Andrew Peterson - First to Kill

“This is a beautiful drive in daylight,” Nathan said. “Harv and I drove it the day of the raid.”

“I’ve been up here a few times. It’s a designated scenic highway.”

The road continued a gradual climb into the mountains, winding its way up the rocky canyon into a pine forest.

Her radio crackled. It was Henning. “We’re coming up on the turn. We should kill our headlights.”

“Copy,” she said.

All three vehicles went dark. Henning, still in the lead, made a left turn at the intersection of a narrow dirt road that peeled off the highway to the north. There was no street sign associated with the road, just barbed-wire fencing on either side. Massive trees lining both sides of the track screened a half moon low on the eastern horizon. After traveling about a hundred yards, the caravan came to a stop and everyone piled out. Muted in eerie silence, the surrounding forest lacked the symphony of crickets he’d heard back at the farmhouse. The only sound present was the lonely whisper of wind through the pines. It was cool up here, low forties. Nathan guessed the elevation to be around 7,000 feet. He’d kept track of the Caltrans signposts on the way up. The last one they’d passed indicated six thousand feet, and they’d climbed for several miles after that.

They formed a huddle next to Holly’s sedan. Nathan noticed the dome lights remained dark when the doors of the FBI vehicles were opened. He watched Holly pull on a dark-blue coat with large FBI letters on the back. Henning made sure to position himself between himself and Holly.

Henning relayed what the Bridgestone cousins had told him. “According to our guests, the entrance to the property’s another thousand yards up the track. It’s the first locked gate on the right side. The cabin’s another five hundred yards beyond the gate. The entire parcel is fenced with barbed wire. I recommend cutting it at the far corner and approaching from there.”

Keeping her voice low, she addressed Collins and Dowdy. “Okay, I want a visual recon of the cabin from a safe distance first. Gear up. We’ll sit tight until you report back to us.”

The SWAT agents hustled over to Gifford’s sedan and popped the trunk.

“There could be more claymores out there,” Nathan offered. “Make sure your guys watch closely for trip wires. With all the deer around, it’s unlikely, but you never know.”

“Good thought,” she said.

Gifford nodded and walked over to the SWAT agents. Several minutes later, Collins and Dowdy were ready to go. Nathan saw they had the same night-vision devices he and Harv used, except theirs were mounted on their helmets in tandem. They’d have perfect depth perception using two scopes rather than one. The boom microphones extending from the sides of their helmets nearly touched their lips. Nathan felt a pang of envy. He wanted to go with them, but knew Holly would never allow it.

“Okay, recon only,” Holly said. “Do not engage if anyone’s there. Return fire only if fired upon.”

Nathan watched the two SWAT agents walk down the track and vanish into the blackness.

Holly removed her handheld radio from her hip, turned the volume down, and keyed the button. “Dowdy, radio check… Collins…” She turned toward Henning. “Did they say anything useful on the ride up here?”

“Not really. I tried them a couple times. I think they’re really pissed about the cash. I’m sure they had plans for it.”

“Beer money,” she said.

Nathan listened, but his thoughts were elsewhere. Something was bugging him, gnawing at the back of his mind like a festering splinter. Something about the farmhouse. The garage. He couldn’t place it. He also kept listening for the telltale blast of a claymore detonating out of the darkness. Be careful out there, guys .

“What do we do with our guests after this?” Henning asked.

“We take them back and release them,” Holly answered. “There’s still a possibility their cousins will try to make contact. We keep watching them.”

“Better let me have a chat with them first,” Nathan said.

“Okay…” she said.

“I, or rather we,” he said, nodding toward Harv, “need to convince them that reporting any of this would be a bad idea.”

“We did bend the rules a little,” Holly said.

“A little,” Nathan echoed.

“Do you honestly think they’ll keep quiet about this?” Henning asked.

“There are over two hundred bones in the human body,” Nathan said.

Henning looked at Holly with a combined expression of revulsion and dismay.

“You could also offer them some of the cash,” Nathan said. “As compensation for their undivided cooperation tonight.”

Holly didn’t respond.

He shrugged. “What could it hurt? The money’s unofficial. Give them four grand apiece, which leaves an even three-hundred grand. A nice, round number. No one would be the wiser. It evens the score for them a little. Tell them if they say anything, you’ll deny it. It’s your word against theirs. All of this is.”

“That’s not an altogether bad idea.…”

In the dim light filtering through the trees, Henning looked like he was ready to come unglued, his mouth opening and closing as if choking on a chicken bone.

“Let’s use this time wisely,” she said. “Are you and Harvey up to giving those guys an orthopedic briefing?”

At hearing that from his boss, Henning’s jaw dropped.

The more time Nathan spent with Holly, the more he liked her. This woman was definitely with the program, aboard for the big win. “Come on, Harv.” He turned back to Holly. “Can we offer them the cash?”

She hesitated, then said, “Sure, why not.”

Three minutes later, Nathan and Harv were back.

“Well?” she asked.

“They’re A-plus students with beer money for a year,” Nathan said.

Holly’s radio came to life. She held up her hand for a few seconds, then said, “We’ve got a burned-down structure with one BBR.”

BBR , Nathan told himself.

Burned beyond recognition.

James Ortega.

Fifteen minutes later, two FBI vehicles left the scene. Nathan, Harv, and Larry Gifford were in the lead with Bruce Henning and the Bridgestones following. Holly stayed behind with the two SWAT agents to secure the cabin until an FBI forensic team and the Sacramento County ME arrived.

It was a somber, quiet ride down a granite canyon under a red and orange sunrise. Nobody felt like talking. Back in Sacramento, Gifford took the J Street exit for the Hyatt Regency while Henning’s vehicle kept going south on I-5. Henning flashed his brake lights twice and Gifford flashed his high beams in return.

Good riddance , thought Nathan. The Bridgestone cousins were human debris. He still couldn’t get over the condition of their farmhouse. It had been like an indoor landfill, except the garage, which he’d fully expected to be as filthy as the house. Think, damn it . He tried to clear his mind and concentrate on the garage, but couldn’t do it. His mind was shutting down due to sleep deprivation. Sitting next to him, Harv looked in roughly the same shape.

As if reading his thoughts, Gifford asked, “How much sleep have you guys had in the last forty-eight hours?”

“Not too much,” Nathan said.

“Do yourselves a favor and get some shut-eye at the hotel. You’re no good to anyone in your present condition. We’ll call you as soon as we know anything.”

“Thanks, Larry.”

Gifford dropped them off under the portico of the Hyatt just after nine in the morning. As the bellman retrieved their bags from the trunk, they shook hands with Gifford and waved as he pulled away. They staggered up to the counter and checked into adjoining rooms on the sixth floor overlooking Capitol Park. At their rooms, Nathan slipped the bellman a twenty, dialed the operator, and asked to have their calls forwarded to voice mail.