Velocity (Karen Vail #3)(46)

“Our chopper got an infrared hit in the area about three miles from where Cannon disappeared. They were tracking him at a high altitude through the mountains, and then he stopped moving. Based on the restrained motion within a confined space and the IR signatures of other bodies in the structure, it looks as though he entered a secluded house in the woods and might have hostages.”

“So what’s the plan?”

The speedometer needle effortlessly slipped past 72. Dixon, two hands on the wheel, said, “SWAT’s en route. We’re closer. Chopper’s surveillance only, it won’t be dropping anyone or landing.”

Vail rubbed her face and tried to excise the mounting pressure from her thoughts. She closed her eyes and audibly blew air through her lips.

“You okay?”

“Actually, pretty shitty. Thanks for asking.”

Dixon drove in silence, deftly negotiating the winding mountain roads—and Vail, remembering the challenging landscape from their last visit out this way, was not about to distract her with interruptions.

Dixon pointed skyward. “See if you can find the chopper. I think I know where this road is, but if we can use the chopper’s spotlight as a beacon to pinpoint the house’s location, it may keep us from driving off the side of the mountain.”

Vail craned her neck back, forth, and side to side—but couldn’t make out what looked like a helicopter. She rolled down her window— and within three minutes, in the distance, she saw blinking lights hovering against the inky blackness. “There she is, two o’clock. No beacon.”

“Probably best if Cannon doesn’t know we’re on to him. Grab the radio,” she said, tossing a nod at the glove box. “Primary channel. See if you can raise the pilot.”

Vail found the secure radio—it was only three days ago she’d handled this very device while they were in pursuit of John Mayfield. That had turned out well; if they replicated those results, it would be a hell of a send-off back east.

She glanced at the dashboard clock. Running out of time. Two and a half hours. Nothing’s ever easy, Karen, is it?

“What’s their call sign?”

“H-30. Flown by CHP.”

“CHP H-30, this is FBI Special Agent Karen Vail and Investigator Roxxann Dixon with the major crimes task force. We have you in sight. Do you have us? Over.”

“That’s affirmative, Agent Vail. This is Ken Orent commanding H-30. SWAT is en route. ETA eighteen minutes.”

Vail managed a chuckle. “A lot of shit can happen in eighteen minutes.” She thought back to a time many years ago when she had uttered a similar comment over an open radio channel, then sweated the likely ridicule from colleagues. Here and now, she didn’t give it a second thought.

“Pull over, Roxx. I need your full attention.”

Dixon stopped the car.

“What’s your procedure out here?”

Dixon shoved the gear into park. “H-30 will circle the area until ground units set up a perimeter. The patrol sergeant has already requested that SWAT respond. The SWAT team’s made up of officers from the Napa sheriff and the Napa city police. But because we’re an unincorporated county, the Sheriff’s Department runs the show. They’ll draw up a tactical plan, which’ll probably include setting up a perimeter closer to the house. We’d bring in our hostage negotiating team to attempt phone contact with the suspect.”

“Doesn’t sound like eighteen minutes to me. It’ll take them at least as long to get themselves set up and plugged in. Besides, James Cannon doesn’t want to talk to us, Roxx. Right now, he’s tired and freaked out and hungry and on the run. The people in there with him are in extreme danger.”

“No argument there. Your point?”

“What do you want to do?” Vail asked.

Dixon stole a look at Vail. It was fast, but it said, “Are you fucking kidding me?”

Vail brought the radio to her mouth. “Commander Orent, how many heat signatures do you have?”

“We count five. Four are stationary, one is mobile. Judging by their movements, we assume Mr. Mobile is our suspect. He seemed to clear all the rooms and herd the occupants into a main area in the center of the house.”

Vail swung her gaze over to Dixon. “You think Robby’s one of those hostages?”

Dixon shook her head. “No idea. Either way, no matter who he’s got—”

Vail keyed the radio. “What’s he doing now? Over.”

“He appears to be pacing back and forth. Over.”

“We’re going in. Copy?”

There was a long pause. Vail was ready to rekey the mike to repeat when suddenly Orent said, “You are instructed to wait for SWAT. Over.”

Vail let the radio fall back to her lap. “Do we need them?”

“I don’t want to go in with drawn guns and start a shootout because of a mistake. We don’t even have the street address. And these people who live in the mountains . . . who knows what kind of rifles they might have?”

“How would you normally handle something like this?”

“Assuming they’d run it the same way they take down pot farms, the H-30 will use GPS to give us the coordinates, and the ground units would plug them into their portable GPS devices. That’s how.”

“You have a GPS?”