A Noble Calling

by Rhona Weaver

  “Roger that. FBIY-2, out.”

  Win leaned back into the dirt bank. He caught a glimpse of the blue helicopter as it streaked off to the north. Even with his damaged eardrum, the roar of the twin jet engines was deafening. There was no chance of anyone overhearing them, so he gave his group the quick version of Mr. Givens’s call. Emily perked up at the news that HRT would soon be on the way. But the others were well aware that a ninety-minute ETA was an eternity. Nobody was smiling.

  Luke turned back to Win. “Who’s in charge here?”

  “I am technically in charge, Trey is unofficially in charge, and since you’re with the good guys, I would vote for you to actually be in charge until we get some more backup in here. You have by far the most training in this sort of thing.”

  Johnson spoke up from beside them. “I agree with Luke being in command here, but somebody’s got to deputize him. Okay, Bordeaux, raise your right hand and I’ll do the deputizing.”

  “We’re going to deputize a man who is out on bail for several federal offenses and who may be one of the terrorists?” Emily interjected.

  Win saw Luke’s eyes squint real tight as he looked toward her. Emily scooted farther away from him along the ditch wall.

  Johnson was not deterred. “This isn’t the time to quibble over formalities, Ms. Stuart, since he might be able to keep us from all getting killed. Repeat after me, Luke: I swear to protect America and her citizens as one of the good guys in this operation and as a deputized officer of the FBI.”

  Luke was smarter than that. “You’re just making that up, Johnson.”

  “Well, hell, it’s close enough. Do you swear that or not? This is an FBI operation, not a free-fire zone.”

  “Alright, I’ll swear just what you said.” Luke looked like it was almost painful, but he shifted his rifle to his left hand, raised his right, and repeated the oath close enough for it to count.

  Win was watching the bizarre exchange play out when Trey called out softly that he’d seen some movement in the sagebrush flats. Trey whispered again, “Got one . . . maybe two men in camo.” Everyone just sat there for a second. Then Luke took command.

  His voice conveyed quiet authority and complete confidence. The country-boy drawl disappeared. Win understood why men would follow this man into battle. “Johnson, move down this ditch twenty yards and cover our north flank. Ma’am, follow Johnson halfway down the ditch, to that big rock. Hold your position there. Both of you stay low—real low. The rest of us are going south to see who’s coming. Win, make sure that sat phone is turned off. . . . Trey, move down the ditch straight on—let them see you just a little, don’t make a target of yourself. Win, crawl after me, we’re going to flank them. No sounds.” They were off.

  Win crawled on his stomach in the sandy soil between the scattered rocks and sagebrush. He kept Luke’s boots in front of him and his weapon cradled between his elbows. He’d seen soldiers do this on TV, but wearing heavy body armor, with all sorts of gear attached, made it much harder than it looked on television. Luke slid into a deep gulch and was out of sight in seconds. Win dropped into the same gully and was stunned to see two frightened-looking guys in dark camo with hands up against the side of the ravine forty feet in front of him. Two fancy tan assault rifles lay on the bottom of the gully, and one guy had a nasty red welt along his jaw. Luke was leaning against the opposite wall of the gully, with a pistol pointed at them.

  “Who the hell are you?” the uninjured one demanded.

  “I’ve got the gun, fool! I get to ask the questions. Who the hell are you?” Luke growled back.

  The captives both sent a hopeful look Win’s way as he scrambled to a low crouch.

  “Park ranger . . . are you a ranger?” the captive’s voice was apprehensive. Luke moved the pistol closer to the man’s face, but the man in dark camo kept talking. “Be cool . . . okay, be cool. We’re, uh, with Amertec Security. For the party. You want to rob the place, hell, rob them! I’m sure they’re insured! But there is no reason to kill those people—no reason!” Luke put up his hand. The guy was talking too loudly.

  Win blinked rapidly; he took in the small black Amertec logos on the men’s uniforms and caps. “I’m with the FBI. So is this man.” Win cut his eyes to indicate Luke. “Slow it down, we just got here. What’s going on? Where’s the rest of your team?”

