32. Reed
Reed
M oonlight spills through the clouds in long, silver bands. Not enough to see clearly, but enough to cast eerie shadows across the pine trunks. We're crouched in a gully a little northeast of the old Steadfast silver mine, two ridgelines away from the trail the kidnappers took.
It's quiet now. Real quiet. We'd watched them through the night vision goggles.
Three goons. Two we'd not seen before and the big lad that had accompanied the sheriff into our kitchen and carried the briefcase.
We could tell it was him from the size and shape of his outline.
He could have body-doubled as Jaws from the James Bond films. We'd already agreed that Lennon would tackle that guy.
That left two more—one each for me and Dean.
No Sinclair though, and no Grace either, that we could see.
But we're confident she's here all the same, else why would they be here?
She's probably asleep, drugged even. Whatever.
We'd soon find her, with or without their help.
One of the smaller two had lain down a while back, leaving two who appeared to be staying awake on guard.
The big guy was over to the left, seated on the ground, chain smoking cigarettes, the glow of the lit end brightening regularly as he sucked the smoke through into his lungs and exhaled.
The other guy was obviously nervous. Constantly shifting around.
Starting up at the smallest noise from the surrounding forest. We'd need to make sure we got to that one quickly, so he didn't raise the alarm.
We've gone over the plan a dozen times. We'll wait until 2am, then move in fast. Hit the lookouts first, then take the mine.
It's a basic setup—nothing fancy—but we're counting on the element of surprise and a lack of skill on the other side.
These aren't professionals. Hell, they didn't even try to hide their tracks.
Dean's eyes meet mine in the dark. He raises a hand, three fingers splayed.
Three minutes until kick-off. I nod back.
Our watches are synchronized, we all know the plan.
For the millionth time, I check through my equipment.
All good. All ready. I concentrate on breathing regularly and evenly.
Now is not the time to get over-excited.
Still, there's tension in the air. A kind of prickling at the base of the neck.
Like the forest itself is holding its breath.
The raid goes clean. Almost textbook.
Lennon takes down the first guy—the big guy—without a sound.
A knife pressed to the windpipe, a whisper in the ear, a zip tie.
Done. I take out the nervy guy with a choke hold that sends him to sleep before he even knows what's happening.
Took me several minutes to wriggle into position.
Came up right behind him. He may have been keeping a watch, but he didn't hear me coming!
One flashbang is thrown into the mine building, and even as it explodes, Lennon lights a flare and flings that in too, just as the three of us sweep into the mine building like a storm, weapons drawn.
Two more are inside, one who had been snoring on an old camp mattress, the other—presumably the one we'd seen outside earlier—nursing a flask near a lit stove.
They didn't stand a chance, since they were still recovering from the shock of the flashbang, their eyes blinking from the light of the flare.
Within moments we'd dropped them, zip-tied their wrists and ankles, shoved a rag into each mouth and covered their heads with a black bag, then laid them down, side by side.
We scour the room. No one else. We look at each other. What now? Dean points to me and then nods to the right, then to Lennon and nods to the left. We each head in the indicated direction, opening doors, checking cupboards, looking for anything that might tell us something.
"Here!" A shout from Dean. Lennon and I turn to look. He's holding up a little doll, no taller than perhaps four or five inches high, dressed in a yellow and white striped knitted sweater and yellow pants. "This is hers, right?"
Lennon nods. "Yeah, that's her Labubu doll. I bought it for her last week."
So now we know for sure Grace had been here… but where is she now?
Shit!
We head for the outbuildings, search every corner. Lennon tears the place apart. "Where is she?" he growls, gripping one of the men by the collar. "Where's my daughter?"
Blank stares. Panic. One guy wets himself. Suddenly, Dean crouches, brushing at the dirt. "Footprints," he mutters. "Single set. Fresh. Headed out. Carrying a load, I'd say."
Lennon's face goes pale. "Someone got away. With her."
We look at each other, despair creeping in.
Failure!
The three of us pack our kit and head back down the mountain, shoulders heavy, heads down.
I can hear Dean cursing. Lennon of course says nothing, but the look of abject misery on his face does all the necessary talking.
We'll pick up Hailey on the way down, and then regroup at home, plan our next move.
We're in single file, following the track and getting close to where we expect to find Hailey, Dean in front, when suddenly he freezes, holding up his hand. Instantly, Lennon and I unshoulder our rifles, and Dean draws his Glock, crouching low in the same movement.
"Up ahead," he murmurs—a murmur travels far less distance than a whisper, due to the reduced sibilance. It's something we learn in the SEALs induction training. "Something on the ground. I can't make it out, but it's moving about."
We nod. We can all see the strange shape now, in the dark. We don't have our night vision on, but there's no time for that.
"Cover me." Lennon and I split. This time Lennon goes left, I go right, our rifles trained on the odd shape ahead.
It's bulky, and it's sort of cocoon-like, and it's…
well it's sort of wriggling. Then I hear a moan.
A distinct moan. A man's moan, too deep for a woman, and definitely not a child. What the fuck?
Then a voice beside me, right in my ear says, "You took your time."
"Jesus Christ!" I almost shit myself. Standing right next to me, as large as life is Hailey. "Hailey! What the fuck?"
Then I hear a giggle, and right beside her is little Grace, dressed in pink PJs and a dark blue hoodie that's about twenty sizes too large for her. "What the Hell's going on?"
