Page 68 of Missing

“You aren’t to let her out of your sight,” he ordered Dean, “Cuff her if you have to.” There was no bite behind John’s bark, but it added weight to his threat nonetheless.

“Yes, sir.” Dean answered, as Beth thanked John.

That settled, we paired up, with Maxwell and Jones joining us this time, and left for the cabin. Dean was told to wait five minutes after we left before escort Beth to the agreed upon location.

I kissed her forehead before breaking the hug. I wanted nothing more than to promise her this would all be over soon and we’d bring Chase home to her, but I couldn’t.

Beth reached up and touched my cheek. “Thank you.”

#

Once on site, John let Jones take command. It felt weird taking orders from the FBI, but it made sense. This was now an official FBI case, even if they weren’t treating it as such. If they had; SSI would’ve been benched.

We parked on the road, near the end of the driveway, did a comm check, and made our way on foot to the edge of the tree line surrounding the cabin. It wasn’t a thick forest, but there were enough trees to provide a natural cover line. From our position we could see movement inside, but the thin curtains prevented us from making a positive ID. John, Jamie and AJ circled around back.

“Smith’s vehicle in back. Curtains closed. No visual on Pan.” John’s voice was scratchy in my earpiece.

“Copy that,” Jones replied.

He gave our team quick orders.

Jones and Maxwell would take the lead, and breach if necessary. Jack and I, Sierra Three and Five over comms, would be right behind them. The guys in the back would cover the door, but not enter unless ordered to. We were concerned about Smith’s reaction if we breached both doors at once. She might not want to hurt Chase, but she was unstable—panic and desperation could make a person erratic.

We were doing this by the book, giving her a chance to turn herself in. We wouldn’t break down the door unless we had to. Our goal was to take Smith alive, with minimal violence. She was a grieving mother who needed help, not a hardened criminal.

And the last thing any of us wanted was for Chase to see someone shot or killed in front of him.

“Foxtrot moving to front door, Sierra Three and Five on our six. Sierra One, hold your position. No one leaves this house.” Jones started moving as soon as he gave the order, Maxwell close on his heels.

We crouch-jogged across the driveway, scanning the windows as we went. If she happened to look out and see us, we’d lose the element of surprise. The plan was for Jones to knock politely and ask her to come out, hoping the presence of the FBI at her front door would be enough for her to realize there was no way out.

Jones knocked on the door. His voice politely authoritative, “Mrs. Smith, it’s the FBI, open up.”

No response except a silhouette moving inside. Still no sign of Chase.

Jones pounded on the door, and yelled, “FBI, open up!”

We could see movement in the house, but she didn’t answer the door.

“Sierra One, confirm your position,” Jones’ voice echoed as I heard him live and over comms.

John confirmed, “Sierra One in position.”

Jones tried one more time, hammering on the door and yelling like a cop in a movie, “We have the cabin surrounded. Come out with your hands up.”

No response.

Jones tested the doorknob, just in case. Locked.

“Sierra Five, on three, kick it in,” Jones said as he moved out of the way.

I got in position, nodded, and waited for his count. My pulse pounded in my ears as Jones and Maxwell moved into position on opposite sides of the door. They’d have a line of sight into both sides of the room when I kicked the door open. Their eyes were already focused beyond the door.

I shut down my fear and focused on the job.

“Foxtrot One breaching, on my mark,” Jones’ voice was low but clear.

I waited, like a cat ready to pounce, as Jones counted. “Three. Two...”

---