Bitter Falls (Stillhouse Lake #4)(89)

“But . . . you said you were going to get them out, you bastard—”

“Hey,” he interrupts me, and I realize my voice has risen, that there’s a sharp, cutting edge to it. That I’ve lost my battle to stay calm. It feels good. I need to yell. I need to hit and shove and make people listen. “Easy. We do this right, and we make it way too expensive for them to do any harm to anybody in there. We get his followers to lay down their weapons and come out; I guarantee you there are people in there who aren’t completely brainwashed and want out, and maybe more than you’d think. Trust me, this isn’t a Seal Team Six situation. This works best if we convince them to walk out on their own.”

Everything he says makes sense, but I don’t care. The idea of waiting while my son is . . . while God knows what is actually happening to him . . . I know I can’t do it. I know in my gut, just from meeting Carol and seeing the desperate lengths she took to avoid going back, that what waits behind those walls is far, far worse than Lustig is considering. I’m incandescent with rage, and worse, I know he isn’t going to listen. He trusts Sam. Not me.

He’s going to get my boys killed, and I don’t know whether to blame him or myself. I should have known that getting Lustig involved was a risk; he’s not a free agent, and he has protocols to follow.

But I’m not letting those rules get my son killed.

Lustig calls my name as I walk away, but I don’t stop. He doesn’t try twice.

I go back inside and close the door. J. B., Kezia, Javier, and the girls look at me as I close the door and lean against it. I don’t know what I’m going to say to them. Then I find the words. “We’re on our own,” I tell them. “The FBI is going to do it their way, but their way isn’t going to get Sam and Connor back alive. Not according to what Carol told me.”

“They’re not going in, are they?” Javier says.

“In Mike’s words, this isn’t a Seal Team Six situation.” I put all the bitterness I feel into the words.

Javi takes that personally. “The hell does he know? Does he think we go in and just shoot up the place? That’s not how it works.” He pauses and shakes his head. “They’re going to negotiate, aren’t they?”

“Try to,” I say. “And from everything Carol told me, I think Father Tom has been planning for this day for a long time. He’ll see it as their final battle. Their glorious ending. Ragnar?k, Armageddon, whatever religion he’s cobbled together in his head. While they’re sitting outside waiting, this will go very, very badly.”

“Then what we need is a plan B,” Kezia says. “One that gets us into the compound. We find Sam and Connor and get them out. But what about the others? Surely not everybody in there is down with the idea of dying for Father Tom. What you told us means the women are little better than slaves in there. And the kids—”

J. B. is shaking her head. “You can’t count on the women,” she says. “In a cult like this, the women are often the strongest believers, despite how badly they’re treated. Maybe because of it; if they stop believing it means something, they’re just victims, and they can’t handle it. If you go to them for help, they’re liable to raise the alarm instantly.”

That’s a grim prospect, and I care about them. I care about the kids. I care about the men who’ve been roped or kidnapped or brainwashed into this toxic sinkhole of a cult. I want to save them.

But sometimes, I know, the hard fact is you have to save yourself first. They always tell you on planes to put your mask on before helping others. My oxygen is Connor and Sam. And once they’re safe, then we can work out how to get others free.

J. B. says, “I’d suggest infiltration, but there’s no chance of pulling that off. Mr. Esparza, Detective Claremont . . . sorry to point it out, but so far everything we know about these people is that they go after exclusively white recruits. So that leaves you two out. Gwen, some of them already know you by sight. I’m sure this Father Tom has your dossier. He’d see you coming a mile away.”

“You, then?” I ask her. “J. B., no. I can’t ask you—”

“That wouldn’t work anyway,” she says briskly. “Cults like this don’t have any use for older people. Father Tom has no use for women if they’re not of childbearing age.”

“Then who . . .”

I realize what she’s saying, and it grabs me by the throat. I choke on it. I shake my head. Violently. “No. No. Absolutely not. I won’t let Lanny go anywhere near this—”

“You don’t have to. I’ll do it,” Vera Crockett says.

She sounds calm as chamomile tea. She’s even smiling a little bit. We all stop and look at her. Vee, with her attitude and her fragile strength and her slightly mad eyes.

“Vera, you can’t,” I say. “I know I’m not your mom, but—”

“You ain’t my momma,” she agrees. “I can take care of myself. I took care of my own mother more often than not. I’m the right age, ain’t I? They like young girls.”

“No,” I say flatly. “Out of the question. These people are killers.”

Vee stares at me without a quiver. “You think I don’t know that? The Assembly folk in Wolfhunter killed my momma. I know ’em better than you do. And I can act the part. I can!”