“We’re on our way. Please stay put.”
One of the FBI helicopters searching the nearby woods was brought over to the railroad station. Just as it was arriving — so did Kyle. I’d never been so glad to see him.
Betsey told Kyle exactly what she hoped to do in Virginia. “We take the chopper in as close as we can without being spotted. Four or five miles from the town of Tinden. I don’t want too large a ground force involved. A dozen good people, maybe less.”
Kyle agreed to the plan, because it was a good one, and we were off in the FBI chopper. He knew the agents at Quantico he wanted involved and he dispatched them to Tinden.
Once we were on board the helicopter we reviewed everything we had learned during the previous bank robberies. We also began to receive information on the area where Mrs. Morris had seen the bus. The army base she mentioned had been a nuke site in the 1980s. “ICBMs were kept underground at several nuke bases outside Washington,” Kyle said. “If the tour bus is on the site, a concrete silo could shield it from heat-seeking search helicopters.”
Our chopper began to settle down onto an open area near a regional high school. I glanced at my watch. It was just past six o’clock. Were the nineteen hostages still alive? What sadistic game was the Mastermind playing?
Bright green athletic fields stretched out behind an idyllic-looking two-story redbrick school. The entire area was des
erted except for two sedans and a black van waiting for us. We were four or five miles from the state road where Mrs. Morris had seen the Washington on Wheels bus.
Isabelle Morris was sitting in the first sedan. She looked to be in her late seventies, a stout woman with an inappropriately cheery, false-teeth smile. Somebody’s nice grandmother.
“Which farm should we go to first?” I asked her. “Where might somebody be hiding?”
The old woman’s bluish-gray eyes narrowed to slits as she thought. “Donald Browne’s farm,” she finally said. “Nobody lives there these days. Browne died last spring, poor man. Someone could hide out there easy.”
Chapter 67
“KEEP GOING. DRIVE BY,” I told our driver as we reached the Browne farm on State Road 24. He did as I asked. We curled around a bend in the road about a hundred yards farther on. Then the car eased to a stop.
“I saw somebody on the grounds. He was leaning against a tree. Up near the house. He was watching the road, Kyle. Watching us go by. They’re still here.”
Up ahead, I could see the remains of the old missile site that had once been in operation out here. I figured we would find the tour bus hidden in a missile silo, safe from the Apache search helicopters. I wasn’t so optimistic about the nineteen hostages from MetroHartford. The Mastermind hated insurance companies, didn’t he? Was this about revenge?
I was flashing lurid images of the hostages who’d been killed during the bank robberies; I was afraid of finding a massacre scene at the farm. We had been warned. No errors, no mistakes. The rules had been enforced during the bank jobs. Had anything changed?
Kyle said, “Let’s go in through the woods. We don’t have time to be choosy.”
He made contact with the other units. Then he, Betsey, and I ran due north through the dense woods. We couldn’t see the farmhouse yet, but we couldn’t be seen, either.
The woods came up close to the main house, which was fortunate for us. The brush was mostly overgrown, almost all the way to the driveway. The lights were off inside the house. There was no movement that I could make out. No sound.
I could still see the sentry for the kidnappers. He wasn’t too far away and he had his back to us. Where were the others? Where were the hostages? Why weren’t any lights on in the house?
“What the hell is he doing?” Kyle muttered. He was just as mystified as I was.
“Not much of a lookout,” Betsey whispered. “I don’t like it.”
“Me, either,” I said. It made no sense. Why put out a single sentry? And why would the kidnappers still be here?
“Let’s take him down first. Then we move on the house,” Kyle whispered.
Chapter 68
I GESTURED TO KYLE AND BETSEY that I was going after the sentry. I got to him quickly and with a minimum of noise. I swung out hard with the butt of my pistol. There was a satisfying crunch, and the kidnapper crumpled to the ground. He never made a sound. It was too easy. What the hell was going on?
Betsey was crouched low, coming up to me fast. She whispered, “What the hell kind of lookout was that? They’ve always been careful before.”
A half dozen agents appeared out of the woods behind us. Betsey signaled for them to stop. There still were no lights in the farmhouse and no movement. The scene was eerie and unreal.
Then Kyle gave the order to go, to move on the house. We were quiet as we ran forward. There didn’t seem to be any more sentries or guards. Was this some kind of trap? Were they expecting us to break inside? What about Mrs. Morris? Could she be part of this?
I got to the farmhouse with the first wave of agents and I was filled with a sense of dread. I raised my Glock and kicked the front door open. I couldn’t believe my eyes. I had to stop myself from shouting out loud.