Under Cover of Darkness (49 page)

Andie watched from the doorstep outside her barracks, feeling like the only person on the farm who wasn't in high gear. One after another, a stream of men and women hurried past her. They carried nondescript boxes of food and supplies from the barn to the main house. Some of them looked frightened. Others were angry. All of them seemed to know what to do.

"Come on, Willow! Give us a hand!"

A group of women raced by her, but Andie couldn't match the voice to a face. Standing around wasn't the kind of thing Willow would do. But Andie had a growing sense that she wasn't long for the role.

Obviously, something had made the cult leaders feel as though an attack from outside were imminent, but she couldn't say what specifically had triggered the decision to fortify the compound. In her last phone contact, Isaac had promised to set up spot surveillance of the farm. Maybe they had discovered one of the agents. Or perhaps Isaac had decided to increase the pressure without telling her. Some new break in the serial killings could easily have triggered a roadblock or even the deployment of SWAT around the perimeter. Andie needed to get up high where she could see what was going on. *

She ran from her unit to the back of the barn. A ladder led to the hayloft. She climbed quickly and moved to the opening in front, where she hoped she might be able to see out to the main road. Tonight it was too dark to see to the end of the driveway. If law enforcement was out there, it was a furtive effort with no show of force. There were no swirling lights, not even the glowing orange dot of a cigarette in the darkness. From this vantage point, however, she did have a better look at the men on the ladders who wer
e p
utting the shutters on the main house. They were thirty yards away, but Andie could see the automatic pistols holstered at their sides.

A gunshot cracked through the barn wall. Another pop, another shattered board. Suddenly the walls were exploding from a barrage of gunfire across the face of the barn, the old wood splintering like kindling. Andie dived low as shots whistled over her head. Screams erupted from the main house, where the metal shutters rattled with fully automatic gunfire. Andie looked up just as one of the men on the ladders was hit several times. He tumbled down the rungs and hit the ground with a thud. He didn't move. Dead. Two others lay dead on the roof.

An attack! Why?

The semi-organized human supply line from the barn to the house had now completely scattered, people running scared. "Get inside!" someone shouted from below.

Andie smelled smoke. Flames erupted behind her. A fire was ripping through the barn, devouring the loose and baled hay in the loft. She couldn't go back to the ladder. The flames were out of control behind her, but the front of the barn was still being pelted by gunfire. With no other choice, she jumped from the loft and ran from the flames, keeping low to the ground. Frightened horses raced from their smoke-filled stalls and nearly stampeded her. Another barrage of gunfire cut down a woman just twenty feet ahead of her. Andie ducked behind one of the sleeping barracks. Others screamed and ran for the house or the barracks, any place they could find cover.

A spray of gunfire shattered the windows above Andie's head. She pressed her whole body to the ground, as low as she could get. She was frightened but even more shocked. The FBI had fired first. No warning.

What in the hell are you idiots doing?

Chapter
Sixty-Four.

Thep Center had erupted in confusion. A half dozen agents were on the phone, each in a different shouting match, each trying to find out what all the shooting was about. Isaac was the center of the storm, directing his wrath at Agent Lundquist.

"Who the hell did you put in charge out there? Lieutenant Calley?"

Lundquist was at a loss. "It's not us who did the shooting." "Who is it then? Yakima Sheriff's office? Everybody and their brother has a SWAT team these days."

"No one from the sheriff's office has been deployed. I'm telling you straight, Isaac. No paramilitary law enforcement unit is even in place yet. Not even our own SWAT."

Realization slowly washed over him. Isaac walked to the map and uttered softly, "They're firing upon themselves."

"What?" said Lundquist. "Why the hell would they do that?"

"Why did they start the fires at Waco? To trigger an apocalypse."

Lundquist stood silent, stunned.

"Deploy the SWAT," said Isaac. "It's time to save these people from themselves." He looked down, concerned. "Or at least save Andie."

A pulsating alarm pierced the night, echoing like an air-raid siren across the compound. Andie was lying in a depression in the earth that barely provided cover. It would soon be a shallow grave if she didn't move to a safer place. Bullets were missing her by inches, kicking up dirt all around her. Then there was a break, as if they were reloading or regrouping. On impulse, she made her move. She rolled to the front of the barracks and shoved the door open. Gunfire shattered the door above her, but she rolled inside and pushed it closed. She huddled on the floor, then looked up and gasped.

Three bodies were suspended above her, hanging by the neck at the end of a rope. One man, two women. They twitched every few seconds as bullets whistled through the shattered windows and riddled the corpses. They turned slowly on the rope, and finally Andie saw a face. One of them was Felicia.

The apocalypse had begun.

Andie was frozen, unable to look and at the same time unable to tear her eyes away. Suddenly, she smelled smoke again. It wasn't coming from the barn. It was from the back of the barracks. The unit was on fire.

The door burst open. She jumped to defend herself, but a man grabbed her. He was armed and wearing a flak jacket. He was dressed in fatigues and had his face covered with greasepaint. Instinctively, she hit him twice, landing a solid blow to his jaw.

"Willow, stop!"

She recognized him. It was Tom. And he still thought she was on his side.

"Let's go. Everybody inside."

She wasn't sure what was going on, then it clicked. She recognized the fully automatic AK-47 rifle and the full metal jacket ammunition he was carrying. You son of a bitch. You were firing on your own people.

"Come on, damn it! Inside the house!" He grabbed her and nearly dragged her out the door.

Chapter
Sixty-five.

The driveway was empty when Gus arrived home. Carla's car was gone. On the phone from Meredith's, he had tried to convey the requisite urgency without scaring her to death with news of a killer on the loose. It wasn't as if the killer were outside the Wheatleys' front door. Carla had plenty of time to get Morgan to safety before the attacker could get to his car and drive all the way from Meredith's house.

