Deliver Us from Evil (16 page)

He glanced over to her, his eyes caressed her. “Kind of.” A cloud dropped over his eyes, masking further expression, like a door slamming shut. Roark stared straight ahead, not looking at her.

How had she offended him this time? Her prying questions? Had she been too nosy? Maybe she had, but only because she felt as if she had a vested interest in Roark's spiritual standing. Not that she did, but her heart told her to push, so push she had. Now he seemed to be ignoring her.

Brring!

Roark pulled his phone from his coat pocket, then pressed it against his ear. “Demott? Holland here.” Roark shoved snow around with the toe of his boot. “Yeah, we're okay.”

Lincoln crossed over and lowered himself to the boulder beside Brannon. Both of them kept their eyes glued to Roark.

“No, we're okay.” He paused for a moment. “We don't have to worry about the shooter anymore. I took him out.” He lifted his eyes to settle on Brannon's face.

She averted her gaze but kept his movements in her peripheral vision.

“The heart is safe and sound. It got an injection before the flight medic was shot.” Roark checked his watch and shook his head as if the person he spoke with could see him. “The rangers have contacted the station, and they're working to get another helicopter out here to pick us up.”

Brannon crossed her arms over her chest and snuck another look at him.

He paced as he talked. “No, I don't know the exact coordinates. The chief at the ranger station knows our location.” He sighed, glancing at Lincoln and Brannon. “What's the landline number to your station?”

Lincoln rattled off the numbers, which Roark repeated into the phone. “Yeah, you can try that. The chief's name is Steve.”

Roark snapped the phone shut and slipped it into the backpack. He shook his head as he stood and slung the pack over his shoulder. “I hate to do this, guys, but we gotta try to find a way out of here.”

“Why?” Brannon asked. “Steve will get somebody out here to us before too much longer. We don't have any equipment to get out of this cave.”

“Why not? You must get calls for people stuck in caves.”

Lincoln nodded. “Tennessee has more caves than any other state, but the ones that are logged in the park are closed to the public.”

“We had to remove the spelunking cables and anchors to bring food and first-aid supplies.” She didn't appreciate Roark's accusing tone. They'd left the gear behind because
he
rushed them from her Dolphin.

Roark shifted his weight, staring at the ground as if avoiding her look. “We've got to get this heart to the hospital pronto.”

“I don't think we'll make enough progress to beat the helicopter coming to get us.” She chuckled. “Besides, like you said, the heart will still be viable for several more hours.”

“You don't understand.” He lifted his face and stared at her. “The recipient—you know, the witness who can put away the child traffickers? Well, he's not doing so hot. He needs the surgery
now.
Otherwise, he won't make it.”

Brannon's stomach roiled. “What would happen then?”

Roark's stare seemed to go straight through her, right into her very soul. “The child traffickers get off—free to keep selling young girls into prostitution like slabs of meat.”

She couldn't let that happen. Not if she had anything to say about it. Pushing to her feet, Brannon glanced at Lincoln. “Come on, it won't hurt to check for another way out.”

Lincoln hesitated, then nodded. He didn't look convinced.

She set her jaw and concentrated on finding a way out, all the while keeping her ears on alert for the helicopter. Steve would find someone to come get them—he was as dependable as the day was long. But would help come in time to save the witness?

Something caught her eye. “Lincoln, there.” She directed the flashlight's beam. About four feet up, maybe five, was a small hole in the stone wall. “Is that a pancake crawl?”

Please, Lord, let it be a way out.

FOURTEEN

Saturday, 12:10 p.m.

Great Smoky Mountains National Park, Tennessee

ROARK'S MIND ATTEMPTED TO wrap around what Brannon had said as she and Lincoln studied the hole in the cave. Did she really believe in all that Bible talk?

Could
faith
be real? Could he depend on it again? He had for a long time, but God had abandoned him in that elevator shaft. Had abandoned little Mindy.

“It is a pancake crawl!” Brannon's voice was tinged with excitement.

