Chasing Evil (Circle of Evil) (28 page)

Blinking away tears of sympathy, Sophia murmured, “It’s not far now. I just need to get you hidden while I go for help.” How the woman had managed to get this far was a miracle. Hope must have provided some much needed strength, but clearly it was flagging fast.

“I have an idea.” Sophia forced encouragement into her voice. “I just need to get you as far as the ditch. Can you make it that far?”

The woman tried to speak. Sophia bent so her ear was close to Courtney’s mouth. “Thank…you.”

Daggers of guilt twisted in her stomach. She was the last person who deserved this woman’s thanks. Unknowingly, she’d deflected the offender’s sexual assault last night at the expense of Courtney. And she knew it would be a long time before she ever learned to forgive herself for that.

“Don’t talk. Save your strength.” Drawing upon a new well of it, Sophia half carried Van Wheton the thirty yards or so to the nearest ditch. Climbing down the steep side though, she lost her footing and the two of them tumbled the rest of the way to sprawl at the bottom.

The weeds and grass were long, offering the only form of cover Sophia could see for miles. She spent a couple minutes searching for the pipe, and then got Courtney settled in the center of the comforter, the pipe at her side. Grabbing the corners on either side of the woman’s head with both hands, she tugged. Slowly she pulled the woman along the bottom of the ditch, gritting her teeth against the pain singing up her arm from her injured wrist. There wasn’t a soul to be seen. How far before they’d reach a farmhouse? A mile? Maybe two?

The question became moot a couple minutes later when Sophia spotted a farm drive ahead. Its purpose was to allow the farmer access to the field from the road. Many had drainage pipes under them to keep water from collecting in the ditches.

The sunlight glinting off something metallic beneath the drive was an answered prayer.

“Not much further now,” she muttered between gritted teeth, pulling as fast as she was able. “Almost there.”

The mouth of the culvert was less than two feet across. Plenty of room for Courtney, but the quarters would be close. Claustrophic. Sophia used the pipe to clear the culvert of any creatures that might be in residence, before helping the woman to a sitting position. “Do you think you could crawl inside?” Courtney’s battered face was a mask of weariness. Sophia didn’t know how she’d managed to get this far. “You’d be safe there. Out of sight. Then I can run to find the nearest house.” A smile pulled at the corner of her mouth. “Maybe run is a little ambitious, but at least I can…” She stopped as the woman recoiled, mingled panic and hope in her expression as she stared at a point beyond Sophia’s shoulder.

Turning, she saw what had caught Courtney’s attention. Dust plumed on the gravel road a couple miles down the road.

Caution had her keeping low, but Sophia was already planning how to climb the side of the ditch in time to flag the driver as it went by.

Except the vehicle never got to them. It slowed long before that. A hard knot of fear lodged in her throat, choking her. Eyes wide with alarm, Sophia watched a white cargo van swing into the drive and disappear behind the barn.

Chapter 15

Cam waited until the door closed behind Sophie before striding across the room, opening the desk drawer and withdrawing the picture of him with Matthew Baldwin. He couldn’t explain even to himself why he’d printed a colored copy of the photo before handing off the entire envelope to FBI Agent Dietrich. It wasn’t only because he was now convinced Dietrich was a lying son-of-a-bitch.

The photo was a reminder.

The longer he stared at it the more memories swam to the surface. He’d spent the better part of the last couple years stuffing most of the recollections away. But there had been a few bright moments in those long months undercover. Times that had momentarily lightened the heavy emotional toll that came from living in constant danger and threat of exposure.

This man had been a part of every one of those moments.

It was Matt who had introduced him to the restaurant that had ignited Cam’s addiction to Creole food. Matt who’d shared a love of all things baseball, although his team had been the Oakland A’s. Matt, whose love for his Mexican-American wife had embroiled him in a deadly entanglement with a powerful player in the Sinaloa Cartel drug operation.

Matthew Baldwin. The man who’d avoided capture in that last culminating bust, because Cam had made sure he wouldn’t be on site when it went down.

Shoving the photo back in the drawer, Cam turned away, his mind working. The packet of photos could have come from his former friend. Because they
had
been friends. In another place and time, but there was no other word for it.

Or it could have come from someone within the Sinaloa cartel. After the arrests of many middle management members of the organization, the first reaction of cartel leaders would be to minimize the damage. Change routes, routines, shipments, so if any of those arrested flipped on the cartel, losses would be minimal.

Their second priority would have been to cast blame and enact revenge on those responsible.

They’d look first for members who should have been at that fated bust, but were conspicuously absent.

Second would be a search to make sure all arrested had ended up in a cell.

Had Cam put a target on Matthew’s back by ensuring the man hadn’t been at that final strategy meeting? The bust had been a treasure trove for law enforcement. Maps of the routes used, a cache of weapons that would have outfitted a small army, and an armored car filled with product ready to be shipped. The crown jewel of the undercover operation had been the capture of one of the eight highest-ranking members of the cartel.

