“What now?”
“We’ve got trouble. Damn that know-it-all to hell. I’ll bust his ass this time. I swear I will.”
“What’s going on?”
Tucker glared. “Your girlfriend’s on her way back and she’s bringing her boss. That’s what’s wrong.”
“Alex Stewart? Isn’t that good?” Jude didn’t need glasses to catch Tucker’s annoyed look.
“Shit, you know about him, too? No, it’s not good. And what’s this crap about bodies hidden in a tunnel? Your girlfriend’s got forensic evidence to bring Cain down for good. You want to tell me about that?”
“Sure,” Jude answered, surprised Tucker didn’t already know about the bodies. He acted like he knew everything else. “Cassidy found a tunnel under the root cellar stairs. She kicked out a few boards to get to it. It leads to a bigger room under the silo. We found quite a few corpses.”
“No shit?”
“Umm, yeah,” Jude amended the vulgarity to, “No kidding.”
Tucker held to no such verbal restraint. “Show me, asshole.”
Chapter Thirteen
“I’ve got a message for you direct from FBI Director Zachary Strong. Stand down. Pack up and clear out.”
Cassidy lifted a brow at this FBI agent’s tone. Obviously, he hadn’t worked with The TEAM before. Dressed in the official black jacket and work pants of the Bureau, the idiot kept his hand on his holstered pistol when he approached, like he’d walked into danger. Hell, maybe he had. He’d come for the evidence bag, but the guy’s condescending attitude and swagger had to go.
She’d reconvened along with Alex and Rourke to their portable breakfast table. A map of the north compound of the cult lay ready and waiting. She was just about to argue her case when Mr. FBI showed up in his dusty van and his dark glasses.
“I don’t stand down,” Alex growled.
Rourke’s lips twisted with amusement. He folded his arms over his chest and tipped back on his chair. Cassidy did, too. Alex’s brand of diplomacy was always entertaining to watch—from a distance.
“Yes, sir, you do,” the Bureau’s finest and obviously the dumbest had the nerve to declare. “I expect you to pack up and—”
“Unless you’ve got a warrant for my arrest, you can take that order and—”
“Mr. Stewart!” the poor dumb guy snapped. “I can and I will charge you with interference with a federal officer in the performance of his—”
“Then do it!” Alex lifted to his feet, his fists curled. “But you’d better be brave enough to call Jed McCormack then and tell him you had the balls to fire me. Are you?”
The powerful name hung in the air. Most of the civilized world knew of Jed McCormack, the entrepreneur and self-made billionaire who’d fought relentlessly in support of men and women in the military. He’d never been elected to public office. Didn’t need to be. Jed had the kind of power most senators wished for, prayed for, and dreamed of. A friend to many, he’d befriended every president in the last twenty years, their political affiliation not withstanding. The man was the living epitome of compromise. And he wanted his daughter-in-law back.
“Strong knows I’m here, damn it,” Alex growled. “You want to try that line of bullshit on me again?”
Mr. FBI’s mouth snapped shut as if it were spring-loaded. His nostrils flared. Cassidy really wanted to smile, but she didn’t dare, not until her boss did. She had yet to see the person who could back Alex into a corner and not come out bloody.
Rourke stabbed his finger to the printed form on the table in front of the chastised agent. “Need you to sign for those fingers. Trail of evidence, you understand.”
With pursed lips, the agent stepped up to the table and signed on the dotted line. Rourke offered him the bag, but didn’t release it when the agent took hold of it. Instead, he taunted. “You’ll take good care of this, won’t you, Agent...” His eyes scrolled over the unfortunate man’s jacket. “I’m not seeing a federal ID. Who exactly are you? Where’s your badge?”
Mr. FBI huffed, but he did produce his credentials and his badge. “Agent Latham. Will that be all?”
“No. It won’t. I expect a complete report by the end of the day,” Alex snapped.
Agent Latham tugged the evidence from Rourke’s fingers, pivoted on his heel, and left in a cloud of dust and gravel.
“Bastard,” Alex hissed. “Lie to me like I’m supposed to kiss his ass. That’ll be the son-of-a-bitchin’ day.”
