Текст книги "Cold Betrayal"

Автор книги: J. A. Jance

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Текущая страница: 20 (всего у книги 23 страниц)

Hearing the name caused a subtle change in Amos Sellers’s features. His jaw tightened. His eyes narrowed. “What about her?”

“You tell me.”

He shrugged. “She was married to Bishop Lowell at one time, but she ran off. It happened a long time ago. Nobody ever heard from her again.”

“That long time happens to be twelve years,” Ali corrected. “My understanding is that you were sent out to get her. That’s your job, isn’t it—to bring The Family’s runaways back home?”

“I never found Anne Lowell,” he answered. “Like I said, she ran off and never came back.”

“She never came back because she’s dead.”

Amos reacted to that bit of news with a visible tremor, as though a jolt of electricity had passed through his body.

“How? When?”

“About the time she left home presumably,” Ali said. “She was found badly beaten but still alive in the desert outside of Kingman. She was hospitalized but didn’t survive. Neither did her baby. They were buried together in a common, unmarked grave and have only just now been identified.”

“I never knew she was dead,” Amos said, shaking his head.

“Didn’t you?” Ali countered. “I’m wondering if it’s possible that you were the father of that baby. Anne ran away. You went after her, found her, and decided to kill her rather than bring her back home.”

“I didn’t,” Amos insisted. “I wasn’t the father of her baby, and I didn’t kill her, either.”

Ali shrugged. “Maybe you know who did, then. I’ve heard rumors that Anne had a boyfriend on the Outside. That wouldn’t have gone over well with a cuckolded husband who was about to move up into a leadership role in The Family’s hierarchy. Maybe you caught Anne, handed her over to her irate spouse, and let him do the job himself.”

“I’m telling you, Richard Lowell didn’t kill Annie, and neither did I. I had no idea she was dead until just now when you told me.”

“You called her Annie a moment ago,” Ali observed. “Annie, not Anne. Were the two of you friends?”

There was a long pause before Amos answered. “Yes,” he said finally, “we were. When I was a little kid, I came down with pneumonia and was really sick. Annie was the one who took care of me instead of my mother. After that the two of us became friends. We stayed friends when we were older, even though we weren’t supposed to be. That’s why I helped her.”

“Helped her how?”

“To get away. As far as The Family is concerned, adultery is a serious offense. If Bishop Lowell had found out that the baby wasn’t his, he would have been the one to cast the first stone.”

Ali felt a chill down her spine. “Literally?”

Amos nodded. “I didn’t want Annie to die. I knew that, as soon as she went missing, I’d be the one sent to retrieve her. When I drove away to go look for her, nobody had any idea that she was hidden in the trunk of my car.”

“Where did you take her?”

“To Kingman,” Amos said. “To meet up with her boyfriend. The last thing she said to me when she got out of my car and into his was that he loved her and was going to take good care of her. She believed it, and I didn’t have any reason not to believe it, either.”

“You saw the boyfriend?”

Amos nodded.

“He was someone you knew?”

Amos nodded again.

“So maybe the boyfriend’s the one who killed her.”

“I asked him about her once, years later. He said she’d had the baby—a little girl—and that they had moved to someplace in California—San Diego, maybe. He said they were both fine.”

“But they weren’t,” Ali added.

Another nod, this one with a resigned inevitability about it.

“Tell me about the boyfriend,” Ali said.

“He was just a deputy back then, stuck in Colorado City for a couple weeks at a time. I don’t know exactly how they met, but they did.”

“Was the boyfriend married?” Ali asked.

“Yes.”

During the lengthening silence, Amos Sellers visibly struggled to come to grips with the idea that Annie had been both betrayed and murdered. Meanwhile, Ali began to connect the dots. She knew by Sheriff Alvarado’s own admission that he had once done patrol duty in Colorado City. He was already married back then. For a man with ambitions of rising in the department, having a pregnant girlfriend show up in town would have blown his world apart. No wonder that critical evidence box about the Kingman Jane Doe homicide had disappeared. With it gone, Sheriff Daniel Alvarado must have figured he was in the clear.

Noticing that Amos Sellers had so far avoided mentioning the boyfriend by name, Ali did so herself. “Is that how you ended up being a deputy—because you had something on Sheriff Alvarado?”

It was pure bluff, but it worked.

“I didn’t blackmail him, if that’s what you mean,” Amos declared, clenching his fists and laying them on the tabletop. “A year or two later, he put in a good word for me is all, but I never knew he killed her. I never knew she was dead. Like I told you, she was kind to me. That’s the thing about Annie—she was kind to everybody, not just me.”