Roark jerked his focus back to the present, where Brannon pointed in the cave. “What's that?” He didn't like feeling so out of the loop. So out of control.

“It's a small connecting tunnel, if you will, from one underground room to another.” Lincoln set the flashlight on the floor before inspecting the space. “I see light, which means there has to be an opening on the other side.”

“But it's not big enough to crawl through.” Roark's heart hammered.

“We lie flat and slide through.” Lincoln grabbed the rock Brannon had been sitting on. “Help me push this over so I can see inside.”

Before Roark could move to help, Brannon helped Lincoln shove the small boulder under the hole in the cave. The injury on her shoulder must be a surface wound, like she'd claimed. Lincoln stood atop the stone, peering into the space.

Roark eyed the hole. It couldn't be much larger than three feet in diameter. Lie on his back and slide through? No way.

B-ring! Brr-ring!

Brannon glanced over her shoulder. “Roark, your phone's ringing.”

He shook his head. “My phone doesn't have a ring like that.” His pulse spiked. “Wait a minute.” He dug into his coat pocket and pulled out the SAT phone he'd taken off the shooter. He glanced at the caller ID—
Zimp.
What kind of name was Zimp? Pressing the cell against his ear, he held up a finger to silence Brannon and Lincoln.

“Tom, where in tarnation have you been? The boss has been calling me every five minutes to see if I've gotten in touch with you. Man, glad you finally have reception.” The squeaky voice on the phone paused for a moment before launching into another tirade. “Boss is anxious to find out your status. Have you taken care of the heart yet?”

Roark stood still, even calming his breathing.

“Tom . . . you still there, man?”

“What is it?” Brannon moved beside Roark, her eyes soft as she studied his face.

He held a finger over his lips.

“Tom? Man, the phone must be cutting out again. Listen, if you can hear me, the boss said to take out everybody in that group. Got it? Take them all out. He's sent Milt your way to help.”

Roark pressed the end button, his mind racing and his adrenaline surging. Pulling his own satellite phone from his pocket, he dialed as fast as his almost frozen fingers would allow him. “Demott, it's Holland. We have a serious problem.”

“We've talked to the ranger station—they're sending one of the National Guard units out. Also sending out a rescue land unit to recover the bodies from the coordinates that ranger gave.”

“Fine. Listen, Demott, when I took down the shooter, I lifted a phone from him. I just got a call on it.”

“What? You didn't mention a phone before.”

“It slipped my mind since the weather kept blocking reception. But here's the deal: The caller ID showed the man who called is named Zimp. Z-I-M-P. Run it through the systems, will you?”

“Got it.
Zimp.
What's the number of the phone you have?”

Roark pulled the shooter's phone out again, went into the directory, and located the phone number. He recited it to his supervisor. “Listen, this Zimp who called said the boss had sent some guy named Milt my way. Have you heard how long it'll be until the National Guard shows up?”

“An hour at the earliest.”

Great. “Send the Guard as fast you can and let me know what you find out about Zimp and the number.” He shut his phone before turning to Brannon and Lincoln.

“What's going on?” Lincoln had moved beside Brannon, his arm rested over her shoulders.

Roark explained. “How many rounds do each of you have left?”

Both rangers checked their weapons. Brannon answered first. “Ten.”

“Nine,” Lincoln added.

Roark did a count. He had two magazines left in his pockets and six rounds left in his Beretta.

“When will the Guard be here?” Brannon's face didn't reflect fear but rather quiet strength and fortitude.

“At the earliest, an hour.”

“We need to get out of here and to a place that has cover but close to a clearing where the chopper can land.” She pushed to her good foot, swayed a moment, then used the toe of her injured leg to balance.

“That would be ideal.” Not only had she thought of getting cover, but she also considered a landing area for the helicopter. Yep, she was back at the top of her game. Cool under pressure.

Her eyes closed, as if making a mental map. She lifted her finger to her mouth, chewing on her skin the way she often did. Why did he find her so charming and engaging? He swallowed hard.

