“Give us a minute,” David yelled out to the agent. “Then we’ll come out, Mr. Delaney, and we’ll talk. But just to you. No one else.”
He saw the lie. Even before David pulled the plastic bag from his jacket pocket, Eric knew there would be no meeting, no words exchanged. The sight of the red-and-white capsules made him light-headed and dizzy. No, this couldn’t be happening. There had to be another way. He didn’t want to die. Not here. Not this way.
“Remember there is honor in death,” Father’s voice came smooth and clear, the static gone now, almost as if he were standing in the room with them. Almost as though he were answering Eric’s thoughts. “You are heroes, each and every one of you. Satan will not destroy you.”
The others lined up like sheep to the slaughter, each taking a death pill, reverently handling it like hosts at communion. No one objected. The looks on their faces were of relief, exhaustion and fear having driven them to this.
But Eric couldn’t move. The convulsions of panic had immobilized him. His knees were too weak to stand. He clutched his rifle, hanging on to it as though it were his final lifeline. David, zeroing in on Eric’s reluctance, brought the last capsule to him and held it out in the palm of his hand.
“It’s okay, Eric. Just swallow it. You won’t feel a thing.” David’s voice was as calm and expressionless as his face. His eyes were blank, the life already gone.
Eric just sat there, staring at the small capsule, unable to move. His clothes stuck to his body, drenched in sweat. Across the room the voice droned on over the two-way radio. “A better place awaits all of you. Don’t be afraid. You are all brave warriors who have made us proud. Your sacrifice will save hundreds.”
Eric took the capsule with shaking fingers and enough hesitation to make David stand over him. David popped his own pill into his mouth and swallowed hard. Then he waited for the others and for Eric to do the same. The calm was unraveling in their leader. Eric could see it in David’s pinched face, or was it the cyanide already eating its way out of his stomach lining?
“Do it!” David said through clenched teeth. Everyone obeyed, including Eric.
Satisfied, David returned to the window and called out, “We’re ready, Mr. Delaney. We’re ready to talk to you.” Then he raised his rifle to his shoulder, taking aim and waiting.
From the position of the rifle, Eric knew without seeing that it would be a perfect head shot, without risk of wasting any ammo on a bullet-proof vest. The agent would be dead before he hit the ground. Just as all of them would be dead before David’s rifle ran out of ammunition and the mass of Satan’s warriors crashed through the cabin’s doors.
Before the first shot, Eric lay down like the others around him, allowing for the cyanide to work its way through their empty stomachs and into their bloodstreams. It would take only a matter of minutes. Hopefully they would pass out before their respiratory systems shut down.
The gunfire started. Eric laid his cheek against the cold wooden floor, feeling the vibrations and shattered glass, listening to the screams of disbelief outside. And as the others closed their eyes and waited for death, Eric Pratt quietly spit out the red-and-white capsule he had carefully concealed inside his mouth. Unlike his little brother, Eric would not become a box of bones. Instead, he would take his chances with Satan.
CHAPTER 2
Washington, D.C.
Maggie O’Dell’s heels clicked on the cheap linoleum, announcing her arrival. But the brightly lit hallway—more a whitewashed, concrete tunnel than a hallway—appeared to be empty. There were no voices, no noises coming from behind the closed doors she passed. The security guard on the main floor had recognized her before she displayed her badge. He had waved her through and smiled when she said “Thanks, Joe,” not noticing that she had to glance at his name tag to do so.
She slowed to check her watch. Still another two hours before sunrise. Her boss, Assistant Director Kyle Cunningham, had gotten her out of bed with his phone call. Nothing unusual about that. As an FBI agent she was used to phones ringing in the middle of the night. And there was nothing unusual about the fact that he hadn’t awakened her with his call. All he had interrupted was her routine tossing and