the mic before anyone could reply about Adam’s whereabouts. “It’s not Butler, but the subject is armed. He can definitely see the protesters from there. A picture is coming at you,” he finished, and Kyle knew that last part was for the support staff in the tent, whose job it would be to try and identify the guy.
“I’m here!” a voice panted behind Kyle, and he recognized Adam an instant before the negotiator raised a bullhorn to his mouth and addressed the crowd. “We need you to move back behind the barricades. This is private land.”
“It’s not your land,” the protester closest to Kyle screamed. The Salt Lake City agents and the local cops moved backward, slipping behind the lines of HRT but staying close, some of them readying riot shields.
“Brothers!” They heard a new voice over a loudspeaker blaring from the compound. Ward Butler’s stones-on-a-grinder voice.
The crowd suddenly quieted, going still, their faces lifted toward the sound. “Thank you for showing your support today. We stand united against a tyrannical government. An illegitimate government!”
A cheer rose up from the crowd as Yankee looked back at Adam. “Get their attention.”
“We have a bigger problem,” Greg said over the mic.
“Where are you?” Yankee asked.
“Back at the tent. We identified the man in the tower. He’s small-time in the states’ rights movement, but he’s got a handful of arrests under his belt, and a very active blog.”
“And?” Yankee asked through his teeth.
“Unless Butler’s changed this guy’s tune drastically since his last blog post a month ago, he’s convinced the end times are coming. His blog is full of fictionalized accounts—Babylonians in the form of government agents storming the strongholds of the righteous and the battle to end it all. By his account, the FBI’s arrival is a sign of the apocalypse. That’s gotta be Butler’s view, too.”
Kyle glanced at his partner. If they stormed the compound, the cultists would fight to the death. And if there was a federal agent alive inside, she’d be dead as soon as that happened.
He looked back at the crowd, still waiting silently, anticipating Butler’s next words. If those words urged his followers to fight, could HRT hold them back? And even if they could, would it matter? Or would Butler begin his endgame?
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