Never – Chapter 17
The lead car pulled to the side of the dark country road; the lights snapped off. The four tailing cars pulled onto the gravel shoulder behind it and did the same. Twelve of the thirteen passengers got out, gathering beside the middle car.
Colville Sheriff John Manley addressed the assembled officers. "Okay, fellas, the ranch is about a mile and a half straight down this road. As far as… Hathaway and I know," he said with a brief smile at his deputy, whom he had had to start referring to by his last name to avoid confusion with the Eureka police chief, "there's only one way in, and that's off this road."
A couple of the officers in front of him glanced down the darkened blacktop with troubled frowns. Hathaway handed his boss a large roll of heavy paper; the sheriff leaned over the hood of the car and unfolded it. Hathaway held up a large flashlight and snapped it on. "This," Manley explained, "is the best topographical map with property lines I could get my hands on so fast."
As a couple of the others held the corners down, Manley began to point out the salient features. "Here's the ranch… here's where we are, on this road right here… Now, it looks like there's a small, probably dirt road right here," he pointed to a thin brown line on the map that seemed to run behind the property. He turned to his deputy. "Ryan."
The startlingly young-looking cop stepped forward. "I've only been out there once and I don't remember it too well. But I do know there's a big house and some outbuildings. I know there's a big barn not too far from the house, and there's a few sheds for tractors and cars and that kinda thing."
"Boats?" Haseejian suggested with a dry chuckle, and the others nodded with snorts.
"We're gonna concentrate on the house," Manley took over. "There's probably nobody sleeping in the barn, or so we hope… not at this time of year. And we'll sweep it after we secure the house. So, I'm suggesting, and Chief Ryan agrees, that we'll have surprise on our side if we make a full-on front raid, lights and sirens, so hopefully we can confuse them into thinking there are more of us than we actually are.
"We need four of you guys," he looked pointedly at the two CSP officers, Beckett and Sanderson, and two Eureka officers, Boone and Martinez; all four nodded. "We want you guys to try to locate this back road and get as close to the property as you can. And we need make sure we're all on the same time so we can start the raid together."
He turned to the four officers again. "We'll give you guys enough time to try to find the road and if you can't, you can come back here and join us going in the front way." They nodded.
"Okay, good, we want to strike at 5." He looked at his watch. "Everybody got 4:12?" They all checked their own watches and nodded. "Okay good. You guys can get going."
Nodding, the four heavily armed cops, dressed in black and wearing bulletproof vests, headed towards the black-and-white State Police car.
"Okay, fellas," Manley turned to the others. "this is how Chief Ryan and I think we should proceed. I wish we had more time to plan this, and better intelligence, but as you all well know, time is not on our side right now."
For the next few minutes, the two commanding officers laid out their plan for the raid against the Crocker ranch. When they'd finished, Devitt turned and leaned in the open window of the car they were standing beside. "Did you get all that?"
In khakis, a black windbreaker over a checked shirt and a black Giants baseball cap, Mike was sitting in the back of the SFPD moss green Galaxie. He nodded. "Yeah. It sounds like a good plan to me. I just wish we had more time… and more men."
"I know… me too. Let's just hope we do have surprise on our side… and the Coast Guard can intercept that ship before they have a chance to radio ashore."
# # # # #
By 4:55, when there was still no sign of the other four officers, Manley and Ryan knew they were in position. The sheriff and the chief huddled with the others for last minute instructions. Then they broke for their respective cars.
Devitt slid in beside Mike, Healey and Haseejian in the front of the SFPD sedan. As Healey turned the engine over and started to follow the others, Haseejian looked into the back seat and met Mike's worried eyes. The sergeant nodded encouragingly and Mike managed a small tight smile.
About a minute later, Manley's lead car picked up speed; the others followed suit. Suddenly the lights and siren on the Colville PD car snapped on; Healey reached for the siren toggle as Haseejian turned the cherry on and slapped it on the roof over his head.
The four police cars screamed into the expansive and almost empty gravel parking area in front of the large white clapboard ranch house; the only lights they could see were a small carriage lamp on the wraparound porch above the front door and a large yellowish overhead on a pole in the parking lot. The first two cars sped around the house to the right, the second two to the left. A car stopped at each corner of the house; leaving the engines, lights and sirens running, the doors sprang open and seven of the eight cops, guns drawn, sprinted towards the porch and the front door. Shouts could be heard from the treeline; the four other officers were charging towards the house from the rear.
The SFPD sedan had ended up near the back of the house. From the back seat, Mike could see a quarter of the rear of the house, the back door, and the front and far side of the large red-and-white barn. There were three garage-sized outbuildings near the treeline behind the car.