Baldwin had missed being scooped up.

If anyone bothered to check, Alec Jensen, Cam’s undercover identity, wouldn’t show up on any prison roster in the country.

Which meant both he and Matthew would have some serious explaining to do if they ever had to answer to the cartel.

Looking again at the photo, he wondered if it was an indication that his explanation was coming due.

# # # #

“We’re rollin’ silent.” Cam communicated the order to the other agents over radio from his position two miles from the barn. Franks was placed a similar distance away on the opposite side of it. Jenna was a half-mile in back of Tommy, and Boggs was behind Cam. “If we have the right place and Vance is in there, we don’t want this to turn into a hostage situation. Tommy and I will pull within a quarter mile from the site and take a closer look at the area. Maintain your distance at the rear.” That proximity would allow them to pick up details of movement around the site with the aid of binoculars.

He put the vehicle into gear and pulled out of the farm lane he’d been parked in. Turned onto the gravel. The hulk of the old Stanford barn could be seen from here. According to Jeffries’ information there was no longer a house on the property, but that didn’t mean a trailer or some other temporary living quarters hadn’t been pulled onto it. Cam had dispatched Beachum and Robbins to the Alleman address when he’d set off for this site. Their orders were to report any sightings of Vance, and to follow him if necessary. At this point, the agents were reporting no activity around the small bungalow that belonged to the suspect’s grandfather. A little circumspect questioning of some locals had revealed that Ivan Stanford was residing in a nearby rest home, suffering from dementia.

Cam pulled to a stop closer to the barn and picked up the high-powered binoculars from his gear bag on the passenger seat beside him. Any lingering doubt about his instincts regarding this lead dissipated.

A white cargo van sat outside the barn.

Excitement thrummed through him. If their information were correct, Sophie and Van Wheton would likely be held in that barn or in the Stanford house. The isolated countryside made the barn the logical location to carry out the sadistic brutalities Vance was suspected of. After making calls to Iowa State Patrol and the Polk County Sheriff’s office for back up, he radioed his agents again.

“Turner and Boggs, tighten up to an eighth mile behind our vehicles. I want a roadblock and tack strips across the road in back of us.” He brought up the binoculars to study the structure again. There was a split door on the face of the building visible from the road. Boards had been nailed across it but the bottom boards had been torn off, and the lower door was open.

Cam tried to temper the hope that stirred at the sight. The partially opened door might be for ventilation purposes. It may be there to provide a second exit for Vance, should he need it.

But the way it had been obstructed meant there was another entrance to the place on the other side of the structure. And it would be much harder for Vance to escape if both routes were blocked.

He could feel sweat trickling down his back in spite of the air conditioning. The heavy armored vest he was wearing was suffocating. “Tommy, we’ll use our vehicles to block exit from the drive and approach on foot. You cover the entrance facing the road.”

“I see it,” came the laconic reply over the radio.

Scanning the miles of corn and beans surrounding the building, Cam realized there would be nothing to stop Vance from ramming the van through the barbed wire fencing and attempting an escape by driving across a field. He might break a wheel shaft traversing the uneven ground in the process, but they couldn’t count on it. “I’ll continue around the barn and disable the vehicle. Gear up and let’s roll.” He edged the vehicle back onto the road.

“Cam, you’ve got movement in the south ditch a couple hundred yards to your rear.”

Boggs’ words over the radio had Cam’s gaze flying to the rearview mirror as he eased the car to a stop. Something unidentifiable was moving in the tall grass. With one hand on his weapon, the other went in search of the binoculars. Raised them to his eyes. A moment later, stunned recognition slammed into him.

The nude figure of a woman was awkwardly clambering out of the ditch.

Sophie.

A fierce primal spear of joy arrowed through him. She was alive and mobile, if more than a little banged up.

Alive.

“We’ve got a sighting of Dr. Channing attempting to climb from the south ditch. Boggs, stop to offer assistance. Summon paramedics.” The radio burst with excited chatter from the other agents at the news. Cam had to stop for a moment to steady his voice. “If she’s capable, put her on the radio, Boggs. She might be able to offer intelligence on what we’ll face inside the barn.”

It was both heaven and hell to watch the scene unfold from afar. Sophie struggled to ascend the steep side of the ditch. The way she seemed to be favoring her left wrist had a sharp prick of worry grazing him. Cam wouldn’t let himself think about the fact that it was likely the least of her injuries. Couldn’t dwell on the greasy pool of dread that accompanied the thought.

She’d survived. That was all that mattered right now.

Boggs pulled to a stop beside her and got out of the vehicle. He helped Sophie to the road and slipped off his suit coat to wrap it around her naked form. But when he tried to steer her in the direction of his vehicle, she began talking and gesturing toward the ditch.

