Authors: J. A. Jance
Then she dialed Stuart’s number. He answered after half a ring.
“Ali, I got your text. What’s up? How can I help?”
At the sound of his voice, Ali’s knees almost buckled out of sheer gratitude. Instead of replying verbally, Ali turned the call volume to max. Then she sent another text:
FOLLOW SIGNAL. LOWELL ARMED AND DANGEROUS. ACTING ALONE, I THINK. GOV’S DRIVER MUST BE DOWN. SIX HOSTAGES, INCLUDING GOV AND B.
Ali allowed herself a deep breath. If Lowell ended up gunning them all down, Stuart would at least be able to provide an audible recording of what had happened.
“If you have a quarrel with anyone, Mr. Lowell,” Governor Dunham said, “it’s with me. Let the others go.”
“Nobody’s leaving,” Lowell replied. “Everybody stays.”
Ali’s opinion of Governor Dunham moved up several notches. Despite having a gun pointed in her direction, she sounded poised and utterly calm.
Ali hurriedly sent Stuart another text:
ARE YOU HEARING ALL THIS?
Stuart’s response was almost instantaneous.
LOUD AND CLEAR
So was Ali’s.
STAY WITH US.
Ali stuffed the cell phone into her bra and picked up her weapon in time to hear more of what was happening beyond the door. She heard Lowell’s sudden change of focus when he finally either noticed or recognized the Brought Back girls.
“You two are behind all this, aren’t you? I should have known you’d be involved. As soon as Amos told me that you’d run off, I knew there’d be trouble. Whatever happens, it’s all your fault.”
“You’re evil,” Ali heard Patricia mutter.
“You’ll never get away with this,” Agnes added.
“Right,” Lowell said. “Another station heard from. Who says I won’t get away with it? Out of the pigpen less than a day and already you’ve cut off your hair and started wearing godless clothing. Just because you’re wearing pants now, young lady, what makes you think I’ll listen to you? You may have forgotten your position in the world, but I haven’t. Besides, you and Patricia there won’t be around to cause trouble for much longer. Now shut the hell up.”
“Leave them be,” Governor Dunham said.
“You shut the hell up, too,” Lowell ordered again. “In my world, women speak only when spoken to.”
“Wait a minute,” Bill Witherspoon interjected. “You can’t talk to her that way. She’s the governor of Arizona!”
“Watch me,” Lowell replied. “Just watch me.”
With the phone put away, Ali had the Glock back in her hand. The earlier trembling that had afflicted her texting ability had diminished, but she had no idea what to do. She was painfully aware that, with the door shut, she was blind to what was going on just beyond the door. She had no idea where Lowell was standing or what kind of weapon he had in hand. Most likely some kind of automatic. How else could he assume he’d be able to hold six people at bay and impel them to do his bidding?
As for Ali, if she emerged from the bathroom to face him, she’d most likely be walking directly into his line of fire. She had confidence in her shooting ability, but with him looking straight at her, he’d have the drop on her. In addition, in the close confines of the cabin, any stray shots risked the possibility of hitting the marble backsplash and ricocheting into the very people Ali was hoping to save.
“Who are you?” Lowell demanded.
Ali was riveted when she heard her husband’s answer. “I’m B.—B. Simpson.”
“Well, Mr. Simpson, the driver of this vehicle seems to be otherwise occupied. Can you drive this thing?”
“I suppose.”
“Do it, then,” Lowell ordered. “Go up front and get us the hell out of here.”
B. rose and headed toward the cab. “Where are we going?” he asked.
“Leave the connecting door open. I’ll give you directions as we go, but if you try anything funny, like running us into a tree or a fence post or a utility pole, I’ll put a hole the size of a dinner plate in the middle of the governor’s chest. Got it?”
“Got it,” B. replied.
The body of the Sprinter shifted as B. moved forward. Ali imagined Richard Lowell sitting with his weapon still trained on Virginia Dunham’s chest. With B. in the cab, he was somewhat protected from bullets shot from Richard Lowell’s weapon but not from Ali’s.
“You don’t need the rest of these people,” Governor Dunham asserted once again. “Let the others go.”
“Like I said, you don’t get to tell me what to do.”
