by Elle Gray
“I owe you an apology. Sofia too,” I say. “Turns out you were right, and this was a frame job all along.”
He nods, as if he expected the truth would win out. Eventually. But then he turns to me and gives me a gentle smile.
“I can’t blame you for chargin’ at me as hard as you did. If I had the evidence you had in hand, I’d have done the same thing,” he admits.
“Well all the same, I jumped to conclusions,” I tell him. “And I’m sorry.”
“No apology needed. But I’ll take it and thank you for it all the same.”
“That leaves the question of who’s behind all of this,” I say. “Who would want to frame you and why?”
He shakes his head. “That I don’t know. If I had to wager a guess though, I’d say it’s the same person who came after you and Astra.”
“Obviously, it’s the head of this cult,” I say. “But who is it?”
“That’s something else I don’t know.”
“I wish I could go down into Highsmith’s room and shake it out of him.”
“That wouldn’t be admissible in court.”
I grin. “No, but it might make me feel a bit better.”
“You’re a good woman, Blake Wilder,” he says. “You’ve got a good heart.”
“You’ve got a pretty good heart yourself, Sheriff.”
As we sit in silence, I ponder everything I’ve learned so far. Try to piece things together in a way that make sense. It would be so much easier to drag it out of Tony, but I know that Morris is right. Nothing he says to me under duress will be admissible in court. And whoever’s behind this would walk free. And after all we’ve been through, I’m not about to let that happen. This unsub is either going to prison, or into a hole in the ground. There is no other way this ends.
I run my hands through my hair, pulling on it hard in frustration. But then something occurs to me. I turn to the Sheriff.
“Tell me something,” I say. “You ran for election against Montez, right?”
He nods, a small grin on his lips. “Beat him too. So bad he didn’t even show for the second election.”
“What if he’s behind this? What if he’s the cult leader? What if he’s the one who’s trying to frame you?”
“Now why would he do that?”
“How did the election go? How were relations between you during the race?”
He chuckles. “It was contentious all right,” he said. “He didn’t feel that one of his subordinates should be runnin’ against him. Said it was disrespectful.”
“Why did you run?”
“Well, Montez is a tyrant. Rules with an iron fist. It demoralized the entire department,” he says. “I thought there was a better way. So I ran.”
“He take it hard that he lost?”
“I’ve heard that, yeah. But then I heard he found religion and calmed－”
“Oh my God. It’s him. It’s Montez,” I say. All the pieces suddenly fit. My mind is like wildfire. “He’s been planning and plotting this for years. He and his cult were killing while he was the Sheriff. So he spends all these years after you deposed him plotting and planning, laying traps with the idea of destroying you and your reputation.”
“To what end?”
“If you’re forced to resign in disgrace, I assume the city council or mayor appoints a new interim Sheriff?” I ask.
He nods. “Yeah.”
“Then that’s it. That’s what he was gunning for. Sending you down in flames so he could emerge victorious and regain his job,” I say. “Which also tells me that he’s got allies on the council. Maybe even the mayor himself.”
He blows out a long breath. “Makes sense. But why wouldn’t he just challenge me again two years ago?”
“Maybe his plan needed more time than that. He needed you not just to lose, but really fall from grace. That gave him time to plant all these murders – that’s why in the last four years things have shot up so much.”
He considers this with a nod, the information weighing heavy on him.
“You’ve also got to know he probably has members within the ranks of your deputies,” I add.
“Nothin’ I can do about that right now. Not until they reveal themselves. But I know I got some good ones too. Men and women I trust with my life.”
“That’s good. Keep them close.”
All of these forces being arrayed against him are disturbing, to say the least. It makes for very dangerous times for the Sheriff. My cellphone rings in my pocket, so I slip it out and connect the call, already expecting Rosie and/or Potts to read me the riot act for Astra getting shot. But when the caller speaks, I don’t recognize his voice.
“Is your friend dead yet?” he says.
