Untangling her legs from the blanket someone had put over her, she got up and motioned for B. to follow. The maternity-ward conference room was unoccupied, and they made for that. Once B. was inside, she closed the door behind them.

“What do you mean they weren’t reported?” Fergus was asking. “How is that possible?”

Ali set about answering that question. It was a good thing her phone had spent the night on the charger. The conversation with Sean Fergus took well over an hour. The phone was turned on speaker, so in the process of briefing Fergus, B. learned the rest of the story as well.

“You’re saying we have no idea how many girls might have come through that pipeline or how many more are at risk?” Sean asked.

“That’s correct,” Ali answered.

“I believe you mentioned that the area where this group is located is rather remote. If so, how are the girls being transported?”

“We’ve recently learned that there’s an airstrip located on the property,” Ali answered. “My guess is the first leg of the journey is done by air. As to what comes after that and how they’re smuggled out of the country? I have no idea.”

B. held up his finger, signaling a need to add something. “B. Simpson here. I’m Ali’s husband and also CEO of High Noon Enterprises. One of our security operatives did an aerial survey of the area around the airstrip earlier this morning and located several questionable buildings. Some of them appear to be greenhouses and are evidently being used to grow fresh vegetables for wintertime use. The largest of the buildings, however, is clearly an airplane hangar that is currently unoccupied.”

“How long is the airstrip?”

“We measured it,” B. replied. “It’s long enough to accommodate a small jet. An aircraft as large as a Citation X could probably take off and land there with no difficulty.”

Fergus processed that unwelcome information. “With no idea of when or even if another load of girls is due to be shipped out, I’m urging that we act without delay. I believe the DNA evidence we have in hand is sufficient for us to obtain warrants, but getting things to work across international and jurisdictional boundaries will take time. Before we hand this off to any other agency, I’d like to have more intel than we have now.”

“Pardon the interruption again,” B. offered, “but my company has done work for Interpol on numerous occasions, usually with a guy named Arturo Bernini in the Cyber Fraud Division.”

“You know Bernie?” Sean asked.

“I didn’t know that’s what you called him,” B. answered, “but yes, he’s always been my point of contact. The film footage we have now, taken without benefit of a warrant, is most likely totally useless to you or anyone else. Check us out with Agent Bernini. If you can issue us with appropriately drawn warrants, we can send the drones back in to take another set of films, ones that will be admissible.”

“Your company has drone capability?” Sean asked.

B. winked at Ali before he answered. “Doesn’t everybody?” he said.

“Okay,” Sean said. “I’ll see what I can do. The next step, of course, is to notify local law enforcement agencies about what’s going on and make sure we can count on them for help.”

Remembering Deputy Amos Sellers standing just behind Gordon Tower and nodding at the other man’s every word, Ali shook her head in response, even though B. was the only one to see the gesture.

“I’m concerned about that,” Ali said aloud. “The Family is located in Mohave County. Their deputy, the local one who actually works that area, happens to be a member of The Family.”

“You’re saying we can’t expect any help from that quarter?” Sean asked.

“Not from the local deputy,” Ali answered. “If he’s part of all this and knows an operation is in the works, there goes the element of surprise. I’m sure even folks at Interpol know about what happened at Waco.”

“Indeed we do,” Fergus agreed. “What about the deputy’s superior?”

Ali thought about her phone conversation with Sheriff Alvarado. He hadn’t exactly volunteered information about Amos Sellers’s connection to the cult. The sheriff had also mentioned having spent time policing the area where The Family was located although nothing in his bio hinted that Alvarado himself was in any way connected to the group. Still, Ali had some concerns about him that she wasn’t willing to voice aloud at this point. Instead, she chose to hedge.

“Amos Sellers’s boss, Sheriff Daniel Alvarado, is headquartered in Kingman. That’s a good four hours and more than two hundred fifty miles from where The Family is located.”

“Big county,” Sean murmured.

“Yes,” Ali agreed. “It is. I’ve spoken to Sheriff Alvarado on a slightly different but related matter. When the topic of The Family first came up, he wasn’t exactly forthcoming.”

“What do you mean?”

“He didn’t see fit to volunteer the information that one of his officers is part of The Family. I had to find that out on my own, and that worries me.”

“It would concern me, too,” Fergus agreed. “Are you implying that Alvarado may be connected to all this?”

“I’m not saying that for sure, but I am worried that once his department is notified . . .”

“That the deputy will give away the game. In which case, as you said, we’ll have lost the element of surprise.”

“Yes, so how do these joint operations usually go?” Ali asked.

“The most common scenario dictates that we start by notifying the FBI. An official notification from them will then be passed along to local authorities, apprising them of the operation. This case may call for a somewhat less direct approach. Is there any way you could deal with the sheriff on an informal basis and attempt to feel him out?”

Ali thought about that. “I suppose I could drive over to Kingman and have a chat with him.”

“In my opinion, eye-to-eye contact is always better than over the phone,” Fergus agreed. “Our primary concern is this. Regardless of what action is undertaken, no innocent women and children are to be harmed.”

“Exactly,” Ali said. “That’s my position, too.”

There was a rap on the conference room door, and Sister Anselm poked her head inside. “Enid’s been restless and wakeful most of the night, but now she’s come around enough to be able to identify her pursuer.”

“From the other night?”

Sister Anselm nodded. “She says Deputy Amos Sellers, or, as she calls him, Brother Amos, was about to lay hands on her. That’s what sent her darting into traffic.”

“Amos Sellers?”

“What’s that?” Sean said. “I heard someone else speaking, but I couldn’t quite make out what was said.”

“This is Sister Anselm,” Ali said, beckoning the nun closer to the phone. “Enid Tower’s patient advocate. She says Enid just identified the man who was after her the other night. Deputy Sellers, the man I was just telling you about. Not only did he force Enid into oncoming traffic, he didn’t stop to render assistance, either.”

“Did the incident occur inside his jurisdiction or outside?”

“Outside.”

“He most likely didn’t come forward because he didn’t want anyone to know he was there.”

“That would be my assessment,” Ali answered.

“Was the young woman able to provide any further details?” Sean asked.

Since the question seemed to be directed at Sister Anselm, Ali passed the phone to her.

“She’s been talking off and on all night about someone named Agnes and Patricia. She calls them the ‘Brought Back’ girls. Presumably they’re previous runaways who were caught and returned to the cult. One of them was evidently instrumental in helping Enid make her escape, and she’s worried that they’ll be brought to account for it.”

“What about younger girls?” Sean asked. “Did she make any mention of those?”

“Yes,” Sister Anselm said. “Unfortunately, yes. She calls them ‘Not Chosens.’ ”

“What does that mean?” Sean asked.