A few seconds later, B. shifted the idling Sprinter out of neutral. Ali shifted her stance, leaning against the wall for support lest some sudden jerk or bump betray her presence. They lurched onto the pavement and, after a moment, were speeding in what seemed to Ali to be a northerly direction. For a time no voices came from the cabin. The only sound was the rumble of moving tires on pavement.
“Where are we going?” Governor Dunham asked several minutes later. “What are your intentions?”
“Where I’m going is none of your business, but my intention is to use you and the others as an insurance policy to get me there.” After a pause Lowell continued, “Hey, driver. Take the next right and stop at the security gate. After we drive through, the gate will close automatically.”
“What’s your name?” Ali heard Lowell ask.
“Bill,” the chief of staff answered. “Bill Witherspoon.”
“Okay, here’s the deal. When we stop, you hop out and key in the code 1556. Come right back once the gate opens or somebody dies.”
The vehicle slowed. When it came to a stop, Ali felt a slight wobbling as someone moved through the vehicle. A door opened. As Witherspoon’s two-hundred-plus pounds exited the vehicle, it shifted slightly when the load lightened. Now there were only four hostages left in the cabin. That meant fewer people in immediate danger, but still plenty of people at risk. The van moved forward and stopped again. For a moment, Ali hoped Bill Witherspoon would take advantage of being outside and make a run for it, but he did not. The vehicle shifted again as the chief of staff returned, pulling the door shut behind him.
“Go to the third hangar on the right,” Lowell ordered.
Standing in the dark, it was only then that Ali realized they had come to an airport of some kind. Since they had only just pulled off the paved highway, she doubted that it was the landing strip at the top of The Encampment. It had to be an airport somewhere else, but where? Colorado City, maybe?
The Sprinter was moving forward when she heard Lowell’s voice again. He sounded disturbed. Upset.
“Who the hell would be coming in at this time of night?” Lowell demanded. “Hey, driver. Get us out of sight, quick. Pull into the slot between the second and third hangars and douse the lights. Do it now! As soon as that plane lands and the pilot goes away, let me know.”
Ali was gratified to hear Lowell sounding uneasy, both surprised and rattled. Wherever they were, he hadn’t anticipated having unexpected company. Ali knew that the runway at The Encampment was large enough to accommodate a small jet, but she had a hard time imagining that Colorado City boasted another nearby airport with runways long enough to handle a Citation X.
And what about the plane that was landing? This close to zero hour Ali felt there was a good chance the new arrival might be Sheriff Danny Alvarado, but was he there as a friend or an enemy? Was he coming to support his officers or to help Richard Lowell make good his escape?
Ali glanced at her watch for at least the hundredth time. Eleven forty-five. Twenty minutes had elapsed since the Sprinter had first pulled off the paved highway onto the shoulder. Less than that since Ali had sent her text to Stuart. Was that enough time for him to have summoned help?
The Sprinter stopped again and sat idling when Ali heard Governor Dunham speak again. “What about that other plane, Mr. Lowell?” she asked. “What about the jet that’s due to land on your private airstrip and then head off for Caracas?”
“I diverted it,” he answered. “I don’t know where you found that group of Keystone Kops pretending to be a SWAT team, but I can tell you for sure—they’re a bunch of useless city-slicker losers. City people always forget that kicking up dust out here in the desert is a dead giveaway.
“When they started bringing in their vehicles and equipment earlier this afternoon, those plumes of dust were as plain as the nose on my face. They told me something wasn’t right, so I went up and had a look-see. They’re parked just out of sight and waiting for that flight to come in. Sorry to disappoint. There won’t be a plane showing up tonight, but there’ll be plenty of excitement to keep them occupied. When that tankful of Jet-A goes up, those guys will get their money’s worth.”
His last words set Ali’s heart pounding. Lowell had convinced some poor sap to set fire to a tank of aviation fuel?
“What tankful of Jet-A?” Governor Dunham demanded. “Are you saying you have aviation fuel stored on your property and you’re going to set it on fire?”
“Not me, personally,” Richard Lowell said. “Robbie Miller’s in charge of that operation and happy as a clam about it, too. I gave him a stick of dynamite and some matches and told him exactly what to do—wait for my phone call. When I give the word, he’s to light the fuse and toss the dynamite in a big puddle of fuel that has somehow leaked out onto the ground.”
