Badlands (32 page)

And they were in.

*   *   *

ESCOBAR HAD
tried to eat a sheet of what Dietrich called lefsa from the refrigerator but he didn't like it. He thought it tasted pasty and bland. Dietrich liked it, though, after buttering the sheets and sprinkling them with brown sugar. He rolled one up for Silencio, who seemed to like it, too.

The old lady sat in her chair watching them eat. If her eyes could kill, they'd all be dead, Escobar thought.

He wondered why these people lived in such a cold place and preferred food with no taste. It was a mystery to him.

This whole place was a mystery to him.

*   *   *

WHEN HE
entered the front room, Escobar looked at all the family photos on the wall. There were some black-and-white ones of a young woman in a long dress standing next to a stern-faced farmer. Newer photos revealed this Rachel to have been quite a looker in high school, but even then there was a wild glint in her eye. There were several framed photos of a small boy who looked straight into the camera but didn't smile. He must be Kyle, Escobar thought.

Escobar said to Dietrich, “My man won't answer his phone.”

“Maybe he's in the middle of something,” Dietrich said. “If he's with a bunch of other cops, I can understand him not picking up.”

“I've called five times.”

“Yeah,” Dietrich said, “that's a lot. But I wouldn't get excited yet.”

“I don't get excited.”

Dietrich shut up. He wasn't a man who shut up often, Escobar thought, but he was smart enough to shut up now.

The woman lay on her back on the couch, her feet curled up against Dietrich's thigh. Her eyes were closed and she looked peaceful.

“She is sleeping?” Escobar asked, surprised.

“I shot her up again,” Dietrich said.

“Was that a good idea?” Escobar asked, raising his eyebrows.

“She wanted it.”

“Of course. Addicts always want it. She loves her son but her real love is inside her veins right now.”

“I don't know if she can walk,” Dietrich said. “I can always carry her out over my shoulder if we have to clear out of here. She's pretty light.”

“So is
la abuela
.”

Dietrich looked up and cocked his head to the side, confused.

Escobar nodded toward the old lady at the kitchen table, then at Rachel. “They've seen us. They die.”

“That's what I thought,” Dietrich said. “You guys don't leave witnesses. Do you have enough barrels at the shop? You wouldn't want to run out of barrels.”

“We won't.”

Dietrich nodded. “Then what—you load the barrels in your pickup and drive 'em to SoCal?”

Escobar nodded his head, almost with sadness.
“Silencio!”

The man bolted upright from the chair, his gun in his hand.

“You were sleeping,” Escobar said calmly. “No sleeping.”

Silencio started to argue but thought better of it. He had obviously drifted off.

“Go outside and get more wood,” Escobar said. “That will wake you up.”

He told both Dietrich and Silencio about the one hundred and ten degree difference between inside and outside.

“Yeah?” Dietrich asked, puzzled.

Silencio shrugged dully.

“Maybe you are both too simple to understand the significance of it,” Escobar said with a sniff. “It's like we're astronauts in space. Warm inside, cold outside.”

*   *   *

WHILE SILENCIO
pulled on his heavy coat to go get more wood, Escobar said to Dietrich, “I think she's dead.”

Rachel's eyes were partially open and her mouth gaped. A still bubble had formed on one nostril. Her arm was splayed out from the couch in midair.

Dietrich frowned and touched his fingertips to her neck beneath her jaw. Then he pressed the back of his hand to her nose and mouth.

“
Shit,
” he said.

“You shouldn't have given her that second hit,” Escobar said. “You gave her too much.”

They both looked over at the old lady. She'd been watching everything. She closed her eyes and her head dropped forward. It took them a moment to realize she was crying.

“Poor old lady,” Escobar said.

“Does that mean—” Dietrich started to ask.

“It doesn't change anything.”

*   *   *

ESCOBAR CHECKED
the clock on the face of his cell phone as Silencio struggled through the storm door with an armful of frozen wood. Then he pried the blinds open again and looked up the road. Nothing. It was getting dark.

