Part 55 (1/2)
”How many hostages are up there?” a patrolman asked me.
”Well . . .” I had to turn my phone off in the middle of Morgan's number. ”It's a religious group. There are hostages and there are followers. I don't know how many of each, how many are being held there and how many want to be there.”
”Oh great.”
”There could be as many as a hundred followers. There's a whole RV park up there.”
”Jonestown all over again.”
”Maybe.”
The patrolman moved on, barking orders to subordinates. I'd never seen so many cops appear so suddenly in the middle of the prairie. I punched in Morgan's number again.
”TRAVIS?”
I almost collapsed from relief. ”Morgan! Are you all right?”
”I'm fine. I just came in the door.”
”How are you? Where are you?” That conniving liar, I thought.
Sheriff Parker b.u.t.ted in. ”Where's the guy who drew the map?”
”Hang on, Morgan.” To Parker, ”Uh, I've got his mother on the phone right now.”
”Does he know the layout of the house and grounds? If he does, we need to get him up here. We'll send a squad car if he needs a ride.”
”All right. Morgan?”
”Yes, Travis.” She sounded impatient.
”I'm at the ranch-well, down on the highway in front of it.” More sheriff's deputies arrived, then some formidable police vans. I could see police officers in flak vests and helmets hustling up the hill in the dark, fanning out to contain the house and the RV village. ”The place is swarming with cops.”
”Are you all right?”
”I'm okay. I'm shaking a bit, but I'm okay.”
MORGAN DROPPED INTO THE CHAIR nearest the door, not bothering to take off her coat, a flurry of dark possibilities at the threshold of her imagination. ”Tell me what happened.”
She heard a quick recap of our excavation, what we found, and how all h.e.l.l was breaking loose at the ranch even as we spoke. She didn't hear about Cantwell's boast regarding her.
”Travis, can you leave? I want you to come home-I mean, go home-I just want you out of there and safe.”
”I'm safe, Morgan.”
”I want to see you safe.”
”We need Michael.”
”Travis, we are not talking about Michael, we are talking about you and where you are and how I feel about where you are!”
”The police need to know the layout of the house-you know, rooms, hallways, how to get in and out. Michael would know that, and he's good at drawing maps.”
Take a breath, Morgan, take a breath. ”I'm not sure where he is.” ”What do you mean?”
”I called your house but he didn't answer.”
”Oh brother. I tried calling him too. No answer.”
She was trying not to worry. She was failing. ”I'm going over there. He might be asleep. He's a sound sleeper.”
”Hey, that's what we can do: Swing by there and get him and then both of you come up here.”
”You can't be serious!”
PARKER WAS STANDING right by me, waiting.
”Morgan . . .” I still had Cantwell's vicious boast in my mind. ”I'd feel better if you were here. I mean, I'm surrounded by police, and right now I'd rather you and Michael were too.”
”You got him?” Parker wanted to know.
”Morgan?”
She gave in reluctantly. ”The Macon ranch?”
”Just head out the highway. You'll see the cop cars, believe me. And listen-” I told Parker, ”Uh, Sheriff, I'd count it a great favor if you could send somebody down to my place to make sure everybody's okay, that they get here all right.”
”Where do you live?” Parker didn't wait for an answer but hollered around, ”Anybody know where this man lives?”
”h.e.l.lo, Morgan?”
”I'm listening, Travis. I'm still listening.”
”Uh, hold on . . .”
Brett Henchle hurried forward, got a quick briefing, and volunteered. ”Uh, it'll be Morgan Elliott-you know, the minister lady-and her son-he used to be that radical prophet.”
”Don't worry.” Then he touched my shoulder. ”By the way: You were right.” He ran to his car.
”Morgan, Brett Henchle's going to meet you at my place to make sure you get up here okay, so just wait for him, all right?”
”BRETT HENCHLE? Travis, were you present when we discussed him?”
”He's snapped out of it. He's talked to Sally Fordyce, he's had to quell a riot, he's had to clean up wormy loaves of bread-and now he has a homicide on his hands. He's with us now, really.”
Everything was happening very fast and not at all sensibly. She put on the brakes, took a deep breath, and regrouped. Like it or not, it was time to rise to the occasion and take charge of her part in it. ”All right, Travis. I'll get Michael and wait for Brett Henchle, and we will meet you up at the Macon ranch.”
”Love ya.”
”Good-bye.”