A Merciful Promise (Mercy Kilpatrick #6)(59)

It was still light out when they arrived, and the base camp setup was in progress. The Portland FBI had flown in a point team to choose a clearing for the base of operations, and the negotiators were expected to arrive soon. Within half an hour, a large SWAT RV rumbled up the road: a high-tech rolling center from which the negotiators would hopefully mediate a peaceful surrender.

The primary objective was to have all the members in America’s Preserve walk out, leaving their arms behind. If that wasn’t possible, then getting the children out was next. Obtaining Mercy was also a top goal.

Jeff had spent most of the ride on his phone while Eddie drove. The main topic of discussion was whether or not the men in the compound already knew Mercy was an agent. The FBI was worried about accidentally exposing her and placing her in danger. The other concern was whether or not to mention the murder of ATF agent Tim O’Shea. No one knew how his cover had been blown, and it was possible the compound members had killed him on suspicion, not facts. The ATF didn’t want to reveal that O’Shea had been an agent if the compound didn’t know—Mercy would become the compound’s next logical target.

The final decision was to not mention Mercy or O’Shea in negotiations unless America’s Preserve brought them up first. The FBI and ATF would present the case of the ATF’s stolen weapons and concern for the safety of the children as the reasons for their arrival.

But the two reasons were weak. There was no solid supporting evidence.

Agents Aguirre and Gorman had turned up the heat on the stolen-weapons investigation. A concrete link between the ATF robbery and America’s Preserve was needed. The casual mention of the robbery to a local rancher was not sufficient to trigger this massive response from the government. The compound’s role in the deadly heist was still a theory. Darrell Palmer’s brother hadn’t stated the weapons he had attempted to sell were from the robbery; it was an assumption.

Agent Aguirre was stressed. She’d already worked the investigation of the ATF robbery and the deaths of their two agents for eight months. Now she was expected to produce supporting evidence within a matter of hours.

Truman helped the Portland FBI agents set up their lighting and huge tents. His role was muscle, to be of use wherever was needed. That was fine with him. He kept his ears open as he worked alongside the agents, soaking in their discussions and plans. As he mechanically followed orders, letting his mind drift, he weighed what he’d learned that day about America’s Preserve.

Undercover agent O’Shea had reported nine children lived in the compound, two of whom were toddlers. As Truman grabbed another giant tub of equipment, he thought of Rose and her infant son, wondering how she would have handled living in the rural camp with no help from her family or access to medical care.

What does the compound do if someone breaks a bone or accidentally chops off a finger?

“I’ll be right back,” Truman said to the agent he was helping and went to seek out Jeff. He found Jeff deep in discussion with three other agents near the SWAT RV. One of them was Supervisory Special Agent Bill Ghattas out of Portland; he was the head of the America’s Preserve operation to find Mercy and generate a peaceful outcome. Ghattas had curly black hair and was big with broad shoulders. He looked like a defensive tackle.

Truman immediately interrupted. “You said you needed a stronger reason to explain your presence to the men in the compound. O’Shea reported that there was essentially no medical care available inside and that was part of the reason they’d approved the addition of his ‘nurse’ girlfriend.” Truman included all four agents as he spoke. “Odds are they had to seek medical care outside the compound—possibly for something urgent like a broken bone or woodcutting accident. Maybe one of the kids has needed emergency care. Someone should contact local medical facilities and see if anyone has been brought in with a serious injury—something that endangered their lives because of where and how they live.”

“HIPAA laws won’t let medical professionals disclose that sort of information without the permission of the patient or else their parent,” Agent Ghattas pointed out.

“I know,” answered Truman. “But look where we’re standing: the boondocks. Small-town residents talk and gossip and for the most part want to be of help. If we find the right person, we might get lucky with some information.”

The female agent nodded. “He’s right. If a child from that compound came into a doctor’s office with an alarming injury, people would hear about it.”

“Medical offices are closed,” said the man standing next to Ghattas. “We can’t do anything about it until tomorrow.”

“The hospital is open,” Truman stated. “Ever visit a small rural hospital? Everyone knows everything about the people who walk through the doors. We can start there.”

The group was silent for a long moment.

“You got anything else?” Truman asked. “If you highlight lack of medical care, it might give more weight to negotiating the release of the children.” Agent Ghattas nodded thoughtfully, approval growing in his eyes.

“They know why we’re here. They murdered the ATF agent that was inside,” argued the agent who had mentioned the medical offices were closed. “It’s logical that his girlfriend isn’t who she says she is. They’ll know we’re here to get her out—assuming she’s not already dead alongside a road like the first guy.”