Jude Devine Mystery Series (34 page)

“Ah. The Seeds of Cain.”

Puzzled, Jude said, “I’m sorry?”

“That’s what they call those hills ’round here.” Chastity was on her feet again. “I don’t think you’ll find that on any of the maps…in the interests of good taste.”

Jude finally got it. The Mormon church had been a whites-only club for most of its history, asserting that African Americans were cursed with dark skin so that they could be identified as a caste apart. Referred to as the seed of Cain, they were excluded until the late seventies when Africa became a target for missionaries. At that stage, the president of the church recanted the racist doctrine, claiming to have received new instructions from God.

Since then, the mainstream church had worked hard to dissociate itself from its past. However, the breakaway fundamentalist sects rejected this abandonment of the original doctrine and still saw African Americans as “inferior.” This pronouncement coming from a bunch of people who married their own siblings and had most of their wives and children living on welfare.

“Ma’am, you can’t remain here,” Farrell told Chastity.

“I’m not planning to. And by the way, those plygs back in Colorado City are forming some kind of army and they’re on their way out here to have a showdown with you people. Just thought you should know.”

Farrell’s eyes narrowed. He seemed to be torn between patronizing disbelief and stunned speculation when he asked, “How many men would you say are forming this vigilante squad? And what kind of weaponry did you see?”

Chastity shrugged. “I don’t know anything about guns, but ’round here, if it shoots they want to own it.” She fell silent and gazed slowly around. Comprehension filtered into her eyes. “You’re not here to search for my niece, are you?”

“No, ma’am,” Farrell said.

“Then what’s going on?”

“We’re not at liberty to discuss the operation.”

“Well, it looks like you have your hands full.” Chastity headed back to her bike. “I need to get moving while the sun is still low.”

“You cannot remain in the area,” Farrell said. “Sergeant Gossett will escort you to Rapture.”

“That won’t be necessary.” Chastity fired up her bike and rocked it off the stand. “I’ll be sure to stay out of range. If you see a flare, don’t worry. It means I’ve found them. Two flares, and I need help at the location. Okay?”

“Ms. Young. I really must insist—”

“No. I must insist.” Chastity was completely unmoved by the voice of authority. “I am here to find my niece. Period. Stay out of my way, and I’ll stay out of yours.” She put her bike into gear and negotiated a path around the cars.

“Wait.” Jude ran after her. She scribbled her cell phone number on a piece of paper and handed it to the feisty woman. “If you need to communicate, call me.”

She wasn’t sure how she was going to help, given she was planning to make her getaway now that the guns had fallen silent. But she’d promised Tulley she would follow through on the missing kids and she wanted to interview them once they were found.

“Thanks.” Chastity smiled broadly and glanced down at the number. “You didn’t give me your name.”

“Jude Devine. I’m a detective with the Montezuma County Sheriff’s Office.”

“Colorado?” Chastity’s dark eyes swept her up and down with interest.

“Yes.”

“I love hiking in that area. Your wildflowers are just spectacular.”

“Well, if you’re ever in Paradox, stop in at the sheriff’s office there. That’s where I’m based.”

“Be warned, I’m the kind who takes people up on offers like that.”

Jude grinned. “And I’m the kind who never expects that to happen.” Now that they had established a rapport, she said, “Oh, and by the way, would you mind leaving your contact details with the sheriff’s office in Rapture? I may need to talk to Adeline. I’m investigating the murder of a young woman.”

“By these people?” Chastity gestured in the general direction of the Epperson home.

“Yes.”

“About time. I’d be happy to help.”

“Good luck with your niece,” Jude said.

Chastity thanked her and turned the bike toward the desert. “Good luck with the crazy people,” she called and with a brief wave, she kicked off down the slope handling the off-road like a professional.

Jude managed about ten paces toward the forward staging area when Farrell flagged her down. “Hold up, Devine. We need all available personnel. Looks like they’re releasing a bunch of civilians at the rear of the dwelling.”

“Want me at ten o’clock?”

“Yes. I’ve issued instructions to give the civilians any cover necessary and facilitate extraction.”

As they walked briskly, she asked, “Do we have telephone contact with anyone inside yet?” There was no land line in the house, and Epperson had not been answering his cell phone.

“He’s still not picking up.”

They parted company at the barn and Jude ran along a barricade of hay bales, shields, and SUVs, then down the slope to the exterior perimeter, heading for the rear of their northeast position. As she moved toward a group of agents staked out behind a rock formation, she could see several small children standing at the corner of a half-built extension to the rear of the house.

Ten agents were grouped around the rock and a support team was situated on the exterior periphery well below the position, surrounded by banks of ammunition, tear gas canisters, def-tec grenades, and additional weaponry.

Jude joined the agent at the point farthest north and said, “Detective Jude Devine, Montezuma County Sheriff’s Office.”

“Special Agent Patrick Kelly.” He eyed her MP5 dubiously. “Ever handled one of those before, Devine?”

“I’m FBI sniper and tactical weapons trained,” Jude replied without expanding.

