CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
The hairs on Matt’s arms stood at attention. His intestines curled into the fetal position, and his body went so still he could feel his own heartbeat. Every cell in his being was waiting for a giant kaboom, every instinct telling him to get the fuck away from the explosives.
Bree called out to her deputies, “We have an explosive device here. Everyone move back.”
Matt studied the booby trap. “I see a wire running along the doorframe.” Was that a— His heart fumbled a beat. “The wire is connected to a hand grenade.”
“Assuming if we open the door, the pin is pulled and the whole thing blows up?” Bree hadn’t moved.
“That’s my assumption as well.” Matt used his flashlight to scan the ground around them and the front of the building. He didn’t see any additional dynamite or grenades.
“Moving back now.” Bree took one very slow step back, stepping into her own footprints.
Matt did the same, moving just as carefully.
When they were fifty feet away, Bree lifted her phone. “I’m calling the BDU.” The closest state police bomb disposal unit was in Albany, roughly an hour away.
Todd emerged from the barn. “The old barn is empty. The tire tracks continue. It looks like they drove right across this field and into the woods.”
Matt brought him up to speed on the silo and its booby trap.
“We dealt with old dynamite found in a mine a few years ago,” Todd said. “Dynamite usually needs a blasting cap to detonate, but old dynamite can be volatile. The sticks can sweat nitroglycerin, which crystallizes on the outside and makes it extremely sensitive. Just a touch could set it off, even without the grenade.”
Something dark and glossy on the silo roof caught Matt’s attention. “What is that?”
Todd cocked his head. “I think they’re solar panels.”
“They’re powering a generator,” Matt said. “That’s where they’re keeping the women. We need to get in there.”
Bree lowered her phone. “BDU’s ETA is ninety minutes.”
“We can’t wait that long,” Matt said. “We have no idea what condition Grace is in. I’m going to get a better look.”
Bree shook her head. “All personnel need to remain a safe distance from an explosive.”
“Good thing I’m a civilian.” Matt walked toward the silo. Stopping twenty feet away, he walked a circle around it, using his flashlight to slowly examine as much of the exterior as he could.
“Everyone else stand back.” Bree followed him.
Matt stopped on the side opposite the door. The old concrete structure had a column of square holes stacked one on top of another, running all the way up the side. Each square measured about two feet across. Wooden panels were affixed over each square, like boarded-up windows. A horizontal metal bar spanned each panel. “Any idea what those windows are for?”
“We didn’t have a silo, but the neighbors did.” Bree had been raised on a farm for her early childhood. “The hatches are closed as the silo is filled up with grain.”
He studied the setup. It was a simple mechanism.
“The horizontal bar is a mechanical lock,” she said. “If you turn it to the vertical position, you should be able to remove the panel. It takes some muscles, though.”
He put a hand on one of the bars and tried to turn it. But it wouldn’t budge. He shined his flashlight around the edge of the panel. “Someone fixed the panel in place with masonry screws.” He moved his flashlight up the squares. “Wait. Only the bottom five are fastened shut.” He stuffed his flashlight into the cargo pocket of his pants. “I’m going to climb up there. If she’s inside, we’ll figure out a Plan B to get her out. If the silo is empty, then we move on and leave this to the BDU.”
“Can’t jostle the dynamite.”
The silo was built of cement block. Matt didn’t think it was going to budge when he climbed it. But if it did, it could potentially spew chunks of concrete. “I want you to move back.”
He and Bree exchanged a look, communicating with no words.
Putting themselves at risk was part of the job, but in this instance, there was no need for more than one person to risk their life. Matt didn’t want the person who had guardianship of two children to be the one in danger. He could see the understanding—and the conflict—in her eyes. But even though she clearly didn’t like his decision, she reluctantly agreed.
“I love you,” she said.
“I have no intention of dying tonight, but I love you too.”
“Be careful.” She stood her flashlight in the dirt, pointing up, then went back to the rest of the team.
Matt pocketed his light and began to climb. Standing on the fourth bar, he reached up to the sixth and turned the bar. It was rusty and stiff, but he was able to muscle off the panel. “Look out below.” He tossed it onto the weeds. Then he pulled out his flashlight and shined it into the silo.
The interior had been converted from silage container to a room with two cots. A young woman lay on one of the cots, her arms and legs secured with Paracord. Duct tape covered her mouth. She stared up at him, her eyes white-rimmed, wild, and terrified.
Two things simultaneously shocked Matt. The woman was heavily pregnant.
And she was not Grace.
As he digested this information, her body curled tighter, her muscles tensing, her eyes closing. A muffled groan of pain sounded from behind the duct tape.