Sufficient Ransom (36 page)

Chet stumbled to the bathroom and turned on the sink. The cold water on his feverish face felt good. Pink water gushed down the drain. The coughing had subsided. His bloodshot eyes in the mirror frightened him. Chet pulled a pair of sunglasses from his jacket and jammed them on his nose. He passed a comb through his damp hair, straightened his body as best he could, and headed for the back door. He was in no condition to court New Way’s biggest donors, or anyone else.

7:00 A.M
.

T
he white tops of the family tents inside the Pine Wood Conference and Resort Center swayed in the early morning breeze. By daylight the tents looked to be closer to the fence than they had the night before. The chain link that enclosed the rest of the site was, at the pedestrian entrance, replaced with a ten-foot high cedar fence that extended the length of the perimeter it shared with the town square, some several hundred yards. The wooden expanse served as a kind of public bulletin board for local news and posters.

Ann pretended to read the notices while she watched the guard out the corner of her eye. It occurred to her that he might let her in if she posed as a reporter for the
Los Angeles Times
come to do a piece on New Way. When she walked up with a big smile on her face and told the guard just that, he looked genuinely sorry. “Only members with special passes are allowed in, Miss. Sorry, no exceptions.”

Remembering Tom Long’s threat to arrest her and her husband on sight if they caught them interfering, Ann moved to the edge of the square where the fence curved to the left, away from knot of people. She passed men in dark suits with bulges under their jackets, and others in hiking clothes with binoculars dangling at their necks. She wished she knew what law enforcement was planning.

7:30 A.M
.

T
odd Pannikin rushed through the camp searching for Chet. The whole place was abuzz with talk of Kika Garcia. News of the brutal attack in La Jolla was apparently all over the newspapers and the Internet. Pannikin feared rumors implicating Chet were spreading, though, as of yet, he had no evidence that this was the case. Breathing hard from his hurried walk, he slumped down on a wooden bench abutting the path that led to family tents, and pulled out his phone.

Though Pannikin had suggested Chet “take care” of Kika Garcia, he didn’t actually tell him to kill her. He passed his hand over his damp face. If only he could calm his frazzled nerves and come up with a plan. Suddenly, he pictured Jesus on the cross. He sat upright. The Lord had sacrificed His Son to save mankind.
It’s simple. Chet will confess his crimes so that I can continue our work on behalf of the Lord
. Pannikin sighed with gratitude. Jesus
always
guided him to do the right thing.

After dialing Chet’s number for the fourth time and receiving no answer, Pannikin stood up and strode down the path toward the first of the tents that sheltered the special families.

The communal space in the first tent—cluttered with toys, tables and chairs—faced a grassy corridor flanked with rows of “rooms.” Each room was divided by twelve-foot hanging plastic tarps, held up by an intricate set of ceiling strings. The spaces were rendered private by hanging doorways made of the same heavy material. Some of the flaps to the rooms were tied back exposing their inner contents—cots and blankets, suitcases and trunks. The air smelled like fresh plastic and grass.

Pannikin pulled a brass bell from his coat and rang it. Seven women and five men appeared from the makeshift rooms. Searching the assembled faces, the pastor’s anxiety deepened. “Where are Alan Earne and his wife?”

No one seemed to know.

“My friends,” Pannikin announced, when he had everyone’s attention. “Thank you all for the special work you have done in the name of the Lord, our Father.”

There was murmured assent all the way round.

“For many of you, taking these youngsters into your homes and raising them to fulfill their purpose as God’s children, hasn’t been easy. For all your hard work and selfless devotion, I thank you. And Jesus thanks you. Now there’s something of the utmost importance I must share with you today, but first I must have a word with John.” Pannikin signaled a dark-haired man with black eyes, to follow him outside. Before exiting the tent, the pastor leaned into a middle-aged man with blond hair and a fat face. “Brian, please go around and summon the rest of the families. I have an important announcement to make.”

Minutes later, when Pannikin and John re-entered the tent, they faced a group of twenty men and women whom Brian had assembled. Just as Pannikin was about to address the group, a heavyset man hurried in and waved him outside. The man’s pale face glistened with sweat. “Pastor,” he said in a low voice. “There are men with rifles and scopes stationed in the trees all around the camp. What’s going on?”

