“We can see better than anyone inside,” said another agent. “We have the best equipment, and our men are used to working in the dark.”

One of the snipers’ scopes was trained on the gate, which was estimated to be three hundred yards from the center of the compound. It was a simple livestock gate made of horizontal steel bars, the type available at any farm equipment store. Two of Hodges’s men sat in a truck with several inches of snow piled on the hood and cab. For a very, very brief moment, Truman pitied them their freezing, dull guard duty. The snipers’ earlier reports had stated that both men were armed. Each with a rifle and a pistol.

Truman switched to the view that showed the Portland FBI’s SWAT agents escorting Jason Trotter to the gate. The agents wore full gear, carrying Colt M4 Carbines on their shoulders and 9mm Sigs on their thighs. Those were the weapons that Truman could see; he knew there were more. The men followed the long drive, breaking three paths in the snow. Trotter was cuffed and wore a ballistics vest under his coat along with a helmet.

Ghattas wasn’t taking any chances with his prisoner.

According to Jeff, Trotter had been reluctant to participate. He’d seemed content to sit in jail and hadn’t wanted to face Pete Hodges. “Trotter got caught,” Jeff had told Truman. “I suspect the boss isn’t happy. Trotter is scared to see him.”

“Shouldn’t have kidnapped his own kids,” Truman had answered.

Truman couldn’t see them, but he knew the area near the compound’s gate was crawling with HRT and more SWAT. Some of the monitor views were from their cameras, and their commanders occasionally voiced instructions. A few more agents were stationed to the southwest and southeast of the gate, watching the compound’s perimeter.

“There are eight children and several adults leaving the cabin area and moving in the direction of the gate,” one of the snipers announced. Every head in the RV swiveled toward that camera view.

Apprehension buzzed in the command unit. The air felt charged. Truman shifted his feet and crossed and uncrossed his arms, unable to stay motionless.

The view of the children was fuzzy, but it was clear two toddlers were being carried and several other kids held the hands of adults. Truman strained to make out the adults’ features. Judging by hair, most of them were women, but he wasn’t certain.

“Seven men have just left the command center,” spoke a different voice over the speaker. “Six are carrying rifles. The seventh man has a weapon at his hip.”

Ghattas leaned closer to the monitor. “That’s Hodges.” He tapped the man in the center of the group without a rifle. “I’m positive.” The men walked seven abreast; two of them held flashlights.

Truman had seen photos of Hodges and agreed with the agent. Hodges’s posture was ramrod straight, and he put out a natural air of command. Even in pictures.

The flashlights bobbed as the seven men made the long trek to the gate through the falling snow. The gate did not have an overhead light, and usually the guards made do with flashlights or lanterns. As the flashlights moved closer inside the compound, the guards flipped on the headlights of their truck and stepped out. The agents and Trotter had already reached their position fifty feet from the gate and stopped. The truck’s headlights shone directly on Trotter and his two escorts.

“Shit,” said Eddie under his breath. “I don’t like that at all.”

Truman didn’t either. The three men stood in a spotlight.

He checked the monitor that showed the group of children. They were still moving south but had more ground to cover to reach the gate.

“We’re in position,” said one of the escorting SWAT agents. “Fifty feet out. Can we ask them to move the headlights?”

“Go ahead,” said the SWAT commander.

“Can you point the headlights in a different direction?” one of the agents shouted to the two guards.

Now standing in front of the gate, the guards ignored the request as they waited for the two groups inside the compound to arrive.

Tension in the RV skyrocketed. “They’re sitting ducks,” said the SWAT commander.

“Hodges is still coming,” asserted Ghattas. “So are the children. The headlights aren’t good, but I believe they’re following through.”

“Does Hodges need six escorts?” muttered Agent Aguirre.

“Show of power,” answered Truman.

“All the adults with the children are women,” one of the snipers announced. “There are no men in the group. Six women. One appears to be very pregnant.”

Ghattas pressed his lips into a line. “The fathers won’t leave? Or Hodges won’t let the fathers leave?” he asked quietly of no one.

Truman suspected the second reason was accurate. Hodges had fewer than thirty men. There weren’t enough to spare. There were supposed to be eleven women in the camp, including Mercy. He guessed some had also not been allowed to leave.

Or did they choose not to leave?

“Keep the guards in your sights,” ordered the SWAT commander. Confirmations sounded over the speakers.

The group of children continued to approach as Hodges and his six men stopped on the inside of the gate. Truman leaned forward, staring at a grainy view of the women, his gaze locked on one of the women holding a toddler.

Mercy.

He elbowed Eddie. “Look at the woman on the left with the toddler.”

Eddie stiffened and laid a hand on Truman’s shoulder, his fingers digging into his flesh through his coat. “I can’t tell. Are you sure?”

“Height is right . . . walks the same.” Like an icy shower, relief shot through Truman from head to toe. He briefly closed his eyes and shuddered as stress exited his body.

Her cover was intact. She was coming out with the children.

It was almost over.

“I think Agent Kilpatrick is the female on the left holding a child,” Truman announced to the rest of the watchers.

At the front of the group, Jeff leaned closer to the grainy monitor, pulled his head back, squinted, leaned close again, and then nodded. “Glory fucking hallelujah,” he muttered. A pleased murmur sounded from the rest of the observers.

Hodges raised his hand, and his line of escorts stood at attention. They had removed their rifles from their shoulders but held them casually, pointed at the ground. They were a ragtag bunch. Some wore camouflage coats or pants, while others were in jeans. They varied in size from reed thin to one bearded man who was so heavy he had struggled to make the walk. Even with the poor video, Truman could see his chest heaving from the effort.

“Jason,” Hodges shouted across the metal. “Are you being treated appropriately?”

Trotter didn’t immediately answer, and one of his escorts shook his arm.

“Yes, Commander Hodges,” Trotter answered in a raised voice.

“Are you injured?” returned Hodges.

“No, sir.”

Hodges turned to the group of women and children waiting far to his left and waved for them to move forward. He said something unintelligible to the two guards, and they dragged the gate open. The children’s group walked through.

Truman held his breath, his heart drumming fiercely, his gaze locked on one woman.

A few more feet.

“Jason,” shouted Hodges again. “Has the ATF violated any of your rights?” His six armed escorts remained at attention, their rifles in hand but still pointed at the ground, watching the eight children and six women continue toward the two SWAT escorts and Trotter.

“Continue to the vehicles and get inside,” one of the SWAT team told the group as they approached. “Move faster, please.” Some of the children started to run, and the women followed. The pregnant woman lagged behind, one hand supporting her belly.

“No, Commander Hodges. I’ve retained my right to stay silent.”

A shot shattered the night, and Jason Trotter jerked. His escorts dropped his arms and returned fire, running to the cover of the woods. Trotter collapsed where he’d stood.

The agents in the RV jumped to their feet, and Truman’s heart seized as shouts erupted around him. He shoved aside an agent who had abruptly blocked his view of the monitor that showed the children and women being hustled into the waiting vehicles.

Shouts and orders streamed through the speakers as Hodges and his six escorts scattered, firing toward the escaping agents. The covert HRT and SWAT members returned fire, the sounds of the constant shots drowning out the shouts. Hodges’s men continued to fire, spinning and shooting in every direction. Within seconds every compound member at the gate had crumpled into the snow.

The three vehicles of women and children barreled away from the scene, snow flying from their tires.

She’s safe.

Like a wave, the HRT and SWAT agents poured out of the forest. Moving in steady unison toward the open gate and motionless bodies on the ground.

It all went to hell.