Chapter 21: Rescue & Reckoning

The heavy pickup swayed and bounced down the narrow track running past irrigation standpipes down the side of the hay field. Maria and her mother braced themselves with their hands clinging tightly to their shoulder belts, their other hands braced against the dashboard. Reese glanced in the rear-view mirror to see the Sheriff’s cruiser close behind, bouncing wildly.

“No parked vehicle in sight,” Reese noted. “Maria, how much do you know about what’s in that building, and the traps?”

“Not much, señor. We have heard the men — some who guard us, who carry guns along the fences — sometimes they drink, and they brag to us how anyone who comes will be hurt or maybe killed. And sometimes the Jefé, the manager, he gets drunk and calls for one of the girls, the ones to sell, and Mama said he say to his man to be careful, to remember the traps going inside or it would be very, very bad. That’s all I know, señor.”

“Okay, I understand. You stay safe in here while Sheriff Nelson and I will be very, very careful about entering the cabin. I know something about booby traps.”

“That is good, señor, but after you make safe the traps, Mama and I must go in or they will panic and some will scream if they see you and do not know who you are. Please let us go in and tell them that you are here to help them and not to take them or hurt them. They have been treated very badly. Some are hurt. Let us tell them first they will be safe.”

Reese and Sheriff Nelson stood by the bunkhouse door. There was no visible lock.

“Let me do a walk-around, Fred. If I can see in the windows, maybe I can spot an alarm panel or whatever else is inside the door. I don’t trust Brewster. God knows what surprises he’d let us stumble into.”

“Be careful! There might be something alongside the building to trip.”

“This isn’t my first rodeo, Sheriff. We lived, ate, slept, and breathed improvised shit over there. I doubt these home-grown assholes are half as clever. But yeah, I’m aware.”

Reese found nothing rigged outside the bunkhouse walls but he was disappointed to find the small windows painted over from the inside. No help there.

“Fred, can you radio your chief deputy up at the house?”

“Yeah. Let me guess. You need to ask Brewster something.”

“For sure. If you would, have him stand beside Brewster and rest his weapon barrel against Brewster’s head. Ask Brewster if there’s an alarm that we’ll trigger when we open the bunkhouse door. Suggest that if there is an alarm, it would be a good thing to give us the disarming code, and add that if it’s the wrong code and anything goes off, the weapon against his head will also go off. You okay with that?”

“Damn right I’m okay with it! I’m here too, fixin’ to be in deep shit if it goes sideways!”

Yes, there was an alarm. Yes, Brewster knew the disarming code. Yes, it worked. Reese carefully eased the door open, keyed in the disarming code, and stood looking carefully into the gloom. He saw six cages arrayed against the back wall with slumped and reclining figures barely visible inside. He scanned the walls down both sides from the doorway and down the sidewalls. A couple of feet down the wall from the alarm panel he saw an arrangement of light switches, six of them side by side on a panel.

“Fred, call again. Ask Brewster what the panel with six switches is for, and advise him that if he doesn’t tell us about all the traps in here, I’m gonna come back and finish the job Buck started with that nut-cord he’s wearing. That’s a promise. And I’ll force-feed him whatever gets yanked out on the end of that cord!”

“Okay, he’s got the message. He says the six switches are for pressure plates on the floor in front of each cage. Flip each switch to the ‘off’ setting. They are turned ‘on’ now so if anybody steps in front of the cage, the plate will trigger a dump valve on a propane cylinder. It will flood the cage and the area in front of it with ... oh, Christ! A massive dump of propane set off with a spark igniter! Propane’s heavier than air, Reese. It will flood down on the cage and incinerate whoever’s in the cage...”

“I should tell Archer to blow his brains out, right now!” Reese swore. “That diabolical son of a bitch!” Reese stomped back out from the open doorway and calmed himself.

