Quebec
“I think we have something,” Garcia’s voice came through the speaker on Wilson’s phone.
The Digital Team had been working around the clock. The license plate number Reina had read to them turned out to be a rental out of the Des Moines International Airport. It was rented by a man whose ID said his name was Garret Jeffries. The ID was fake, but they got his picture from the ID and the lobby camera. St. Vincent ran it by the FBI Agents who’d worked Stella Adams case. The man was a coconspirator, named Blake Henning. He had been in the wind for the five years Stella Adams had been in the program.
Next, the Digital Team pulled the camera footage available from all cameras in a five-mile circumference of the accident site where Reina’s car had been found. They looked at all the black SUVs. If they couldn’t see the plate, they tracked the car as far as they could until either the plate was seen, the vehicle was lost, or its’ occupants were clearly seen to be ruled out as being Henning, Adams, or Reina Ellis.
It took longer, but even as they reviewed camera footage, Caleb Smith and Cameron Woods also spent time trying to remotely hack into the onboard SatNav System on Henning’s rental car. It took time, but they finally succeeded.
The team had been on the ground for three and a half days.
Garcia had something, alright. The current location of the rental car and every place it had been since it was rented. It was currently in a very remote location at the end of a dead-end gravel road in rural Iowa, miles from any Podunk little town. It was the perfect place to hide if you needed to lie low from law enforcement and the perfect place to keep a hostage. The thought crept into Wilson’s mind that it could also be the perfect place to bury a body in a shallow grave. He pushed that thought from his mind.
The team geared up and drove towards that location, chasing the setting sun, in the two vehicles Angel had arranged for them. Night had fallen before they reached the long gravel driveway off the remote gravel road. When they were less than a mile out, they launched a drone. The drone provided night vision graphics as it flew over the trees devoid of leaves and the clear path of the winding driveway. Finally, a clearing with a small two-story house that was butted up to the trees came into view. And parked right in front of the house was the black SUV. The drone also transmitted thermal imaging, showing only one heat source in the house, one occupant. Lights were on in one room on the first floor and in one room on the second. The sole adult-sized occupant was in the room on the first floor.
The team donned their night vision goggles and made their way through the trees. Once near the house, Lambchop and Mother circled to the north side of the house, where windows were on the room with the lights on. Sloan and Sherman went with them, but continued to the back of the house, where a back door was. Wilson and Jackson approached the front of the house. First, they looked inside the SUV through the front, un-tinted window. They saw no one inside. The doors were locked, and the hood was cold. They slinked up alongside the front door.
Once everyone communicated in the affirmative that they were in position, Lambchop gave the shortest of prayers. “Dear Father, let us find Reina safe, Amen. Hit it in three, two, one,” he counted down. “Go, go, go!”
At the front door, Jackson kicked the door in. As soon as it burst open, Wilson rushed in, his Sig leading the way. At the same time, Mother used a tool to crash through one of the windows in the room their Tango was in. Lambchop breached the room an instant later, his M4 in his grasp. At the back door, Sherman used a pry bar to crack open the back door. Sloan went in first, immediately followed by Sherman.
The man who’d been sitting in front of a laptop jumped up at the sounds of the assault on the house. His gaze darted to the two men coming through the window first, followed by snapping his head to view the two men entering from the front of the house. His pistol in its shoulder holster lay on the table across the room. He knew he couldn’t reach it, and all these men were packing some serious heat. If they were cops, they wouldn’t shoot an unarmed man. He ran towards the kitchen only to see two more men coming towards him from that direction.
Wilson pounced on the man attempting to flee. He tackled him to the ground. It wasn’t Henning. The man struggled. “Where do you think you’re going?” Wilson demanded. He had the man subdued, his knee pressing down hard in the middle of his back. “Six to one odds are not great.”
“One Tango subdued,” Lambchop transmitted to Ops who listened in. He then pointed at Mother, Sloan, and Sherman. “Clear the rest of the house.”
The three men mounted the stairs as Jackson moved in to secure this unknown man’s hands behind his back in zip ties. They helped him up and seated him in one of the living room chairs before securing his feet in zip ties as well.
