Deliver Us from Evil (30 page)

“Yes, sir. Abrams Creek Station, right?”

He was surrounded by idiots.
“Yes.”
He ground out the word through clenched teeth. “Call me as soon as it's done.” Warren studied the amber liquid in his decanter. “And take out the rangers as well. We can't have any witnesses.”

That would handle the woman pilot's meddling once and for all.

TWENTY-SEVEN

Wednesday, 8:06 p.m.

US Marshals Office, Howard Baker Federal Courthouse

Knoxville, Tennessee

ANTICIPATION BUILT INSIDE THE interrogation room to the brink of exploding.

Roark along with the FBI agents and Gerald Demott held their breath as a consulting CPA studied the books retrieved from Wilks's wife's safety deposit box. Jefferson Montgomery had already stated he didn't recognize them, nor did he have any information about them. Now the CPA had flipped pages and pulled out Excel spreadsheets for the better part of ten minutes, leaving the others in the room waiting. And waiting.

Seconds fell off the clock over the window. The hands made steady clicking noises. The hum of the fluorescent light increased.

Click. Click. Click.

So much rode on these books. If they could be deciphered, the money trail could lead to all those involved with the child-trafficking ring. Roark clenched and unclenched his fists, just for something to do.

Click. Click. Click.

No one moved. Nervous energy bounced off the walls, nearly suffocating the room's occupants. Roark fought the urge to pace or slam the table and demand the CPA tell them if he could make heads or tails of the books. Neither would be productive, so Roark continued to make and release fists.

Click. Click. Click.

Finally the CPA closed the books and met Greg Daly's gaze. “It appears the transactions can be traced.”

A collective sigh exploded.

The CPA held up his hands as he stood. “It won't be easy, but the account numbers are consistent, which should allow you to detect the account holders' names.”

“Can you tell anything else?” one of the agents asked.

“I can't be sure, but there are a lot of references to Black Forest, Colorado, and Townsend, Tennessee. If I were to guess, I'd think the base of operations was in one of those locations.”

“Thank you, Mr. Holt.” The SAC shook the CPA's hand. “We appreciate your coming in at this late hour and taking a look at this for us.”

The man bobbed his head. “No problem.”

One of the other agents hovered at the CPA's elbow. “I'll show you out.”

As soon as the door closed behind them, pandemonium erupted with everyone talking at once. US Attorney Noah Markinson whistled, and silence settled over the group. He pointed at the two senior agents. “Get these books over to NSA. Now.”

The agents grabbed the books and hustled out the door.

Greg Daly continued to issue orders. “Get a team ready. I want agents in Townsend as soon as possible. I'll call our Colorado office and alert agents there.”

An agent almost knocked over a chair to do his boss's bidding.

Mr. Markinson turned to Roark. “Now what's this about Congressman McGovern possibly being involved?”

Roark relayed what Brannon had overheard, then handed him a copy of the fax. A pregnant pause followed. Finally the US attorney pinched the bridge of his nose. “That's not enough to get a search warrant. Might be enough to get his phone records, but no judge will get a warrant based on someone's statement regarding an overheard conversation.”

“What about the fax?” Roark's chest tightened.

“This merely implies a connection. It's not signed by the congressman, so he could state his credit card was stolen and used to purchase this.”

The SAC pointed at the last agent in the room. “Quietly assemble a covert team. They are to unofficially monitor the congressman's moves. This is off the grid, got it?”

“Yes, sir.” The agent rushed from the room.

“If he finds out—” Markinson began.

“He won't.” Daly stood tall. “My agents are good. He won't detect them.”

Roark shifted his weight from foot to foot. “What about Jefferson Montgomery? He's still in the conference room.”

Markinson sighed. “You can release Mr. Montgomery for now. But remind him that he isn't to leave the state without notifying us.”

Roark nodded and headed out the door. Excitement soared. This was it—he could feel it. All the loose pieces of the case were finally coming together.

He entered the conference room, startling Jefferson. “Sorry.”

“It's okay.” Jefferson yawned and ran a hand over his face. “Time for more endless questions?”

