saw no hiding spots to stash Chrissy. I guess she stays with me. He nudged her with his elbow and pointed over her head. “Keep an eye on that door. If you see anyone who isn’t wearing what I’m wearing, and they have a gun, let me know.”

  Her ears ringing from the eight 357 Magnums that had gone off, she saw his lips moving but heard only garbled words. “What,” she yelled?

  He raised his voice and thrust out his left arm twice as if he were throwing a baseball. “Watch...that...door.”

  She whipped her head in the direction the imaginary ball would have gone, came back to him, and shouted, “Okay.”

  He peeked around the corner on his right, saw no one, and jerked back his head. They must be waiting for me to show myself.

  The interior of the abode was silent.

  Outside, 5.56mm and nine-millimeter reports commingled to make a cacophony of noise before the ‘nines’ drowned out the ‘5.56s’ in number.

  Jacob spied the front door. Has the cavalry finally arrived?

  *******

  Stockwell ran between two buildings.

  A door on her right opened.

  She leveled her MP5 at a teen in a white dress and sandals, Friendly, then waved her gun toward the cabin. “Back inside and get on the floor until this is over.”

  The girl retreated and shut the door.

  Stockwell reached the end of the structures on either side of her, leaned out, saw no threats, and bolted across twenty feet of open expanse. Please, please, please, God. Just let me get to cover.

  Her prayer answered, she darted between two other buildings, raced to the other end, and repeated the scanning procedure. Seeing nothing, she took off toward her ten o’clock, making a bee line for the main house.

  “Freeze!”

  “Freeze!”

  “FBI!”

  “Drop your weapon!”

  She stopped and slowly turned toward the male voice. Seeing night vision goggles on the heads of the four SWAT team members, “I’m FBI,” she pointed at the FBI infrared patch on her vest. “Special Agent Stockwell.”

  Having been given instructions on Jacob and Stockwell’s presence inside the compound and told to look for each person’s identifying IR patch, the SWAT members lowered their MP5s.

  The team leader headed for the main house’s front door.

  Stockwell followed. “I’m coming with you.”

  Team Leader: “Copy that. Just stay behind us, ma’am.”

  She shook her head once at the heavily armed and outfitted men. “No arguments here.” A beat. “Coming through the front door, Jake. And I’m bringing—”

  A flash and a loud bang.

  The SWAT team froze in place.

  Stockwell crouched. “Jake, what the hell was that? Jake? Jake!”

  *******

  “Eyes and ears.” Having told Chrissy what to expect, Jacob tossed the flashbang grenade and swallowed up the girl in his arms.

  Her eyes closed, a finger in each ear, she pressed her right cheek to his chest and braced for the concussion.

  He closed his eyes, covered his left ear with his palm, and brought his right shoulder up to his right ear.

  One million candela of light accompanied a 175-decibel concussion.

  “Stay here.” Jacob bolted away from Chrissy, snaked his way around three dead bodies, and charged into his enemies’ hideout.

  Inside, one man lay dead.

  Cupping one ear, a second rose to his feet, saw Jacob, and raised his pistol.

  Jacob drilled the man in the chest with three rounds from his Coonan.

  He staggered backward and collapsed.

  The last man got up on his knees, his back to the doorway.

  Noticing a gun in the man’s grasp, Jacob took two steps, kicked the weapon out of the man’s hand with his left boot, and delivered a devastating blow to the side of the man’s head with his other boot.

  The man’s head rocked to one side before the rest of his body followed.

  Satisfied that the threats had been neutralized, Jacob topped off his Coonan with his last, full magazine and headed for Chrissy’s position.

  In his ear, Stockwell: “...hear me? Jake, are you there?”

  “Copy that. I’m here.” He negotiated a corner and found Chrissy right where he had left her.

  “Thank God. We’re coming through the front door. Don’t shoot.”

  “By we, I hope you mean a bunch of SWAT guys.”

  “Four of them...big and burly.”

  J
acob glanced down the hall, saw a group of men in uniform, faced Chrissy, and pointed. “Go with them. You’re safe now, Miss Toberman.” He pivoted.

  “Wait.”

  He cranked his head around to see her.

  “The room she should be in is the last one...on the other side of the staircase.”

  He nodded, “Thank you,” and jogged toward the stairs. After a quick look up at the killing funnel, he lifted his Coonan and ascended the steps, one carefully placed foot at a time.