Ali watched in amazement as two tears leaked out of Amos’s eyes and coursed down his cheeks. She was even more surprised to find herself placing a comforting hand on one of his knotted fists. “You thought you were saving her,” she said quietly. “You had no way of knowing that you were handing her over to a killer.”

Amos bit his lip. “No,” he agreed. “I didn’t.”

“We’re just talking here,” Ali said. “There’s nothing official about this conversation, one way or the other, but let me ask you this. If you were called upon to do so, would you agree to testify to what you just told me?”

Amos Sellers nodded. “Yes, I would,” he said softly. “Anne Lowell was my friend. He told me she was fine.”

As Ali stood up to leave, Amos Sellers buried his head in both his hands and wept. She touched his shoulder with her hand as she went past.

“Sorry,” she murmured, before buzzing to be let out. “Sorry for all concerned.”

35

That was a bombshell,” B. said as Ali exited the interview room. He followed her back out to the evidence locker, where she retrieved her Glock. “What are you going to do about it?”

“Nothing for right now,” she told him. “Let’s deal with one crisis at a time.”

Nodding, B. glanced at his watch. “Catching up with Governor Dunham’s Sprinter is going to be tight. I was planning on driving up on my own, but when I spoke to Andrea, she told me that I’ve now been officially invited to join the governor’s ‘rearguard’ action. Governor Dunham is of the opinion that having a couple of males from the Outside along for the ride might be a good idea. Bill Witherspoon, her chief of staff, will be there, and so will I.”

As they exited the building, two men in suits were entering. Everything about the new arrivals said FBI, but there was no time to stop and chat. By the time Ali and B. drove back to the DPS parking lot, Virginia Dunham’s Sprinter along with the two chartered buses were the only vehicles left behind. Ali paused long enough to grab her Kevlar vest from the back of the Cayenne before climbing aboard the Sprinter. Although Ali took the vest with her, with a four-hour drive between then and the scheduled engagement, she didn’t bother putting it on immediately.

“It’s about time,” Governor Dunham grumbled, motioning them into the last two seats. “We were about to leave without you.”

The interior of the Sprinter had been converted into something that reminded Ali of the cabin of a small jet. It had four captain’s chairs around a polished-wood foldaway table. There was a long sofa of bench seating along one wall. The tiny galley at the front of the vehicle, just behind the cab, came complete with a granite countertop and backsplash. A door to the right of that opened and closed, shutting off the cab and allowing people in the cabin complete privacy. At the opposite end of the vehicle were two doors. One apparently led to a traveling restroom and the other to a baggage compartment and rear exit. With plenty of electrical outlets and a built-in printer, the vehicle was nothing short of a traveling office well suited for long official road trips.

The Sprinter’s interior may have been luxury itself, but the mood of the occupants was less than cheerful. Andrea Rogers, along with Patricia and Agnes, had claimed three of the four spots on the sofa. Concerned about what awaited them back home, the Brought Back girls huddled together in subdued silence. The governor was seated in one of the four captain’s chairs with her chief of staff at her side. It wasn’t until after Ali and B. had settled into the two opposing seats that they were properly introduced to Bill Witherspoon.

“Was the interview successful?” Governor Dunham asked.

“Yes,” Ali said.

“Anything I need to know?”

Ali took a deep breath. “Amos Sellers is under the impression that Danny Alvarado was the father of Anne Lowell’s baby. They must have gotten together back when Alvarado was a deputy and pulling occasional patrol duty in Colorado City. Amos and Anne were friends. When she got knocked up by someone who wasn’t her husband, she was desperate to get away. In The Family adultery is a capital offense, punishable by stoning.”

“Stoning?” Governor Dunham asked. “Seriously?”

Ali nodded. “Unfortunately, yes. Amos says that when Anne came to him for help, he’s the one who helped her get away. He claims he took her as far as Kingman and dropped her off with her boyfriend.”

“He mentioned Sheriff Alvarado by name?”

“Yes. The sheriff told Amos later that Anne had her baby—a girl—and had moved on to San Diego, where, presumably, she and her baby were hunky-dory and living happily ever after.”

“Except they weren’t,” Governor Dunham said grimly. “They weren’t at all.”

A long silence settled over the vehicle while the governor processed this latest revelation.