Roark laughed. “Nope. You're good to go. But the FBI asked me to tell you not to leave town.”

Jefferson grinned. “Kinda like in the movies, right?”

“Guess so.”

The ranger ambled to his feet. “Bet Brannon and Lincoln are ready to get out of here. Almost as much as I am.”

“Actually, they've already gone.” Roark led the way down the hall to the elevators.

“How? Why?” Jefferson stepped into the car as soon as the doors slid open.

“They got a call of smoke reported. I took them to the helicopter about an hour ago.”

“But Brannon isn't cleared to fly yet.”

“Try telling her that.” Roark exited the courthouse.

The burst of icy wind blasted their faces as they ducked toward the car.

“So how am I supposed to get back to the station?”

“I'll drive you. It's less than an hour away.” Roark unlocked the door, then slipped behind the steering wheel.

Jefferson clicked his seat belt. “Whatever works. I'm just ready to get out of here.”

Wednesday, 8:10 p.m.

Abrams Creek Ranger Station

Great Smoky Mountains National Park, Tennessee

“STEVE, THIS IS MAI and Kanya.” Brannon led the shivering girls into the ranger station and out of the cold night.

“Hello, there.” Steve's voice held a soothing tone, for which Brannon was grateful. Still the girls shied away from him.

Brannon led them to the couch and pulled an afghan over them. “Let me get some medical supplies and check you both.”

Mai shook her head. “Fine.”

Brannon smiled as she squatted before the girls. “I'm sure you are, but would you let me check, please? Just to make sure you don't have frostbite on your toes or scratches?”

Mai hesitated a moment, then nodded.

“Good.” Brannon stood and slipped out of her coat, passing it to Steve. “Hand me the first-aid bag.”

Lincoln spoke behind her. “I can probably check them over quicker.”

She nodded at him. “But they're scared of you.” She glanced at Steve. “Of all men, it seems.”

Steve rubbed his stubbled chin. “Abusive father, maybe?”

“Could be.” Brannon wouldn't think of what could make the girls so frightened of men. It made her stomach turn. “One of you needs to call the authorities. While I'm checking them over, I'll try to get more of their story.”

“I'll call.” Steve strode to the desk.

Brannon lifted the black bag and returned to the girls. She explained what each item was as she withdrew it. As she checked the girls' hands, she cleaned cuts and scratches. “What were you girls doing out there all by yourselves? At night, in this cold weather?” She tried to keep her voice casual. Anything could spook these two.

Neither girl responded, but Brannon knew they understood her. Their comprehension of English seemed more than adequate. She finished bandaging Mai's hands, then moved to Kanya's. “Were you with a group and got separated?”

Again, no response, but Brannon noticed the eye contact between the two. They had a story but were too frightened to tell it just yet. She finished dressing Kanya's hands, then removed the girls' boots. Neither had socks. The tips of their toes were already changing colors. “Hang on, I'll be right back.”

“Lincoln, get me a bucket with cool water, please.” She headed toward her living quarters. “I'm going to get the girls some dry, warm clothes.”

She rushed through her room, grabbing socks and sweatpants and sweaters. When she entered the station's common area, Lincoln had the bucket of water in front of the girls. They clung to each other, guarded eyes watching his every move. Brannon smiled her thanks and set the pile of clothes on the couch.

“You have beginning stages of frostbite. I need to put your feet in the water. It's going to be cold at first, but we can add warm water once we bring up your temperatures a little.”

Mai allowed Brannon to submerge her feet. Kanya followed suit. The girls grimaced against the sting and bite, but they didn't withdraw their feet from the bucket. So young but already accustomed to pain. Brannon blinked back tears.

God, please watch over these girls. I don't know what they've been through, but I have a feeling it's pretty bad. Guide me to help them.

Sticking her hands in the bucket, Brannon massaged the girls' feet. Slowly she felt the cold lessen. She nodded at Lincoln, who stood with another bucket of water. He poured it into the bucket with their feet.