  His boots touching down on the second floor, he scanned the space and saw no threats. Jacob cleared the first two rooms then approached the last door. After putting his ear to the panel for a few seconds, he thrust out a boot.

  The door flew inward.

  He moved out of the way.

  No gunfire.

  He ‘sliced the pie,’ inching his way left and clearing the room as it came into view, then rushed into the lavish sanctuary: king-size canopy bed, antique armoire, high-back chairs, paintings on the walls, subdued lighting, candlestand in one corner supporting five burning candles.

  He frowned. No one could’ve gotten by me. There’s no way. It took him thirty seconds to survey the room, find the false wall, and expose a hidden downward-spiraling staircase. He retrieved his SureFire E1B flashlight and corkscrewed his way into the darkness below.

  *******

  SEVEN MINUTES LATER...

  12:17 A.M.

  Musty. Damp. Dark. A water drop hit a puddle every fifteen seconds.

  Having descended the circular stairs until his feet hit solid ground at the base of the staircase, Jacob waited a minute before risking a flash of light to get his bearings—a tunnel, four feet wide and six feet high, went off to his left. He released the switch on his SureFire.

  Blackness.

  With the back of his left hand, he scratched his chin. Tunnels are as bad as stairwells...bullet magnets. He looked in the direction of the tunnel and heard Chrissy’s words: He’s going to rape her.

  After a minute of reflection, he set off down the darkened passageway, his 1911 in one hand, SureFire in the other.

  Fifteen minutes of walking later, the underground channel ended at a jagged, open doorway.

  He thought through his options, huffing ten seconds later. There’s really only one choice here. Taking a big breath and exhaling, he poked his head out into the night air, quickly scanned his surroundings, dashed to a nearby tree, and dropped to one knee.

  A minute later, he gave the area a quick burst of 400 lumens, shut off the light, and hurried to a new location. Not drawing any fire, he took a chance on another, longer burst of light.

  Nothing happened.

  Convinced his mark had fled the area, Jacob stood and scanned the terrain with the E1B. Spotting a sign in the distance, he swung the beam back and squinted at the words on two horizontal planks attached to a vertical wooden post: APPALACHIAN TRAIL.

  After another lateral scan, he dipped his eyes, cocked his head, and frowned at something in the brush up ahead. He took ten paces, stooped, picked up the object, and spied the wilderness around him one last time.

  *******

  12:46 A.M.

  The SWAT team leader entered the main house’s front door and strolled up to Assistant Director Brolin, Stockwell, and Chrissy Toberman. “Sir, my men have discovered hidden trapdoors in several of the structures. They said they lead in different directions. We’re going to need more men to search them properly and safely.”

  Brolin nodded. “Call in whatever personnel you need, Commander.”

  “Yes, sir.” The commander walked outside.

  The AD faced Stockwell, who had shed her black stocking cap and released her hair from its bun. “Where do you think they lead to, the tunnels I mean?”

  She shrugged. “I would guess—”

  “To the Appalachian Trail.”

  Brolin, Stockwell, and Chrissy faced the black-clad operator scratching his head while walking down the hall toward them.

  Letting out a sigh of relief, her shoulders drooping a bit, Stockwell smiled at her man. “Where’ve you been? I’ve been trying to reach you by radio.”

  “I followed one of the escape routes. It led me to its origin...near the Appalachian Trail. And that’s where I found,” Jacob held up a woman’s red, high-heeled pump, “this. I’m pretty sure it’s—”

  “That’s Miranda’s.” Chrissy snatched the shoe from him and turned the article over in her hands. “She had on red heels and a red dress when she left the house to go to...” her voice trailed off, as her inner voice filled in the rest of her statement.

  ∞=∞=∞=∞=∞=∞=∞

  .

  Chapter 22

  Sorted Out

  1:57 A.M.

  “Everything is still being sorted out here, Higs,” said Jacob, “but the FBI has identified eleven girls who’ve been kidnapped over the last five years.” Jacob and Stockwell had found a secluded location inside the compound to get the third member of their team on speakerphone. “A few have since become adults.”

  Stockwell eyed the phone in Jacob’s palm. “More than a dozen members of this cult were killed tonight...thankfully none of them were noncombatants.”

