A Merciful Promise (Mercy Kilpatrick #6)(68)

“I don’t like that this is happening after dark,” Ghattas murmured.

“We can see better than anyone inside,” said another agent. “We have the best equipment, and our men are used to working in the dark.”

One of the snipers’ scopes was trained on the gate, which was estimated to be three hundred yards from the center of the compound. It was a simple livestock gate made of horizontal steel bars, the type available at any farm equipment store. Two of Hodges’s men sat in a truck with several inches of snow piled on the hood and cab. For a very, very brief moment, Truman pitied them their freezing, dull guard duty. The snipers’ earlier reports had stated that both men were armed. Each with a rifle and a pistol.

Truman switched to the view that showed the Portland FBI’s SWAT agents escorting Jason Trotter to the gate. The agents wore full gear, carrying Colt M4 Carbines on their shoulders and 9mm Sigs on their thighs. Those were the weapons that Truman could see; he knew there were more. The men followed the long drive, breaking three paths in the snow. Trotter was cuffed and wore a ballistics vest under his coat along with a helmet.

Ghattas wasn’t taking any chances with his prisoner.

According to Jeff, Trotter had been reluctant to participate. He’d seemed content to sit in jail and hadn’t wanted to face Pete Hodges. “Trotter got caught,” Jeff had told Truman. “I suspect the boss isn’t happy. Trotter is scared to see him.”

“Shouldn’t have kidnapped his own kids,” Truman had answered.

Truman couldn’t see them, but he knew the area near the compound’s gate was crawling with HRT and more SWAT. Some of the monitor views were from their cameras, and their commanders occasionally voiced instructions. A few more agents were stationed to the southwest and southeast of the gate, watching the compound’s perimeter.

“There are eight children and several adults leaving the cabin area and moving in the direction of the gate,” one of the snipers announced. Every head in the RV swiveled toward that camera view.

Apprehension buzzed in the command unit. The air felt charged. Truman shifted his feet and crossed and uncrossed his arms, unable to stay motionless.

The view of the children was fuzzy, but it was clear two toddlers were being carried and several other kids held the hands of adults. Truman strained to make out the adults’ features. Judging by hair, most of them were women, but he wasn’t certain.

“Seven men have just left the command center,” spoke a different voice over the speaker. “Six are carrying rifles. The seventh man has a weapon at his hip.”

Ghattas leaned closer to the monitor. “That’s Hodges.” He tapped the man in the center of the group without a rifle. “I’m positive.” The men walked seven abreast; two of them held flashlights.

Truman had seen photos of Hodges and agreed with the agent. Hodges’s posture was ramrod straight, and he put out a natural air of command. Even in pictures.

The flashlights bobbed as the seven men made the long trek to the gate through the falling snow. The gate did not have an overhead light, and usually the guards made do with flashlights or lanterns. As the flashlights moved closer inside the compound, the guards flipped on the headlights of their truck and stepped out. The agents and Trotter had already reached their position fifty feet from the gate and stopped. The truck’s headlights shone directly on Trotter and his two escorts.

“Shit,” said Eddie under his breath. “I don’t like that at all.”

Truman didn’t either. The three men stood in a spotlight.

He checked the monitor that showed the group of children. They were still moving south but had more ground to cover to reach the gate.

“We’re in position,” said one of the escorting SWAT agents. “Fifty feet out. Can we ask them to move the headlights?”

“Go ahead,” said the SWAT commander.

“Can you point the headlights in a different direction?” one of the agents shouted to the two guards.

Now standing in front of the gate, the guards ignored the request as they waited for the two groups inside the compound to arrive.

Tension in the RV skyrocketed. “They’re sitting ducks,” said the SWAT commander.

“Hodges is still coming,” asserted Ghattas. “So are the children. The headlights aren’t good, but I believe they’re following through.”

“Does Hodges need six escorts?” muttered Agent Aguirre.

“Show of power,” answered Truman.

“All the adults with the children are women,” one of the snipers announced. “There are no men in the group. Six women. One appears to be very pregnant.”

Ghattas pressed his lips into a line. “The fathers won’t leave? Or Hodges won’t let the fathers leave?” he asked quietly of no one.

Truman suspected the second reason was accurate. Hodges had fewer than thirty men. There weren’t enough to spare. There were supposed to be eleven women in the camp, including Mercy. He guessed some had also not been allowed to leave.

Or did they choose not to leave?

“Keep the guards in your sights,” ordered the SWAT commander. Confirmations sounded over the speakers.

The group of children continued to approach as Hodges and his six men stopped on the inside of the gate. Truman leaned forward, staring at a grainy view of the women, his gaze locked on one of the women holding a toddler.