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  I looked over at Couch Potato Man, who had remained unusually quiet. I said, “You guys feel tough locking up a little girl?”

  He didn’t say a word.

  Bailey Mae tugged on my arm and waited for me to lean down so her mouth was close to my ear. She said, “I saw it, Mitchum.”

  “Saw what?”

  She nodded at Couch Potato Man. “I was delivering my coffee cakes to the Wilkses and I saw that man shoot them. They worked with these people. Mr. Wilks found this place for them. I heard them argue about money, and Mr. Wilks said he’d tell the media about it. That’s when that guy shot them. Bang, bang, without any hesitation. I was so scared I couldn’t move. He turned around with the pistol in his hand, and the only thing I did was put down my coffee cakes and freeze.”

  Now I definitely didn’t regret anything I had done to the man tied in the chair.

  Chapter 37

  On the other side of the cabin, the former captives sat in a group as the realization that they had been rescued sank in. Each man accepted it in his own way. One younger man, maybe only twenty, leaned against the wall, sobbing quietly. Several others were smiling or laughing with the joy of being free and out of that hellhole. Two middle-aged men eyed Couch Potato Man and my other two prisoners with palpable malice. I worried that I might have to step over there just to keep the peace, but I had no doubt that these thugs had earned the hatred of the captives.

  I tried to imagine being caged in that smelly hole and wondering if I’d ever get out. The idea gave me the willies. It made me realize everything I’d miss. My family, even my brother, was important to me, but so was the whole town. It made me angry to think that someone tried to take that from these men. I almost considered letting them take their revenge. Instead, I plopped silently onto a stool by the kitchen.

  Neither of the men we’d subdued looked scared. They didn’t even look worried. I didn’t like it. The man who had threatened me took in the whole room, listening to what was being said, and seemed to be calculating something. What he was calculating I couldn’t say, but the gears were turning in his head.

  None of us spoke as we waited for the cavalry to arrive. Bailey Mae stayed close to me, sitting on a stool next to the breakfast bar in the kitchen. I noticed she wanted Hassan near her as well. Despite all the mind-blowing shit going on, my main concern was Bailey Mae. She was a strong girl and had done a phenomenal job just staying alive. She was also the key to justice for these men. At least one of the men in custody was guilty of a double homicide. Could they have somehow murdered Mabel as well?

  Timmy Jones was the first to come jogging up the path, calling his exact location into his radio. He skidded to a stop at the front door and took in the scene before looking at me and saying, “Are you guys all right?” Then he looked farther inside the cabin and said, “Who are all these people? Is this some kind of immigrant smuggling ring?”

  I stepped outside the cabin and gave him a very quick rundown, only hitting the high points. I told him about the bunker complex, the man locked up in the cell, how we’d released the prisoners, the fight in the cabin. Other than that, I had no real answers yet. But I intended to get them. I wondered if the blank stare he was giving me was similar to the one that had been on my face an hour earlier.

  I said, “I know it sounds unbelievable, but you’ll see the bunker and the cells soon enough. And Bailey Mae positively identified a man inside as the one who shot the Wilkses. She was an eyewitness.”

  Timmy tried to hide his shock by looking up the path, then back at me, saying, “I never even knew this was back here.”

  Within minutes, more patrol cars arrived and someone figured out how to access the path so a rescue vehicle with four-wheel drive could make it up from the lower cabins.

  I grabbed Timmy by the arm and said, “There’s a bald guy locked in one of the cells. He attacked me with a knife. Natty was a witness. The guy is strong and knows how to fight, so be careful when you or your people deal with him.”

  A few minutes later, two deputies brought the bald man down in handcuffs. One of the deputies had a bloody lip, and his shirt was pulled out of his pants. The bald man had a red mark across his face where someone had used an expandable baton to get his attention. They tied him up with the others in the kitchen.

  Bailey Mae was still sitting next to Hassan. The man was weak and had started shivering. I wasn’t sure what else to do, so I draped a blanket over him. The cabin was getting busier as more blankets were brought in for the other men. No one had been transported yet, and there was a great deal of confusion about what to do with everyone.

  I leaned in close to Hassan and said in a low voice, “What the hell is going on?”

  He shook his head. “I live in Marblehead, just outside of Boston. About a month ago, two men questioned me at my convenience store. They said I was aiding terrorists by donating money to a relief fund. That same night I found myself here, being interrogated.” He looked around the room and said, “The man over there”—he pointed to a figure on the floor with a blanket over him—“lives in Yonkers and was brought here just last week. We were all questioned over and over.”

  Natty had crept up behind us and said, “By Americans?”

  The man nodded solemnly.

  Natty said, “The FBI?”

  The man shrugged. “The bald man on the kitchen floor is in charge. He used the table and water hose to scare us. It felt like I was drowning. He would ask the same questions over and over. He’s the one all of my friends want to kill right now.”

  Right then I realized the people doing this were private contractors. Most of them had been in the military and were hired by some firm contracted by the US government to handle the interrogation and housing of potential threats to national security.