  Luke kept the gun on them and whistled for Trey to join them. The security guard was a pro. He gave them the quick and dirty version of what had been happening for the last ninety minutes. “There were six of our guys in that guardhouse; we were patrolling the ridge. Didn’t hear or see anything out of the ordinary. We saw a sheriff’s cruiser pull up just before we lost contact with our base. Our communications guy in the guardhouse was able to keep the mic open for a while. We could overhear them, in the guardhouse—several men. They were talking about blowing the bridge. Which I guess they did, we heard an explosion. They said the show would go on at 4:30 and they’d bug out at 5:00. And twice”—he looked to his partner for confirmation—“at least twice, someone mentioned killing all the Jews in the lodge. They were laughing about it.” He closed his eyes for a second, then looked down. “I hope to God our men aren’t dead, but I did special ops in the military for years. . . . Those voices I overhead, they sounded like killers. Know what I mean?”

  Luke nodded. He knew the sound of evil voices.

  Chapter Forty-One

  The report from the security guard that the subjects might kill their hostages was a game changer. Win turned the sat phone back on and immediately called Mr. Givens.

  “The security guys had reviewed blueprints and videos of the inside of the lodge before they got out here. They say there are two sets of stairs down to the basement. A large game room or den is down there. The first level is kitchen, dining area, and great room—all separated by huge stone fireplaces. Bedrooms are in separate wings and on a partial second floor. They think the hostages may be on the basement level. The Amertec guy says there’s a service door leading into the basement. They’d been scoping it out, trying to figure out a way in. If we get into the lodge, we may be able to secure that building and hold them off.”

  “Win, that’s risky—real risky. You’re badly outnumbered,” Wes responded.

  “Well, we have two more than we had a few minutes ago, and both of these guys were in military special ops. Luke broke one guy’s jaw, but he indicates he’s still good to go. Based on the descriptions they’ve given us, most of Chandler’s men are in the guardhouse. Those are the really bad actors. We don’t know where Shepherd is. Chandler’s men have some sort of exit strategy at 4:30 or 5:00—don’t know if it’s a chopper or what, but the guards overhead them mention those times for a show and a bugout.”

  “If they’re planning on harming hostages . . . it’s 3:42 now, and HRT is still well over an hour out.” Win’s boss blew out a breath. “Okay, do it. Oh, and Win, there won’t be any drone surveillance from our end. The HRT drone crashed in a thunderstorm on the way to your position. You’re on your own, Win.”

  “Roger that.” He turned off the phone without even saying his call sign. “On your own.” Nope, I’m never on my own. God is with me.

  Win, Luke, Trey, and the security guys crawled back to the original surveillance ditch and Luke signaled Johnson and Emily back in. The group listened to the security guard, Watson, describe how they’d planned to enter the lodge. It wasn’t a bad plan, and now that they had six on their team, it might just work. Drawing in the dirt with his knife, Watson made rough interior layouts of the lodge and the guardhouse. Luke quickly divided up assignments. The injured Amertec guard was left in their ditch to lay down fire between the lodge and the guardhouse if the thugs in the guardhouse tried to reinforce their men in the lodge. He could also communicate with Watson on Amertec’s state-of-the-art personal radios if anything developed outside of the building. Luke led the others in a single line to
the south along the ditch and back into the dense woods. It was slow going, since they had to disable three hidden security cameras along the way.

  Finally, they were crouched behind the caterer vans, in position to lift the metal trap door angling into the ground at the rear of the log building. Win was guessing this was some sort of employee or supply entrance; it was discreetly hidden in the natural landscaping. His watch said 3:58. They had a little more than half an hour.

  Luke held up his hand and counted down with his fingers. When one finger remained up, Trey yanked the heavy door open and they dove down the concrete stairs, guns at the ready. Luke and Watson split from the group as soon as the stairs hit the hallway leading into the basement. Their job was to take the interior stairway and provide cover if any of Chandler’s guys approached from the first floor. Win led his little team down a long, carpeted hallway toward the game room. He was moving fast, nearly at a trot, and Trey was behind him, touching his shoulder; Emily and Johnson were close on their heels.

  A close-quarters combat entry is the sort of thing that takes training—Trey had little and Win had less. It could have gone better.

