Chapter 33
Operation Rescue
"For the last time, wake up!"
"What the hell?" Raylan defensively drew his legs in and put his arms up to protect his face and torso from the forceful kicks he was receiving to his boots.
"What the hell is . . . 'Well-Manicured Man' is waiting for us," Tim informed him. "You have ten minutes left to get your shit together before we take off without you."
"Isn't that guy from The X Files?" Raylan asked as sat up, scrubbing the sleep from his face.
"No. That was the Cigarette Smoking Man," Tim corrected his fellow marshal. "Here. I brought you some coffee. It's probably cold by now." He handed Raylan a Styrofoam cup.
"Thanks," Raylan said and took a sip. "You're right about the coffee. It's cold . . . and lousy. But you're wrong about The X Files," Raylan corrected him back. "There was the Well-Manicured Man, too. He was in the movie. The first one. And he was old. Weston is not old." Raylan sat up and grabbed his cell from the nightstand. No calls or texts. He then grabbed his service weapon and went through the checks.
"I call Weston 'Well-Manicured Man' because, despite going to Walmart to slum down, he still looks …"
Raylan stopped him. "I know for a fact Weston's not gay. He's engaged. Anna and I met his fiancée after one particularly long day on the task force. Gorgeous woman."
"Hmmph." Tim sounded unconvinced. "I told him not to shave. Even in Levis, a baseball cap, t-shirt, and a pair of work boots . . . his shiny fingernails and his 5 o'clock shadow makes him look . . ."
"Well-manicured?" Raylan stood up and walked over to the sink to splash some cold water on his face. "I think the term to use is 'metro.' You'll stay outta a whole lotta trouble if you'd remember that, please." After a beat, he asked, "So, Weston's drivin' us out near the compound?"
"Yep," Tim answered.
"Is it dark yet?" Raylan asked, brushing the rank tastes of the day chased by that lousy coffee out of his mouth.
Tim peeked out of the blinds. "It's getting there."
"Didya get any sleep yourself?" Raylan gave a final spit and rinse into the sink and threw some of the freebie toiletries into his Go Bag."
"I caught a couple of hours, despite your loud snoring," Tim again complained.
"Hey," Raylan shrugged. "It wasn't my idea to share a room with you."
"Mine either," Tim defensively explained. "It was the only clean room that was available, early this morning."
"You got your weaponry all catalogued, tested, and together?" Raylan asked, knowing he would depend on Tim for the heavy lifting.
"Yep," he nodded, cool as a cucumber. "Already locked and loaded into the vehicle. Everything is in place and ready to go. We're just waiting on you."
Raylan shoved his Glock into its holster and clipped it to his belt. "Let me take a quick piss, and I'm ready to roll."
-o-o-o-O-o-o-o
As darkness fell and her eyes adjusted, Anna made it out to a shed close to the fence line, hearing dogs loudly barking in the distance. Sheds held tools and tools could be weapons. Carefully, she inched her way to it. The smell of sawdust and paint stung her nostrils, and she smothered a sneeze, glancing around to make sure she hadn't given herself away. The shed door was ajar and she opened it slowly.
An electric saw lay in one corner, along with several boards, a jar of nails, and a heavy claw-hammer. Beside it was a lunch cooler, evidently forgotten by a workman. Ignoring the possible weapons, Anna opened the cooler: a warm, but unopened can of Coke and a package of Hostess Twinkies.
"Thank God," she murmured. She popped the tab on the Coke, drinking a huge swallow. For once, she was glad it wasn't diet. Calories weren't a worry at this point. She contemplated the pastry. Along with the high octane pop, it would give her a sugar rush, for sure, but that might not be a bad thing. She needed energy for the task at hand. Would the hammer help in getting through the fence? Maybe she could use the claw end to pry some of the wires far enough apart to wriggle through.
Tearing open the package, she took a bite of the first Twinkie. The taste took her back to elementary school and the rare occasions her mother would pack a pre-made treat. Hungrier than she thought, she wolfed down the cake, considered saving the second one, but ended up eating it, too, washing it down with about half the can of Coke. Stashing the can in a corner and covering it with a scrap of wood to keep out insects, she grabbed the hammer.
