Inside Out

93

Winter had decided to run ahead of the Cadillac carrying Sean. While he had kept it in view, Hank drove to Manelli's country home on Lake Pontchartrain, north of the Mississippi River. Hank pulled off the road and parked on a driveway that wound through a wooded lot across the road from Manelli's place.

Gazing between the trees through the binoculars, Winter had a view of the gatehouse and the driveway up to where it passed behind the hills. The deputy following the van had told them that the FBI caravan, now including the second Bucar, the Taurus, was parked just off the Interstate behind a Texaco station a mile away. Winter didn't think they were close enough to protect Sean.

Manelli's Cadillac came flying up the road, turned right at the intersection, and pulled up to the gate, which opened to allow the car to enter, then closed behind it. Winter, studying the lone gatekeeper, saw him reach up by the gate shack door and flip a lever before the Cadillac pulled away. The operator didn't move but watched the car. The vehicle slowed to a crawl to cross a low bridge, then the Cadillac sped off. Winter swung the binoculars back to watch the gatehouse and saw the keeper flip the lever back in the original position, then go back inside.

Winter had nothing but respect for Sean's bravery, her calmness under fire and her intelligence. He didn't want to interfere unless he was sure she was going to be harmed.

What was eating at him now was the fact that Sam Manelli had a well-earned reputation for staying one step ahead of everybody, so reckless or suicidal behavior-like bringing Sean Devlin to his home and killing her there-simply didn't make sense. Once Sean was inside his compound, Sam would be cornered, and if he killed her, he'd be stuck with the corpse of a person the agents knew was alive when she'd arrived.

Both Hank and Winter had binoculars up to their eyes.

“She's in the car, all right,” Hank said. “I can see her cap.”

“The guard at the gate flipped that lever again after the car passed the bridge,” Winter said.

“Some sort of signal, maybe? An alarm?”

“I don't know. Something about the bridge.”

The FBI radios fell silent after Archer learned that the Cadillac was back on Manelli's property. So far, according to the reports from “ears” to Archer, Sean had remained silent and only music had come over the air. After five minutes, Archer's calm voice came over the radio and asked for an update on the “cowgirl” and asked if the “range boss” was with her yet.

The voice filled the police radio. “She's in there, sir. I heard the car doors and the barn door closing. No voices at all. Just kitchen sounds and singing.”

“She's singing?”

“No, a man.”

“We wait for the words from the range boss,” Archer said calmly. “And then everybody will sit tight until I give the order to go in.”

“Something's wrong. I'm going in.” Winter could no longer force himself to believe everything was all right. He took a pair of earplugs Hank had brought him and inserted them into his ear canals. The plugs were fitted with a valve designed to close at any sudden loud noise while allowing normal sounds to enter.

“Sam's guys'll shoot you for trespassing.”

Winter's mind was suddenly filled with questions he needed answered. Where are all those bodyguards? Why hasn't Sean said anything? How do I know they knew that Sam was in there before this started?

“Cover me, Hank.” Winter sprang from the Jeep, ran across the road, scaled the fence, and sprinted across the lawn toward the house. Trammel opened the window and aimed the AR-15 at the gatehouse as Winter ran. Hank watched Winter through the gray curtain of rain.

The guard, visible through a window, had his back to Winter and didn't see him, but a well-hidden FBI watcher did. The voice that had first announced the covered wagon leaving the barn came over the radio once again. “Sir, Massey is over the fence, running toward the barn.”

Archer's curses filled the airwaves.

Hank pulled down the Velcro flaps exposing the large gold letters-U.S. MARSHAL-so the FBI didn't take him for an armed guard. Taking up the carbine, he climbed from the Jeep.

Hank was dropping down on the other side of the wrought-iron wall, when the caravan came roaring up the road from the interstate. Archer's Crown Victoria led, the Taurus third after the van. Archer's tires screamed as Finch made a sliding turn onto the road, then slammed to a stop at the gate. Archer held his badge out the window so the gatekeeper could see it.

As the gate opened, the step van arrived. A SWAT team member sprang out and wrestled the gatekeeper down, cuffing him. Archer blasted off down the driveway with the van trailing right behind him. The white sedan with FBI agents stopped to block the gate.

Hank crossed the wet grass heading for the driveway where it entered the hillocks surrounding the house. He was almost there when he heard an earsplitting explosion. He turned around to see Archer's Crown Victoria stopped and enveloped in a cloud of steam. Archer's head had made a six-quart-bowl-size impression in the passenger's side of the windshield.

The step van's driver swerved to avoid Archer's car, and went headlong into the gully. Its rear end rose dramatically as the grill slammed into the bank.

Hank stopped dead in his tracks, staring in disbelief.

The SWAT team members and FBI techs, who poured out the side door of the van and into the ditch, moved like they were injured, in shock, or both. As the steam faded, Hank saw that the front end of the Crown Victoria was mushroomed against the end of the bridge, which had risen into the air. There was little help he could offer them, but he lifted the phone and dialed Chet.

“You best order up a mess of ambulances to Manelli's house, Chet,” he said. “Damn near Archer's whole bunch is in need of medical attention.”

Sure his efforts were best put elsewhere, Hank turned and ran up the driveway, following Winter.