  This was bullshit.

  Chapter 38

  Even though it was the middle of the night, more emergency vehicles had come up the path. There was no doubt the truck with the snowplow had kept this path clear.

  I stood at the cabin’s front door and watched as a string of vehicles rolled into the open space by the narrow road. They were all black SUVs, and I knew something was up.

  A tall woman slid out of the rear seat of the second SUV and I heard her say to a deputy, “Who’s in charge here?” She was directed to Timmy, who was standing near me, helping figure out how badly each prisoner needed medical attention.

  The woman marched directly to Timmy and flipped open her ID case, showing that she worked for Homeland Security. As if to emphasize her position of power, six men and two women climbed out of the other vehicles, each armed with a different type of automatic weapon. I immediately recognized the unique silhouettes of M16s and saw some more exotic weapons, like a Heckler & Koch, as well as a tricked-out Winchester sniper rifle. None of the agents wore fatigues. Instead, they had on mismatched ski vests and jeans, creating the illusion that they were just like everyone else. But they weren’t. They were all in their mid-thirties and in good shape, and each knew to keep watch on a different area. It was clear they’d had military training.

  Timmy was shaken by the show of force and waved the fire rescue people back to their jobs. He even called out, “Let’s make sure we have all of these men transported in the next twenty minutes.” He turned his attention back to the woman and said, “How can I help you Ms.—?”

  “Kravitz, Cheryl Kravitz. I’m here to take charge of this scene.”

  Timmy Jones showed no sign of backing down. He said, “This is our scene. We have it in hand. Thank you.”

  I was impressed with Timmy’s spine. He was a good friend, but not someone you’d usually think of as standing up to the US government.

  Agent Kravitz said, “I misspoke. I’m here to take charge of several of the people you have in custody. This is a matter of national security and I do have the authority.” This was a woman who was used to getting what she wanted.

  Timmy said, “Who do you want to take?”

  Agent Kra
vitz leaned in the door and surveyed the room. Then she faced him again. “The three men in the kitchen and the injured woman for now.” She looked back inside and added, “We’ll decide how to handle the others after we take the ones in the kitchen.”

  “We’re about to transport the woman to the hospital.”

  “We’ll take care of any medical needs.” The woman turned and signaled to a man in the closest SUV, who started to walk toward the cabin.

  Timmy raised his hands, and I stepped closer to back him up. He said, “One of the men you want to take right now is suspected in a double homicide. The bald guy in the kitchen will be charged with assault. We can take care of both of those matters.”

  Agent Kravitz said, “Who did he assault?”

  Now I spoke up. “Me.” I reached up and touched my ear, which was still leaking a little blood.

  “You call that an assault?”

  “He did it with a KA-BAR knife. Maybe that’s attempted murder.”

  She gave me a cold stare and said, “And you are . . . ?”

  “Mitchum. I came for Bailey Mae.”

  The woman said, “Who’s Bailey Mae?”

  “The little girl your friends held in a cell up in that bunker. She’s coming with me, and I don’t care how many agents with guns try to stop me.” I gave her the stink eye, although I think it had little impact.

  Agent Kravitz looked at my ear and said, “So, Mr. Mitchum, you were trespassing when someone tried to stop you. Dress it up any way you want, but you got what you deserved.”

  “Dress it up any way you want, but this is bullshit. Those men in there had no due process. Your people ran amok.”

  “I never said they were ‘my people.’ I just said we were taking them. And that is exactly what is going to happen.”

  My blood was rising, and I felt the flash of heat in my face. “The other men have to stay. They need medical attention. There’s no way we’re gonna let you take those men with you.” I had to look over at Timmy to make sure we were in agreement. I was going to need help if I took on the federal government in the form of Cheryl Kravitz.

  Agent Kravitz considered my comments, then glanced back in the cabin at the men huddled in the living room. I could see her working through the scenarios in her head. All these witnesses could cause a lot of trouble. She couldn’t take us. Could she?

  Finally the federal agent said, “Be my guest, but the three men and the woman are coming with me right now.”

  “You don’t care that one of the men is a murderer?”

  “On the contrary, Mr. Mitchum, I do care and we will deal with that issue. But due to national security, that’s not going to happen here in front of a bunch of locals like you.”

  Two of the men from the SUVs stepped past us into the cabin to gather up the people they intended to take. As long as Bailey Mae was safe and they didn’t try to recapture any of these dispirited men, I didn’t intend to engage in a shoot-out.

  I stepped inside and herded Bailey Mae, Natty, and Hassan toward the group of men we had liberated. I stood between them and the Homeland Security agents as Agent Kravitz stepped inside and motioned for the former jailers to follow her.

  No one said a word. At this point I didn’t want Timmy and his people to risk getting hurt, either. Agent Kravitz paused by the door and took one last look around the cabin.

  I glared at her.

  The federal agent chose not to even acknowledge me and turned back to Timmy. “I’ll need your people to get their vehicles out of the way so we can leave.”

