A/N: An unexpected snow day today, so I finally had time to write.
Chapter 8
Despite Jane's anxious desire to immediately begin the assault on the Grizzly Island property, Cho and Rigsby convinced him to wait until nightfall, where they could better approach the hunting club under the cover of darkness. There was the unspoken belief that if Red John planned to kill Lisbon, she was likely dead by now, so waiting wouldn't make much difference in that department. But since there had been no word of a new body found in the shadow of a bloody, smiling face, they all had hope that the madman was keeping her alive. Maybe he was still of the mind to kill Lisbon in front of Jane as he'd promised, in which case Jane was in danger of being kidnapped too. This was why Cho and Rigsby agreed that he should come with them.
After a torturous afternoon of waiting, evening was drawing near, and Cho and Rigsby were getting ready to move. Cho had brought dark clothes just in case—a typical feature of his go-bag—and he was changing in the downstairs bathroom. Jane made his way up to the second floor facilities, but he paused by Rigsby and Grace's closed bedroom door. The couple was talking in quiet tones, but loudly enough for Jane to catch the gist of the conversation.
"I hate this," Grace was saying. "I wish I could go with you."
"Do you really want to?" Rigsby replied. "We agreed when we had Maddie that we would never again put both our lives in danger at the same time. She'll need at least one parent, right?"
"Yeah. Yes, of course."
"But hey, I don't want to be sexist. You've had just as much training as me for this kind of thing. If you want to go, I'll stay with the kids. Right now, I don't trust anyone but one of us to stay with them. So, you go with Cho, if that's what you really want."
There was a brief silence, and Jane cocked his head closer to their door.
"No," Grace said with a resigned sigh. "It makes more sense for you to. You and Cho used to be partners; that kind of simpatico on a dangerous mission like this could mean everything. So go, get Lisbon and bring her back to Jane. And kill that son-of-a-bitch if you get the chance."
Jane heard Rigsby's faint chuckle, then the silence that followed was telling—they were saying goodbye. Jane gave a fond smile before his face fell, remembering the kind of danger his own wife and child were in. Someday, he hoped they would have this conversation too, if he chose to go back to work for the FBI. Somberly, he went into the bathroom and shut the door before he could be caught eavesdropping.
Jane's concession to the nighttime mission was wearing a ski mask borrowed from Rigsby, and a black t-shirt beneath his charcoal suit—Miami Vice style. Cho and Rigsby were in full tactical regalia, including night-vision goggles and black face paint, both men armed to the teeth. They arrived at the island's private boat dock just as darkness had settled in, parking the rented SUV in the nearly empty parking lot. The plan was to "commandeer" a boat that would get them more quickly to the clubhouse by trolling down the slough. Cho and Rigsby had memorized the map of the area, had spent most of the afternoon planning the assault.
Quietly, they all disembarked from the vehicle, moving stealthily toward the docked boats. They knew there was a harbormaster, but they'd learned from social media that he was an old man whose hearing wasn't the best. He had a watchdog though, so the men kept their pepper spray at the ready. The gods smiled on them, for they were able to make it down the ramp without incident, despite the creaking boards beneath their weight, to the floating boardwalk where several choice boats were tied up. They chose a bass boat that had a small motor, thankful that the owners had left a half-full gas can at the ready, just in case. In the interest of quiet, Rigsby and Cho rowed with oars away from the dock, not starting the motor until they were in open water. Then, Cho at the tiller, they followed the slough as it narrowed and meandered toward the West Wind Duck Hunting Club. The air was unusually still, given that most evenings, the winds would rise around the island, bringing in the sea air and chilly temperatures, no matter the time of year. The windless night instead invited the fog, and it was eerie and disorienting boating into it, despite the night-vision goggles that were designed also for seeing through smoke and fog, at least to some extent.
Jane sat in the middle of the boat, the dampness of the air seeping into his bones. He shivered, but he knew it was more from nervousness than from the cold. He put his hands in his pockets, his fingers feeling the comforting cold metal of his borrowed gun.
Hang on, my love, was the mantra in his head.
Rigsby and Cho had considered this a sort of reconnaissance mission, to see if they could rescue Lisbon on their own, of if they would need to call in Hightower for reinforcements. If the odds were in their favor, they would go ahead and get Lisbon out. Jane would wait in the boat with a phone and earpiece, ready to make the call if he didn't hear from them in thirty minutes.
About a quarter of a mile from their target, they cut the motor and rowed into the dock of a neighboring clubhouse, not in use this time of year. The faint outlines of the dark building were barely visible through the fog, the tall marsh grasses, tulies, and cattails lined the bank, enclosing them as thickly as the fog.
"Wait here," ordered Cho to Jane softly. "We'll let you know what's going on when we get there," he said.
Jane nodded, then pulled the ski mask completely over his face and blonde hair, staring into the darkness through the eye slits, his unlit flashlight in his hands. His two brave friends walked up the boardwalk to the gravel road atop the levee, quickly disappearing into the fog.
"Damn," he heard Rigsby mutter through his earpiece. "It's darker than my mother-in-law's soul out here."
Jane grinned in spite of himself.
