Chapter 35
Max and Special Agents Keyes and Reed watched over the shoulders of the agents sitting at the monitors in the FBI’s mobile command center.
The big RV had driven slowly over the snowy Cascade mountains from Portland and had arrived only within the hour.
The team had had it set up and running almost immediately.
Currently Max watched a dozen green-tinted views from the FBI SWAT team’s cams. The men were motionless, lying in wait in a wide perimeter around the bunkers, giving the command center boring views of falling snow.
Occasionally the commander in the RV would tell one of the team to clear his camera because snow had covered it.
“Never seen that before,” said Commander Stevens. “Snow’s not supposed to stick to them.”
“It’s falling and blowing in every direction possible,” said the woman sitting next to him. “It’s bound to build up.”
“Any more information from the county team?” asked Max. He knew Noelle was checking the property, but he wouldn’t hear from her directly.
“Was just told that it appears no one had fed the horse since this morning,” said the woman, touching her headset. “Poor guy. Indicates that no one has been on the property since you and Detective Marshall were there.”
Max pressed his lips together and checked the SWAT member view that showed the metal doors of one of the bunkers. His biggest fear was that they were too late. That Hammaker had cleaned out his cache and was out somewhere preparing for the big thing Ricky Dowd had heard about.
But if he saw us at his home last night, he may have decided to leave his weapons and explosives behind and hit the road.
Max preferred that option.
Option three was that Hammaker was inside, convinced that law enforcement didn’t know about the bunkers.
Or he’s inside, somehow watching us like we’re watching him.
The drone reconnaissance had been a failure due to the snow and wind.
It hadn’t even launched. Instead, the FBI had done its recon on foot, which had proved to be a challenge in the dark with the deepening snow and rough terrain.
The leaders had discussed the possibility of a bolt-hole in one of the bunkers, an underground tunnel that would allow Hammaker to escape unseen.
The SWAT team members had taken their positions and begun waiting to see if Hammaker would react to the invasion of his home and barn nearly an hour ago, watching the bunkers and the surrounding area in case he took a tunnel.
Nothing in the area had moved.
According to Ricky Dowd, who’d been to the bunkers once, each one was a lengthy, skinny space with shelving and storage lining both long walls, leaving a narrow aisle.
One was full of explosives and weapons. The other one was the same but had a bit of room at the far end for living with bunk beds, food, and water.
The plan was to breach the doors of both simultaneously with two teams. Two ATF explosives experts would first make a quick check of the doors and surrounding area for booby traps.
Then they would set the explosives and blow the doors.
After that the team would enter the bunkers.
They wouldn’t use flash-bangs inside due to the presumed explosives.
The entry would be the most dangerous part of the mission.
The teams would essentially move in through a funnel, only able to protect themselves with their shields and gear.
Max had been on Medford’s SWAT entry team a few times.
Going into the unknown had brought some of the highest anxiety he’d ever experienced, but he’d compartmentalized it and focused on the job; his team had deserved his best.
Tension was heavy in the RV. The team had talked through the plan from every angle, trying to maximize the chances of success. But the weather and inability to see inside the bunkers drove up the risk. Blowing the doors and going in before Hammaker had time to react was their best plan.
Commander Stevens asked for a check from each team member, and all responded.
It was time.
“Alpha-one and -two, go!”
Max held his breath as two of the helmet-cam views started to move in toward the bunker doors.
The ATF explosives specialists had the high-pressure job of rapidly checking the entries for motion sensors, pressure plates, and booby traps, then setting their own explosives to blow the doors.
The two men quickly cleared the fluffy snow from around the doors.
“Alpha one, entry is clear.”
“Alpha two, second bunker entry is clear.”
“Copy one and two. Proceed.”
The specialists attached their own devices and moved a safe distance from the doors, their camera views jolting as they jogged away.
“Alpha one in position.”
“Alpha two in position.”
Time to blow the doors.
“Copy one and two. Detonate on my count. Three, two, one, go!”
Snow exploded and filled the monitors. The RV was several hundred yards from the bunkers but gently jerked as the detonation waves hit it. Three seconds later the flying snow had settled, leaving them with views of crooked metal doors, fully detached from the bunkers.
“Blue entry teams A and B, GO!” said Stevens. Several more camera views jolted around as the men dashed toward the doors. The two explosives specialists stayed in position, their camera views steady on the doors.
Light shone out of each bunker, but Max couldn’t make out anything inside. The door views were suddenly crowded with the green ghost shapes of the two entry teams as they approached. The entry team’s cameras showed jostling views of their teammates’ shoulders and helmets as they funneled in.
Shouts of clear, clear, clear! came through the RV’s speakers. Max leaned closer, trying to make out what he was seeing on the cameras as the men covered the inside. Empty shelves. Empty frames. Some boxes and plastic bins.
No Thomas Hammaker.
Or Emma.
Max was suddenly exhausted. The tightly wound energy his tension had been building had vanished.
“Blue team A. Bunker one’s clear.”
“Blue team B. Bunker two is clear. No one’s here.”
It’s empty. Hammaker cleaned it out.
“Fuck,” stated the commander, tossing down his headset. “Let’s go take a look. Jensen and Mendez, stay here.” The woman and other man at the monitors nodded.
Max stepped out of the RV with Commander Stevens and Agents Keyes and Reed.
“God damn it,” said Reed, stomping through the snow. “Do we know where he’s gone?”
“If we knew that, we’d be there,” said Keyes.
Max said nothing, his thoughts wound up as he considered Reed’s question.
Where did Hammaker go?
We’re back where we started: trying to figure out where and if a domestic terrorism act is about to take place.
He mashed his lips together to hold back a string of curses. Ahead, Reed was swearing enough for the whole group.
The commander dropped back to join Max at the rear of the group. “Thoughts?” he asked Max.
“Special Agent Reed has a colorful vocabulary,” said Max, trudging through the snow.
“Were we given bad intel?” the commander asked in a low voice. “Or was this a distraction?”
I hadn’t considered that.
Max thought back to their interview with Ricky Dowd, wondering if he’d deliberately misled them. Max hadn’t thought he was lying to them. Usually his bullshit meter was pretty accurate.
“I don’t know,” he said. “I don’t think the intel was bad. He could have cleaned out after seeing me and Noelle on his property.”
Stevens touched his earpiece. “They report no tunnel found in either bunker. We’ve been idiots, watching and waiting for absolutely nothing. Hammaker’s probably laughing from a hundred miles away.”
They finally reached the bunkers. The SWAT teams had spread out, creating a perimeter a few yards outside the bunkers in case someone decided to surprise them. Reed and Keyes ducked their heads and went through one of the blown entries. Max and Commander Stevens headed toward the second bunker.
A blast of white-hot air blew Max to the side as the first bunker exploded.
I’m hit!
He landed in the snow, his breath knocked out of him, and rolled over, sucking air, his ears ringing. He held up a hand to block a bright light and realized the first bunker was on fire. Screams and shouts filled the air.
Where are Keyes and Reed?