“Where are they?” Wilson demanded.
“Who?” the man asked.
Through comms, Wilson, Jackson, and Lambchop could hear the voices of the three men upstairs declare, “Clear, clear, clear,” as they checked out each room.
“Wrong answer,” Wilson said in a calm voice accompanied by a death stare that was even scarier than had he yelled.
The three men descended the stairs. “Got coloring books and crayons,” Sherman said. He held up a pad of paper. A beautiful carousel was drawn and colored in pastel colors.
Wilson knew Reina had drawn it the second he laid eyes on it. It matched one of the posters hung in her living room. He knew Reina had been here. But where was she now? “Blake Henning, Stella Adams, four-year-old Lilly, Reina Ellis. Where are they?” Wilson repeated in the same serious and controlled tone of voice.
“I don’t know,” the man began to say.
Wilson grabbed the paper from Sherman and put it in the Tangos face. “Reina Ellis drew this. She was here. Now where the fuck is she?” His tone was no longer calm, and the volume of his voice also rose.
The man’s eyes went wide, and he shook his head. Wilson pulled out his Cold Steel SRK5 fixed blade knife, a gift from Lambchop. He suddenly thrust all six inches of the black blade into the arm of the chair. The man jumped and let out a yelp.
Wilson pulled the blade from the chair and held it up in front of the man’s face. “It goes in your thigh next. Now where the fuck is Reina Ellis?”
“Not here. Blake took her,” he stammered. He certainly wasn’t going to divulge his part in helping Henning get her into the trunk of the car.
“Took her where?” Wilson pressed.
“Out in the woods yesterday,” his voice cracked as he talked. “She may be alive still. I don’t think Henning killed her.”
“You better pray he didn’t,” Wilson growled.
“Can you lead us to where he took her?” Lambchop asked.
“I can show you the area on a map,” the man said.
“And Lilly? Where is she?” Lambchop asked.
“Stella came back and took her; she and Henning took her. Stella was pissed Henning took that Reina woman, but Henning has the upper hand, and Stella can’t fucking tell him no. Henning’s running things and Stella knows it.”
“Your name?” Lambchop pressed. “And don’t lie. Your prints will prove out who you are.”
“You lie and I’ll fucking bury you in the woods in a shallow grave,” Wilson snarled.
“Eddie Van Sloot.”
“If you’ve lied about anything, I’ll fucking bury you,” Wilson threatened. “And don’t think for a second I won’t.”
Jackson brought a map of the area up on the tablet that controlled the drone. He had it ready to send back out to search for Reina. He held it in front of Eddie Van Sloot’s face. “Where did Henning take her?”
“About five miles due west, there’s this gravel road that leads into a water conservation or overflow area along the Iowa River. There are these holes in the ground for water overflow. They’re deep, like ten feet deep and like six feet wide. The walls are steel. There isn’t any way for anyone to climb out of one of them. That’s where he took her, was going to throw her into one.”
“Yesterday?” Wilson demanded.
Van Sloot nodded.
Wilson did a mental calculation of the temperature over the last twenty-four to thirty-six hours and the expected drop in a person’s core temperature. It was currently twenty-eight degrees, the coldest it had been in the last three days. Knowing that a drop in core temperature of up to approximately one degree per hour was possible if she was not actively trying to generate body heat, she most certainly had suffered hypothermia by now. All special forces team members were well educated in the stages of hypothermia, including at what point death was imminent.
Wilson’s gaze met Lambchop’s. He could see the SEAL was also calculating the odds she’d still be alive. It was theoretically possible that her body temperature had dropped low enough to cause death. Every member of the Shepherd Security Team knew it.
Wilson nodded to Jackson. “Let’s get that drone in the air near those holes and find her.”
“Mother, you’re with me. The rest of you go find her,” Lambchop ordered.
The four men immediately left.
Mother leaned into Eddie Van Sloot’s personal space. “If you lied about anything, that man will kill you and we’ll let him.”
“I, I didn’t,” Van Sloot stammered.
“Now you’re going to tell us how to find Blake Henning, Stella Adams, and that little four-year-old girl,” Lambchop said.