Rourke winked at Cassidy. She lowered her head and grinned at the table, positive she had the best job on the planet. Working with these tougher-than-tough, decorated veterans made every day an adventure.
“Speak up if I’m missing anything.” Alex turned to her with a quick command. “You’ve been inside. You’re the expert here.”
She nodded as he stood over the map. “At seventeen hundred hours, we infiltrate here.” His fingernail hit the wall directly opposite Melissa’s location. “Chatter indicates this will be the final blessing.”
Cassidy met his gaze. “What do you mean? What are you hearing?”
“Mother called while you were showering. She picked up FBI chatter about a mass suicide within the compound. Tonight.” Alex glared at the road Agent Latham had roared off on. “Sure would have been nice if he’d shared that intel instead of playing god.”
Cassidy’s heart dropped. She jumped to her feet. “We’ve got to go now.”
Alex captured her wrist before she could step away from the table. The authority in his blue eyes reached all the way to her gut. “No, you stay. If we do this right, we’ll save more than just three people.”
Anxiety rippled up every muscle in her legs and back. By the time it reached her neck, standing still wasn’t an option. This whole simple operation of rescuing three people had just escalated into a disaster similar to the Jonestown massacre in Guyana. Nine hundred people had died there. Woman and children, too. That Jude and Judith were now in the middle of the same sort of nightmare rattled her to her core. Adrenaline flooded every vein and artery with the need to move.
“But I can’t let him and his daughter down,” she said, her heart already flying over the wall and on its way to Jude. Want to or not, a single tear dropped from her eyelid like the weakling she was not.
“You won’t.” Alex hadn’t taken his gaze off of her.
A light flashed on inside his blue eyes. She held her breath.
“You will lead this maneuver,” he told her firmly. “Once we reach the wall, you’ll go over first, but you will hold that position until Rourke and I are boots on the ground.”
Her eyes shifted to the map. The sight of Alex made her feel incredibly weak. He was the strong one. With her heart in her throat like it had been since she’d been strapped to that damned board, she was everything but.
“You will cover us while we clear the wall, is that understood?”
“Yes, Boss,” she replied quickly, trying to focus on the map, but only seeing Jude’s gray eyes. The man had trusted her with his daughter’s life. Cassidy couldn’t swallow.
“From there we proceed to the home we believe Melissa McCormack to be in, and we acquire our first target.”
First target. It dawned on her then. Someone had to facilitate Melissa’s prompt extraction, and that same someone should probably be a woman, especially if Melissa was found to be in a fragile state. And that person was—Cassidy.
Alex couldn’t fool her. Melissa was their prime objective. Not Jude.
“Boss, I can’t leave with just Mel—”
Alex glared at her. “You will retrieve the package, no ifs, ands, or buts.”
If ever there was a time to cower, it was now. Alex brooked no dissension in his ranks. Cassidy took a deep breath and prepared to go toe-to-toe with her boss.
“Calm down. No one said you have to stay with her once we locate her.” Rourke’s hazel eyes met hers across the table, saving the day with his gentle intervention. “It depends on what shape she’s in. Bes
ides, someone’s already inside the cult with her.”
“Who?” Cassidy licked her lower lip, not having considered that possibility.
“We have confirmation from Director Strong. He has a man inside, and no, it’s not your buddy, Jude,” Rourke replied. “This guy’s a real agent.”
“He’s been passing intel to the Bureau for weeks,” Alex confirmed. “The FBI’s prepared to blow the front gate of this cult open tonight, which is why we need to get Melissa and your friends out first. We must ensure we aren’t seen. We cannot compromise the FBI’s effort.”
“I’m surprised they agreed to let you go in first.”
“They didn’t get a choice,” Alex replied stiffly.
“You still don’t trust them.” Cassidy stated the obvious. Alex’s long-running feud with the Bureau stemmed from too many federal operations with The TEAM gone wrong.
“Now you’ve got the picture.” Rourke shot her one of his lopsided smirks. “We want our client out of their way long before they show. Man, you’re slow.”
She took a breath. Insults from Rourke she could take—they actually diffused some of the tension—but Jude’s implicit trust in her lingered. All he wanted was to save his daughter, and that had to happen sooner than later. Cassidy struggled to hold still and listen.