"I wouldn't say that around Van Pelt," said Cho softly. They continued on in silence, and Jane wished vaguely that he'd thought to bring a blanket. He took out his phone and set the timer for thirty minutes, turning the volume down to low. About five minutes in, he heard the sound of an approaching boat, saw the dim lights through the fog. They had to go slow to see clearly, and with their motor running on low, and by the way sound bounced off the water, Jane could actually hear the occupants speaking. He ducked down in his own boat, hoping the fog and the darkness would hide him.
"A boat's coming," he whispered into the mouthpiece to Cho and Rigbsy.
"We hear it," said Cho. "Stay down."
But as the boat passed him, he heard the concerned tone of a woman's voice.
"…if she's not well, we'll have to take her out of here on this boat. You have any blankets on this thing? Maybe a stretcher or something?"
Jane's heart pounded. Were they talking about Lisbon? This must be a doctor, or more likely a midwife, doctors not known to make house calls these days. Was Lisbon hurt, the baby in danger?
"The boss will have something if it comes to that," said a man, likely the driver.
As the boat moved on, he could still hear some of the conversation drifting across the water. The woman was agitated, anxious about taking care of her patient, but Jane couldn't hear any specifics. He almost bolted up the gangplank himself to catch up with Cho and Rigsby and go for Lisbon and the baby no matter who or what was in the way. He took a deep breath to try to stop the impulse.
"Lisbon might be in danger. Sounds like they've brought in someone to help her," he said quietly, though he couldn't disguise the fear in his voice.
"We're at the clubhouse now," said Rigsby, his voice barely above a whisper. "There are only about three guards out here that we can see. We'll take them out after the new people come in. Hang tight."
The next ten minutes were agony as Jane waited, his mind spinning, worry making him nauseous and shaky.
"Three guards down," said Rigsby, startling Jane with his suddenness. Dead? He wondered if they'd used nonlethal hits with their silenced weapons, if Cho wanted to avoid the red tape of killing people in an unsanctioned FBI mission. No, thought Jane, they wouldn't have wanted to risk them alerting the guards and Partridge inside. It weighed on him that Cho was risking his career for Lisbon, but he was grateful, immeasurably grateful.
xxxxxxxxxxxx
In the general excitement of the midwife's arrival, Cho and Rigsby were able to move, separately, around to the back of the clubhouse, both of them thankful that the blinds were all drawn and they could duck down the walkway on either side without being seen. It looked to Cho like this clubhouse had once been a boat of some kind, a river barge maybe, indeterminate years before, ingeniously beached here and turned into a house. A large deck stretched out over the flooded fields beneath it, the darkness and the fog encroaching around them hiding the view and their presence.
They met up again at the rear of the clubhouse. This side was dark, and they were able to take a peak in the glass back door. They could see down a long hallway all the way into the front of the house, and they hastily moved out of view when they saw the midwife, Rosalind Harker, and Bret Partridge enter a room halfway down the hall. An armed guard, a big, burley guy, stood outside the closed door.
Cho looked over at Rigsby in the green light of his goggles.
"We need to see if there are any other guards inside," whispered Cho, hating that they were contemplating going in blind.
Rigsby looked up. "Hey, the house is two stories. One of use could go in on the second floor. I saw outside stairs on the south side."
"Okay. Go up and go in if it looks clear. Looks like the main occupants are in what's probably Lisbon's room."
Rigsby nodded. "Copy that." And then he was gone.
Cho breathed in an out, his heart gently pounding with his heightened state of awareness. He counted the seconds, trying to predict when Rigsby would return, or for some sign that he'd succeeded in securing the place so they could rush in and save the day. The gun shot—not from a silenced weapon, shocked him into action.
"Rigsby?" he said into his mouthpiece. But there was no answer, and Cho's stomach dropped.
Xxxxxxxxxx
Lisbon sat up in her bed as company arrived inside, including a stranger, a woman Rosalind introduced as a midwife.
"Teresa," she said. "I'm Cora. Rosalind says you've been bleeding. You mind if I have a look?"
Lisbon's eyes shot toward Partridge, her recent encounter with his linoleum knife still very fresh in her mind. Mistaking her discomfort for modesty, Cora politely asked if he would leave.
"I think having a man here is making her nervous. She needs to relax for me to get an accurate examination."
Partridge hesitated, then: "I'll be right outside if you need me," he said tightly. With a blatantly threatening glance at Lisbon, Partridge exited the room.
Cora directed Lisbon to remove her pants and lay down, her knees open toward the foot of the bed, while she turned on the overhead light. She carried a small tote bag, and took from it a headlamp, which she secured at her forehead. When she lifted up Lisbon's blouse, Lisbon gasped. The fabric had stuck to the small cut on her belly, pulling as Cora pushed aside her blouse.
"What happened here?" asked the woman softly.
Lisbon met the woman's eyes, then looked meaningfully toward the closed door.
Help me, she mouthed, so Rosalind wouldn't hear her desperate plea.
The midwife hesitated, obviously torn. "Red John knows what's best," she said finally, averting her eyes. "Now, let's see if I can figure out what's going on with your baby."