He said to Dietrich, “Ten more minutes, then we go.”

“He said he'd be here.”

“You trust a ten-year-old boy.” It was a statement, an indictment, not a question.

Dietrich said again, “He's twelve, I think. You want me to call him again?”

Escobar shook his head.

He turned to the old lady, who raised her head. Her eyes were red and puffy. He said, “We'll be gone soon,
Abuela
.”

*   *   *

SEVEN MINUTES
later, Willie Dietrich untangled himself from Rachel's stiffening legs and approached the front window. Escobar watched him from the kitchen. Silencio watched him from the reclining chair. Unlike before, Silencio hadn't taken off his boots and coat. He knew they would likely be leaving soon.

Dietrich made a snorting sound. Escobar squinted his eyes at the sound.

“Son of a bitch,” Dietrich said with relief. “That little shit is coming up the road on his bike.”

“Does he have our property?”

“There are a couple of bags hanging from the handlebars. So yeah, it looks like he does.”

Escobar nodded. Then he retrieved the Condor El Salvador machete from the table and handed it to Silencio. Silencio understood.

The old woman pleaded with him with her eyes. He refused to look at her.

 

CHAPTER THIRTY

BY THE
order of Sheriff Kirkbride, Cassie, Davis, and the other deputies hung their optics outside their vehicles by the straps as they converged on Lottie Westergaard's home outside of town. The reason for hanging the binoculars and spotting scopes outside was so the lenses wouldn't fog up when used in the extreme cold.

With lights off, Davis had nosed their SUV into the trees on the left side of the entrance road. He pulled a few feet ahead so Cassie could get an unobstructed view through the trees of the front door and portico of the little house. It was dark enough that the three distant squares of light from the blinded front-facing windows could be clearly seen.

Kirkbride and another unit, also with their lights off, were across the road in the trees as well. If it weren't for a reflection of the moon on Kirkbride's windshield, Cassie would not have known they were there at all.

“I hate this,” she said to Davis.

“I know you do,” Davis said softly.

The radio was squelched down but she could clearly hear Kirkbride checking in with his force. Three units with two deputies each had been sent along an old two-track road that paralleled the river so they could get behind the property. Six heavily armed men—the Bakken County SWAT Team—were now on foot making their way through the trees toward the rear of the house. Four other deputies were approaching the home from each side, two from each direction.

“Let me know when you're in position,” Kirkbride asked over the radio.

There were three vehicles—Kirkbride's, Klug's, and Cassie's—on the side of the road leading to Lottie Westergaard's house. Two other units were on standby. So were two EMT vans.

“We have a visual of the house,” one of the SWAT deputies whispered. “There's a late-model pickup parked in back.”

“California plates,” another deputy said.

“Roger that,” Kirkbride said. “That'll be our friends from MS-13. Get into position and get ready. When you get the signal from me and no one else, you know what to do.”

There was a round of “Roger that” from all the deputies in place.

“Be safe,” Kirkbride said. “Don't fire unless you double-check your target—if you have to fire at all. Remember, we've got deputies all over these woods. I don't want anybody getting hurt because of friendly fire, boys.”

Cassie's mouth was dry when she turned in her seat and said to Kyle, “Are you sure you're ready for this?”

Kyle nodded that he was.

“You don't have to do it,” she said. “Remember, we talked about it earlier. You absolutely don't have to do this.”

“I know.”

“Are you sure you want to go?”

“Yes. My mom and grandma are in there.”

“Remember,” Cassie said, speaking slowly and clearly and reaching back for his hand, “you'll ride up to the front of the house and drop the duffel bag in the snow so they can see it. Nothing more. Then you'll turn your bike around and ride back here like hell. If anything happens, you ride into the trees on the side of the road. Got it?”

Kyle nodded.

“Tell me, Kyle. Assure me you've got it.”

“Got it,” Kyle said.

She squeezed his hand. He squeezed back, but he didn't seem scared enough.

