Roger looked at him and nodded gravely. “No one questioned you,” he said. “She’s been missing a little more than an hour, but no one questioned your certainty that she’s been taken.”
“Amy is...an agent,” Hunter said. “My partner. I know that I’d hear from her if she was able to reach me. I know I’m right.”
“Yes. And they trust you, Hunter. They trust your instinct in this. That’s a damned good thing.”
“I have Garza on speed dial. We don’t have time to set up communications. We have to find where they’re keeping her.”
“All right. Remember that they seem to keep their victims awhile before they kill them.”
“But the previous victims were women who didn’t have anyone looking for them. Amy is different. They know they have a tiger by the tail.”
“Fine. We’ll get to Maclamara. Stash the car. And look for a needle in a haystack.”
Hunter’s phone buzzed. He looked down at it and then over at Roger and grinned. “Not quite.”
“No?”
“The forensics team used drones to get pictures of the woods—that’s how they found the clearings where the bones were buried. They went a step further, taking some infrared images. There are scattered cabins and shacks, which they’d identified on the satellite imagery, but only a few cross-referenced with any heat signatures. And one is about a tenth of a mile behind the biker bar.”
Roger nodded approvingly. “You just got that info?”
“Yeah,” Hunter said. “Let’s do this.”
* * *
It wasn’t easy, Amy thought, trying to save someone who was a pathetic ball of fear when she needed that very person to help her first. She had to save herself in order to save anyone else.
Amy wasn’t going to be able to do anything more than loosen the ropes that held her; they’d been tied tight and well.
But she could twist and see that Billie had a single loop around her wrists and that loop was barely secured to a hook against the wall.
Billie’s legs weren’t bound; she was in a crumpled sitting position, managing that only because of the way her wrists were bound and looped over the hook.
But Amy had determined that she wasn’t going to die. She wasn’t going to let a chauvinistic, supremacist elitist steal her life. Not happening.
Nor was she going to let him kill Billie.
And so, she had to reason with and calm Billie.
“Listen to me, please, por favor, Billie. You must listen to me!”
“I—I’m listening. Chica, I am listening.”
Amy smiled. Good. Billie sounded a little better. She had a trace of hope in her voice.
“They did a horrible job tying you up. They know that they’ve had you twice now and that you’re terrified. You learned your way around the south, but you don’t know your way around here. They’re not afraid of you. If you stand up, you can slip the rope holding you from that hook. Can you do that? Can you stand up for me?”
“What will happen if they come back?”
“Billie, they plan on killing us—what else can they do?”
Torture was a possibility, but she didn’t voice it to Billie.
“I am so weak,” Billie said.
“You’re not. You’re strong. You made it this far. You’re still alive and I need you. I need you to help me, so that we can escape.”
“Yes.”
“Billie, stand up.”
Billie was obviously undernourished, exhausted and almost beaten; she struggled first to get to her knees.
“Excellent. Great, Billie, you’re doing it!” Amy applauded.
The encouragement helped. Billie struggled again; she probably needed her hands to push up her weight in her weakened state.
“You can do it, you can, I know it,” Amy said. “Our lives depend on it.”
Billie wavered, and then she made it to her feet, falling against the wall, but still standing.
“Just lift your hands. Lift them over the hook.”
It seemed to take forever; Amy wondered if Billie would make it or not. Trying to lift her arms made it appear that she had tons of weight on them.
She sobbed softly and tried, and then tried again.
And then succeeded.
This time, she let out a little sob of pleasure and amazement.
“I did it, I did it!” she said.
“I told you. Now, you need to get over to me,” Amy said. “But come slowly, carefully. Your strength will come back. Your arms and legs will work better as you move.”
Billie did as she was told.
“Look at the ropes that are holding my hands to the poles on this bed,” Amy said. “Because they probably plan to move us fast, they’ve used a slipknot, I’m willing to bet. Can you see a loose end on the rope?”
“Sí.”
“Can you pull it?”
Billie nodded and reached above Amy’s head for the rope. She let out little grunting sounds as she tried.
“It’s so tight!”
“Just keep at it. Think about your strength coming back. Think about freedom—real freedom. About getting out of here and away from these people for good.”
Billie let out little sounds as she struggled; Amy was sure the ropes had been tied tight—very tight. With the slipknot, her struggles had just made them tighter.
Suddenly, she felt a release; the ropes binding her right hand had slipped free.
“Billie, yes!” Amy said. “Yes, you’ve done it!”
Her hand was free. Amy quickly freed her own left wrist, and then the ties that were securing her ankles.
She shook her hands for a minute and stretched, feeling needles and pins. She swung her legs around and slowly, carefully, stood.
“I hear something!” Billie said.
“Quiet, softly, Billie, please!”
Billie went silent.