“Who is this?”
“The man who put your friend where she is right now.”
I feel the rage starting to build up inside. “Who is this?”
“I think you know who I am”
“Montez,” I say.
“Give the girl a prize.”
“I’m going to kill you,” I hiss.
“Maybe. But I got a thousand bucks that says you don’t ever get close enough.”
“I guess we’ll see about that.”
“Why wait? Come on out to the old Montez factory,” he says. “Meet me one on one and let’s settle this.”
“What’s there to settle?”
There’s a pause on the other end of the line, but then he speaks again. “It’s because of you that all I’ve worked and sacrificed for is now gone. My dreams are in tatters, and it’s your fault.”
“I think you’re mistaken. I haven’t done anything. I didn’t even know who you were until tonight.”
“Well, now you know. Come meet me, Blake Wilder. Let’s settle this as adults.”
“What’s there to settle? You lost this little war,” I fire back.
‘How about this… if you don’t come, I’ll make sure your little friend doesn’t get out of Briar Glen alive. I mean, she might not make it anyway, but she does…”
The rage inside of me is white hot and I disconnect the call. Threatening me is one thing. But threatening my loved one is something else entirely.
“Don’t do it,” Morris says.
“Do what?”
“Whatever it is that has that ‘I’m going to kill you’ expression on your face,” he replies. “You should stay here. Be with Astra when she wakes up.”
“The doctors already said she’d be in surgery all night,” I tell him. “It was Montez on the phone. Said if I don’t meet him, he’ll make sure Astra dies in the hospital.”
“I hate to sound like a callous jerk, but there’s a chance she might anyway,” he tells me. “Don’t throw your life and your career way for this man. He’s not worth it. Trust me, I know firsthand.”
“He shot my best friend.”
“And he’s responsible for how many murders?” he fires back. “We know what he’s capable of, Blake. Plus, he’s got God knows how many people out there with him. You’d be walkin’ into a buzzsaw.”
“Good thing I never leave home unprepared.”
“Blake－”
“I have to do this, Sheriff. I take monsters off the board. That’s what I do,” I say. “And Montez is a monster. So I have to go do my job.”
He sighs. “Can’t talk you out of it, huh?”
“Afraid not.”
“Then count me in,” he replies. “This is my town, I’m the Sheriff, and if you’re gonna go in with both guns blazing, I’m going to be by your side.”
I look at him for a long moment and see that there’s no talking him out of it. He’s a stubborn old goat. But I suppose the same could be said about me. Truth is, two against an army of religious fanatics sounds better than lonely old me against that army of religious fanatics.
“All right,” I nod. “Let’s go.”
Thirty-Eight
Industrial District; Briar Glen, WA
We pull to a stop about a quarter m
ile from the warehouse and get out of the car. I can see the building in the warehouse. It’s set on a piece of land that juts out into the ocean a small way. It’s run down but isn’t falling down like some of the other buildings around this area of the city that’s been left to rot.
“Lots of windows,” I note.
“He’s gonna see us comin’ from a ways off.”
“Maybe,” I say as I look around. “But then, maybe not.”
“Unless you can turn yourself invisible, there’s that one spit of land the place is sittin’ on. One way of approach.”
I flash him a smile. “There’s one other way.”
I point to the narrow strip of sand that runs along a tall ocean wall. It’s narrow and we’re going to get our feet wet, but I don’t think we can be seen. Morris looks at me and nods, impressed.
I pop open the trunk of my car and remove the false bottom. Underneath it is an array of weapons. I reach in and take the AR-15 and load it up, making sure to pack plenty of magazines into my belt. I then remove a 9mm Glock and tuck it into the back of my pants. Morris outfits himself the same way.
“This is a lot of guns,” he says.
I shrug. “You should see what I’ve got at home.”
“You obviously take your Second Amendment very seriously.”
“Yes I do.”
“All right then. Let’s go,” he says.
