Dixon pointed skyward. “See if you can find the chopper. I think I know where this road is, but if we can use the chopper’s spotlight as a beacon to pinpoint the house’s location, it may keep us from driving off the side of the mountain.”
Vail craned her neck back, forth, and side to side—but couldn’t make out what looked like a helicopter. She rolled down her window— and within three minutes, in the distance, she saw blinking lights hovering against the inky blackness. “There she is, two o’clock. No beacon.”
“Probably best if Cannon doesn’t know we’re on to him. Grab the radio,” she said, tossing a nod at the glove box. “Primary channel. See if you can raise the pilot.”
Vail found the secure radio—it was only three days ago she’d handled this very device while they were in pursuit of John Mayfield. That had turned out well; if they replicated those results, it would be a hell of a send-off back east.
She glanced at the dashboard clock. Running out of time. Two and a half hours. Nothing’s ever easy, Karen, is it?
“What’s their call sign?”
“H-30. Flown by CHP.”
“CHP H-30, this is FBI Special Agent Karen Vail and Investigator Roxxann Dixon with the major crimes task force. We have you in sight. Do you have us? Over.”
“That’s affirmative, Agent Vail. This is Ken Orent commanding H-30. SWAT is en route. ETA eighteen minutes.”
Vail managed a chuckle. “A lot of shit can happen in eighteen minutes.” She thought back to a time many years ago when she had uttered a similar comment over an open radio channel, then sweated the likely ridicule from colleagues. Here and now, she didn’t give it a second thought.
“Pull over, Roxx. I need your full attention.”
Dixon stopped the car.
“What’s your procedure out here?”
Dixon shoved the gear into park. “H-30 will circle the area until ground units set up a perimeter. The patrol sergeant has already requested that SWAT respond. The SWAT team’s made up of officers from the Napa sheriff and the Napa city police. But because we’re an unincorporated county, the Sheriff’s Department runs the show. They’ll draw up a tactical plan, which’ll probably include setting up a perimeter closer to the house. We’d bring in our hostage negotiating team to attempt phone contact with the suspect.”
“Doesn’t sound like eighteen minutes to me. It’ll take them at least as long to get themselves set up and plugged in. Besides, James Cannon doesn’t want to talk to us, Roxx. Right now, he’s tired and freaked out and hungry and on the run. The people in there with him are in extreme danger.”
“No argument there. Your point?”
“What do you want to do?” Vail asked.
Dixon stole a look at Vail. It was fast, but it said, “Are you fucking kidding me?”
Vail brought the radio to her mouth. “Commander Orent, how many heat signatures do you have?”
“We count five. Four are stationary, one is mobile. Judging by their movements, we assume Mr. Mobile is our suspect. He seemed to clear all the rooms and herd the occupants into a main area in the center of the house.”
Vail swung her gaze over to Dixon. “You think Robby’s one of those hostages?”
Dixon shook her head. “No idea. Either way, no matter who he’s got—”
Vail keyed the radio. “What’s he doing now? Over.”
“He appears to be pacing back and forth. Over.”
“We’re going in. Copy?”
There was a long pause. Vail was ready to rekey the mike to repeat when suddenly Orent said, “You are instructed to wait for SWAT. Over.”
Vail let the radio fall back to her lap. “Do we need them?”
“I don’t want to go in with drawn guns and start a shootout because of a mistake. We don’t even have the street address. And these people who live in the mountains . . . who knows what kind of rifles they might have?”
“How would you normally handle something like this?”
“Assuming they’d run it the same way they take down pot farms, the H-30 will use GPS to give us the coordinates, and the ground units would plug them into their portable GPS devices. That’s how.”
“You have a GPS?”
Dixon started to shake her head, then stopped. “Let me check.”
She jumped out of the car and rummaged around the trunk. A moment later, she returned with a small canvas kit. “I usually don’t have one, but I borrowed one a couple weeks ago from a buddy in the department and forgot to return it. Fire it up.”
Vail did so, then keyed the mike. “Commander, we’re concerned about the wait. That’s a very violent offender in there. But my purpose is not to debate this with you. We understand you will not assist. Thing is, we’re going in and we need the GPS coordinates. We don’t have the address. It’s dark out and these houses don’t have neon signs out front that say ‘suspect’s in here.’” She paused, waited, then said, “Of course, I’d totally understand if you refuse.”
As the seconds passed, Vail and Dixon stared out the windshield before finally turning to each other. “Maybe he’s thinking about it,” Dixon said. “Or calling for approval.”
“Unable to comply, Agent Vail,” Orent said. “Over.”
Dixon shrugged. “It was worth a shot.”
“May’ve been worth a shot, but it didn’t get us anywhere.” A second later, Vail said, “There!” and jabbed a finger at the windshield, indicating a house about a hundred yards away. Moving slowly across the roof tiles was a pinpoint green laser beam.
Dixon was about to jam the gear into drive, but Vail grabbed her arm. “Leave it here,” Vail said. “We’re too close. Let’s go it on foot. If Cannon hears the car, we’re cooked and so are those hostages. Unless he’s aware of the chopper tracking him—which is possible but not likely. That ATV is a loud son of a bitch, and the chopper was purposely flying at a high altitude. We’re probably okay.”
“So why’d Cannon stop?”
Vail checked the dome light to ensure it was off, then quietly opened her door. “He’s been riding for hours. Probably hungry, tired. And his ass and balls hurt, I’m sure.”
“You sure you want to go in? SWAT will be here in ten minutes.”
“We both know we should wait,” Vail said.
Dixon sat there with her door ajar—but didn’t move. “Right.”
A crackle from the radio. “Agent Vail, we’ve got activity. Two individuals moved toward the rear of the structure and it appears that one exited the premises.”
“Copy,” Vail said. She leaned forward and shoved the radio in her back pocket. “Well, that solves that.” And off they went.
30
Traversing the steep mountainside in the dark made moving along the hilly terrain at Herndon Vineyards seem like child’s play. Vail slipped and slid on the damp forest floor, pine needles and low-lying ferns serving as snow discs that propelled her down and forward.
This would do wonders for her knee. At the moment, it didn’t matter.
They were moving reasonably well as they approached the house, which sat below street level in a large gulley carved out of the mountain. The rear of the home was suspended on pilings, leveling out the structure. A muted dimness from within suggested it emanated from one of the inner rooms, where light had a tough time escaping the confines of walls and doors.
Vail had moved thirty feet ahead while Dixon moved more deliberately. As Vail evaluated the area behind the house, Dixon lost her footing on the incline and slammed against a narrow eucalyptus stalk, chest first.
“Shit,” she said between clenched teeth.
Vail pulled her gun from its holster. “You okay?”