Abducted Innocence (Emily Etcitty)

by Sandra Bolton

  The Black Hills, outlined in silver by the setting sun, went unappreciated as Emily stared at the compound gate. She grasped the Styrofoam coffee cup with trembling hands and took a small sip before the bile rose in her throat. Her appetite was gone, replaced by a flashback of the leering face of the Prophet as he examined the young girls in the compound.

  34

  Thursday, April 19

  Mattie Simmons’s Sheep Ranch

  Bloomfield, New Mexico

  Sitting on the front stoop with Patch curled at his side, Abe sipped his coffee and contemplated the recent developments in the kidnapping case. Emily was in South Dakota with Will and Hosteen, intent on arresting Rupert Langley and bringing the girls home. Abe worried about the girls, especially Lina, but also about Emily. He hoped everything would proceed quickly and safely. Emily had assured him she would stay in the background. Just the same, she planned to wear her uniform and carry her Glock when they conducted the raid on the compound.

  The kidnappers, Harris and Mackey, were incarcerated at the Navajo Nation Corrections Department, and with Emily as the star witness, Mackey and Harris wouldn’t have a chance.

  And he had worked things out with Hosteen. After the lawman had delivered his prisoners to police headquarters, Abe and Hosteen had that talk. Abe felt like a fool for his ridiculous outburst of jealousy. He was satisfied the Navajo officer did not have any romantic interest in Emily. Hosteen told him about his fiancée, who was finishing her master’s degree in education at Kansas State, and how they planned to marry when she returned.

  Abe shook his head with disgust and thought, I know I’m a moody son of a bitch sometimes, prone to jumping to conclusions. I wonder why Emily puts up with me.

  Shaking off his self-deprecating thoughts, Abe picked up the newspaper from the coffee table and reread the ad. The latest edition of the Farmington Daily Times lay open to the help-wanted page, a single item circled in pen: “San Juan College seeking instructor in piano and voice.” It had him thinking. He knew three things for sure. He was in love with Emily, he missed playing the piano, and he wasn’t cut out to be a sheep rancher. Abe had decided to set up an appointment with the head of the music department.

  He emptied his cup and went out to the barn to begin his chores, then shook his head in amazement at what he saw. Danny Ferguson had done a kick-ass job of taking care of the sheep in Abe’s absence—better than he would have done. The barn and stalls were cleaned, and fresh hay was scattered in the pens. The animals appeared calm and well maintained under Danny’s supervision. The kid had even assisted in the delivery of two new lambs and repaired some sagging fence.

  “Shoot, Danny would have done this for nothing. Working with animals has been good for him. It’s the happiest he’s been since the accident,” Ellen had said.

  Later that evening, Abe thought about the upcoming meeting with the owner of the ranch. Mattie Simmons would arrive in about ten days, and the small kernel of an idea began to form in his mind. He would need some help from Emily, and a little time. She had promised to call at eight, and it was seven thirty now. He hurried over to the main house so he wouldn’t miss her.

  He was playing the piano when the telephone rang. Abe grabbed it and smiled when he heard her voice.

  “Hey, sweetheart. How was your trip?”

  “Long, Abe. I didn’t think we’d ever get here. Faith is tiny—smaller than Bloomfield. All the law-enforcement officers are hanging out at different places outside of town so no one from the ranch gets wind of what we’re up to. We raid the place in the morning, at five.”

  Abe picked up on the tension in her voice. “What is it, Em? What are you worried about?”

  “We found out where the compound was and drove out there this afternoon. When I saw the fence and gate, I got chills and the shakes. It brought me back to that place they kept me, and I thought about the girls and all of their suffering.”

  He wondered if Emily had been told about Lina’s diabetes. “You shouldn’t have had to put yourself through this again. In a couple of days, this will all be over, and you can put it behind you—we can get on with our lives.” He hoped this was true. “Are you feeling better now?”

  “Yeah. I recovered, but it’ll be different for those kids. After we find them, they’ll need counseling for a long time. How about you, Abe? How’s Patch and the sheep?”