“All right, then,” Virginia Dunham said at last, “there’s nothing to be done about any of this right now. We’ll handle it later. First things first. At the moment, there’s been another development. Satellite imaging shows lots of back-and-forth movement between the various residences, the landing strip, and the church up at The Encampment. Because we don’t have any idea of what’s normal around there, the movements may be just that—normal. Bill here, on the other hand, shares your concern, Ali, that our targets may have somehow become aware of our intentions. My decision is that we move forward with the operation regardless. If something bad happens, I’m prepared to accept full responsibility.”

Not full, Ali thought. Some of that responsibility will be Sister Anselm’s and mine.

The Sprinter was moving steadily northward through the night. “All right,” Governor Dunham said, resuming control. “As of now, we’re going dark. Please turn off all electronic devices, iPads and cell phones included. We won’t light them up again until after we’re in position and the operation is under way. At that point, maintaining secrecy will no longer be an issue.”

Knowing how much information could be gleaned from tracking electronic devices, Ali and B. both complied without protest, although Ali wished she’d had time to call Leland and let him know a little about the situation before the no-communication edict went into effect.

“Now,” Governor Dunham said, switching seamlessly from command mode to hostess mode, “how about some dinner? The box lunches aren’t exactly gourmet fare, but they’re better than going hungry. They’re in the fridge drawers under the coffee dispenser.”

B., seated on the aisle, hopped up and retrieved two of the lunches and a pair of chilled sodas as well. By now, it had been a very, very long time since breakfast. Ali didn’t pause before tearing into hers. Bologna had never been high on her list of preferred sandwich fillings, but since she was famished, that dry sandwich was nothing short of divine. Ditto for the small bag of chips and tiny container of mandarin orange slices tucked into one corner of the box.

When her lunch was gone, Ali wrapped herself in a blanket that had been thoughtfully folded over the back of her chair. As the Sprinter rumbled north through the night, Ali should have been wide awake and worrying about what awaited them at the end of the road. Instead, once the carbs from the box lunch were absorbed into her system, she was out like a light. Only when the van began to slow more than three hours later did she return to her senses. B. continued dozing and didn’t wake up completely until the van came to a complete stop.

Peering out through the window, Ali discovered that a full moon had lit up the high desert landscape. The van was parked on a wide spot next to the paved roadway in a graveled area lined by an array of mailboxes. Across the highway, a narrow dirt road led off into the distance. Here and there silvery patches of unmelted snow glimmered in the moonlight.

The lights in the cabin had been dimmed, but a glance at the luminous dial on her watch told Ali that it was twenty past eleven. The three-hour fifty-seven-minute drive had taken just that. As Ali settled in for an interminable forty-minute wait, B. reached out to take her hand and squeezed it reassuringly. She squeezed back. She was glad to have him here with her; glad that however this turned out—for good or ill—they were in it together.

The door between the cabin and the cab popped open, and the driver appeared in the doorway. “Going outside to stretch my legs, ma’am,” he said to Governor Dunham.

“Don’t be too long,” she warned him.

Ali had carried her vest onto the Sprinter when she boarded and had dropped it on the floor next to her seat. Picking it up, she turned to the governor. “I could use a pit stop, too.”

“Good idea,” Governor Dunham said, gesturing toward the left-hand door at the rear. “Help yourself.”

Slipping her vest on as she went, Ali made for the restroom. She had finished what she needed to do and was washing her hands in the tiny sink when a door somewhere behind her slammed open with such force that the whole vehicle shuddered.

“Hands where I can see them!” an unseen but clearly angry male voice shouted. “Now.”

Ali froze where she was. With the restroom door shut, she could hear what was going on out in the cabin but she couldn’t see it. Those chilling words told her that an armed assailant had somehow disabled the driver, stormed aboard the vehicle, and now was holding the others hostage. Drawing her Glock out of her holster, Ali stood in front of the flimsy pocket door, holding her breath and waiting for it to slam open, too. It didn’t.

“Who are you?” Governor Dunham was speaking. “What do you want?”

“I think you know who I am. The name’s Lowell. I’m the guy you’re after,” the man replied. “The guy outside was armed, so I’m guessing some of you are, too. Hand them over—weapons and cell phones. All of them. You”—he addressed one of them—“take that box and gather ’em up.”

Ali felt the Sprinter wobble slightly. She had no idea which member of the group had stood up in response to that spoken command, but someone had. Holding her breath, Ali waited, realizing eventually that Lowell had no idea that someone else was on board the vehicle. As long as Ali did nothing to give away her presence, she was relatively safe. She also understood that she was the court of last resort for all six of the people being held prisoner on the other side of that all-too-insubstantial door.