  Win and Trey came around the corner into the game room too quickly and ran smack-dab into the giant Eriksson and three other militiamen. Win’s heart stopped for a moment as he screeched to a halt in front of four black AR-15 muzzles. Trey had his rifle to the side—he wasn’t even in position to fire—but at least Win’s borrowed M4 was pointed in the general direction of the bad guys. Everyone was caught off guard. Win’s eyes darted past the rifles aimed at him—he could see groups of people huddled in the rear of the large room. The four militiamen were standing directly in front of the hostages. He couldn’t fire.

  “Hold your fire! FBI! Freeze!” Win shouted at the top of his lungs to everyone in the room—amazingly, no one fired. Johnson swung around the corner in the hallway and had the best position to cover the room. Emily hung behind Johnson.

  Win looked into Eriksson’s face. The huge man was only ten feet in front of him, surprise registering in his eyes. “You . . . how? Agent Tyler? How?” Win picked up a hint of relief in the low, deep voice.

  “God saved my life from that false prophet! Now look where that man has led you! Holding innocent people hostage! Put your guns down, now!”

  The big guy wasn’t giving up that easily. “These people aren’t being harmed! We’re keeping them safe down here, from the battle. From your strike force of oppressors! You drop your guns!” There were nods of agreement from the others.

  Geez, what a story line Shepherd sold them. Win almost felt sorry for these men. Then he reminded himself that hours earlier, at dawn, all four of them had stood aside while Luke Bordeaux calmly pretended to put a bullet in his head. That made him more than a little mad.

  “Look, dammit! We are not the oppressors! This is nothing more than an armed robbery. You’re becoming part of a terrible crime! Wake up, men!”

  “It’s worse than that, Brother Jon.” Luke’s voice came from behind Win. The man calmly walked into the room and stood between Win and Trey, his assault rifle resting in the crook of his arm, muzzle to the ground.

  The big man drew himself up even taller and stared down at the three men in front of him. Eriksson was puzzled; the other three traded anxious glances. Trey sucked in a breath and Win just stood there. What is Luke doing?

  “There’s C-4 or Semtex attached to all the columns upstairs, brothers. It’s rigged to go either detonator or timer—I’m not sure. It will bring this entire place down on your heads and on the heads of these people. Prophet Shepherd is trying to commit mass murder to cover the getaway for a robbery. Ron King’s boys. . . . We knew they weren’t like us. Those boys are killers and thieves. We’ve all been betrayed, brothers.” Luke’s voice was genuine and sad. He was including himself with them. His pain was evident.

  One of the militiamen spoke up. “That could be right—I heard Red talking about Semtex on the hike in.”

  It was as if the four gunmen had forgotten about the law enforcement officers who stood in front of them; all of their attention was on Luke.

  “What do we do here, Brother Luke? Has Brother King misled the Prophet?” Eriksson asked.

  “None of us are outlaws, you know that, Brother Luke,” another man stated.

  “First off, we’ve got to get these people out of here, and carefully. There are wires strung everywhere upstairs. We’ll get everyone to the kitchen area, just inside the back door . . . then we’ll go from there.”

  “Are there any more hostages?” Johnson’s abrupt voice entered the discussion.

  “They aren’t hostages and we’re not criminals!” Eriksson’s shock was turning to anger. The big guy shifted slightly, and Win could tell he was looking for options.

  “Okay, fine . . . Brother Eriksson. These folks are under your protection. That’s even better,” Win said. “Let’s get them out of here. Let’s get to the kitchen. Can we call a truce?” This was starting to feel like sixth grade, except they all had high-powered weapons pointed at each other.

  Eriksson was getting nervous. “All right, truce . . . truce till we get everyone out of the building and safely away. Is that agreed?” Almost as one, the militiamen said, “Agreed,” or, “Yes,” or something along those lines. Win turned his head to address his troops. “Agree to a truce with these four men?” His eyes met Johnson’s and the man gave him a You are totally nuts look, but everyone said yes.

  Win looked sideways at Luke. The man had a peaceful, Zen-like expression. It was an unsettling reminder of how he’d looked this morning right before he’d kicked his legs out from under him. Is Luke telling the truth? Is the lodge wired to blow?