Lisbon's heart squeezed painfully, and she lay back on the pillow, closing her eyes.
"Red John," said Rosalind from the corner of the room. "You don't mean Roy-?"
Obviously Cora hadn't been briefed about Rosalind's state of mind. She ignored the blind woman's question, focusing on examining Lisbon, then taking her temperature and blood pressure, listening to her heartbeat.
"Your vitals are all elevated," was her conclusion. "Probably from worry. You're still bleeding a little, but everything seems to be progressing normally. I recommend complete bed rest until the bleeding stops, then, take it very easy for the rest-."
But she was interrupted by the muffled report of a gunshot, coming from right above their heads. The sound of someone falling quickly followed, and Lisbon's heart picked up speed. Was this her rescue party? If so, who was shot?
She sat up, and the other women in the room turned white with fear.
They heard the door lock. "Stay in here," ordered Partridge from the other side. Lisbon numbly put her pants back on, her eyes going to the ceiling at the sounds of shouting and running feet. Itching to do something, she looked around the room for a potential weapon, and, seeing none, she turned to her companions, speaking quickly.
"Listen to me, Rosalind. I think my friends are here to rescue me. Now you can be on my side in this and I can tell everyone you had no idea I was held against my will, or you can be on Roy's side, and go down with him. He's Red John, Rosalind. You need to know this, to understand. I've said nothing to you because I was afraid of what he might to do me, to my baby, and I could tell you weren't ready to hear it. Cora, tell her who you're working for."
The midwife seemed in shock. Lisbon moved to stand in front of her, as a struggle ensued in the hallway outside their door. She grabbed the woman's arms, shook her slightly until her wide eyes flew up to Lisbon's. "Tell her, Cora."
"Yes, he's Red John. I—I was a member of Visualize for years, because it was a religion of peace. Then Red John took over and, and, we-we no longer had a choice—"
"No!" protested Rosalind. "He's Roy Tagliaferro. Teresa is giving us a baby so we can be a family." She began feeling her way back toward the door, and finding it locked, she pounded hard. "Roy!" she shouted. "Roy, let me out!"
Another gunshot echoed loudly in the hall. Rosalind jumped back with a startled scream, and Lisbon herded the other women into the bathroom, worrying that a stray bullet might make its way through the thin walls.
A few more loud shots, along with the faint ping of a silenced weapon, and all was suddenly, painfully silent. Lisbon stared at the closed bathroom door, her breathing rapid. She felt blood trickling out of her body, suddenly felt faint, and stumbled against Cora.
Fortunately, Cora seemed to have pulled herself together, and was able to steady her patient before she fell.
Sit down," she said, leading Lisbon toward the closed toilet seat. "Deep breaths, Teresa, deep breaths."
There was shouting from the hallway—Partridge's voice, and that of Muscles replying from the other end of the house. And then they heard a key turning in the lock.
Xxxxxxxxxxxxx
Jane heard the distant sound of gunshots at the same time they reverberated in his earpiece. He heard Rigsby grunt of pain in his ear at the same time Cho's voice echoed his own cry of "Rigsby!"
No reply.
"Should I call Hightower?" Jane asked.
"Yeah!" said Cho breathlessly. Jane got the impression the man was running. Jane pressed the button that auto-dialed Hightower. She answered on the first ring.
"Madeline! We need backup at West Wind Duck Club on Grizzly Isand, asap. Rigsby's down, and Cho's alone. Red John and his men are here with Lisbon. Hurry!"
No way Jane was waiting in the boat, and he scrambled up the ramp to the graveled road, than ran as fast as he could, phone in one hand against his ear, gun in the other. Cho was no longer talking to him, and he felt sick at the sound of another gunshot, then labored breathing he assumed was Cho's. Something had gone terribly wrong, and Jane's only thought now was saving his wife.
"Don't even think about going in there yourself, Patrick," Hightower warned in his ear.
"I've got a gun and I'm going," he replied. "Just get here as soon as you can." Then he ended the call, putting it on mute as he ran.
As he stumbled through the fog the quarter-mile to the West Wind, he was surprised when the lights of the clubhouse suddenly came into sharp relief, and he stopped, heart pounding, as he realized he had no plan. He backed again into the darkness, crouched low and waited to catch his breath, forcing his swirling brain to assess the situation calmly.
Rigsby and Cho were likely down. The midwife had come, so Lisbon must still be alive, at least twenty minutes ago when the woman entered the house. He'd overheard Cho and Rigsby talking about going up to the second floor, heard them comment about Lisbon and some others being in a room Cho could see from the outside. In the dim light that seeped from the blind-covered windows, Jane saw the walkway that led around to the back of the clubhouse. Retracing Cho's likely steps, Jane padded quietly on the wooden decking, his gun out before him, his ski mask still pulled over his face, hopefully hiding the brightness of his hair and skin.
He had just reached the same glass door Cho had recently shot open, when floodlights switched on, and Jane was momentarily blinded. He blinked, automatically covering his eyes with his left hand to block out the light.
"Put the gun down, Patrick," said a horrifically familiar voice. "I'm so glad you decided to join us..."
A/N: Now what? Stay tuned to find out. Thanks for reading.