  “It’s all good here. Patch and the animals are doing fine, but I miss you. Be careful, and call me as soon as you can.”

  “I will, Abe. Love you.”

  “I love you, too. Where are you staying, Em? In case I need to get in touch?”

  “Broken Arrow Motel, room number seven.”

  After she hung up the phone, Emily checked the time. A little past nine in Faith, South Dakota, an hour ahead of Abe. She desperately needed sleep, but edginess about tomorrow’s raid kept her wide-eyed. The faint sound of television came from the adjoining room, shared by Will and Hosteen. Emily couldn’t concentrate on TV. She put on a jacket, picked up her crutches, and stepped outside into the chilly night air. A cold wind blew down from the north. Emily shivered and pulled her jacket tighter.

  How am I going to react if I come face-to-face with the bastard? She shuddered. I’d like to shoot him. But if we don’t find him—if the girls aren’t there—what will we do?

  Emily knew she shouldn’t think about that. She had to put her mind on something else. All the thinking wasn’t helping her sleep. She sighed and went back inside to get ready for bed. The four thirty meeting would mean getting up at three.

  35

  Friday, April 20, 1990

  Heaven’s Gate Ranch

  Faith, South Dakota

  The blaring of the radio alarm interrupted a dream Emily didn’t want to end. Abe had been slowly undressing her, kissing his way down her body. She fumbled with the radio, willing it to stop, trying to find the off button. Then she sat up and turned on the bedside lamp. Three o’clock—only two in New Mexico where Abe, no doubt, slumbered peacefully. Having finally located the switch, Emily shook off the remnants of her dream and pulled herself out of bed. She had been waiting for this day—the chance to find the two Navajo girls and arrest the pedophile who called himself a prophet. She took an awkward shower, cursing while balancing herself on one leg and trying not to get her cast wet. Her mother had opened the seam in the right leg of her uniform pants so she could pull them over her cast, but dressing still took extra effort. Emily combed and fastened her hair into a tight bun, squared her campaign hat, and frowned at her reflection in the mirror. She made her way to the motel office, where Will and Hosteen sipped Styrofoam cups of burned-smelling coffee. Will offered to get her some, but after one whiff, she declined.

  Outside, the Milky Way split a trail through the black sky. It might as well have been midnight, as dark as it was. Hosteen drove to the fishing camp. Other officers had arrived before them. He parked beside a cruiser marked with the emblem of the Meade County Sheriff’s Department.

  Emily rubbed her arms and shivered. Winter had not released its grip on South Dakota. She zipped her coat up to her neck but refused the wheelchair and grabbed the crutches. Men and women dressed in a variety of uniforms and leather jackets sat at the long table, on benches or folding chairs. Boxes of store-bought doughnuts and take-out coffee were scattered on the table. Some, who couldn’t find a seat, leaned against trees or squatted on the ground. All wore somber faces. A deputy sheriff offered Emily his seat; Will and Hosteen opted for a log.

  Bill McCallister, the lead South Dakota FBI agent, stood and began to address the assemblage.

  “You all know why you’re here. There’s an evil son of a bitch out there who glorifies himself by seducing and having sex with young girls. And there are two young Navajo girls, recently kidnapped from a traditional ceremony marking the beginning of their womanhood.” McCallister paused here, looking uncomfortable, and took a breath. “A pair of dirtbags, under the orders of a pedophile who calls himself ‘the P
rophet,’ took these girls—and who knows how many others—to serve as his wives and bear his children. I don’t want to leave here until we get the son of a bitch. Your job is to help me find those young ladies and anyone else who is a victim of this sick bastard so we can return them to their respective homes. The FBI has been aware of Heaven’s Gate Ranch for some time, but we’ve had no substantial reason to conduct a raid until now. Thanks to the testimony of Navajo Nation Police officer Emily Etcitty and information garnered by Navajo officer Joe Hosteen, we now have substantial evidence the aforementioned is hiding out here—plenty of information to justify a raid on the compound. You know the procedure when serving a warrant. Report any interesting find to the FBI evidence team; don’t try to collect it yourself. Agent Carillo is the man in charge of forensics. Remember, as soon as you locate the girls, radio the medics immediately so we can get Lina Nez to a hospital.”