“You're brave,” she said.

He nodded that he was.

“I'll get the bike out,” Davis said, careful to toggle the kill switch so the interior light wouldn't go on when he opened the door.

*   *   *

THE STRATEGY
was simple and aggressive as outlined by Kirkbride. Everyone knew their roles. Cassie could see how gung ho his deputies were when Kirkbride outlined the plan.

For the first time Cassie had seen since she met him, Kyle grinned as he listened.

He had said there were three—and possibly four—bad guys inside the house. The idea was to isolate them, confuse them, then engage them with overwhelming force. It was the only way, Kirkbride said, they could possibly save the lives of Rachel and Lottie. Otherwise, they'd be looking at a hostage situation at best, a double homicide at worst.

But they'd need Kyle's help. Kyle had readily agreed, despite Cassie's misgivings.

The idea was to surround Lottie Westergaard's home before Kyle arrived and the exchange was made. Kirkbride knew the terrain intimately, and he positioned his deputies using old roads and game trails through the trees from the river.

When the intruders exited the house to get the duffel bag, they'd be apprehended by the four deputies hiding in the front. Simultaneously, Kirkbride would give the order and the SWAT team behind the house would throw flash-bang grenades and tear gas canisters through the windows before storming it and rescuing Rachel and Lottie. By putting the most pressure on the back side of the house, Kirkbride said, it would force the remaining bad guys to flee out the front where they'd be in the open.

*   *   *

CASSIE CLIMBED
out of the Tahoe and helped Davis get Kyle's bike out of the back. They filled the left newspaper pannier with the duffel bag and balanced the right pannier with several heavy rocks. Kyle stood to the side pulling on his gloves, fitting his stocking cap to his head, rocking from side to side in anticipation and fear.

She approached him and slid her handheld radio into his parka pocket.

“This is on,” she said. “But it's set to transmit only. You won't hear anyone talking. But this way we can hear what is said.

“If you get into trouble,” she told him, leaning down so their faces were inches apart, “start yelling for help. We'll be there in seconds. Do you understand, Kyle?”

He nodded that he did.

“Are you ready, then?”

“Yes.”

“Remember—just deliver the bag and get back here.”

She leaned forward and hugged him. He felt small, even through her parka and his heavy coat.

*   *   *

AS CASSIE
watched Kyle mount his bike and ride away through the snow toward the house, she had trouble breathing.

So much could go wrong.

“I don't like involving the boy,” she said.

“I know you don't,” Davis said. “But none of us could ride up there on a bike in his place. They've got to see that it's him.”

“If something happens to him I'll never forgive myself.”

“I know,” Davis said. “I feel the same way. But he's a willing participant and we've got every deputy in Bakken County here to protect him. He could have said no.”

“He's twelve years old, Ian.”

Davis had no answer for that.

Kirkbride talked to his team, keeping them apprised.

“Kyle is on his way to the house,” the sheriff said in a whisper. “Pray for the little guy.”

Through the radio, Cassie could hear Kyle's muffled breathing as he pedaled. She raised the binoculars.

“Can you see him?” Davis asked.

“Yes.”

Cassie kept her field of vision on Kyle as he progressed down the snow-packed road. The light from the stars and moon had turned the road aquamarine. He looked so small.

“He's stopping,” she said as Kyle reached the house. She watched him fumble for the kickstand with his heavy right boot. Finally, he found it.

“He's going to take the duffel bag out,” she said.

“I hope they know he's there,” Davis said.

Cassie shifted the binoculars up over Kyle's head and the front of the house came into view. Someone had parted the blinds to see out the front window. Then they snapped shut.

“They see him,” Cassie said.

When she shifted back to Kyle, he was still standing on the side of his bike. The duffel bag was still in the panniers.

“Get ready,” Kirkbride said to his deputies over the radio.

Cassie could feel her own heart beat, and it made the binoculars vibrate. She tried to steady them by resting the barrels on the top of the half-opened passenger window.