Anxious to get started, she carefully opened the door, glancing out into the almost complete darkness. The fence was to her left, the buildings lit by security lights behind her. She heard a motor idling, but couldn't pick out a vehicle in the darkness. Using the overgrown grass as cover, she made her way closer to the fence. Spotting a stick, she tossed it, testing to see if the fence was electrified. No sparks flew. Encouraged, she hooked the claw of the hammer through the wire and pulled.
-o-o-o-O-o-o-o-
Winona startled and sat up on her end of the couch, looking around. Adam was leaning on a pillow, the light from his cell phone casting a shadow across his face.
"Sorry," he murmured. "I didn't mean to wake you up. I got a text, but it was just my sister, Denise."
"Checking up on you?" Winona smothered a yawn.
"She's the oldest, so yeah, probably." He shifted, tossing the afghan aside and sitting up. "But she and Anna get along well – the best of any of my sisters – so she wanted an update." He tossed his phone on the coffee table with a clunk. "I've got nothing to tell her."
Winona chewed her lip and studied him. "I'm sure we'll know something soon."
"God, I hope so." He fidgeted. "So, how'd you meet Raylan?"
Seeing he was asking for a distraction – an adult's version of 'tell me a story' - Winona settled back into the cushions and told him about two Kentuckians closing down a Salt Lake City bar.
"That was kismet," he said. "What are the chances?"
She shrugged. "We both swore we'd never come back here, and yet . . ."
"Here you are." He smiled. "Anna and I had an instant attraction, too."
"How did you meet her?"
Adam shifted his weight, leaned forward, and smiled. "Anna was out on a blind date. Her date was this football player, a defensive back for the Ravens. A friend of hers at work fixed them up. Anyway, they went out to the same place where I was bartending, The Oceanaire Seafood Room over on F Street. I was serving them that night, and I could tell the date wasn't going well. Anna was rolling her eyes the way she does, looking very disinterested. She later told me he was all 'Honey this, and Honey that.'"
Winona interjected, "I've known Anna long enough to know that wasn't going to fly."
"But the best part was when her date pulled out a joint and lit it up in the bar!" Adam chuckled, trying to keep his voice down. "In front of an FBI Agent, no less! I suppose he thought maybe he was still in Baltimore, because that does not fly in D.C., not in a public establishment. No matter who you are. Anyway, Anna's eyes met mine and were clearly saying 'Help.'"
"Well, shit," Winona whispered, her hand covered her mouth.
"That is exactly what I was saying to myself," Adam continued. "I mean this guy was about 6 foot 5 and weighed at least 280 pounds of solid muscle."
"So, what did you do?" Winona asked, hanging onto his every word.
"Well, as the bartender, I had to ask him to leave," Adam continued. "And of course, he wanted Anna to go with him. To which she said, 'No way.' I guess he wasn't having a good time, either, because he finally did leave. I offered to buy Anna a drink on the house, she moved over to the bar, and we talked and got to know one another until the end of my shift. Like I said, we just clicked. Anyway, Anna's bad, blind date turned out to be my very lucky day. I went home with her that night, and I've been with her ever since."
"That's really a nice story," Winona smiled.
"How about you two?" He raised an eyebrow. "Did you and Raylan end up in bed the first night you met?"
Winona smiled and blushed. "Yeah. We did. Though it was more like in the wee hours."
Adam nodded. "When it happens that way, I think it's pretty powerful."
"You mean mates for life?" Her smile grew wider. "Like penguins?"
He chuckled again, "Yeah. Like penguins." After a moment of silence, he astutely said, "I don't like the silence."
"It gives the mind time to think," she offered. "I get it." After a beat, she said, "Hey, there's ice cream in the freezer. Want some?"
"Might as well," he said and followed her into the kitchen. He patted his stomach. "At this rate, I'm going to gain ten pounds by the time Anna gets back."