Alex ignored the banter. “The real problem begins after we acquire our first target. Do you have any idea where Jude will be?”
“The barn.”
Rourke eyed her with blatant mischief written all over his handsome face, probably trying to distract her. It wasn’t working. Her heart pounded harder for Jude and Judith with every second she wasn’t headed their way. “One of us needs to go undercover once we get inside the compound, as in, dress the part and act the part.”
Cassidy nodded. “Okay. That makes sense.” She caught the sneaky look between her fellow agents. “Wait. You want me to wear one of those stupid dresses and—”
“Of course. We don’t want anyone recognizing you.”
She would’ve punched him if Alex hadn’t been there. “Boss. You don’t really need me to...” She stopped mid-sentence. That Alex hadn’t come to her defense said volumes. From the shifty looks on these guys’ faces, they already had her camouflaged in the cult’s drab get-up.
“Where am I supposed to conceal my SIG? And how about spare mags? You don’t expect me to go in unarmed, do you?”
“Oughta fit in your underwear.” Rourke smirked. “Those bloomers looked plenty baggy to me.”
She closed her eyes and counted to ten. I don’t have time for this.
“Suck it up,” Alex ordered calmly. “You’re the only one who knows her way around inside the compound.”
“I hate you guys,” she muttered, “but I’ll do it. Then what?”
“Maintain contact at all times. Once you locate Jude and his daughter, retreat to Melissa’s home where Rourke and I will be waiting. If you encounter any trouble, you damned well better notify me instead of handling it yourself.”
“I will, Boss. I won’t take any chances. Promise. You’re taking Melissa out first?” she asked, needing to be sure she understood.
“No. We’re taking them all out together,” Rourke replied. “One trip. One chance. We run less risk if we move as a unit. If push comes to shove, we’ll have three guns. Sound good?”
“Sounds better.” It made sense. The only ones she expected serious trouble from were the Elite, who would definitely be armed. She welcomed the idea of engaging them. She owed Greg—big time. Hank, too.
Chapter Fourteen
“Your girlfriend is an annoying pain in the ass, you know that? So’s the bastard she works for.”
Jude didn’t care what Tucker thought, so he didn’t answer. His only option at the moment was sticking close to the guy whom he wasn’t so sure could save his daughter. But Tucker could see, and Jude couldn’t, unless shadows counted as vision. Crossing behind the barn to the root cellar wasn’t the problem. Being able to distinguish a person standing in the shadows of the nearest tree trunk was.
“FBI and Stewart are like oil and water. The man’s a flaming asshole. Most arrogant son-of-a-bitch I’ve ever met. Hope I never work with him again.”
Jude kept walking. This Stewart guy hadn’t sounded so bad when Cassidy talked about him. She made it sound more like he walked on water.
“Worked an op with him in Wisconsin a few years back. Bastard stormed in and took over our operation. Really pissed the old FBI director off.”
Jude bit his lip. Sounded more like the old director didn’t know much if a civilian contractor could make him look bad. He didn’t say that, though.
“Stewart only hires ex-military snipers.” Tucker was a wealth of trivia Jude didn’t care about. “’Cept your girlfriend. I think she was ATF or something.”
“DEA.” Jude finally had something to say.
“Whatever.” Tucker grunted. “She’s as bad as Stewart. Cocky. Smart-mouthed. Probably keeps a pair of brass balls in her pants, too.”
Jude let it go. Tucker was one of those guys who had to keep running his mouth. At least he scanned the yard with some degree of caution before they ducked inside the root cellar, relaying what he saw to Jude. A few lame-brained brothers were securing the pigpen while a handful of brain-dead sisters hung laundry on the clotheslines between the dorms. Other zombies worked the gardens. Tucker had an interesting view on the world and everyone in it.
“You see Greg or Hank anywhere?” Jude whispered.
“Not yet. Let’s make this quick. Wait!”
Jude’s blood froze at Tucker’s command. The FBI agent stilled, his head cocked, the cords in his neck tight. His head swiveled slowly toward Jude. “Did you hear that?”
“What?”
Tucker looked toward the barn. “Not sure. A scream maybe?”
“I didn’t hear anything.” The icy fingertips of anxiety tap-danced up Jude’s spine. How could he have heard anything over Tucker’s incessant chitchat?