  “However, we think some of the combatants escaped via a series of underground tunnels.”

  *******

  STATEN ISLAND, NEW YORK

  ST. GEORGE NEIGHBORHOOD

  NONDESCRIPT OFFICE BUILDING

  (THE “KEEP”)

  Not hearing the joyful tone that he had hoped to hear in Jacob’s voice, Higs slumped back into his chair, tossed his glasses onto the conference room table, and massaged his forehead while he listened to his two lieutenants’ brief update on the situation in Georgia.

  Jacob: “We also suspect the escapees took with them at least one other kidnapped girl.”

  Higs sat upright. “And do we know the identity of this young lady?”

  “Miranda. But that may not be her real name. It seems every girl here was given a new name shortly after arriving at this,” a beat, “place.”

  Higs noted the disgust in Jacob’s voice. “Do we have a description of her?”

  “Based on what her roommate has told us, we think she’s sixteen, is about five-six in height, and has a lean build and medium blonde hair.”

  Higs donned his spectacles and eyed his laptop’s screen while touching fingertips to pursed lips. Five-six...lean...blonde hair. He slowly bobbed his head, That fits, before mumbling, “Then again, that fits every girl who was abducted.”

  *******

  Jacob brought his mobile closer to his face. “What’s that, Higs? I didn’t hear you.”

  “Um...nothing. Please continue.”

  Jacob spotted Assistant Director Brolin heading toward him and Stockwell. “Whoever she is, this kid’s in trouble, Higs. And we’re going after her.”

  “As you should, Mr. St. Christopher. Do not stop until you’ve found her. You’ll have whatever resources you need from me.”

  Jacob and Stockwell frowned at the mobile before eyeing each other. “Thanks, Higs,” he said. “We’ll keep you posted.”

  “Please do. And may God be with you both.”

  Jacob clicked off, stowed the cell, and faced his partner. “Did he seem—”

  “Odd?”

  “More like,” a pulse, “intense, determined.”

  Stockwell rolled Higs’ words around in her brain. Do not stop until you’ve found her. “He was quite emphatic that we don’t give up on Miranda.” She shook her head. “Even for Higs, I suppose that was a little strange.”

  Brolin approached.

  Jacob jutted out his chin at the man. “Anything new?”

  The FBI man laid hands on his hips. “My men tell me those tunnels go off in different directions. Whoever got away could be anywhere by now.” His features hardened as he threw his subordinate and Jacob a long look each. “We also discovered plans—blueprints—for several buildings.”

  Jacob crosse
d arms over his chest. “What buildings?”

  “We’ll have to cross-reference them, but I think I saw similarities with a couple government buildings.”

  “What would they be doing with...” his voice trailed off when his mind connected the dots. “They were planning an attack.”

  Brolin nodded. “There’s a whole armory of weapons and ammunition in a bunker under the main house...grenades and incendiary rounds, too.”

  “That tracks with what Childress,” her eyes on her boss, Stockwell tipped her head toward Jacob, “told us about what his source told him about illegal weapons trafficking.”

  The AD nodded. “We’ll need to find out which buildings they were planning to hit and put them on high-alert...at least until we know we’ve apprehended everyone who’s escaped.”

  Jacob squinted at him. “What about the girl they took with them?”

  Brolin shook his head. “We’re getting her description out to law enforcement all over the country, but,” he hesitated, “as you’re well aware, Jake, these things take time.”

  Jacob laid his right hand on his hip and wrung the back of his neck with the other. “Time is not on this kid’s side.”

  “I’m sorry. Until we have a lead, there’s nothing else I can do.”

  Following a half minute of staring at the ground, “All right then,” Jacob beckoned Stockwell with a wave of his hand. “Let’s go.”

  “Where are we going?”

  “To get a lead.”

  The head of the FBI’s New York office cocked his head. “How do you plan on doing that?”

  Jacob met his onetime boss’ gaze.

  A few beats later, a quick breath leaked out from between Brolin’s lips. “I don’t want to know, do I?”

  “Thanks for the assist, sir.” He pivoted.

  “Hey, Jake?”

  Jacob turned back.

  “I just want you to know...I’ve never stopped looking for DD. And I won’t.”

  The male operator glanced down and envisioned his daughter before nodding at Brolin. “Thank you, sir. I appreciate hearing that.”

  The two agents strode toward the main gate.