Gone: An Emma Caldridge Novella: Part Two of Three (3 page)

Two hours later Emma was lying in the dirt on her stomach behind a teddy bear cactus holding binoculars and watching the back lawn of the Shaw compound. Lily was tied to a tree about five hundred feet above.

Shaw’s house and outbuildings were three times as large as Brink’s and ten times newer. The sprawling ranch was made of brick and wood, and a large deck off the back of the house opened onto a terrace and beyond that a swimming pool. A structure at the end of the pool looked to be a cabana. A stand of trees separated the house and pool from the stables. Two different corrals were both empty. Farther back from the stables there was another building, which might have been a storage shed or extra garage.

Emma was positioned to face the yard, as she thought it most likely that if Ryan was held there, he wouldn’t be found in the main house, but in an outbuilding. A ten-foot-high stone wall encircled the entire compound, and cameras were positioned to cover the interior. A man walking toward the stables was the only sign of life, though she could see the reflection of a light shining through a window in the far corner.

She remained in position for an hour, keeping the binoculars pinned on the house and sipping water through the CamelBak tube that she held in her mouth. During that time, the only activity was at the stables, where the lone man lunged a horse, putting it through its paces. Something about the quiet disturbed Emma. She’d been told that Shaw had four wives and twelve children. Surely there would be more activity around the house? But there was none. No children playing, no dogs wandering in the yard; there was a clothesline, but no clothes hung on it. The lack of activity was eerie. After another hour of watching, where she saw the same man switch it up and work another horse in the ring, she packed it in. It was close to three and the sun was hammering down on her, dust filled her mouth, and sweat dripped into her eyes.

She steered Lily up the side of the mountain using her map and GPS watch to guide her. She’d arranged to rent a two room cabin, and when she emerged from the rubble-strewn path through an arched rock formation, she spied it nestled in a clearing. It was a log cabin, probably a prefabricated design, with a covered porch that ran along the front and a small corral and lean-to alongside that would accommodate Lily. The owner had promised to stock both the stable and the kitchen, and she was glad to see a Rubbermaid bin next to a stack of hay. She rode Lily into the corral and slid off.

Thirty minutes later Lily was brushed, watered, and fed with hay and a bit of sweet feed from the bin, and Emma dragged her saddlebags and gun into the cabin. She closed and locked the door before kicking off her boots to explore the interior in her stocking feet.

The lodge was small and rustic but more than adequate. It had a main room, with plank wood floors, a stone encased fireplace, and a small galley kitchen set off with a high counter with stools on one side. There was a zebra striped area rug in brown and yellow, a couch, coffee table, leather club chair, and a small cabinet that held a selection of board games and puzzles. On top of the cabinet sat a Bose wave radio, the cabin’s only connection to the outside world. No television and no Internet.

Next to the fireplace, she saw a stack of wood and kindling, along with tools. On the left side, a door opened into a bedroom large enough for two double beds and an armoire. Thick duvets covered the beds, and reading lights were arranged on either side. Another door led to a bathroom with a double sink and a shower stall. The closet ran the length of one wall and had a stacked washer and dryer, along with a ski boot dryer and a full ski storage rack. She was relieved to see, on the floor by the skis, the box Banner had promised to send to the owner two days before.

Emma washed her face and arms in the bathroom before returning to the closet. She hefted the large box, carried it to the coffee table, and left it there while she grabbed a water bottle from the refrigerator and a knife from the drawer. She gratefully sucked down the water before slitting open the container.

In it she found a pair of night vision goggles, a satellite phone, a Nikon camera with a telescopic lens attachment, and a large manila envelope labeled
CONFIDENTIAL
. She settled cross-legged onto the couch and used the knife to zip open the sealed folder.

Carol Stromeyer had prepared an entire dossier on Shaw and the Children of the Second Son. Like Banner, Stromeyer was ex-military and had spent most of her enlisted years learning how to research, requisition, transfer, or distribute both information and goods within the military complex. Her skills in ferreting out facts lodged in arcane sections of military intelligence files were unparalleled. Emma had no doubt that the dossier would be invaluable.