Frowning, Cam had to divide his attention between the barn before him and what was transpiring behind him. Franks was at the drive awaiting further orders. There was no activity around the building. Switching his focus back to Sophie, he saw Boggs accompany her to his vehicle, seating her on the passenger side before he made his way carefully down the side of the ditch again.

“Sophie. Pick up the radio.”

There was a long pause, during which time he saw Boggs approaching the short farm drive in the ditch, getting down on his knees to peer at something in the culvert beneath it.

“It’s Courtney Van Wheton, Cam.” The sound of her voice had him sending up a relieved prayer to a frequently absent god. “She’s unresponsive. Maybe I shouldn’t have moved her. She’s badly injured. I was just too afraid to leave her while I…”

“An ambulance is on its way,” he broke in soothingly. “Was she the only other victim held in the barn?”

“Yes. He’s in there now. The UNSUB. I saw the van pull in there about ten minutes ago and we hid. I was afraid he’d come looking for us.”

“Is he always alone? Armed?”

“He’s been alone. I don’t know…I never saw a weapon, but it was always pretty dark inside.” There was a slight tremble to her words. Otherwise her manner was remarkably steady. “He’ll be dangerous and if cornered will behave impulsively. Erratically. He has bouts of rage, but he’s violent at any time. Oh, and he doesn’t match the sketch Jenna drew.”

“I figured that from the description you hid in the content of the profile. It’s okay. We’ll take it from here. You stay put. When the paramedics arrive let them take a look at you.”

“Oh, but Courtney…”

His gaze returned to the barn. “They’ll take care of her, too. And Soph…it’s good to hear your voice.”

“Yours, too.” Her words sounded thick. “Be careful.”

He put the car in gear and drove ahead to take position. The entire exchange had taken less than a minute, and had served to allay some of his worries for her.

More, she’d given him valuable information that would impact how they’d approach the suspect inside. Cam stopped at the edge of the property and reached over for the whisper mic on top of his gear. Donning it, he zipped up the gear bag and took it out of the car, easing the door shut behind him. As he rounded the vehicle and made his way into the ditch to approach the barn, he saw Tommy exit his car and do the same. Staying as close to the fence line as possible, Cam veered around the scrub brush and a few half hidden scraps of metal from some ancient farm equipment until he reached the far end of the barn.

He stopped. “We’ve got a set of sliding double doors, one is standing open.” He spoke into the mic in a near whisper. “Looks like a shiny new padlock on the door.” The rotted board that had likely once served to slide across the doors to secure them was leaning against the side of the structure.

Cam’s gaze turned to the vehicle. It was parked in view of the doors. If Vance was still inside, depending on where he was situated, there was a good chance he’d see any movement around the van.

But if the suspect had gotten there ten minutes earlier, as Sophie had attested, he’d have seen that his captives were gone. So what would keep him inside?

Franks’ voice sounded. “There’s a big square door near the top of the barn on the east side.”

Which meant a hayloft. The original owner would have needed the opening for ventilation, and to load and unload hay for the livestock. “Any method of escape from it?”

“Not unless someone doesn’t mind breaking a dozen bones by jumping.”

“Stay out of range of it.” If Vance had taken position up there, he’d be in perfect sniper position. “Any sign of movement inside?”

“Negative.”

Cam crouched low and made a beeline for the van. Crawling under it, he used the tack stick to puncture the sides of each tire, before rolling out again. Looked toward the barn. “I’m going in. Cover the back.”

Weapon in hand, he ran in a crouch to the yawning expanse revealed by the open door. Set the gear bag down. “Mason Vance,” he called in a loud voice. “DCI. Put your hands behind your head and come out.” There was no response. All was silent save for the shrill of a songbird. The near complete quiet lent an eerie quality to the scene. He tried again. “Vance! You are surrounded. Come out now. Hands behind your head.” As seconds crawled into minutes he said to Franks, “Let’s go.”

Weapon drawn, Cam swung around the doorway, scanning the dim interior. There were stalls lining one side. A rickety ladder led from the pulverized and dusty concrete barn floor to an overhead opening near the center of the barn.

He took the left side, Franks the right. Cam looked in each of the stalls. All were gated with the tallest livestock gates he’d ever seen. The gate of the first cell yawned open. Inside it was only a blow up mattress and a wadded up Bryson’s bag and cup in the corner. His gaze lingered for a moment on the familiar sack. A similar one had served as the paper for Sophie’s revised profile. Woven wire effectively penned in the stall from the top, making an escape proof cell in which Vance could keep his victims.

But not exactly escape proof, apparently. Somehow Sophie and Van Wheton had managed to get out.

A crazy grin threatened at the thought. The suspect was cunning, but he’d underestimated Sophie’s training and intellect.

He moved on. The place was massive. There were ten cells in all, but only the first and eighth had been used as cells. Cam stopped a moment at the eighth gate to marvel at Sophie’s ingenuity. At least he assumed Sophie had been kept here. A cup was in the corner, but no bag. And from the sounds of things, Courtney Van Wheton had been in no shape to escape on her own.