“In that case.” Kelly indicated a foothold a couple of feet up the rock formation. “Wanna take up position there? I have a more suitable weapon for you.”

He spoke into his headset and a support staffer showed up with a hefty M40A1. Jude had encountered the sniper rifle at Quantico; it was a lot like a Remington 700. She could make a clean shot dead on target at a thousand yards. Their rock barrier was a little over a hundred from the house, the closest point on the interior perimeter. The weapon was overkill for a scenario like this one.

“Child’s play,” she mumbled.

“Poor visibility and brief windows of opportunity.” Kelly flagged the significant issues just in case she hadn’t noticed.

Jude surveyed the SWAT team members around her. Each held an MP5 in gloved hands, the stocks tucked against their shoulders, their right thumbs resting on the safety selector switches above the pistol grips, index fingers just outside their trigger guards. Every weapon was mounted with retina-searing gun lights and loaded and bracketed with thirty-round magazines. In their left ears, tiny radio speaker buds conveyed their orders. The pockets of their tactical vests were weighed down with spare magazines, each filled with 10 millimeter bullets designed to stop any opposition within seconds.

They were ready to storm, if the order was given. Each had practiced the maneuvers a hundred times at Quantico, yet no situation was ever the same as another and there were real people inside the house, and the pale faces peering from behind the stucco wall belonged to real children.

Jude could measure the adrenaline hitting her system by the sudden increase in lung capacity, the urge to run, the sharpening of perception. She could feel her heart pumping blood harder, her muscles tensing, time slowing down. The children started running, heading for a white minivan parked about thirty yards from the house. It was a mistake.

“Oh fuck,” Jude muttered. “They should have gone straight out the back.”

Through the telescopic sight, she watched barrels shift along the north-facing flank of the house. The people inside were aiming at the fleeing figures. In disbelief, Jude heard the pop of gunfire. A child fell. Another crouched over him, her hands covering her head.

In her ear, Farrell’s voice ordered, “Cover them!” and the agents opened fire.

Jude dropped to the ground, swapped the M40A1 for the MP5 Kelly had left propped against the base of the rock. Grabbing a shield from the spares stacked next to it, she yelled, “Kelly, let’s roll!” and darted along the base of the rise until she could see the white minivan looming. Bullets whizzed over her head.

“Extract!” Farrell ordered. “Get in there and carry them out if you have to.”

She and Kelly shimmied up the rise until they could see over. There were two women and about eight kids pinned down at the edge of the house. Jude was stunned at the sight of Summer, wearing a bloodied nightdress and looking like she was in a state of near collapse.

“That woman’s giving birth,” she told Kelly.

The plygs were returning fire, hitting the rock position with everything they had.

“You take the two kids,” Kelly said. “I’ll get to the group.”

Jude looked back over her shoulder. Agents were streaming along the exterior perimeter toward their position. “Go!” she cried and she and Kelly bolted over the rise, to the rear of the minivan.

They had only seconds before the plygs caught on. She could hear Kelly yelling at the women and children to get down as she ducked in front of the two children huddled on the earth. Bullets struck her shield and she fired back. A steel hailstorm infused the air with the smell of gunpowder. She knew from the deafening rat-tat that reinforcements had arrived and they were doing their best to draw the plygs’ fire. Jude snatched the wounded boy into her arms. He was maybe three years old. The little girl with him looked six or so and gazed at Jude like she was an apparition.

“Stay with me,” she said, tucking the girl’s hand in hers, horribly aware that she had no way of firing with any accuracy while trying to hang on to a gun, a shield, and two small children.

She sent a message to Ben—
if you’re already an angel, please help me
. Then she sprang up and ran. She felt weirdly light and fast, the world passing her by in a rush of blue sky and red earth. The ridge loomed faster than she’d expected, and she threw herself and the little girl over, rolling and hugging the bleeding boy to her. They landed in a heap at the feet of several fully armored men who instantly seized the children and ran them down the line.

Panting, Jude checked herself out for wounds, almost unable to believe she hadn’t sustained any. She realized she was being clapped on the shoulders and an agent was handing her a water flask. She took a single, rapid slug and checked in with Farrell.

“Are we going in, sir?”

“No. I want minimum casualties.”

This had to be a tough call. They had enough firepower to storm the building. Sledgehammer the windows, drop in a few flash-bang grenades with delayed fuses, breach the front door with charges—a battering ram wouldn’t cut it. They could be inside within ten seconds, but the body count would be high.

She watched Kelly lower Summer to the ground and thought, poor bastard. FBI SWAT training did not include delivering babies in the middle of a siege. Over the radio, Farrell ordered a couple of vehicles in as a diversion, a high risk strategy. These people had a rocket propelled grenade launcher and they knew how to use it. They’d already taken out a car.

“Kelly, when you see them coming, you are go.”

“Roger that.”

“B team. I want four men in there to replace him.”

“Roger that,” a woman replied, apparently next in the chain of command.

Jude glanced around, trying to spot her. She didn’t have to try too hard. A gloved index finger pointed her way. She was being ordered into position as one of the four going in.