Unless he had a partner.

Gus's heart was suddenly racing. In all the confusion--fighting off the attacker, Dex getting shot--the possibility of two killers striking in tandem had eluded him. He hurried inside and called out from the foyer.

"Morgan, Carla?"

No reply. The house had a deserted feel to him. He closed the door and switched on the lights. Morgan's room was the first stop. Empty. He grabbed the cordless phone and dialed the police station, just to make sure. He continued to the master bedroom as the call went through.

"Hello, my name's Gus Wheatley. I'm checking to see if my six-year-old daughter and my sister are there. This may sound strange, but I told them to go there because something happened and they were afraid to stay here at the house alone."

"I'll check, sir. What are the names?"

"Wheatley is the last name. Morgan and Carla."

Gus heard a click, then elevator music. He was on hold. The line crackled as he entered the master closet, but the cordless reception soon cleared. With the phone tucked under his chin he pulled Beth's big box of old photographs down from the shelf, sat cross-legged on the floor, and dug in.

It was the same box he had gone through the other night while reminiscing about Beth and the way things used to be. Some he had lingered over. Others he had breezed through. At first he had focused only on pictures of Beth and him or Beth and Morgan. By the end of the night, however, he had gone through nearly every photograph. Some had been taken before he and Beth had even started dating. That night had been his rediscovery of Beth, a chance to meet friends of hers he had never met before.

One of those friends was now the focus of his suspicion.

If his memory was correct, she was in just one photograph among thousands. The other night it hadn't meant anything to him. Just another old snapshot of Beth with friends. He probably hadn't looked at it for more than five seconds. But earlier tonight, when he had seen that fiveyear-old photograph of Meredith Borge in her dining room, it hit him. He would have sworn that somewhere in Beth's stack of old photographs was a picture of her and Meredith. If it was really there, Gus had to find it. He had to know how Beth had gotten mixed up with a cult.

He wasn't sure which packet contained the right photograph. Like a Vegas card dealer he flipped through one stack after another with lightning speed. Finally, he stopped. He had found it. He laid it on the carpet beside the five-by-seven he had taken from Meredith's house and compared the two. No doubt about it. The woman in the photo was a younger and much fatter Meredith Borge with long brown hair. The woman on her right was Beth. Curious, he checked the remaining shots from the same roll of film, photos that had seemed so meaningless he hadn't even bothered to look at them the other night. He found another one of Beth and Meredith. But this one was different. There was a third woman, one with her arm around the woman he now knew was Meredith and who seemed particularly chummy with her.

It was Gus's sister.

The operator came back on the line. "Sir? There is no Morgan or Carla Wheatley here."

Before he could speak, Carla interrupted. "Hang up the phone, Gus."

He whirled. She was standing in the closet doorway with a gun pointed at him. The phone was in the other hand. She had been listening to the call.

"Sir?" asked the operator.

Carla said, "Tell her everything's fine, and hang up. Now."

"Sir, are you still there?"

"Uh--you know what, operator? They're pulling up in the driveway right now. Thank you for checking, though."

He hung up and snapped, "What did you do with Morgan?"

"She's fine. And she'll continue to be fine if you just do as I say."

"Are you crazy? What are you doing?"

"I tried to warn you. That note on your windshield. You just ignored it."

"That was in Beth's handwriting."

"You don't think I know what her handwriting looks like?"

"You were behind the 'Mary Had a Little Lamb' message from that pay phone, weren't you? You're the only one who could have known Beth and Morgan's little secret."

"Just shut up, Gus. I'm in control now."

Chapter
Sixty-Six.

Ash and burning cinders floated like glowing snowflakes from the barn. A cool wind carried them toward the farmhouse, where a dozen frantic people scurried to the backyard. Two men wearing camouflage fatigues like Tom stood at the open cellar doors and herded them below. Andie knew from her lie-detector meeting with Blechman that the cellar wasn't nearly big enough to hold all the cult members. Between the hangings and gunfire, the ranks had seriously thinned.

Culled, she thought, recalling the term Tom had used at the chicken coop.

The gunfire continued but was erratic, as if they were missing intentionally. Andie crouched low as she and Tom crossed the yard toward the house. Hot cinders landed in her hair and burned her face. It was only a matter of time before the house would be ablaze. Just ahead, people hurried into the cellar, eager for protection. It was certain to be a death trap. She had to break loose.

An argument broke out at the cellar doors. A woman refused to go below. From somewhere in the field a burst of gunfire erupted, killing her instantly. The crowd scattered. In the confusion Andie broke free from Tom's grasp and ran. She dived toward the shrubs alongside the house, where one of the slain workers had fallen off his ladder. H
e w
as stone dead, but his pistol was still in its holster. Andie grabbed the gun and stuffed it in her jacket.

Tom barked out some orders to his subordinates, then turned and saw Andie. "Willow!" He hadn't seen her take the gun. She ignored him.

"Get in here!" he shouted.

Andie ran the opposite way, up the back porch and into the house, baiting him to follow. He did. She continued at full speed through the kitchen and down the main hall. The house had been evacuated and no lights were on. Steel shutters covered most of the windows, but not the one over the kitchen sink. That was the only source of light, a faint and flickering glow from the burning barn some thirty yards away.

Or had the house caught fire?

Andie posted herself in the hallway beneath the staircase. She checked her pistol. It was fully loaded. Out of sight in the darkness and with her back to the wall, she waited.

A bullet ricocheted off the shutters on the front picture window, but she didn't flinch. Some of Blechman's lieutenants were apparently still in the field stirring up trouble.