Warm water caressed Brannon's fingers as she continued to massage Mai's and Kanya's feet. “Did someone leave you out in the woods? I'm trying to help you, but I need to know what happened. Can you tell me?”

“We ran away.” Mai's voice could barely be heard.

Brannon's heart caught. Runaways? So young? What had caused them to run away in this winter weather? Child Protective Services would need to be contacted.

She took their feet and dried them with the terry-cloth towel Lincoln gave her. She pulled the socks over their feet, then handed them the sweatpants and sweaters. “Go put these on. They'll be too big, but they're dry and warm.” She pointed them to the bathroom.

Without a word the girls shuffled to the bathroom, then shut the door behind them.

Brannon spun to face Steve and Lincoln. “Those girls are runaways.”

“I've already called the locals. They said they'd send out CPS and have a unit out here within a couple of hours,” Steve said.

“Doesn't explain someone shooting at us.” Lincoln reached for coffee mugs. “Why would anyone shoot at us for rescuing two runaway girls?”

“Maybe they weren't interested in the girls at all. Maybe we were the targets. Because of our rescue of Roark.” Just saying his name made her heart quicken.

“Could be.” Lincoln passed a mug to her. “But I don't see what purpose it'd serve now.”

“Me either.” Brannon took a sip of the scalding coffee. Lincoln had doctored it just the way she liked it.

“How's your ankle?”

She glanced down her leg. She hadn't even noticed her injury. “Fine. I'm in no pain.”

“Good.” Steve lifted his own cup.

Brannon took another sip. “Maybe the girls will talk more once they're more comfortable.”

“I have hot chocolate ready and waiting,” Lincoln said with a smile.

Wednesday, 8:35 p.m.

Abrams Creek Ranger Station

Great Smoky Mountains National Park, Tennessee

“WE HAVE TO TRUST them.” Mai pulled the sweater over her head and stared at Kanya. “These people are here to help us. Like I told you.”

“Poppy Fred might still be coming after us.”

Mai nodded. “I think that is who shot at us.”

“Then you have to tell them.”

“I will try.” Mai opened the bathroom door and shuffled back to the couch. So warm . . . Mai could not remember the last time she had been warm through and through.

“There you are.” The woman—Brannon—smiled and brought over two cups. “We've made you some hot chocolate.”

Mai took a tentative sip. She never tasted anything so wonderful. And warm.

Brannon sat on the table in front of them. “Can you tell me who you ran away from?”

She had to trust someone, and this woman had been nothing but nice to them. Mai nodded. “Madam Nancy. Poppy Fred.”

“Nancy and Fred? Are those relatives of yours?”

“No.”

Brannon frowned. “Where are your parents?”

The thought of
Maae
and Phaaw made Mai's chest hurt. “Thailand.”

“Why are you in America?”

This was the part that hurt the most. “
Phaaw
wanted me to get proper English lessons.”

“Who's
Phaaw?
”

Mai shook her head. “
Phaaw
not his name.”

Brannon tilted her head to the side. “Is
Phaaw
your father?”

“Yes.”

“And he wanted you to get an education in America?”

It was too painful for Mai to admit her father had sold her to Fred and Betty. He and
Maae
needed the money for food. And Fred promised she would get an education.

“So how did you get to America?”

“Poppy Fred. Aunt Betty.”

“Where are they now?”

“Fred is following us. We run away.”

Brannon's eyes widened. Mai noticed they were light in color but not the same color. “Was Fred the one who shot at us?”

Mai shrugged. She did not know for sure, but most likely it had been him.

“Why did you run away from Fred? Did he hit you?”

Mai's hand went to her cheek. She could feel the sting by remembering alone. “Yes.”

“What about Betty and Nancy? Did they try to help you?”

“No.” Nancy's slaps were the worst.

“Did they hit you, too?”

“Yes.”

“Where were you? Camping?”

Mai shook her head. “Br-brothel.”

The lady sucked in air. “A brothel? Are you sure? Maybe you mean a motel or a hotel?”

Maybe she had pronounced it wrong. It was not one of the English words Mai had learned back in Thailand. She tried again, just like she had heard Nancy say it. “Broth-el.”