Whirlwind

63

Lubbock, Texas

The FBI’s jet continued its dive.

Oxygen masks dropped from overhead. Grogan and Quinn heard alarms humming from the cockpit. Hail pinged on the fuselage. Quinn’s fingers dug into the armrests. Her stomach was pressed into her seat before the pressure suddenly eased and the alarms stopped.

Mercifully the crew had pulled the aircraft out of its steep descent and leveled it. Relief rolled through the cabin, and minutes later the Gulfstream landed at Lubbock’s Preston Smith International Airport.

“Sorry about the rough ride,” the pilot said as they taxied. “We’ve come upon a tornado watch, just bad luck. Be safe out there, guys.”

The jet came to a stop at an isolated hangar where a line of idling police vehicles from the FBI’s Resident Agency, Lubbock PD and the Hockley County Sheriff’s Office waited in the rain.

The SWAT members carried their gear down the plane’s gangway. After a quick round of greetings, the convoy roared along U.S. Route 84 for the thirty-minute trip to Anton, a small rural town of about twelve hundred people northwest of Lubbock. Soon the grain elevators, which stood beside the Santa Fe Railroad line rose from the flat terrain. Tires hissing in the rain, the vehicles rolled through the drowsy town, passing the beauty shop, the gas station and farm equipment supply store.

Along the way, Grogan and Quinn had slipped on their body armor and checked their weapons. The convoy was bound for a long-abandoned homestead known properly as the Vickerson Ranch, and a place to avoid. According to DEA intel, an outlaw motorcycle gang with ties to ex-cons operated a meth lab there. All of the best information and investigation gave the FBI reason to believe that the suspects in the kidnapping of Caleb Cooper had taken the baby to this location.

The vehicles had gone about a mile west of town when they’d stopped by a line of trees and a dirt road that ran adjacent to it.

Agent Steve Elling stepped into the rain and set up the command post. Steadying himself on the hood of an SUV, he found the target building in his scope through the distant trees. Keeping radio contact, he directed his squad to move quickly to set up a perimeter around the old residence. Hockley County deputies and members of Lubbock PD helped form an outer perimeter.

No other houses were in sight.

Next to Elling, Grogan and Quinn used binoculars to sweep the property as they braced themselves. Quinn’s stomach tensed at the thought of the baby being held here.

There was no phone associated with the residence.

Everyone was in position. FBI negotiator Andre Kuper was with the forward team. Elling radioed Kuper to call to the occupants over the bullhorn, and the air crackled.

“This is Special Agent Andre Kuper with the Federal Bureau of Investigation. We’d like the occupants to please walk slowly out the front door with your hands above your head now.”

No response.

With the weather-warning fresh in her mind, Quinn glanced at the darkening sky.

The clouds looked menacing.

As Kuper called a second time, SWAT team members tightened on the house, peeking inside windows with miniature dental mirrors.

No signs of movement.

Kuper called a third time.

Nothing happened.

Elling checked with his sharpshooters. None reported any movement; none had a clear shot. Several moments passed and Elling made a decision.

“Throw in some flash-bangs then assault and extraction. Go!”

Seconds later came the sounds of glass shattering, then the deafening crack-crack and lightning flashes of stun grenades followed by white smoke billowing from the house as the team kicked in the front door. Two SWAT members dived through the broken glass and rolled on the floor before coming up on their knees with the automatic guns pointed to fire. The rest of the team moved in a quick coordinated search of the building, breathing hard through the gas masks. Room after room yielded nothing.

“No sign of life here,” the team leader radioed Elling.

Elling turned to Grogan and Quinn. “Nothing.”

The two case agents then walked to the house in disappointment and joined the search. Discarded take-out food wrappers, yellowing newspapers and the layers of dust confirmed that the property had not been inhabited for months.

“Looks like we got this one wrong, Phil,” Quinn said.

Grogan stood there inhaling the acrid air of defeat. “What about that Varno guy you were telling me about, Nicole?”