“You can’t make Robbie do something like that!” Patricia shrieked at him. “You can’t!”
The Sprinter rocked back and forth momentarily as if some kind of struggle was occurring out in the cabin.
“Sit back down, bitch!” Lowell ordered. “One more outburst from you and you’re a goner.”
Another rocking motion shivered through the rig. It was easy for Ali to imagine someone, Andrea Rogers most likely, bodily restraining Patricia and returning her to her seat, but the woman’s outrage was still audible.
“You gave Robbie dynamite?” she demanded. “He has no idea how things like that work. What if he dies?”
Even though Ali was still focused on the conversation, the blindness of being in that locked, darkened room had fine-tuned her other senses. Because she was still leaning against the interior door, she felt another slight tremor in the vehicle and another slight shift—as though someone had once more exited the van. Holding her breath, she listened to see if anyone else had noticed.
“If he dies, he dies,” Lowell replied disdainfully. “As for making him do it? Don’t be silly. I don’t have to
make
that dimwit kid do anything. He volunteered. Everybody knows how much Robbie loves fire. He’s followed me around like a puppy for years. It’s about time he made himself useful. He may be dumb as a stump, but he’ll follow orders, and once he sets that Jet-A on fire, your troop of SWAT guys will be so busy trying to rescue those girls that . . .”
Ali’s heart constricted in her chest. Governor Dunham must have been on the same wavelength.
“What girls?”
“The girls your guys think are heading out on that plane with me tonight,” Lowell crowed proudly, reveling in the idea that he had somehow managed to outwit everyone. “I figured the Brought Back girls wouldn’t have gotten away all on their own, and that told me it was time to get out. A load of girls was due to leave tonight, anyway. I decided to turn that full load into a partial. Couldn’t do a full one with me on board the same plane, but there was no sense leaving all that money on the table.”
Governor Dunham had called that shot completely. A load of Not Chosens had indeed been set to go out tonight. Now instead of being shipped off into the sex trade, it sounded as though they were doomed to be burned alive.
“Where are they?” the governor demanded urgently. “Where?”
“In a locked room at the back of the hangar. I handled the deliveries myself over the last several hours, just to give the SWAT team something to watch while they were waiting. When I boogied out the side door of the hangar, I left my car parked inside. As far as they’re concerned, I’m there, too. By the time the fire cools down enough to sort through the bodies, they’ll be astonished to learn I’m not part of either group. By then, it’ll be too late and I’ll be long gone.”
“Wait,” Governor Dunham said. “Are you saying other people are dead, too? Who?”
“Does it matter? Now tell me, isn’t your little party due to start real soon?” He paused and chuckled. “That’s another thing. For this kind of operation, you need people who know a thing or two about being out in the boonies. You need people smart enough to walk through the wilderness without waking the dead. I heard your guys bumbling around in the dark and talking on my way down. I heard enough to know that midnight’s the witching hour—five minutes from now. Then all hell breaks loose.” There was another pause before he added, “Hey, driver. Is the pilot of that other plane out of here yet?”
They all waited for B.’s response. None was forthcoming.
“Driver?” Lowell called again. “Hey, what’s going on up there?”
Half sick with relief, Ali realized B. must have somehow managed to exit the vehicle without attracting any attention.
“You’re coming with me,” Lowell growled ominously. “Now.”
“Leave her be,” Witherspoon objected. That was followed by the distinct sound of something hard striking flesh, a loud groan, and a sickening thump as someone crumpled to the floor.
“Come on now, Gov. Move it. You try anything and this AK-47 is going to cut you into tiny little pieces.”
That’s what Lowell was wielding—an AK-47? And the only weapon Ali had available was a measly Glock? Once again, Ali felt a shifting of the vehicle, as though several people were moving around at once. A front passenger door clicked open. That could only mean that Lowell and Governor Dunham were both up front, on the far side of the partition between the cab and the cabin. If Ali was going to do anything about this—and she wasn’t sure what—now was the time to do it.
Holding her breath and with the Glock in hand, Ali cracked the bathroom door open and emerged into the cabin. Andrea was on her knees, trying to help Bill Witherspoon as he struggled to his feet. Agnes and Patricia seemed rooted to their seats.