In the dark, moonless night, Mike lost track of his black-clad colleagues as they stormed the house, unable to hear anything over the deafening cacophony of the four sirens. He thought he heard the splintering of the front door but he couldn't be sure.
Blood was pounding in his ears and he knew he was breathing too fast and too shallowly. Even in the cool night air, his palms were sweating as he gripped the back of the front seat. He closed his eyes and gritted his teeth in frustration; as much as he wanted to join his colleagues, he had a promise to keep.
He opened his eyes and sat back, breathing slowly and deeply through his open mouth. He was about to lean forward again when he caught movement from the corner of his eye. His head snapped to the right, in the direction of the barn, and he froze.
Someone was at the barn door. As Mike watched, the indistinguishable figure pulled the large heavy wooden door closed, lowering the latch and then disappearing towards the trees.
Mike looked back at the house. He couldn't see any of his colleagues but he still hadn't heard gunfire; hopefully things were going according to plan. He turned to look at the barn again. Every cop instinct was yelling at him, telling him there was something in the barn he needed to investigate and investigate now. Steve…?
He looked at the house, his chest heaving, his breath visible in cold night air. He had made a promise to Devitt, a promise he didn't take lightly. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, trying to stop the trembling that had suddenly begun.
Then, with one last regretful look at the house, he opened the back door and crawled out. The simple act of getting to his feet was painful and he put his left hand across his bandaged stomach as he stood up. Leaving the door open, he moved as quickly as he could, or dared, towards the barn.
He could hear shouting coming from the house as he got to the large wooden door. Checking over his shoulder to make sure he was still alone, he lifted the latch and, gritting his teeth against the pain, pushed the tall heavy wooden door along the track just far enough so he could squeeze past it into the pitch-black barn.
There were spaces between the boards on the walls and thin, weak beams of light from the parking lot shone through. He stood still, listening, waiting for his eyes to adjust to the dark. Eventually he could make out the thick posts holding up the mow, empty standing stalls along the back and stacks of straw against the side walls.
He took a few tentative steps forward, unsure of his footing. He was looking for something, anything that was out of place. The sharp report of a gunshot reached his ears and he straightened up and froze, unconsciously holding his breath. His heart began to pound again.
Galvanized, he took a few more steps forward, his eyes raking the walls and floor. He had reached the ladder to the mow and was just about to put his foot on the bottom rung when his roving gaze caught something unusual on the floor to his right.
He crossed to it and, trying to ignore the pain, dropped to his knees, brushing aside the straw and dust. It was a large metal ring screwed into the wooden floor. With renewed vigor, he started to brush away more of the debris, ignoring the thin splinters of wood and straw that pierced his skin or drove themselves under his fingernails.
Within seconds he had uncovered the edges of a large trap door. Standing, setting his jaw for what he knew was going to be a painful task, he grabbed the metal ring and began to lift the door. It was heavy and, as he strained, he felt something snap in his stomach, radiating out in an agony that almost dropped him to his knees. Trying to stifle the scream of pain that threatened to erupt, he bit his bottom lip, held his breath and yanked the door high enough for momentum to take over and it slammed open onto the barn floor.
Briefly incapacitated by the pain in his belly, he let himself sag to the floor, trying to control his gasps, knowing he was still racing against time; he had no idea who had the upper hand back at the house. This could be his only chance. If anyone other than his colleagues had heard the deafening bang as the trap door hit the floor, his presence would be discovered in a matter of minutes, if not seconds.
He couldn't see into the black expanse below. He reached into the dark just beyond the lip and he felt what seemed to be a step. If there are stairs, there must be a light somewhere, he thought, trying to keep focus. Moving gingerly, he sat on the lip, swinging his legs down onto a lower step and feeling around on the wall to the right. His fingers found the toggle of a light switch and, with a slight gasp and quick, triumphant smile, he snapped it on.
Weak light filled what seemed to be a large room spreading out below him. Putting his feet firmly on the step, he carefully pushed himself up. Everything suddenly swayed and he reached out to grab the edge of the trap door opening; black spots swam before his eyes and his legs felt rubbery. Bile rose in the back of his throat and he closed his eyes, trying to stay on his feet and not throw up. He put his free hand against his jacket over his stomach; he thought he could feel something warm and moist against his skin but decided to ignore it.
Taking a deep breath, he opened his eyes, took his hand off the wall and made his way slowly down the stairs. Fetid air assaulted his nose and he almost gagged as he finally reached the floor of the large cavernous space.
Still trying to make out concrete shapes as his eyes raked the room, he took a tentative step forward then stopped. In the far corner he thought he could see what seemed to be bars.
As quickly as he could he crossed the dirt-strewn floor, his eyes widening and heart pounding as he got closer. It was a cell, the thick metal bars recessed into the walls; and someone was inside.