-o-o-o-O-o-o-o
Todd Weston parked the van, labeled Helmwoood Animal Clinic, off the road between the compound and the horse ranch about a mile from the back of the compound, and was in contact with Karen Goodall. He took on the role of lookout and sat in the driver's seat while Raylan and Tim sat crouched in the back with headsets on, listening to and taping a conversation coming from within the compound. It sounded like it was between two men.
"Whoa, Frank. That little nigger bitch did a number on your arm. Is it broken?"
"Don't know. I gotta go back to the hospital in a couple of days and have it x-rayed again when the swellin' goes down. Did ya' find her?"
"Naw. Jase and Cannon have been lookin' for her. The fence is on. The dogs are out. She can't leave." After a pause, the same voice said, "That bitch'll pay for what she did to you. I guarantee it."
"No! You leave that FBI bitch for me."
"Weston!" Raylan ripped off his headset. "We got it. Anna's there. She's escaped . . . somewhere on that compound. And they're gonna do 'God knows what' when they find her."
Tim, who was able to contain himself a little better than his fellow marshal added, "I recognize one of those voices. From those guys who were at Noble's Holler. It was the second voice. Frank."
"Frank?" Weston repeated. "Hold on a sec." He picked up his cell and dialed Goodall, giving her the name. She asked him to hold.
"Frank Edwards," she verified the suspect's name when she came back on the call. "He's the one I told Raylan about yesterday. One of Arndt's men. 42 years old. Caucasian. Six feet even. Brown hair, grey-green eyes. Served time for Murder-One. Has a minor nephew in his care. Caleb. "How the hell does that work?" she asked herself out loud, thumbing through the file, referring to a convicted murder having custody of a minor. "Ah. It seems his mother, Edwards' sister, is been in and out of rehab. Private hospitals. That keeps the custody issue off the CPS radar until she's past release." After a beat, she added, "Oh, and Edwards has a Celtic cross tattooed onto his scalp." And she sarcastically commented, "Charming."
Weston whipped his head around and relayed the information to Raylan and Tim. He could tell by Raylan's restless body language that he was chomping at the bit to make his way to the compound. Weston held his index finger up in the air, signaling to the marshals to wait. "Are you ready at my signal to pull the plug on the power at the compound? These two will first need to get into position."
"Ready," she answered. "I'll wait for your call."
After the call was disconnected, Raylan exited the van with Tim behind him, carrying his PE rifle with a night scope. The night was warm and humid, and the mosquitoes were out looking for fresh blood. The marshals were protected with DEET but still had to swat the flying pests away from their faces.
They crouched as they ran down the road, until they reached the corner of compound property line. Raylan pulled out his cell and texted Weston to let him know they were in position. Breathing heavily with adrenaline pumping, they waited until Raylan received a return text that the power to the compound had been cut.
Raylan was the first to scale the cyclone fence, careful to weave his thin limbs and torso through the barbed wire. Once standing up top on the other side, he met with sticker bushes closer to the ground. After maneuvering around those, he waited for Tim to follow, warning him about the bushes.
-o-o-o-O-o-o-o-
After tugging and pulling at the metal for what seemed like hours, Anna only managed to make a hole the size of her head. This was going to be harder than she thought. She wiped away the sweat from her face and swatted at the mosquitoes buzzing about her head. Lifting the hammer, she moved to pull another bit of the fence away when she heard the snap of a twig to her left. She slid to the ground, her back to the fence hiding the hole and clutched the hammer, ready to defend herself.
Another footfall and a grunt.
"Watch it," a voice came, oddly familiar.
"You're the one who ran into me, dammit."
Anna's pulse raced. She knew that voice. Raylan. Raylan was here. It was all she could do not to yell out her location. She held her breath, waiting.
"We should split up. You go that way, I'll go this way," Raylan said. "I'll meet ya' back by the truck in ten."
"Perimeter only," the other voice said.
Anna closed her eyes and pictured the young sniper but couldn't fetch his name, and hoped they didn't find those dogs.
"Perimeter only," Raylan repeated.
Anna watched the grass for movement and when a booted foot appeared she hissed. "Raylan."
Immediately, he crouched, peering at her in the darkness, his eyes impossible to read. They stared at each other for a long minute, saying nothing. Anna blinked back tears.