“Find Pastor Chet and bring him to me at once,” Pannikin ordered. He leaned inside the tent. “The rest of you, get the children inside.”

A small man with pinched lips and hard eyes stepped outside the tent and pulled Pannikin aside. “Pastor, we have a right to know what’s going.”

“They’re looking for Pastor Chet,” Pannikin said.

“Who’s
they
?” the man asked.

Just as Pannikin was about to answer, a tall man emerged from the trees. He held a young boy by the hand. The pastor and the tall man locked eyes. The man tried to shield the boy with his own body as they picked up their pace.

“Stop them!” Pannikin ordered.

The man and the boy started running across the field, toward the pedestrian entrance.

“Stop them now!” Pannikin shouted.

Black-eyed John lunged ahead, gun in hand.

7:30 A.M
.

A
nn spotted Julian Fox at the far end of the square, his red-yellow hair blazing like a warning beacon in the morning sun. The agent was talking to a group of men and thankfully hadn’t noticed her.

Ann moved toward the gate. Her past efforts to find her son were still painfully fresh in her mind. She feared that she was making yet another mistake, but she didn’t know what else to do.

Ten yards from the gate, a muscled man in a gray suit stepped in front of Ann, blocking her way. “We’ll be closing this area off, Miss. Please, this way.”

The sound of a distance siren was drawing closer.

“I have business at the gate,” Ann said, trying to sound brave.

“I have my orders, ma’am. We’re clearing the square.”

“Do you hear that ambulance?” Ann said, knowing that her next words committed her to go through with her sketchy plan. “My mother’s very sick. She has a heart condition and she needs medicine. I have to prepare the guard to let the paramedics into the camp. There’s very little time. If we don’t hurry, my mother will die!”

“There’s been no mention of any one being sick,” the man said. There was doubt in his eyes.

Ann spotted the ambulance at the far end of the square. Seeing her opportunity, she sidestepped her interrogator and sprinted ahead. At the gate, she steeled herself to look back. An alarmed look on his face, Julian Fox was talking to the man in the gray suit and to the paramedics, who had joined them.

“Quick!” Ann said to the startled guard. “Open the gate! The paramedics need to get to my mother. She’s having a heart attack. Hurry!”

The guard, a young man with a pug nose and a wispy beard, said, “Aren’t you the reporter from the LA Times?”

Ann silently cursed herself for that lame story. “No! Hurry up!”

The guard scratched his head, apparently weighing what to do.

Ann glanced nervously over her shoulder. Julian Fox was hurrying toward her, the medics on his heels. Behind them, Tom Long was running toward all of them from the bottom of the square, a determined look on his face.

Ann leaned in to the guard, her voice low. “If my mother dies, I’ll hold
you
responsible! Now hurry up and open the gate!”

The gate opened.

A rough hand took hold of Ann’s arm and swung her around. Julian Fox’s blue eyes bore into her. “You’re under arrest, Mrs. Olson.”

Ann jerked her arm free. “Leave me alone!”

One of the paramedics stepped up to Julian. “Pine Wood police okayed this call. We have to check…”

Ann took advantage of the men arguing to scan the inside of the compound. There was no sign of Richard or Travis. To the right, the white tents faced the clearing at an angle. On the far end of the field, a stretch of woods separated the main buildings from this more remote area. Ann strained to see past the dense tangle of trees. She could hear voices coming from the other side of the tents, but she couldn’t see anyone.

Tom Long joined them. Out of breath from his run across the square, he turned to the two local policemen who had followed him. Indicating Ann he said, “I strongly suggest you arrest this woman for obstruction of justice.”

Ann stepped back. “Please Tom! I want to talk to you first.” She glanced over her shoulder. “Oh my God! Look!”

A man and a small boy had emerged from the woods.
Richard and Travis
. They were walking rapidly along the edge of the field toward the gate.

A black-haired man appeared from the direction of the tents. He shouted, “Stop or I’ll shoot!”

Ann saw a glint of metal as Julian Fox stepped beside her. The agent tried to elbow her out of the way with his free arm, but Ann stood her ground, her eyes locked on her husband and child. Tom Long emerged
on Ann’s left side. He too tried to pull her back, but she stood firm, afraid to lose sight of Richard and Travis.