An hour later, as dusk settled, she was forced to take a break and switch on a lamp. She was grateful for the opportunity to put down the dossier, because what she’d read sickened her.

The dossier left no doubt that Shaw was not only a predator of young girls, but also of boys. He’d been accused of sexually assaulting twelve-year-olds, claiming that sex with him was necessary if the children were to reach the heavens. Stromeyer had included transcripts of conversations with cast-off children recorded by social workers in two towns near Sunrise. Not only would Shaw do what he pleased with the children, but he’d ordered the parents to bring the children to his compound for the “cleansing” activity. What horrified Emma most was the that the parents did as they were requested. She tossed the dossier on the cocktail table. She needed a shower and some rest before heading back down the path to Shaw’s place.

A
T MIDNIGHT
E
MMA
slid off Lily, tied her to the same tree as earlier, and stretched out once again near the Teddy Bear cactus, wearing the night vision glasses. The night air had a snap to it, and she welcomed the cool temperature, but not the full moon that lit the area around her. The red stone configurations around her were dark shadows that gave the rocky shale a stark, ominous appearance. She switched the goggles to binocular vision.

Shaw’s yard sprang into focus. It was still empty. Small bulbs attached to the high stone wall every twenty feet threw weak pools of light, the windows in the house dark except for the same one she’d seen the light reflection in earlier. Pulling the goggles off, she rose to continue down the path. She wore Brink’s gun in the waistband holster, her running shoes, cropped running tights, and a tight-fitting black running tank with the denim vest over it. The desert night air now chilled her.

She followed the path through a narrow slot just wide enough for one. Rock formations hemmed her in on either side. Her steps made a rhythmic crunching sound that she wished she could control, but there were too many small stones to avoid it. The noise seemed magnified in the still air.

She was five hundred yards above and away from the stone wall perimeter when the back door of the house burst open. Two men dressed in jeans and cowboy boots held a bound and hooded figure who struggled in their grasp. The figure wore a long shapeless dark brown robe, like a monk’s robe, and stumbled every couple of steps when the hem got in the way.

Too small for Ryan, Emma thought. Perhaps a young boy or girl? The very idea sickened her.

The men dragged their victim across the lawn toward the stables.

Emma began sprinting. By the time she’d covered three hundred yards the men had reached the stables and continued past them, toward the garage or storage structure at the far end. She stopped, planted her feet, raised her gun and sighted a spot to the side of the three. Knowing she wasn’t a good enough marksman to take out one without hitting the victim, she inhaled and prepared to shoot.

Before she could, she heard the sound of a rifle racking behind her and froze.

“You shoot them and I’ll shoot you.” The man’s voice was low and gravelly, from either age or cigarettes.

“That could be a child they’re dragging,” she said. “Whatever is going on down there, it’s not good. Even if you’re one of them, you have to understand that it’s illegal.”

She heard the now familiar sound of shoes crunching on stone heading toward her. Her neck tingled with the primeval knowledge that danger was at her back; mixed with that was a sense of urgency, because the men in the area below were almost to the garage. Her opportunity to stop them would soon be gone.

The man behind her came level with her right shoulder, and the muzzle of his shotgun was twenty inches from her ear. She kept her gun aimed and took a sidelong look at him. He was in his late forties, with graying hair tied in a single braid, a heavily lined face, and skin that was tanned and weather-beaten. His eyes were a bright blue and shone with determination.

“I ain’t one of them,” he said. “That’s my horse you got tied up there.”

Emma exhaled in relief. “Cowboy Leon? Brink rented Lily to me. I’ll tell you the rest later, but first I’ve got to stop those men in Shaw’s yard.”

“Don’t do it,” Leon said.

The men below were ten feet from the garage door. Emma returned her full attention to the yard.

“I’m telling you, don’t,” Leon said again. Emma shook her head without looking at him.

“If those two get that child into the garage it will be ten times harder to spring him,” she said.

She’d never lowered her arm, and now focused on the pistol’s front sight. Cowboy Leon used the barrel of his shotgun to nudge her arm off target. Emma glared at him, took a step to the left and aimed again.