  The agent called Carillo, swarthy with a narrow face, raised his hand and gave a partial salute to the group.

  “The SWAT team will lead the way, followed by federal agents and me. Once inside, I’ll issue further instructions on how to proceed. All right, if there’re no questions, let’s roll.”

  Emily gave Will a questioning look. “What was that about Lina?”

  “She’s a diabetic, Em.”

  Emily took a sharp intake of breath.

  “Oh, shit, Will. Why didn’t anyone tell me?”

  Once the Feds presented their ID to the gate guard, they entered the ranch without resistance, and left a man at the guardhouse to prevent anyone from leaving. The buildings on the compound were similar to those in Colorado, but fewer in number and smaller in scale. Outdoor lights illuminated frame houses clustered around a center temple. Various buildings bore signs such as COMMUNITY MEETING HALL, FOOD STORAGE AND EXCHANGE, MAINTENANCE. A school with an assortment of playground equipment sat adjacent to the temple.

  Agent McCallister dispatched three men to a hangarlike building. Emily looked for a structure similar to the woman’s compound at Harmony Home Ranch, but could see none. Though dawn had not broken through the dark sky, lights burned in kitchen windows of houses where women, dressed in the familiar long dresses, prepared breakfast. The first look of the compound gave the impression of a peaceful community waking up to a new day.

  Emily and Will leaned against the jeep as lawmen went from house to house, rousting people out of bed, separating the men from the women and children. The officers rounded up the men and herded them toward the temple. Women and children, looking frightened and confused, were taken to buses for transportation to a community center where they would be held until DNA tests could be performed. Local police officers agreed to feed livestock in their absence. The raid took everyone by surprise but was able to be conducted in a professional and systematic manner.

  “See any familiar faces?” Will asked as the men paraded in front of her to mount the steps of the temple.

  Emily shook her head. Was our information correct, or had the kidnappers lied and intentionally led us astray?

  “Langley’s going to be inside the temple if he’s anywhere. He’ll have living quarters there. I want to go in.”

  “How’re you going to get up those stairs?” Will said, appraising the twelve steps leading up to the temple door.

  “You’re going to carry me, big brother.”

  “Hold on,” Will said as he lifted her in his arms and climbed the steps of the temple.

  Emily grasped the crutches with one hand and clung to Will with the other. “You made that seem easy,” she said as he gently lowered her to the floor in the vestibule. She used the crutches to hop to an out-of-the-way spot near the front of the congregational seating area where she could easily study the faces of each man. This temple did not compare in size or opulence to the one at Harmony Home Ranch, and as the men shuffled in, glancing around with bewildered or angry faces, the pews quickly filled. More were brought in, a few protesting, and demanding to know what was going on, but most were fuming quietly, waiting for answers.

  The men, having been rousted from bed at an earlier-than-usual hour, had dressed quickly, most in work clothes—overalls or dungarees and muslin shirts. A few had donned khakis and shirts with button-down collars, but none wore the shiny black suit of the Prophet. None appeared to have his slicked-back, gray-streaked hair or those piercing dark eyes that had seemed to look into her soul.

  Where the hell is Langley? Emily thought, her eyes searching the features of each new arrival, her nerves on edge.

  The last man seated wore blue jeans and a plaid shirt, his short-sheared hair a dull brown, his body stooped, possibly from hard labor or age. He sat at the end of a pew, near one of the many side doors. A pair of glasses covered milky, blue eyes. Emily turned away, distracted by Sheriff Turnbull as he prepared to address the group, and then looked back. The old man’s mouth began to twitch—the left side. He glanced her way, and their eyes locked. Emily caught her breath as recognition set in. “That’s him!” she shouted. “The one at the end, wearing glasses.”

  Will turned to where Emily pointed, but before he could respond, the old man stood up straight and slipped through a side door nobody had noticed. Emily’s cry had also caught Hosteen’s attention. Both men rushed to the door and tried to push it open, but it appeared to be locked and reinforced with steel and didn’t budge. Emily joined her brother and Hosteen and began beating on the door with one of her crutches.