“Hey,” Lowell was saying. “Someone with two cell phones and a revolver in her purse. Give me that gun. It could come in handy. A man can’t have too many guns.”

Ali knew that the Brought Back girls wouldn’t have been armed, and she doubted that Andrea Rogers would have been, either. That meant that in addition to Ali, only Governor Dunham had been carrying a weapon.

“I was planning on hiking the whole way, and then I saw this rig,” Lowell continued. “At first I thought you were just a bunch of stupid campers, spending the night, but when I found out the driver was armed and carrying a security-detail badge, I realized this has to be some kind of command vehicle. So I would guess the lady with the gun is the one running the show?”

“More or less,” the governor said. “My name’s Governor Virginia Dunham. I’m one of the people running the show, Mr. Lowell, but only one of them. There are plenty of others. It’s over, Mr. Lowell. This is not going to end well for anyone. Give it up.”

“I’m supposed to surrender on your say-so? Are you nuts? Who’s the one holding the weapons here?”

Ali glanced at her watch. It was just now twenty-five minutes past the hour. Thirty-five minutes to go. Moving slowly, she put her own weapon down long enough to ease her cell phone out of her pocket. An emergency 911 call this close to zero hour might put the entire joint operation in jeopardy, but she needed to alert someone about their dire situation. Instead, praying that Stuart Ramey was still up and working, she forced her trembling fingers to type a text:

EMERGENCY. DO NOT REPLY OR CALL. HELD HOSTAGE IN SPRINTER BY LOWELL. RECORD WHAT’S SAID. NOTIFY DPS. SEND HELP. DO NOT USE REGULAR 911 CHANNELS.

Then she dialed Stuart’s number. He answered after half a ring.

“Ali, I got your text. What’s up? How can I help?”

At the sound of his voice, Ali’s knees almost buckled out of sheer gratitude. Instead of replying verbally, Ali turned the call volume to max. Then she sent another text:

FOLLOW SIGNAL. LOWELL ARMED AND DANGEROUS. ACTING ALONE, I THINK. GOV’S DRIVER MUST BE DOWN. SIX HOSTAGES, INCLUDING GOV AND B.

Ali allowed herself a deep breath. If Lowell ended up gunning them all down, Stuart would at least be able to provide an audible recording of what had happened.

“If you have a quarrel with anyone, Mr. Lowell,” Governor Dunham said, “it’s with me. Let the others go.”

“Nobody’s leaving,” Lowell replied. “Everybody stays.”

Ali’s opinion of Governor Dunham moved up several notches. Despite having a gun pointed in her direction, she sounded poised and utterly calm.

Ali hurriedly sent Stuart another text:

ARE YOU HEARING ALL THIS?

Stuart’s response was almost instantaneous.

LOUD AND CLEAR

So was Ali’s.

STAY WITH US.

Ali stuffed the cell phone into her bra and picked up her weapon in time to hear more of what was happening beyond the door. She heard Lowell’s sudden change of focus when he finally either noticed or recognized the Brought Back girls.

“You two are behind all this, aren’t you? I should have known you’d be involved. As soon as Amos told me that you’d run off, I knew there’d be trouble. Whatever happens, it’s all your fault.”

“You’re evil,” Ali heard Patricia mutter.

“You’ll never get away with this,” Agnes added.

“Right,” Lowell said. “Another station heard from. Who says I won’t get away with it? Out of the pigpen less than a day and already you’ve cut off your hair and started wearing godless clothing. Just because you’re wearing pants now, young lady, what makes you think I’ll listen to you? You may have forgotten your position in the world, but I haven’t. Besides, you and Patricia there won’t be around to cause trouble for much longer. Now shut the hell up.”

“Leave them be,” Governor Dunham said.

“You shut the hell up, too,” Lowell ordered again. “In my world, women speak only when spoken to.”

“Wait a minute,” Bill Witherspoon interjected. “You can’t talk to her that way. She’s the governor of Arizona!”

“Watch me,” Lowell replied. “Just watch me.”

With the phone put away, Ali had the Glock back in her hand. The earlier trembling that had afflicted her texting ability had diminished, but she had no idea what to do. She was painfully aware that, with the door shut, she was blind to what was going on just beyond the door. She had no idea where Lowell was standing or what kind of weapon he had in hand. Most likely some kind of automatic. How else could he assume he’d be able to hold six people at bay and impel them to do his bidding?

