Cold Betrayal

“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 Da

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?”