We cross to the ocean wall, using the trees and bushes for cover. We drop down from the top of the seawall down onto the sand, the water coming up to our ankles immediately, just as I thought it might. But wet socks aren’t going to keep me from finishing this.
Crouching down, we move single file, me in front and Morris behind me. We cover the quarter mile in good time, reaching the end of the seawall, then use the pits and crags in the surface to quickly scale it. The moon is bright in the sky overhead, raining down a monochromatic silvery light over us. It would have been nice to have had some cloud cover tonight. But nothing is ever easy.
We make it to a row of windows. Or at least, the window frames. The actual glass was busted out long ago. I poke my head up and over but see nothing. I nod to Morris and we climb over the sill, quietly dropping down to the concrete floor. Weapons at the ready, we move room to room, looking for any sign of life. As of yet, there’s nothing.
We’re moving past a staircase, moving deeper into the ground floor when I hear a stifled sneeze. I look up in time to see a man wheeling around, an automatic rifle trained on us. I throw myself backward, crashing into Morris, knocking him to the floor, and we take cover underneath the side of the stairs. We quickly get ourselves untangled and back on our feet. The chatter of gunfire is impossibly loud in here. I clamp my hands over my ears.
The firing stops, so I swing into view and fire a burst up at the gunman. He grunts and falls away. Not taking any chances, I rush up the stairs, weapon leading the way.
“Blake, stop! Are you nuts?” Morris calls after me, though I hear his heavy footsteps pounding up the stairs not two feet behind me.
I reach the landing and find the man I’d hit. He’s down in a spreading pool of crimson gore. I kick his weapon away and continue down the corridor, moving from room to room with Morris at my back.
At the end of the corridor, I push through a set of tall, oak doors to find who I’m looking for. There are a dozen people kneeling in front of Montez, who’s standing on a podium behind them. All dozen people have their weapons trained on us, and Montez just laughs.
“Well, this wasn’t very smart,” Montez mutters. “But welcome all the same. Please, please come in.”
“Yeah, I guess you’re right about this too,” I whisper to Morris.
“Maybe one of these days you’ll listen to me.”
“Yeah, maybe.”
“Robert,” Montez intones. “I didn’t expect to see you here. What a pleasant surprise. And I have to say, getting to kill you along with her, well… that’s just a special treat. Icing on the cake, as it were.”
“You’ve lost your mind, Montez,” Morris says.
“Quite the contrary. I found my way. We all found our way,’ he calls back, his voice echoing across the cavernous room. “We found a God who loves us and a God who has empowered us to create this world as we see fit.”
“By murdering innocent people?” I ask. “What God would ever condone the murder of innocent people?”
“Innocent? Is that supposed to be funny, Agent Wilder? These were animals who escaped justice,” he says. “So we delivered God’s true justice.”
“We are Manus Domini Dei,” the twelve kneeling on the ground chant in unison, which sends a chill down my spine. “Nos servo fidem.”
When I spoke of this being a cult, I don’t think I quite envisioned exactly what that would look like. Well, this is what a cult looks like. Twelve people in robes with the hoods pulled up, and creepy masks on their faces, chanting in unison like they’re all linked to one hive mind. It’s the most bizarre and disturbing thing I’ve ever seen. And I’ve seen some things in my time at the Bureau.
“Manus Domini Dei?” I call. “The Hand of God? A little pretentious and delusions of grandeur-esque, don’t you think?”
Montez chuckles. “I would not expect a small mind like yours to comprehend what we are about,” he says. “For somebody like you cannot grasp concepts like faith and fidelity. You cannot possibly know the bonds of fellowship like we do. Nor do you have the will it takes to do the things we’ve done.”
“You’re a chatty one, aren’t you?” I fire back. “How about you and me settle this the old fashioned way. The two of us. Bare knuckle. Winner goes home, loser gets a ride to the morgue?”
His laughter is deep and bellowing. “Such violence. And you call me a monster,” he says. “Please, step further into the room. I’d rather not have to shoot you.”
