Part 54 (2/2)
Both Parker and Henchle were ready to listen. We tumbled out of the Trooper and then stumbled over each other's sentences trying to tell our story: Morgan/Dee/hostages/buried car/dead Brandon/cult situation/dangerous.
Henchle sniffed a bitter chuckle. ”We came up here to arrest him for a.s.sault. The Sally Fordyce thing.”
”He's got Morgan,” I repeated.
”And he's got Dee,” Jim hollered.
”So we've got problems,” said Parker. ”We need to contain the area. Where's that other road onto the ranch?”
Kyle pulled out Michael's map of the ranch and Parker studied it with his flashlight, speaking into his shoulder mike. ”North 102, mile marker 20. Look for a gate.” He asked us, ”How far does this road penetrate before it splits?”
”About three miles,” I replied.
”How far to the ranch house from there?”
I had to admit I didn't know. Michael didn't tell us.
Brett Henchle had a cell phone of his own. He was flipping through his notepad. ”I've got the ranch's number here somewhere . . .”
I saw flas.h.i.+ng lights come around the distant corner to the south and more coming over the horizon to the north. Parker was getting his backup.
”Kyle.” I reached for my phone, still in Kyle's hand. I punched in my home number. ”I'll get Michael on the phone. Maybe he can tell us some of the distances on that map.”
Brett Henchle got through. ”h.e.l.lo? This is Henchle, Antioch police. Who am I speaking to? Matt?”
We looked at each other. Matt Kiley!
”Matt, this Brett Henchle. Somebody just shot at us.” Brett crinkled his forehead. He was hearing a bad response. ”Now just calm down. You don't have to shoot anybody, n.o.body's going to do anything that stupid. We're going to talk about it, that's all.”
I wasn't getting an answer at home. I ended the call. ”Is Morgan up there?”
”What about Dee?” asked Jim.
”Put your sidearm in your vehicle and leave it there,” Parker warned.
”Is Morgan Elliott up there with you?” Brett asked. ”Travis Jordan wants to know.” He heard an answer, then handed me the phone. ”He wants to talk to you.”
”h.e.l.lo, Matt?”
Matt's voice was agitated, his words rapid, as if he were back in the foxholes of Vietnam. ”They aren't coming anywhere near Brandon, Travis! If they come up here I'll shoot 'em!”
”Okay, okay. Listen, n.o.body's moving right now, we're just sitting down here trying to figure out what to do. . . .”
”They're not going to arrest him! That man gave me my legs!” ”Okay. Message received. Matt, can I, can I talk to, uh, Brandon? Can you get him for me?”
”He's here. He's here in the house.”
”Well can I talk to him?”
”He's on the other line.”
”What other line?”
”You know, the other line, line two. We've got two lines up here.” Who in the world could he be talking to?
”What's he saying?” Brett Henchle wanted to know.
I waved to Brett and the others to stand by. ”Uh, Matt, have you seen Morgan? Is she all right?”
”Dee!” Jim whispered at me.
”How should I know?” Matt came back.
”Well is she there?”
”DEE!” Jim hissed.
”No. She's not here. Dee's here.”
”She's there,” I told Jim.
Jim tried to grab the phone, yelling at it, ”She'd better be all right, you hear me? You touch her and I'll kill you, so help me G.o.d!” With Kyle's gentle help I got the phone back. ”Sorry, Matt. You've got some folks really upset down here.”
”Dee's okay,” said Matt. ”Tell Jim she's okay.”
”She's okay,” I told him.
”But I'm gonna do what I gotta do, Trav. I mean, I lost my legs once trying to fix the world, and I can do it again.”
”I understand.”
Brett took the phone back. ”Yeah, Matt? This is Henchle. Listen, we've got no gripe with you. But Nichols has some really terrible things to answer for, some things you don't know about. No, I'm not lying. Matt, come on, you don't want to be an accessory. All you have to do is put your gun down and walk out of there. . . .”
”Why aren't we talking to Nichols?” Parker asked.
”He's on another line,” I said. ”The ranch has two lines.”
”Well let's get the number!” He started signaling Brett.
Other cars were arriving, lining the highway shoulder with lights flas.h.i.+ng. State police and sheriff's deputies were blocking off the highway, working the airwaves, scrambling for containment.
I got my own phone out, praying that Morgan would be at home.
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