Brannon grabbed his sleeve. “We're pretty close to Rainbow Falls now. We can get there and have plenty of cover and still be able to access a clear area for the helicopter to land.”

“Good idea. Let's get moving.” Roark lifted the cooler containing the heart and swung one of the packs over his shoulder. Then froze.

That little hole.

“Is there no other way out of this cave?”

Lincoln shook his head. “Not without proper rigging.”

Roark steadied his breathing. “Maybe we should just stay in here. It's good cover, and surely the National Guard will have the equipment to get us out.”

“No place for the helicopter to land around here.” Brannon shook her head. “Once we get to the other room of the cave, we'll be able to get out.”

“Are you sure about that?” He could only hope he didn't sound as much like a wuss as he felt.

“Well, Lincoln saw light, which means there has to be a big enough opening to let the sunlight spill in.”

“But what if it's overhead, just like how we fell in? We still wouldn't have the equipment to get out.” Roark's pulse zinged.

“I'll go first and check it out.” Lincoln moved toward the hole, Brannon at his heels.

They'd called it a pancake crawl. Pancake was about right.

“Let me go first. I'm smaller.” Brannon balanced with one leg in the air. “Give me a lift.”

“But your foot . . . your shoulder—”

“I'm fine, Lincoln. Help me up.” She lifted her arms toward that little hole.

Lincoln gave Brannon a boost and passed her the flashlight.

A creepy finger traced Roark's spine. Was this Milt guy already here? Watching for them—waiting for the perfect shot to avail itself? Were they moving into target range?

Saturday, 12:25 p.m.

Parkwest Medical Center

Knoxville, Tennessee

WARREN CLOSED HIS PHONE and continued pacing. Things were not going as he'd hoped. Now what? He needed to think, needed to make a game plan. The heart was out in the open. Wilks wasn't doing so well. There had to be something he could do to put a positive spin on the Coalition. Otherwise, his political career might be as dead as Wilks in a few hours.

He headed to the elevator. While he waited for the car to arrive, an idea hit him. He glanced over his shoulder and called to his aide.

Kevin rushed forward, a puppy eager to do his master's bidding. Warren bit back a smile at the correlation. The elevator chimed a second before the doors slid open. Once he and Kevin were inside and alone, he forced a stern expression to his face. “I want you to call all the local news stations. I want to call a press conference.”

“Here, sir?”

“Right outside the hospital doors.” He chuckled at the ingeniousness of his plan.

“But why, sir?”

Warren shot Kevin a scathing look and gnashed his teeth. “Because the public has a right to know the status of such an important situation. The US Attorney's office let the fact that they even had a witness slip to the public before they contacted me. I figure turnabout is fair play. I'll let the public know about the dire situation of the government witness and the status of the donor heart.” He rubbed his hands together, already imagining the look on the US attorney's face. “I need to put a positive spin on this, boy. Understand?”

“Oh. Yes, sir.”

“Get it set up pronto.” The doors slid open. Warren stepped into the foyer, pulling his lighter from his pocket. “Can I trust you to get it done?”

“Y-yes sir,” Kevin mumbled as the doors closed.

Warren strode out the hospital's entrance, lighting his cigarette before he'd even cleared the second set of glass doors. The afternoon chill settled around him as he marched to the smoking area one hundred yards from the entrance. He could turn the situation around, make it work for him. Yes, he could come out of this smelling like a rose—he just had to make sure all the morons did their jobs properly.

Will that make you proud of me, Dad?

Saturday, 1:40 p.m.

Underground

Great Smoky Mountains National Park, Tennessee

BRANNON LAY ON HER belly, shining the flashlight toward the opening of the pancake crawl. The scrape on her shoulder burned, but she disregarded the discomfort. Only about twenty more feet and she'd be in the other room of the cave.

Lord, please let there be a way out on the other side. We need a miracle.

How could these child traffickers send someone else after them? Roark had killed the guy shooting at them. Wasn't that enough? Who would dare come out here in this weather? Had to be someone very knowledgeable of the area. Chills trickled over Brannon as she inched farther through the little tunnel.