“You interfere again,” she said, “and I’m going to hold you personally responsible for what happens. Are you just going to stand by and watch?”

The men were steps from the garage door, and the hostage was kicking and twisting in a frenzy.

“I can’t help and you can’t either,” Leon said. “Shaw’s got fifty followers on that compound ready to hunt you down, and that storage shed to the right of the garage is loaded with guns, ammo, and enough dynamite to blow up this butte and the one a mile away.”

Emma fired.

The shot echoed and bounced across the side of the mountain. The man on the hostage’s left jumped backward and yelled something unintelligible. Emma heard the bullet puncture the aluminum-sided garage wall. Both men let go of their victim and sprinted around the garage’s far end. The hostage knelt, bent from the waist and shook his head until the hood loosened and fell off. A yard of light brown hair cascaded down. Emma could just make out the back of a slender neck that was obviously female. The girl sat back on her heels. The dark and distance made it difficult to tell her age, but she appeared to be in her early teens.

“Great,” Leon said. “Now we’d better get the hell out of here, because if they catch us we’ll be field-dressed and strung up to dry.”

Emma fired again. This time she aimed at the corner of the garage.

“Are you crazy, girl? They’re going to come for you,” Leon’s voice held outright panic.

As Emma rose, she watched the girl in the yard stagger to her feet. She took two running steps toward the wall, only to trip on the gown.

“I’m going down there, can you cover me?” Emma asked.

“Hell no. I’m getting out of here,” Leon said. He was pacing back and forth in agitation. Emma watched as the girl in the yard ran to the stone wall at the perimeter in an attempt to flee. Emma couldn’t see how she would scale it with her hands tied behind her back. She’d need help.

“You that afraid of them?”

Leon leaned his face into hers. Emma smelled the scent of tobacco and watched him inhale and exhale in quick breaths.

“Listen to me. They’re fanatics, not above killing and crazy to the bone. They think they own the county, and so far they do, because they rape and kill and traffic humans and the governor does nothing.”

One of the two men peered from the corner of the garage. Emma took a quick step, aimed and fired again. Bits of something, presumably aluminum, flew off the garage’s edge, and the man jerked his head back. Next to her Leon groaned.

“I’m going down there,” Emma said. “She’ll never scale the wall alone. You can cover me or not, it’s up to you.”

The porch lights came on and four men sprinted out of the house toward the stables. They all held rifles, and each one aimed in a different direction as they tried to determine where her shots were originating.

Emma took off running, heard Leon say, “Oh hell,” and then came the satisfying crack of his rifle. Dirt flew up in front of the first of the four new men.

He’s a better shot than I am, she thought.

The men scrambled backwards in a fast and comical reaction to the shotgun. Two split and ran back toward the house, while the other two increased their pace. When they reached the pool cabana, they dove into it.

During the last fifty feet to the stone wall, Emma lost her line of sight into the yard. She kept in a direction that she thought would bring her to the opposite side of where the girl was headed. Reaching the wall, she was immediately faced with a dilemma: there was no way to scale it.

Leaning her back against it, she called upward, yelling to the sky, “Girl, are you there? I’m the one holding them off. Can you hear me?”

“I can’t climb. I’m tied up. Please help me.” The girl’s voice was high, filled with fear, and so childlike that it tore at Emma’s heart. She mentally readjusted her estimate of the girl’s age down to twelve, perhaps eleven.

“Keep going to the back wall. I’m going to run parallel to you on this side—”

Emma’s instructions were interrupted by another two sharp reports from Leon.

She ran down the wall, keeping her hand on it, searching for a hole or divot, anything she could use to gain a foothold and climb. She found it twenty feet later. A large crater dented the wall, beginning about a yard up from the ground.

“Stop! I’m coming over. Stay there,” Emma called over the wall.

“Okay, but hurry!” the girl said. “There are more.”

Emma rammed the gun back in the holster, placed her foot into the crater, pushed the tips of her fingers into the grout line between the stones and uncoiled her legs. After years of ultra running, her legs were the strongest part of her body. She slid straight up, keeping close to the wall, and managed to grab at the slender pole attached to the base of a camera mount bolted into the wall.