A Merciful Promise (Mercy Kilpatrick #6)(69)

Mercy.

He elbowed Eddie. “Look at the woman on the left with the toddler.”

Eddie stiffened and laid a hand on Truman’s shoulder, his fingers digging into his flesh through his coat. “I can’t tell. Are you sure?”

“Height is right . . . walks the same.” Like an icy shower, relief shot through Truman from head to toe. He briefly closed his eyes and shuddered as stress exited his body.

Her cover was intact. She was coming out with the children.

It was almost over.

“I think Agent Kilpatrick is the female on the left holding a child,” Truman announced to the rest of the watchers.

At the front of the group, Jeff leaned closer to the grainy monitor, pulled his head back, squinted, leaned close again, and then nodded. “Glory fucking hallelujah,” he muttered. A pleased murmur sounded from the rest of the observers.

Hodges raised his hand, and his line of escorts stood at attention. They had removed their rifles from their shoulders but held them casually, pointed at the ground. They were a ragtag bunch. Some wore camouflage coats or pants, while others were in jeans. They varied in size from reed thin to one bearded man who was so heavy he had struggled to make the walk. Even with the poor video, Truman could see his chest heaving from the effort.

“Jason,” Hodges shouted across the metal. “Are you being treated appropriately?”

Trotter didn’t immediately answer, and one of his escorts shook his arm.

“Yes, Commander Hodges,” Trotter answered in a raised voice.

“Are you injured?” returned Hodges.

“No, sir.”

Hodges turned to the group of women and children waiting far to his left and waved for them to move forward. He said something unintelligible to the two guards, and they dragged the gate open. The children’s group walked through.

Truman held his breath, his heart drumming fiercely, his gaze locked on one woman.

A few more feet.

“Jason,” shouted Hodges again. “Has the ATF violated any of your rights?” His six armed escorts remained at attention, their rifles in hand but still pointed at the ground, watching the eight children and six women continue toward the two SWAT escorts and Trotter.

“Continue to the vehicles and get inside,” one of the SWAT team told the group as they approached. “Move faster, please.” Some of the children started to run, and the women followed. The pregnant woman lagged behind, one hand supporting her belly.

“No, Commander Hodges. I’ve retained my right to stay silent.”

A shot shattered the night, and Jason Trotter jerked. His escorts dropped his arms and returned fire, running to the cover of the woods. Trotter collapsed where he’d stood.

The agents in the RV jumped to their feet, and Truman’s heart seized as shouts erupted around him. He shoved aside an agent who had abruptly blocked his view of the monitor that showed the children and women being hustled into the waiting vehicles.

Shouts and orders streamed through the speakers as Hodges and his six escorts scattered, firing toward the escaping agents. The covert HRT and SWAT members returned fire, the sounds of the constant shots drowning out the shouts. Hodges’s men continued to fire, spinning and shooting in every direction. Within seconds every compound member at the gate had crumpled into the snow.

The three vehicles of women and children barreled away from the scene, snow flying from their tires.

She’s safe.

Like a wave, the HRT and SWAT agents poured out of the forest. Moving in steady unison toward the open gate and motionless bodies on the ground.

It all went to hell.

That wasn’t supposed to happen.

His gaze leaping from monitor to monitor, Truman saw the agents on the perimeter of the compound enter and methodically start clearing the buildings. Bodies were strewn about the gate, their blood spray appearing black on the snow. Sporadic gunshots cracked in the air as other residents inside the compound continued to fire at the invading agents.

Pain shot up Truman’s arm. Eddie’s fingers had dug into his bicep, his eyes wide behind his glasses, staring at the monitors. Truman unhinged his grip, and Eddie blinked in surprise.

On the screens the compound members inside finally dropped their weapons, their hands in the air. They moved to their knees and stomachs on command and were searched by pairs of agents.

Within ninety seconds, the agents had cleared all the buildings, started aiding injured compound members, and rounded up the uninjured who were secured in the mess hall.

“Outside,” Eddie told Truman, pushing him toward the RV door. “The vehicles with the kids will be back here any minute.”

How had I forgotten that?

He bolted out the door, jogging through the snow toward where the three SUVs would appear with their precious cargo, Eddie right behind him.

“Oh my God,” Eddie said as he caught up. “What the hell happened up there?”

“Who shot Trotter?” asked Truman. He was out of breath, and it wasn’t from the short jog.

“I couldn’t tell. Where are they?” Eddie looked impatiently down the road that wove through the trees in the dark. “What’s taking them so long?”

“Maybe they had to stop to administer medical care.” Truman’s throat constricted. Only a few children had been in the vehicles when the shooting started.