  I stepped to the door and heard Agent Kravitz say to Timmy, “We will look into the need for filing any charges for assault on any of the men or women working here.”

  I couldn’t help the snort that came out as I said, “Good luck with that.” The truth was this woman did scare me a little bit. The whole situation was scary. No one would judge this as normal.

  She looked at me and said, “I think you would do well to remain silent, Mr. Mitchum.”

  She used the phrase “remain silent” instead of “be quiet.” She knew her shit, and she knew how to intimidate.

  Watching the assholes I had tangled with walk freely toward the SUVs, I just couldn’t keep my mouth shut. I leaned out the door, shaking off Natty and Bailey Mae, who tried to stop me. “This is bullshit! He’s a murderer and people are not going to stand for it. We won’t forget this.”

  Agent Kravitz didn’t even turn around. She just called over her shoulder, “Neither will we.”

  When I turned, Bailey Mae darted into my arms. I squeezed her just to make sure it wasn’t a dream. This was real. She was why I was here. But now I had other responsibilities.

  Turning, I looked at the group of men we had rescued. I wasn’t about to leave until I was certain they were safe. Timmy looked completely flummoxed but was starting to organize the stunned emergency workers again after everything had come to a halt when the feds showed up.

  Three ambulances had pulled in. The injured woman had already been taken away by Homeland Security.

  “Timmy,” I said, “let’s get three men into each ambulance and then a couple with each paramedic. We need to get them checked out.”

  “Yeah, good idea, Mitchum.”

  I didn’t want to make it look like I was giving orders, but we had to get moving.

  Hassan paused before he followed a paramedic out the door. He held out his hand, and when I took it, he said, “We will not forget this, my friend. What you did took great courage. Bailey Mae is lucky to have a cousin like you.”

  I gave him a smile and nod as I shook his hand.

  Some of the others waved and shouted their thanks until it was just Timmy, Natty, Bailey Mae, and me.

  “What do you think will happen to the people the feds took?”

  Timmy shrugged. “I never saw anything like that. The sheriff told me they were legit and I had to let them take the prisoners. I hope they take action.”

  I slapped Timmy on the back as we walked toward our cars down at the front of the property. “You’re a good man, Timmy.” I thought he was naive, but his heart was in the right place and that was important to me.

  I realized there was a big bad world out there and I’d spent most of my life in Marlboro, New York, trying to avoid it. The world worked in mysterious and unethical ways, but it was time I took my head out of the sand and stood up to it.

  The one thing I wasn’t going to let drop was Mabel’s death. I knew in my heart it was connected to this mess, probably because she showed me photos of the three strangers. No matter what happened, I intended to find some answers, but that could wait for another day.

  I wrapped my arm around Bailey Mae as we walked. I was thankful that at least I got what I had come for and couldn’t wait to see Bailey Mae and her mother reunited. We had also managed to free the men held in those terrible conditions. Now, that was a victory I’d accept.

  Life here in Marlboro had its moments.

  About the Authors

  James Patterson has written more bestsellers and created more enduring fictional characters than any other novelist writing today. He lives in Florida with his family.

  James O. Born is an award-winning crime and science-fiction novelist as well as a career law enforcement agent. A native Floridian, he still lives in the Sunshine State.

  jamespatterson.com

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  A late winter storm bore down on Washington, DC, that March morning, and more folks than usual were waiting in the cafeteria of St. Anthony of Padua Catholic School on Monroe Avenue in t
he northeast quadrant.

  “If you need a jolt before you eat, coffee’s in those urns over there,” I called to the cafeteria line.

  From behind a serving counter, my partner, John Sampson, said, “You want pancakes or eggs and sausage, you come see me first. Dry cereal, oatmeal, and toast at the end. Fruit, too.”

  It was early, a quarter to seven, and we’d already seen twenty-five people come through the kitchen, mostly moms and kids from the surrounding neighborhood. By my count, another forty were waiting in the hallway, with more coming in from outside, where the first flakes were falling.

  It was all my ninety-something grandmother’s idea. She’d hit the DC Lottery Powerball the year before and wanted to make sure the unfortunate received some of her good fortune. She’d partnered with the church to see the hot-breakfast program started.

  “Are there any doughnuts?” asked a little boy, who put me in mind of my younger son, Ali.

  He was holding on to his mother, a devastatingly thin woman with rheumy eyes and a habit of scratching at her neck.

  “No doughnuts today,” I said.

  “What am I gonna eat?” he complained.

  “Something that’s good for you for once,” his mom said. “Eggs, bacon, and toast. Not all that Cocoa Puffs sugar crap.”

  I nodded. Mom looked like she was high on something, but she did know her nutrition.

  “This sucks,” her son said. “I want a doughnut. I want two doughnuts!”

  “Go on, there,” his mom said, and pushed him toward Sampson.

  “Kind of overkill for a church cafeteria,” said the man who followed her. He was in his late twenties and dressed in baggy jeans, Timberland boots, and a big gray snorkel jacket.

  I realized he was talking to me and looked at him, puzzled.

  “Bulletproof vest?” he said.