But she was right; someone was coming through the trees. They’d soon be at the shack.
“We have to get out, now!” Amy whispered.
She looked around. They had taken her bag, her phone, her gun—everything.
She needed a weapon.
She saw the hook in the wall that had held Billie.
Billie using the hook for leverage to stand had surely loosened it.
Amy strode over to the hook. It was stuck tightly in the wall. But she needed it; there was a good chance that she would die if one of the cultists caught her and she didn’t have anything that resembled a weapon with which to fight.
She stared at the hook, and she reached for it again, jerking and jerking, finding strength she never imagined that she might have.
The hook slipped free from the wall. Holding it tightly, she told Billie, “Follow me, follow me as closely as you can.”
“But they know the woods. They’ll be out there, they’ll find us!” Billie said.
“I’ll have friends looking for me by now.”
“You’re sure?”
She thought about Hunter.
“I am sure,” she told Billie. “Yes, absolutely.”
She slipped out the front door. It was much brighter outside than it had been in the shack, and she squinted into the sunlight, carefully looking around, listening intently. Her head throbbed.
The sound of someone moving through the brush and trees was coming from their left; they needed to scurry in the opposite direction as quickly as they could.
Amy moved out; Billie remained in the doorway, as if frozen.
Amy grabbed her by the shoulders and pulled her ahead. “Move!” she ordered.
Billie started to pick her way through the trees. Amy followed, but then she paused.
Yes, someone was coming back to the cabin. But she was hearing more. Music, distant in the cool air of the forest.
/> Music, voices, faded, almost as if they were from another time.
They weren’t coming from another time; it sounded almost as if they were coming from a party...or a bar.
The biker bar.
She could imagine many of the town’s faithful had joined to mourn the death of one of their own—Phin Harrison—and honor the sacrifice he had made for the greater good of the cult.
That meant that, inside the bar, there was a small legion who might come after her and Billie, seeking them out in a forest they knew too well.
She hurried after Billie. “Run,” she urged. “Run like hell!”
* * *
Hunter and Roger headed into the forested area a quarter mile north of the biker bar. The plan was move deep inland and then circle back toward the road.
They had just started the hike when Hunter felt his phone vibrating. He nodded to Roger and stopped to pick it up. Over the line, Garza told him, “We have agents ready to move in. Also, Special Agent Ryan Anders is almost there. He started the drive up in the early-morning hours. He’ll be contacting you.”
“He’ll be contacting me?” Hunter asked, irritated. Ryan Anders had been assigned to Hunter. His orders to move should have come from Hunter.
“Hunter, you’re the best at what you do,” Garza said. “You’ve gotten what we need on this, but the situation seems to be exploding.”
Yes, he struck the hornets’ nest and the hornets were moving.
At that point, at least, Hunter had believed that anyone back in the south was safe; the action had moved north. The cult wouldn’t have taken Amy now if they didn’t have something big planned. But there were good people down south who might be in danger for what they knew.
Ryan Anders should have contacted him before making any moves.
“I gave him the order to drive up,” Garza said.
“I see.”
“He’s not alone. He’s with a local detective, Victor Mulberry.”
“Mulberry has no jurisdiction here,” Hunter said. “Why—”
“I have agents from the Miami office looking after the civilians in the south. Mulberry is aware that he has no jurisdiction. What he does have is knowledge of the people involved.” Garza sighed. “Hunter, this kind of action should have had long, careful meetings—team meetings—with everyone involved. We know that this group we’re going up against is heavily armed, but we have no clear evidence of illegal activity by anyone in the town. Our strategy should have been planned out, with the right people in the right places. That proved impossible once they took Amy. We’re working in the blind, in a way I despise. You requested backup, and hell yes, it’s necessary. I don’t want to lose my agents or any civilians—but I don’t want a massacre, either! Keep your focus on finding Amy and any other possible hostages. Be careful.”
Focus. It was a good reminder. Both he and Amy, in signing up for their jobs, had agreed to put their lives on the line. But “on the line” didn’t mean that they shouldn’t make every effort to see that they came out of a situation like this alive.
Focus. It was about finding Amy right now.
Too often, when cornered, men like Morrison determined to bring everyone else down with them.
“All right,” Hunter said, “have Ryan sweep up a few of our men and get to the biker bar. There’s something happening there. I don’t believe Amy is in there—it’s too public. But there’s a gathering going on. No agent should be alone. This is a town where no one can be trusted, and the most innocuous person might well be carrying a weapon. We must be extremely careful. We don’t want another Waco on our hands. I think that the leaders are planning a sacrifice, and if we can stop them in the preparation period, we can snap off the head of the snake without anyone extra being hurt.”
