A Merciful Promise (Mercy Kilpatrick #6)(62)

“Coconut pie’s good if you got room after,” Clyde stated as he poured Truman more coffee.

Truman couldn’t look away from the burger. “We’ll see.”

Clyde cleared his throat. “The boy was only five,” he added to Ethan’s story, surprising Truman with the knowledge that the man had heard their conversation from the kitchen. “Completely dehydrated and had one of the nastiest ear infections the doc had ever seen. Lotta people in town upset about that. I heard the boy’s pop didn’t show up until later. Someone else brought in the child.”

Anger created an upheaval in Truman’s chest. “That’s how things are run up there?” he asked Clyde and included Ethan with a raised brow.

The two men exchanged a glance. “We don’t know what it’s like. No one is let in,” said Clyde. “There’s guards. People don’t come out much, and when they do, they don’t talk. Everyone’s curious, so when something like the boy happens, word spreads fast.”

“No one’s been inside and seen what’s going on?” Truman asked skeptically, hoping to find a source of insider information about the compound.

“No . . .” Ethan didn’t seem certain.

“What is it?” Truman asked.

Ethan looked to Clyde, who gave a quick nod.

“A guy I worked with a few years ago is up there now,” Ethan said. “A couple of months ago he hunted me down and asked if I knew anyone who’d buy some of his rifles. Said he needed the money.”

Déjà vu struck Truman, and he gave Ethan an encouraging look.

“I thought I’d help him out a bit and asked what he was selling.” The young man grew serious. “The weapons he was selling didn’t jibe with the casual hunter I used to know. And he offered a lot of them.” He leaned toward Truman, speaking more quietly. “The prices didn’t make sense either. They were way too low, which made me suspect they’d been stolen.”

“What did you do?”

“Told him I didn’t have any money. I didn’t want any part of it.”

Clyde grimaced. “I’ve heard similar stories a few times. Selling guns seems to be how they make their money.” He wiped the counter with a towel, his face grim, his jaw tight. He appeared to be done talking. Ethan focused on his own plate.

Truman lifted his burger and took a bite as Clyde went back to his kitchen. Selling possibly stolen weapons. A child who’d nearly died from lack of treatment.

Truman believed he’d found the impetus Ghattas needed to back up the FBI and ATF’s show of force.

And hopefully protect Mercy’s identity.





TWENTY-FOUR

It felt as if the base camp had doubled in population when Truman returned. The Hostage Rescue Team had arrived, and more bodies strode purposefully about the clearing.

Truman spotted SSA Ghattas next to the mobile SWAT RV. He was talking to two men in olive fatigues and another agent in jeans and a jacket. Truman approached, his boots crunching in the snow, and the surprise in Ghattas’s eyes confirmed that the FBI agent had given Truman the hospital assignment to keep him busy.

“Chief Daly.” Ghattas introduced him to the other agents. One was in charge of the HRT, one was in charge of Portland’s FBI SWAT team, and the third was the lead negotiator. “Any luck?” Ghattas asked.

“There’s a young boy from the compound in the hospital right now who was brought in with a life-threatening infection. One that should have been treated a week ago. Supposedly his father is with him,” Truman stated.

“Excellent.” Ghattas’s face lit up in surprise. “I’ll get two agents to find the father. Some intel from him about the inside of the compound would be helpful.” The two agents in olive nodded emphatically.

“And I talked to a guy who said they tried to sell him underpriced weapons,” Truman added. “He backed off because the sale felt fishy to him. There’ve been a few other people in town who were approached for the same thing. My guy believes it’s how they raise money.”

Ghattas was pleased. “This is exactly what I needed to know.”

“We can use that medical information about the boy when we talk to them,” the negotiator said. “Could help us get the other kids out.”

“Get the kids out before we have to go in,” the HRT leader said, squaring his shoulders. The SWAT leader agreed. “At least we know one child is out. That leaves eight more inside.”

Truman hoped their intelligence on the number of children was accurate.

A truck pulled in behind the RV, and Truman noted it had come from the direction of the compound, not the town. Two ATF agents he had met earlier immediately got out of the vehicle and approached their group.

“Success?” Ghattas asked as the man and woman walked up.

“It wasn’t easy,” said the younger agent. “When we approached the gate, two guys got out of a parked truck near the fence and pointed their rifles at us.” He blew out a breath. “Thought that was the end of it right there.” He thumped a fist on the ballistic vest hidden under his coat. “I’m thankful for these things, but they won’t do shit for a head shot.”

“They told us we were on private property and to turn around,” added the female agent. “I think we made the right decision to have me drive.” She raised an eyebrow. “They were a little surprised to see me. I’m not much of a threat, you know.” Her partner snorted. “I told them we’d leave, but before I identified ourselves, I politely asked them to not jump to conclusions and to first hear what I had to say.”