"Hey!" A shout from up ahead. A torch plays on the form on the ground.
I can see now what it is. "It's a man. Inside a sleeping bag.
" This from Dean. Lennon says nothing, he's picked up Grace and he's hugging her like he's never gonna let her go again.
There're tears in the big man's eyes. But there's laughter in her eyes.
"Okay, okay," Dean says. "Settle down everyone. Now… Hailey—what the fuck has been going on here? For a start, who's the guy in the sleeping bag… and why is he in the sleeping bag? And how come Grace is with you? Why didn't you hide and wait for us, like we said?
Hailey smiles sweetly. "Which question do you want me to answer first?"
"Okay, okay. Just give me the summary. But make it snappy."
"Yeah," I say, "this I have to hear."
"Alright, well it's like this. You left me here as planned, and I made myself comfortable, because I knew it would take you a good forty-five minutes or so to work yourselves around the mine and into position.
I kept my eye on the time by my cell phone, and sure enough, about fifty minutes or so after you left me, I heard a massive commotion—first a huge bang like a grenade going off or something?—"
"Our flashbang," interrupted Dean.
"Right, whatever. Then some shouting and bumping around.
Then it went quiet again. So, I thought great, the boys must have succeeded.
I got myself ready because I knew you'd be along any minute, but ten minutes went by, then another ten minutes, and then another ten minutes, and no sign of anyone coming down the track.”
"Yeah, we couldn't find Grace. We were searching the place. Pulling it apart looking for her." I explain.
"Right. Well of course I didn't know what had happened. But then, as I am beginning to wonder what I should do, I make out the outline of someone coming down the track, and it's a man, and he's carrying a bundle that's exactly Grace's size, because… well because it is Grace."
"Yeah," says Grace smiling "It was me. He was carrying me. The bad man."
"What bad man?" I ask. But before Grace can answer, Hailey picks up the threads of her story again.
"Well, what happened was, I assumed it was one of you three, so I stepped out onto the track and said 'Hi'.
But I must have scared the shi… I mean scared the living daylights out of the guy—to be fair he was probably already in a state of nervous shock after you three had finished your sound and lights show.
So anyway, he cries out and kinda drops Grace, who promptly kicked him in the nu… in the groin?—"
"Yeah, right in the groin, Daddy, like you taught me."
I glance at Lennon, there's a hint of pride now in his face, and like me, he's grinning. What a story!
"Go on. So who's the man, and how come he's in a sleeping bag?"
"So I turn on my headtorch and of course I instantly see I was wrong—it wasn't any of you. It was Sinclair."
" Sinclair? " Dean almost shouts, glancing down at the packaged-up figure in the sleeping bag.
"Yep. So I gave it to him, full in the face with the bear spray."
"You did what?"
"I pepper-sprayed him. The whole lot. Right in the face. It was the full power version too— Sabre Frontiersman . The guy in the store said it would drop a grizzly at thirty-five feet. I don't know about that, but it certainly did the trick on Sinclair from two feet away."
By this time the three of us are staring at Hailey, flabbergasted. I can't help it, I burst out in fits of laughter.
"Seems like you didn't even need us," I choke out. "Seems we turned out to be just the diversion, guys. All the real action happened down here."
Even Lennon is smiling, though he hasn't put Grace down yet.
"So then what happened?" Dean asks.
"Well, you see, when we were back in my kitchen, I'd reasoned that if we caught up with Grace in the middle of the forest at night, she might be cold, so I'd grabbed my sleeping bag on the way out and shoved it into my rucksack." We nod to show we understand.
"Well, it's one of those camping ones—you know, a close-fitting bag with a zip up the side and a drawstring so only your nose peaks out.
So anyway, whilst he was still barely able to breathe from the pepper spray, I sat on him, and Grace took off his boots and threw them somewhere…
" She looks around vaguely as if to see if she can spot them.
"Who gives a shit where they got to? What happened after that?
" Dean is impatient to hear the story, and I must admit, so am I.
I don't think I've heard anything so funny in all my life.
That bastard Sinclair, overpowered by a girl with bear spray, and then having his boots removed by a child? You couldn't make this shit up!
"Yeah, right. So then between us we bundled him into the sleeping bag, zipped it up tight, and tied a knot in the drawstring so he can't undo it. Not that he could anyway, because we used his belt to tie his wrists first?—"
"Yeah," shouted Grace gleefully. "So his pants fell down. And he wasn't wearing any under?—"
"Okay, Grace." Hailey interrupts her quickly, and now I can't contain myself any longer, I am doubled up in laughter. Shaking with mirth. Even Dean is smiling by now, and it takes a lot to make Dean smile, especially on an operation.
"So then we sat on him."
"You sat…?"
"We sat on him. The two of us. And waited. Well—we didn't want him to escape. And anyway, the bushes around here are pretty thorny. He was more comfortable."
I am pounding the ground. More comfortable … oh my God!
"Eventually, we heard noises of people coming down the track, so we thought we'd better hide again. Turned out it really was you this time. And… well… that's it."
What an incredible story. And what an amazing end to our adventure, We've rescued little Grace and we've captured the enemy. A perfect outcome after all. And who does the credit belong to? Hailey! What a woman.
Just then, Grace lets out a huge yawn.
"I'm tired, Daddy. Can we go home now?"