“It’s your call from here on out. I know that you work well with Agent Anders and that he’s dedicated. I’m going to order a team to meet up with him south of Maclamara. He’ll take a few unknowns with him into the biker bar and keep an eye on events there. Be aware that our agents are combing the woods across the road from you. I have them on the west side—you’re on the east. I’ll have them cross over before they get closer to town. They’ll find Amy if she is there.”
“There are no hits on her cell phone?”
“Her phone is off. Last ping was an area off the main road just south of Micanopy.”
Of course they had ditched her phone.
“Use everything you’ve got, Hunter,” Garza told him.
“Yup,” Hunter said simply.
Roger motioned to him suddenly, a sign that meant he needed to shut up—and listen.
“Out!” Hunter said briefly, pocketing his cell phone. He stilled. He could hear movement through the brush. Someone was near them. Someone moving through the trees and brackens, slowly, carefully.
Furtively.
Roger and Hunter shared a look, then split up, moving to either side of the trail.
And they waited.
* * *
Run. Run. Run.
Into the woods, and then...
Where? They were close to the bar, close to dozens of townspeople who might be ready to search the woods and roads to find them, once an alarm was raised.
Amy motioned to Billie, warning her to silence once they’d gotten into the trees.
She spotted a massive old oak, sprawling in its size and majesty, with great branches that all but created a ladder.
“Can you climb?” she whispered to Billie.
Billie nodded.
“All right. Get up there. I’ll be back, and if I’m not, hold this position. People will be coming—I know that they’ll be coming. The FBI will be out in these woods, so wait until you see law enforcement. I’ll be back,” she promised. “I need to see what’s happening.”
Billie looked at her wide-eyed. “You stay here, too. Please. You don’t know if there is help coming...”
“Oh, I think I do,” Amy assured her. She offered Billie a smile. “We’re going to make it, but be silent, and don’t move from here.”
Billie nodded her agreement.
Amy started back, coming close enough to the cabin to see and hear what was going on.
How soon would they notice that she and Billie had escaped...and when would her backup arrive? Where was Hunter?
She could hear voices; they belonged to the same two men who had been in the clearing before.
“It’s time to start—your brother is ahead, in the clearing?” the deeper voice said.
“Yes, we’re good. Aaron is preparing the ceremony table. I still don’t understand. How will he make a woman die of disease in a matter of minutes?”
“She won’t die of disease. She is the disease,” the older man replied. “Why are you so dense, Ezekiel? Yours is not to question, yours is to obey. In time, I can pray, you will have the concept of the power of words, and how they may be perceived. You will lead, but you must learn to listen and obey before you can take it all to the next step.”
“I managed our last two sacrifices just fine!”
The deeper voice didn’t answer.
Ezekiel spoke up again. “You shouldn’t have taken the agent.”
“What?”
“You shouldn’t have taken the agent. When we had Billie again...she should have been enough. For now. They will come after an agent.”
“They will never find us.”
“They’re not stupid.”
“Stop questioning me! I am your father, and the Divine Leader!”
Amy all but hugged the tree that was giving her cover, listening. Hunter had known. He had been right.
Morrison had orchestrated everything. He hadn’t committed the murders in the south of the state; he’d made quite sure that he’d had an alibi for them.
But he had ordered them.
And now, here, he would officiate for the next sacrifice.
Her.
She felt her teeth grit with determination as the two men came into view—Ethan Morrison in a strange robe with a cowl, Zeke behind him, dressed now in a similar robe.
They headed for the door to the shack.
And then she heard Ethan Morrison shout out with rage.
“They’re gone! That stupid bitch! You didn’t tie her well enough!”
“She was tied up tight, Dad. She couldn’t have gotten out of the ties without help. You’re the one who roped that little immigrant. She helped her.”
“She couldn’t have. She was cowed completely, terrified, just waiting to die! And how dare you—how dare you question me!”
Morrison turned and struck Zeke with a stunning blow; the young man fell back, astounded.
“Find them, get them. And kill her. Kill that high-and-mighty agent bitch the second you see her. The immigrant will work for the ceremony. Kill her—kill the uppity bitch before she can do any more harm!” Morrison ranted.
He started back the way he had come.
“Where are you going?” Zeke called to his father.
“For help! So help me God, that woman is going to die!”
21
Hunter and Roger waited—and watched.
Whoever was coming, they were slow and careful, almost as if they were confused, and not as if they were beating their way through the brush, searching.
Hunter glanced over at Roger. Roger shrugged.
Leaves rustled. They could hear the soft sounds of footsteps coming hesitantly on the forest floor.
Then a man appeared; both Hunter and Roger prepared to take him down, and Hunter streaked out from his hiding place just as the man showed his face.
He went down easily. Hunter straddled him, pinning his arms to the ground, and was then startled as the man’s grunts and gasps subsided. With his eyes closed, he begged, “My boys, please, just let me see my sons once again!”
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