  The sheriff stopped speaking when he heard the ruckus. “What’s going on back there?”

  “I saw him!” Emily said. “Rupert Langley. He’s in disguise, but I know it’s him. He recognized me and disappeared through this door.”

  The men in the pews began to stir, but not one said a word. Several officers rushed to Emily’s side in the effort to break down the door.

  “Hold it. Listen to me, all of you,” the sheriff said, addressing the cult members. “Someone tell me how to open this door and what’s behind it. D’ya understand?” When no one responded, Turnbull shouted at the lawmen, “Get a crowbar and a battering ram in here. We’ll get the damn door open if we have to blow it up with dynamite.”

  36

  Friday, April 20, 1990

  Heaven’s Gate Ranch

  Faith, South Dakota

  It took five minutes after an agent keyed his handheld for a unit to come into the temple with a battering ram. During that time, Emily felt her heart pounding in her ears like a herd of wild horses, and beads of perspiration appeared on her forehead. Feeling like she couldn’t get enough oxygen, she sucked in air through her mouth in short gasps as she paced back and forth, ranting to anyone within hearing.

  “Hurry up. It was him. We had him in our hands, and he slipped away, damn it.”

  Will tried to calm his sister. “Listen, there’s no place for him to go. They have men posted outside, at the gate, and in front of the hangar. He won’t escape this time.”

  After another ten minutes, they broke the lock, and the door swung open, revealing a long passageway lit by overhead, recessed lighting.

  Agent McCallister ordered three of his men to guard the cult members inside the church and make sure no one entered or left. He pulled a 9mm Luger from the holster at the small of his back and cautiously made his way into the passageway. Sheriff Turnbull and Officer Hosteen followed with their weapons drawn.

  “I’m going in there, Emily. You stay here. I mean it,” Will said to his sister.

  “I’m not staying here, Will. I’ll keep out of the way, but I want to be there when they find him.”

  “Look, you can’t keep up, can’t draw your weapon fast enough, and even if you could, you wouldn’t be able to aim—not with those crutches and a broken leg. Now stay put.”

  Emily fumed, shaking her head at her brother. As soon as Will disappeared down the hallway, she followed the men. The lights cast eerie shadows along a cinder block–lined wall. She could hear the echoes of their feet ahead of her as they pound
ed the cement floor, and the thumping noise her crutches made. Fifty feet in, a set of steps leading down into a tunnel halted her progress. Inhaling slowly, she threw her crutches to the bottom, and by balancing her weight on the cast, slowly descended the six steps. At the bottom, a searing bolt of pain shot through her leg, and she leaned against the wall of the tunnel to rest and catch her breath. The men’s footsteps sounded far away now, and she could no longer hear their voices. Evidently, they had not encountered Langley.

  Soon, she thought. We’ll have him, and he’ll have to tell us where the girls are. But what if there is more than one exit? No one knows where this tunnel ends.

  She placed her hand on the side of the passageway to brace herself as she bent down to pick up the crutches. As soon as she put pressure on the wall, she felt movement and jerked her hand back in surprise. A portion of the wall had slid open, revealing a hidden entrance to another tunnel. Emily stood stock-still, listening. Blood rushed to her organs, leaving her prickling with a cold sweat. She could no longer hear the footsteps of Will and the other men, only the pounding of her heart.

  Emily took her gun from its holster and carefully picked up one crutch to balance herself. Common sense told her to turn back and notify the other officers, but as she turned and took a step, careful not to make a sound, she heard whimpering, a groan, a girl’s voice. The girl said something in Navajo and began sobbing. Or, was it two girls?

  It’s Lina and Darcy!

  She knew she had to go to them.

  She passed through the opening and entered the dark, narrow hallway. Her belt held a penlight, but Emily could not hold both it and the Glock with one hand while she had the crutch in the other. Besides, it would give her position away if Langley was near. There was nothing to do but inch her way along the wall in the direction of the voices as quietly as possible. Any slip or false move could alert Langley.