“Call Archer and have him tell Brewster that he’s used up his last chance,” Reese turned and told Fred. “He should have warned us about the switch plates, as well as the alarm code. I promise you, Sheriff, if we run into one more trap or danger that Brewster knows but he didn’t warn us about, he’ll suffer! His trap may get one or all of us, but I swear to God I’ll find a way to see his nuts roasted over a slow fire and they’ll be force-fed to him before he’s shot!”

Sheriff Nelson radioed Reese’s words to Archer. “And tell Brewster that if Reese Adams can’t get it done, I’ll see to it myself, personally. And if I’m gone, Archer ... you’re to do it. That’s a personal request from me!”

“We’d better let the ladies go in ahead of us, Fred. I’ll go in and flip those trigger switches off and look for an actual light switch. I think we can believe there’s no more booby traps. Brewster may be a treacherous rat but he’s not suicidal.”

They found six girls ages 12 to 19, beaten, weak, and starved, too weak to stand or walk without assistance. Maria and Luce, her mother, asked to stay with the girls. They requested water and warm broth to be brought with blankets, many blankets for padding and wraps. Maria insisted that the girls not be forced to leave the cages until they could recover a little strength and someone could tend to their injuries. Reese and the Sheriff agreed. Fred would have to call for medical help and proper transport to carry them to the clinic for further treatment.

“‘Becca, call the clinic and ask ‘em if they can send two female volunteer EMT’s with their aid kits along with Deputy Miller? Then call the school district office and ask to borrow their smallest bus with a driver, one to carry at least ten passengers. We need it all, immediately, ‘Becca. Advise everyone you talk to that all of this is to remain confidential, by Sheriff’s orders. Okay?”

“Got it. Miller’s here with me. So I’ll be the only deputy not upriver with you, and I’m chained to the desk here. Should I call for backup?” Rebecca asked.

“Maybe call Billings, the State Trooper. If he’s in the area he could help cover. And call one of our SAR volunteers to man the desk while you go out on call. Your choice.”

“Consider it done. I’ll call ‘em all, the ISP and the SAR guy. I’ll let you know the bus and driver situation in a few. Miller’s already in his rig and headed over to the clinic to load up the EMT ladies,” she said.

Five minutes later Rebecca James radioed that a school district bus and driver were enroute. They’d asked that a deputy meet them at the Brewster estate gate to escort them to the transport scene.

“Reese, would you mind staying here to help with these victims? I’ve got to get back to the main house. This thing is spiraling out of control, way too deep and wide. It’s grown beyond my jurisdiction and its already stretching our resources. I’m aware we’re on really, really thin ice as far as who we can trust, but I’m going to bring in our FBI guy from Salt Lake. And I need somebody to take control of all those documents and ledgers and who knows what other evidence we’ll be pulling out of those safes.”

“Call your gal, Rebecca James. Her brother is the best CPA in the region and he can be trusted. ‘Becca would stomp him into a bloody puddle if he wasn’t,” Reese advised.

“Good idea. I’m headed up to the house. Help is on the way. As soon as those EMT gals say it’s okay to load our victims up, tell ‘em to transport direct to the clinic and bed ‘em down there. That reminds me — I’ll tell ‘Becca to call our SAR guys to set up a guard shift at the clinic. I’ve got a feeling we’re on the edge of unknown threats. This whole thing’s making my skin crawl!”

Sheriff Nelson knew that he and his tiny department were sinking in deep over their heads. He felt obligated to maintain as much control as possible but he needed help. First, it would be all but impossible to conduct the investigation or manage the people and resources from his inadequate county facility in the county seat town of only a few hundred people.

Hell’s bells, he realized. I’m sitting in the best, most secure, spacious headquarters building in the valley! Brewster’s estate is perfect. We can maintain perfect security here and we’ve got all the room we need!

As a prisoner, DJ Brewster would be a problem and might even be in danger if taken down to the county jail. And he wouldn’t be well located for interrogation in the public cell block. Ha! A cell block of three cells, one of them the drunk tank. Okay, we’ve got the perfect holding cell right here, he realized.