Cold Betrayal

Slipping her vest on as she went, Ali made for the restroom. She had finished what she needed to do and was washing her hands in the tiny sink when a door somewhere behind her slammed open with such force that the whole vehicle shuddered.

“Hands where I can see them!” an unseen but clearly angry male voice shouted. “Now.”

Ali froze where she was. With the restroom door shut, she could hear what was going on out in the cabin but she couldn’t see it. Those chilling words told her that an armed assailant had somehow disabled the driver, stormed aboard the vehicle, and now was holding the others hostage. Drawing her Glock out of her holster, Ali stood in front of the flimsy pocket door, holding her breath and waiting for it to slam open, too. It didn’t.

“Who are you?” Governor Dunham was speaking. “What do you want?”

“I think you know who I am. The name’s Lowell. I’m the guy you’re after,” the man replied. “The guy outside was armed, so I’m guessing some of you are, too. Hand them over—weapons and cell phones. All of them. You”—he addressed one of them—“take that box and gather ’em up.”

Ali felt the Sprinter wobble slightly. She had no idea which member of the group had stood up in response to that spoken command, but someone had. Holding her breath, Ali waited, realizing eventually that Lowell had no idea that someone else was on board the vehicle. As long as Ali did nothing to give away her presence, she was relatively safe. She also understood that she was the court of last resort for all six of the people being held prisoner on the other side of that all-too-insubstantial door.

“Hey,” Lowell was saying. “Someone with two cell phones and a revolver in her purse. Give me that gun. It could come in handy. A man can’t have too many guns.”

Ali knew that the Brought Back girls wouldn’t have been armed, and she doubted that Andrea Rogers would have been, either. That meant that in addition to Ali, only Governor Dunham had been carrying a weapon.

“I was pla

“More or less,” the governor said. “My name’s Governor Virginia Dunham. I’m one of the people ru

“I’m supposed to surrender on your say-so? Are you nuts? Who’s the one holding the weapons here?”

Ali glanced at her watch. It was just now twenty-five minutes past the hour. Thirty-five minutes to go. Moving slowly, she put her own weapon down long enough to ease her cell phone out of her pocket. An emergency 911 call this close to zero hour might put the entire joint operation in jeopardy, but she needed to alert someone about their dire situation. Instead, praying that Stuart Ramey was still up and working, she forced her trembling fingers to type a text:

EMERGENCY. DO NOT REPLY OR CALL. HELD HOSTAGE IN SPRINTER BY LOWELL. RECORD WHAT’S SAID. NOTIFY DPS. SEND HELP. DO NOT USE REGULAR 911 CHANNELS.

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 gu

“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 co

“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.