Chapter 84

CHAPTER 84

“ MARGARET! ARE YOU hurt?” Poe saw Holmes dodge the squirming masked figure on the ground and grab Marple by the shoulders.

“I’m fine,” said Marple, lowering the canister and twisting out of Holmes’s grasp. “I told you,” she said. “I’m fine.”

Poe’s heart was thudding, and his ears were still ringing. He looked around. It took him a second to grasp that the shooting had stopped.

In the aisle behind him, about ten yards away, the perp was lying on the concrete floor, still oozing blood. Same with the two dead shooters at the other side of the warehouse. Unmasked now. Both women. Off to the side, a SWAT cop barked into his shoulder mic. “Target secure. Three KIA. One in custody.”

“Who are the KIAs? Any IDs?” It was Quinn, pushing his way through the ring of cops. Duff was two steps behind him. Holmes tucked his pistol back into its holster.

“Three women,” said Holmes.

“All women?” said Duff.

“These are just acolytes,” said Marple. “We’re nowhere near the mastermind. But based on a lead from Scotland Yard, I think the mastermind is also female.”

Poe knelt down to yank the mask off the contorted figure on the ground. Another woman. She was clawing at her eyes, her teeth clenched in pain.

Marple grabbed a water bottle from a SWAT officer’s pack and splashed it over the woman’s face. The captive flinched and spat. “You bitch!” she screamed. “I’ll kill you!” The voice was shrill, the accent British. Poe stepped between her and Marple. When the woman turned her face toward him, he had another flash of recognition. The second fake HavenCare exec.

As a cop pulled the prisoner’s arms behind her, Marple bent down toward her face. “Where are they?” she asked. “Where are the children?”

The woman was blinking hard, eyes red, water dripping off her chin.

“I swear to God,” said Marple, brandishing her canister, “I will spray you again.”

Poe grabbed Marple by the arm, pulling her back. It took most of his strength. Marple’s whole body was tense, straining against him. He could feel the fury radiating from her. The captive sat back, her chest heaving under her black jersey. Poe saw fear flash across her face, then resignation. The woman glanced over her shoulder.

“The box,” she said.

Holmes leaned in. “ What box?”

Marple dropped her canister on the floor. “She means the big one.”

Poe and Holmes followed Marple as she walked to the rusted green cargo container in the center of the warehouse. A cop with a massive bolt cutter hustled into the lead, then banged on the side of the metal box.

“Police!”

No response.

Quinn nodded to the officer with the heavy-duty clippers. Two cops stood on either side, rifles ready. With a loud ching, the lock fell open. Two more cops moved forward to muscle the hatch open. Flashlight beams pierced the interior. A pungent ammonia odor—the smell of human sweat and human waste—flooded out.

“Jesus Christ!” muttered Duff.

Poe blinked and swallowed hard. He held his breath and looked in. The hairs on the back of his neck bristled. The container was lined with cargo blankets and plastic sheeting. At the far end, five young children were slumped with their backs against the metal wall, as still as corpses. Holmes recognized them instantly from their photos: the missing children from the school bus.

He looked closer, stunned by what he saw next. The St. Michael’s infants were cradled in the arms of the third graders.

“Medic!” shouted Quinn.

Marple pushed past the men with guns and stepped into the container first. She rushed to the children, moving quickly from one to the other. A moment later, she called out, “They’re alive! They’re sedated, but they’re all alive!”

As Marple knelt on the thin mattress pads, Poe saw some of the older kids begin to stir, raising their hands against the glare of the lights. He watched as Marple touched their heads gently and called them by name, one by one. Olivia. Ava. Lucas. Grace. Logan.

“You’re safe now,” said Marple softly. “You’re all going home.”

Poe turned as the rattle of gurneys echoed through the warehouse. In seconds, the cargo container was jammed with uniforms. They took the babies first—all pale and impossibly tiny—then the eight-year-olds, each one hanging limply. Ambulances were already backed up to the doorways. Within minutes, all ten children were loaded in, wrapped in blankets, with oxygen masks over their faces. One by one, the ambulances headed off, lights flashing, sirens wailing.

Quinn and Duff came up. “Looks like you were right, Marple,” said Quinn.

“About this?” said Marple, looking back at the box. “Yes. We got here in time, this time. But four babies are still missing in London. And I guarantee there are more children being taken and held in places we don’t even know about. I think these children were bound for overseas. This was only a way station—and we just disappointed some very dangerous people.”

Suddenly, a raspy voice crackled from somewhere on the upper level of the warehouse, so loud it made Holmes cover his ears.

“Hello again, Sherlock…”