Richard had come to a halt and pushed Travis behind him. Apparently eager to see what was happening, Travis peered around his father’s back. Seeing Ann, he shouted, “Mommy! Mommy!”

A mega-phone voice made Ann jump. “You!” it shouted. “Inside the camp! Drop the gun or we’ll shoot!”

Travis tore himself from his father and started running the hundred yards toward Ann. “Mommy!”

Before they could stop her, Ann pushed past Tom and Julian. She reached Travis moments before Richard did. She picked her son up, pressed him to her chest, and started for the gate. Richard ran alongside them, shielding them with his body.

Gunshots sounded.

Ann felt a searing pain in her leg. Travis started kicking and screaming. Still clutching her son, she stumbled. Richard pulled them both up.

Ann heard shouts and more gunfire. Tom Long was suddenly there. He pulled Travis from her arms.

“No!”

Before Ann knew what was happening, Richard lifted her up. The world upside down, she was whisked away. Ann felt a warm stickiness moving down her jeans. She noticed that Richard’s hands were slick with blood. She was afraid of the answer, but she had to know. “Is Travis okay?”

C
HAPTER
29

Saturday, November 3

11:30 A.M
.

A
nn pulled her son close to her.

“Mom, that hurts. Don’t squeeze so hard.”

Ann wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. “I’m sorry honey. I can’t seem to let you go.”

“Mom? Can we go back and get the Lego truck I made?”

“No sweetie. You’ll never go back there again. Not ever.”

“You should have seen it, Mom. It was huge. All black and green like real soldiers have. And it had big wheels too.”

Ann looked into her son’s beaming face, careful not to squeeze him too hard, this time.

Travis touched the mass of gauze and tape on her arms and legs. “When will your Band-Aids come off?”

“Soon, honey. Soon.”

“Did getting shot hurt, Mom?”

“Not really. Don’t you worry about mommy, sweetie. Everything’s fine.”

Ann and her son sat together on her hospital bed. The morning sun from the open window spilled over the white walls and the polished oak floors. A gentle breeze wafted in the smell of freshly mowed grass.

“Mom?”

“Yes, Travis?”

“You didn’t change your mind about the dog, did you?”

“Nope. You can pick out any dog you want.”

“Even a real big one?”

She hugged him gently. “A giant one, even.”

The door opened and Richard stepped into the room carrying bags of food in one hand and a bouquet of red roses in the other.

Travis slid off the bed and ran to his father. He pulled at the bags. “Did you get my fries, Dad? Did ya?”

Richard handed Travis one of the bags. “See for yourself, champ.” He placed the flowers in Ann’s arms and bent down to kiss her. “How do you feel?”

Ann hugged the flowers to her chest. “I’ve never felt better. The roses are beautiful, Richard. Thank you.” She watched her husband unpack the food at the table by the window. Travis ripped open a packet of ketchup. He jammed a handful of red fries into his mouth. The ketchup spilling over his shirt triggered painful memories.

In the mad scramble to get out of the camp that day, Ann feared the New Way man had shot Travis. Luckily Julian Fox downed the gunman before he could inflict any more harm. The shooting, the sight of her blood, and perhaps even the shock of seeing her after having been separated for so long, had released in Travis a torrent of emotion. He was hysterical. Even now, two days after the rescue, he seemed unusually anxious.

In time, they would all heal, though life would never be the same again. Ann would always be afraid for Travis. From that hellish experience she had gained something so unexpected and so necessary to true happiness—things she never could have foreseen. She had learned to truly value her child and her husband. As long as these two people,
who were so precious to her, were okay in the world, she would be fine too. The small things in life—the obsessive cleaning, the lunacy of others, and Chet and Todd’s twisted ideology—were unimportant in the scheme of things.

Ann knew that if she confessed her thoughts to anyone outside her small circle they would think she was stating the obvious.
Of course, you should value your children and your husband. That’s what you’re supposed to do
. But Ann had lost sight of her values. She had let herself be distracted by insignificant things. Her made-up worries and her compulsions. She had allowed this soul-destroying stuff to clutter her mind, to obscure the beauty in her life—namely Travis and Richard, and the love they shared.