"Hey," he reached out, his hand cupping her cheek. "You okay?"
"Yes."
"They didn't hurt ya'?"
"I've got some bumps and bruises, but I'm okay."
"Good. Let's get you outta here."
Raylan helped her up on her feet and could see that she wasn't as okay as she wanted to be. He put his arm around her waist to prop her up and led her back the way he came, toward the fence.
Once they made it there, Anna stared straight up the fifteen foot, chain-link fence, in the dark, moonless night.
"Do ya' think ya' can make it up and over?" Raylan asked in a whisper. "I can help push ya' up."
"Hell, yes, I can make it," she said in a low voice, sounding more like she was trying to convince herself than him. She grabbed the wired fencing with the fingers of her cuffed hands to steady herself.
"I don't need to tell ya' . . . the faster we get outta here, the better," Raylan whispered, glancing behind him. Raylan crouched down towards the ground and laced his fingers together. He offered his clasped hands as a step for her foot.
Anna gladly accepted. She pushed her foot off of his hands, as she shoved the other toe of her athletic shoe into one of holes in the cyclone fence. Her leg hurt like a son-of-a-bitch, but her adrenaline was pumping hard and gave her the strength to push on. As soon as her footing was planted and secure, Raylan helped her push her other foot up higher. Once again, she shoved the toe of her opposite shoe into a wire hole. Raylan then bent over and offered his back as another steady surface for her to push herself off and up, climbing even higher.
Raylan stood up and next offered his shoulder to help her with the next step. Methodically, she moved up another leg length. Next, he reached up and pushed her foot off for the next step up, holding his hands up over his head. Anna was getting close to the top, only about six inches away.
The sudden sound of fast approaching, barking dogs came within earshot.
"Shit," Raylan uttered in frustration, directed at himself for not thinking ahead. Tim had all the laced animal treats with him in his bag.
Anna reached up and grabbed the top of the fence with her hands and pulled herself up another step. The barking was getting closer and closer by the second.
"Hang on tight," Raylan warned Anna, as he took a step back and took a run and a jump at the fence. He scrambled up until the deafening sound of the barking dogs was upon them.
"Owwww!" Raylan let out a howl of his own. One of the pit bulls had him by his booted leg.
Anna looked down. The dog had Raylan's leg in its mouth. It's strong, muscular neck tugged on the leg once, then, twice. Despite Raylan hanging onto the fencing for dear life, the third tug brought him tumbling down on the hard ground with a thud. Another dog came running at him, when he grabbed his holstered weapon and fired. The bullet grazed the dog's side, and it yelped and ran away into the darkness.
Anna could hear yet another dog running for Raylan, while the first one was shaking its head, wrenching the marshal's leg. Once again, Raylan fired his gun into the darkness, hitting the latest dog in the leg. It backed off.
As much as Raylan wanted to fire at the dog that had his leg, firing into the dark, he risked blowing his own leg off. He looked up at Anna, grimacing. "Go over," he ordered her.
She looked down at her brother in horror. "No," she said. She couldn't leave him.
The two were taken aback by the sound of a whirring bullet that hit the last dog. The shot had to have come from the sniper. Raylan leaned back against the fence, his leg now free and all the barking had ceased.
Tim ran up, rifle in hand. "Come on," he urged. "We gotta get over this fence."
Raylan pushed to his feet and took a step. His face screwed up in pain. The ankle would barely hold his weight. "No way I'm gettin' over that fence."
"We can get you over," Tim said. He looked to Anna for help and saw the handcuffs. "Shit."
"Go get Weston," Raylan said, checking his clip and re-holstering his weapon. "Maybe he's got a rope in that van. I think I could manage with somethin' to hang onto." His eyes met Anna's. "You go with Gutterson."
"No," Anna said, releasing her grip and jumping to the ground next to him. "I'll stay here with you."
Tim shook his head. "She sure as hell is your sister." He slung the rifle over his back and climbed the fence easily, slipping through the razor wire and dropping to the ground on the other side. "I'll be right back. Don't go anywhere."
"We won't," Raylan said, hoping it was true.
(To be continued . . .)