My eyes flick around the room when I see the torchlight in the room glinting off small pieces of metal. When I realize what they are, my insides almost turn to liquid right then and there. This situation has gone from bad to worse. However, now I understand why this guy continues to blather on. He’s trying to stall us. Keep us in the room. That tells me the bomb is on a timer, which is the only silver lining in this.
“The room is wired,” I hiss to Morris, keeping my voice low so only he can hear me.
“Wonderful,” he mutters. “Ideas?”
“Step further into the room please. The both of you,” Montez calls, his tone growing impatient. “It is time for us to celebrate our ascension. Well, our ascension. Your oblivion.”
I look at the kneelers and see that most of them are holding their weapons awkwardly and get the idea that this is probably the first time most of them have held a gun in their lives. Silver lining number two.
“When I say fire, squeeze that trigger and run like hell,” I whisper.
Knowing most of these people don’t know how to hold a gun, I’m assuming most of them don’t know how to fire one accurately. Better than that, I’m rolling the dice on the idea that when they’re being shot at, they’ll scatter like leaves in the wind. I think it stands to reason that having never held a gun, they’ve never been fired at, and their primal instincts for survival will kick in.
God, I’m really hoping this isn’t one of those things I’ll have to apologize for later. But then, if I’m wrong, we’ll be dead, so I can probably skip that part.
“I said, come closer,” Montez roars. “Now!”
“You heard the man,” I say. “Now!”
Morris and I both fire off several bursts as we scramble backwards. I hear several shots and feel a bright, hot pain lance through my leg. I tumble to the ground, gritting my teeth, and grunt. Morris stops and starts to come back for me.
“Go, you idiot. Get out of here!” I scream. “I’m fine. It’s a scratch!”
I roll back over on my butt and fire into the room again. Without waiting, I get back up and run-hop along the corridor. The bullet just grazed my leg, but i
t still hurts like hell. Behind me, I hear screaming and the clatter of guns hitting the deck, as well as the shuffling of footsteps. And over it all, I hear Montez bellowing to his flock, demanding they come back. Ordering them to fight. It’s chaos. It’s perfect.
But then I hear a thunderous roar. The building around us shakes violently. Morris and I share a look and double our efforts. We make it to the staircase as the building heaves like a giant beast in its death throes. Plaster and concrete are falling down from above like a snowstorm from hell.
“Come on!” Morris calls.
I throw my arm over his shoulder, and together we scramble down the stairs as fast as we can. I hear concrete cracking and splitting, the loud, booming crash of chunks of it falling. The ground is trembling beneath us and the window still seems miles away. Behind us, I hear men and women screaming. They’re on the staircase, but then I hear a violent rending sound, and a thunderous crack loud enough to rend the heavens. The panicked screaming behind us intensifies, but the roar of the building crashing down around them drowns out their cries.
I’m so caught up in the destruction behind me, that I’m not aware of what’s happening in front of me. The next thing I know, I’m sailing out of the window. I feel weightless for a moment, and then I hit the hard packed dirt outside with a grunt as the breath is driven from my lungs.
But then Morris is there, dragging me to my feet, and helping haul me away from the building. We turn around in time to see the factory cave in on itself, the walls collapsing into a giant pile of rubble. Smoke billows up from the structure and tall orange flames lick at the sky overhead.
There is no screaming coming from inside anymore, and I see no movement on the pile of concrete and wood timber before us.
“Think anybody got out?” I ask.
“Doubt it,” Morris says. “Montez started shooting those people trying to escape.”
“So much for the bonds of fellowship.”
“Having a building falling down on top of you definitely tells you who’s with you to the end.”
We stand in silence for several long moments. As we contemplate the scene before us, I feel the blood spilling down my leg and into my sock. The pain is intense. It’s like the worst papercut I’ve ever had, magnified by a billion. Morris looks down at it, then up at me.