As for Ali, if she emerged from the bathroom to face him, she’d most likely be walking directly into his line of fire. She had confidence in her shooting ability, but with him looking straight at her, he’d have the drop on her. In addition, in the close confines of the cabin, any stray shots risked the possibility of hitting the marble backsplash and ricocheting into the very people Ali was hoping to save.

“Who are you?” Lowell demanded.

Ali was riveted when she heard her husband’s answer. “I’m B.—B. Simpson.”

“Well, Mr. Simpson, the driver of this vehicle seems to be otherwise occupied. Can you drive this thing?”

“I suppose.”

“Do it, then,” Lowell ordered. “Go up front and get us the hell out of here.”

B. rose and headed toward the cab. “Where are we going?” he asked.

“Leave the connecting door open. I’ll give you directions as we go, but if you try anything funny, like running us into a tree or a fence post or a utility pole, I’ll put a hole the size of a dinner plate in the middle of the governor’s chest. Got it?”

“Got it,” B. replied.

The body of the Sprinter shifted as B. moved forward. Ali imagined Richard Lowell sitting with his weapon still trained on Virginia Dunham’s chest. With B. in the cab, he was somewhat protected from bullets shot from Richard Lowell’s weapon but not from Ali’s.

“You don’t need the rest of these people,” Governor Dunham asserted once again. “Let the others go.”

“Like I said, you don’t get to tell me what to do.”

A few seconds later, B. shifted the idling Sprinter out of neutral. Ali shifted her stance, leaning against the wall for support lest some sudden jerk or bump betray her presence. They lurched onto the pavement and, after a moment, were speeding in what seemed to Ali to be a northerly direction. For a time no voices came from the cabin. The only sound was the rumble of moving tires on pavement.

“Where are we going?” Governor Dunham asked several minutes later. “What are your intentions?”

“Where I’m going is none of your business, but my intention is to use you and the others as an insurance policy to get me there.” After a pause Lowell continued, “Hey, driver. Take the next right and stop at the security gate. After we drive through, the gate will close automatically.”

“What’s your name?” Ali heard Lowell ask.

“Bill,” the chief of staff answered. “Bill Witherspoon.”

“Okay, here’s the deal. When we stop, you hop out and key in the code 1556. Come right back once the gate opens or somebody dies.”

The vehicle slowed. When it came to a stop, Ali felt a slight wobbling as someone moved through the vehicle. A door opened. As Witherspoon’s two-hundred-plus pounds exited the vehicle, it shifted slightly when the load lightened. Now there were only four hostages left in the cabin. That meant fewer people in immediate danger, but still plenty of people at risk. The van moved forward and stopped again. For a moment, Ali hoped Bill Witherspoon would take advantage of being outside and make a run for it, but he did not. The vehicle shifted again as the chief of staff returned, pulling the door shut behind him.

“Go to the third hangar on the right,” Lowell ordered.

Standing in the dark, it was only then that Ali realized they had come to an airport of some kind. Since they had only just pulled off the paved highway, she doubted that it was the landing strip at the top of The Encampment. It had to be an airport somewhere else, but where? Colorado City, maybe?

The Sprinter was moving forward when she heard Lowell’s voice again. He sounded disturbed. Upset.

“Who the hell would be coming in at this time of night?” Lowell demanded. “Hey, driver. Get us out of sight, quick. Pull into the slot between the second and third hangars and douse the lights. Do it now! As soon as that plane lands and the pilot goes away, let me know.”

Ali was gratified to hear Lowell sounding uneasy, both surprised and rattled. Wherever they were, he hadn’t anticipated having unexpected company. Ali knew that the runway at The Encampment was large enough to accommodate a small jet, but she had a hard time imagining that Colorado City boasted another nearby airport with runways long enough to handle a Citation X.

And what about the plane that was landing? This close to zero hour Ali felt there was a good chance the new arrival might be Sheriff Danny Alvarado, but was he there as a friend or an enemy? Was he coming to support his officers or to help Richard Lowell make good his escape?

Ali glanced at her watch for at least the hundredth time. Eleven forty-five. Twenty minutes had elapsed since the Sprinter had first pulled off the paved highway onto the shoulder. Less than that since Ali had sent her text to Stuart. Was that enough time for him to have summoned help?

The Sprinter stopped again and sat idling when Ali heard Governor Dunham speak again. “What about that other plane, Mr. Lowell?” she asked. “What about the jet that’s due to land on your private airstrip and then head off for Caracas?”

“I diverted it,” he answered. “I don’t know where you found that group of Keystone Kops pretending to be a SWAT team, but I can tell you for sure—they’re a bunch of useless city-slicker losers. City people always forget that kicking up dust out here in the desert is a dead giveaway.