Shaken, he dropped into the cellar, while Tucker eased the slanted door closed. He flicked a flashlight seemingly from thin air, and clicked it on. “Where’s this damned tunnel?”
“Where’d you get a light?” Jude countered.
“In my boot, right next to my KA-BAR and my pistol. Where do you keep yours?”
“Damn, I don’t have a flashlight. You’ve got a knife and a pistol in your boot?” Jude still wasn’t sure he could believe Tucker. The man seemed bigger than life. His head seemed that way, too.
“A smart man doesn’t leave home without plenty of weapons. Now move it. Show me the bodies.”
“Here.” With help from Tucker’s light, Jude maneuvered behind the stairs and into the narrow tunnel. Before long, he and Tucker stood in the larger room. It was a whole different place with a flashlight to brighten the scene. Even a guy with bad vision could see enough to know how truly evil Cain and the Elite were.
Ghastly corpses littered the floor, a couple dozen or so stacked like cord wood in the center. Others were laid flat, their arms wrapped to their sides and their feet bound with bands of gray cloth. Still clothed, the male corpses wore work trousers and long-sleeved shirts, the women in the traditional long-sleeved dresses.
Jude squinted down at the body whose finger he’d removed. She was a woman with white-blonde hair wrapped up in a bun on top of her head, her face turned sideways as if she were simply asleep. He couldn’t tell how long she’d been dead. Her skin looked smooth, except for the sagging of the muscles around her mouth and eyes. He knelt at her side. “I’m so sorry.”
Tucker wandered around the room with the light. “How’d you get your evidence? You know, how’d you cut the fingers off that old bag for your girlfriend?”
“Pocket knife,” Jude answered solemnly, his heart heavy now that he could see the human being he’d personally defiled. That she was a defenseless woman made his crime seem more abhorrent. A black man lay flat on his back beside her, his eyes also closed as
if in peaceful slumber, his hands crossed over his stomach. Other bodies rested nearby. They all looked peacefully—staged.
“You? A knife?” Tucker mocked. “Wow. That’s a shocker. What kind?”
Jude paused to scratch between his eyebrows with his index finger, sure Tucker would only humiliate him further.
“Come on, bro. Tell me.” Tucker nudged Jude’s foot with his boot. “What? It come in a box of Cracker Jacks? You flip coins at a circus for it? The county fair? Tell me. How’d a pipsqueak like you come to own a decent knife?”
“Boy Scouts,” Jude muttered wearily, fully expecting another insult.
It never came.
“Shit. Will you look at this?” Tucker’s light flickered across white lettering scrawled on the far wall. The bright red words: CRYPT of the GENTILES lit up under the narrow beam.
Squinting to make out the words, it dawned on Jude who these dead people were. “Cain lied,” he said, still not wanting to believe what his eyes were telling him. “He never let the Gentiles leave. They’re still here.”
He took a second look at the faces of some of those bodies. Sure enough, old man Michaels and his wife were there. So was Hinton Sweeney, the old codger who had challenged Cain’s right to lead the cult. And that younger woman with the white-blonde hair? My heck. Saffron’s mother.
Jude dropped to his knees beside the body. While Judith’s self-righteous little friend clung to Jerusha’s lies, even to the point of defending her, the mighty prophet she followed had had her mother killed. Poor, poor Saffron.
Tucker moved closer to the stacked bodies in the corner. “Did you notice none of these folks are wearing shoes. They’re all barefoot. Wonder what that’s about?”
A grating sound overhead pulled Jude’s attention from that interesting observation and up to the ceiling. “I estimated we’re right beneath the silo,” he said quietly.
Tucker flicked the beam of the flashlight upward while trickles of dust and gravel rained down. “It’s a hatch,” he muttered. “Shit. Someone’s opening it. Hide.”
Both men scrambled into the cover of the tunnel, Tucker in the lead. Jude had barely pulled the burlap flap behind him when bright sunlight filled the crypt. Twisting around, he held his position on his hands and knees, determined to find out what else Cain had done. If this next body was Judith’s, so help me God... He gritted his teeth and planned like never before. His worthless knife might not kill a man, but Cain would pay.
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