  * * *

  Before anyone even had time to move, Watson came jogging down the corridor toward Luke. His concealed radio was getting a call from the security guard they’d left in the ditch. He gave the militiamen a wary look, but he turned up the volume so everyone could hear. The sound was a little garbled because of the man’s injured jaw, but the voice said, “Watson? Just picked some bits and pieces off the base mic in the guardhouse. I think they’re playing with it, trying to figure out why they’ve lost several camera angles. . . . Someone just told one of their guys to set up the video equipment outside and get it ready to feed back to the church—I think he said church? Said something about it needs to go on at 4:30 to catch the national news. That’s all I caught. There are three guys in camo outside the guardhouse fooling with some type of camera equipment on a big tripod right now. Will call if anything dramatic happens. Out.”

  Win was looking at Luke and saw his eyes go wide. They’re either going to kill some hostages on camera or blow up the lodge for the East Coast’s national news. A live feed at 4:30 p.m. Mountain Time!

  Luke spun around to the four militiamen. “You heard that! Get these folks herded upstairs. Single file, toward the kitchen. Do not approach any windows. Watson, get to the main level and set up a path through the wires. Trey, you help these men organize these folks. . . . Johnson, you and Ms. Stuart provide cover in case we have company. Watch that front door. Red and another guy are dressed as security guards, and there’s a dirty cop, a deputy sheriff—all of them are in front somewhere.”

  “Billy Thayer is over at the shed by the helicopter pads. That may be where Red and the sheriff’s man went to.” Eriksson was helping them. “I think Prophet Shepherd went out to meet that last helicopter. He might still be out there with Billy. We don’t know where they moved the employees off to, but Bobby Thayer took several of the Jewish men back up to the guardhouse a while ago. Brother Jeffery is up there with them.” Win could see the distress on Eriksson’s broad face. It had finally sunk in.

  “Win, go find the owner, see if anyone else is expected. Then get upstairs and help cover the doors.” Luke was confident every order would be followed; he turned and was gone up the hallway.


  Win had been so focused on the threat from the militiamen and the explosives that he hadn’t even heard the soft crying coming from several frightened women sitting on the floor or standing in corners behind the two billiard tables at the far end of the large room. There were numerous women and a few, mostly older, men.

  A petite older woman with a ramrod-straight back, porcelain skin, and severe gray hair apparently heard Luke’s orders and moved quickly across the room toward Win. Her flowing beaded gown ruffled as she walked. “I’m Eleanor Kaplan Weinberg. . . . This is my mountain home.”

  She was so regal he felt like he oughta bow to her or something. “I’m Win Tyler, FBI. Is everyone here? Can you tell me if any other guests or employees are on the place? How many men were taken out of here?” His eyes scanned the group—twenty-four people. Most were dressed for a party or in expensive traveling clothes. Some of the men were in tuxes; many of the women in silk and lace. Where are the employees?

  She raised her delicate chin and looked him over as you might look over a horse you were thinkin’ of buying. Her voice was stilted. She was verbally looking down her nose at him. “FBI? You look like a park ranger.”

  Whatever! This woman definitely had the “I’m rich and you’re not” mentality. Win tried to look deferential. He wasn’t feelin’ it.

  She gave him another dismissive glance, but kept talking. “Yes, all of our guests are here. My husband, Winfred Benjamin Weinberg, our son, and eight other men were taken away well over an hour ago, by these . . . these robbers. They moved all of the Jews, as they put it, down here. I heard them say the Christians—again, their words—were going to be put in the stable cellar.” She sighed. “Including the house help and the drivers who were here . . . that’s at least thirty people.”

  “Where?” Win was getting impatient.

  “It’s a big concrete block storage area under the stable. It’s quite secure. As is the entire property.” Her voice rose. “We hired the best security! You just cannot get good help these days! I do hope you’re getting our diamonds back. Do you have any idea how embarrassing this is to the family!” It wasn’t a question. Win was really not liking this lady. The militiamen were doing a good job of moving everyone, and she was one of the few left in the room. He told Mrs. Weinberg he’d do his best and quickly turned her over to Trey.