“When they started bringing in their vehicles and equipment earlier this afternoon, those plumes of dust were as plain as the nose on my face. They told me something wasn’t right, so I went up and had a look-see. They’re parked just out of sight and waiting for that flight to come in. Sorry to disappoint. There won’t be a plane showing up tonight, but there’ll be plenty of excitement to keep them occupied. When that tankful of Jet-A goes up, those guys will get their money’s worth.”

His last words set Ali’s heart pounding. Lowell had convinced some poor sap to set fire to a tank of aviation fuel?

“What tankful of Jet-A?” Governor Dunham demanded. “Are you saying you have aviation fuel stored on your property and you’re going to set it on fire?”

“Not me, personally,” Richard Lowell said. “Robbie Miller’s in charge of that operation and happy as a clam about it, too. I gave him a stick of dynamite and some matches and told him exactly what to do—wait for my phone call. When I give the word, he’s to light the fuse and toss the dynamite in a big puddle of fuel that has somehow leaked out onto the ground.”

“You can’t make Robbie do something like that!” Patricia shrieked at him. “You can’t!”

The Sprinter rocked back and forth momentarily as if some kind of struggle was occurring out in the cabin.

“Sit back down, bitch!” Lowell ordered. “One more outburst from you and you’re a goner.”

Another rocking motion shivered through the rig. It was easy for Ali to imagine someone, Andrea Rogers most likely, bodily restraining Patricia and returning her to her seat, but the woman’s outrage was still audible.

“You gave Robbie dynamite?” she demanded. “He has no idea how things like that work. What if he dies?”

Even though Ali was still focused on the conversation, the blindness of being in that locked, darkened room had fine-tuned her other senses. Because she was still leaning against the interior door, she felt another slight tremor in the vehicle and another slight shift—as though someone had once more exited the van. Holding her breath, she listened to see if anyone else had noticed.

“If he dies, he dies,” Lowell replied disdainfully. “As for making him do it? Don’t be silly. I don’t have to make that dimwit kid do anything. He volunteered. Everybody knows how much Robbie loves fire. He’s followed me around like a puppy for years. It’s about time he made himself useful. He may be dumb as a stump, but he’ll follow orders, and once he sets that Jet-A on fire, your troop of SWAT guys will be so busy trying to rescue those girls that . . .”

Ali’s heart constricted in her chest. Governor Dunham must have been on the same wavelength.

“What girls?”

“The girls your guys think are heading out on that plane with me tonight,” Lowell crowed proudly, reveling in the idea that he had somehow managed to outwit everyone. “I figured the Brought Back girls wouldn’t have gotten away all on their own, and that told me it was time to get out. A load of girls was due to leave tonight, anyway. I decided to turn that full load into a partial. Couldn’t do a full one with me on board the same plane, but there was no sense leaving all that money on the table.”

Governor Dunham had called that shot completely. A load of Not Chosens had indeed been set to go out tonight. Now instead of being shipped off into the sex trade, it sounded as though they were doomed to be burned alive.

“Where are they?” the governor demanded urgently. “Where?”

“In a locked room at the back of the hangar. I handled the deliveries myself over the last several hours, just to give the SWAT team something to watch while they were waiting. When I boogied out the side door of the hangar, I left my car parked inside. As far as they’re concerned, I’m there, too. By the time the fire cools down enough to sort through the bodies, they’ll be astonished to learn I’m not part of either group. By then, it’ll be too late and I’ll be long gone.”

“Wait,” Governor Dunham said. “Are you saying other people are dead, too? Who?”

“Does it matter? Now tell me, isn’t your little party due to start real soon?” He paused and chuckled. “That’s another thing. For this kind of operation, you need people who know a thing or two about being out in the boonies. You need people smart enough to walk through the wilderness without waking the dead. I heard your guys bumbling around in the dark and talking on my way down. I heard enough to know that midnight’s the witching hour—five minutes from now. Then all hell breaks loose.” There was another pause before he added, “Hey, driver. Is the pilot of that other plane out of here yet?”

They all waited for B.’s response. None was forthcoming.

“Driver?” Lowell called again. “Hey, what’s going on up there?”

Half sick with relief, Ali realized B. must have somehow managed to exit the vehicle without attracting any attention.

“You’re coming with me,” Lowell growled ominously. “Now.”

“Leave her be,” Witherspoon objected. That was followed by the distinct sound of something hard striking flesh, a loud groan, and a sickening thump as someone crumpled to the floor.