Divine Justice (Camel Club 4)

CHAPTER 26

KNOX SLOWLY DROVE his Range Rover into the garage of his town house. Before he hit the button on his remote to close the door, he scanned the street in his rearview mirror. They were out there, he was pretty sure, watching him. Hayes typically covered all the bases.

The former general trusts me about as much as I trust him.

There might come a time when Knox would have to give those boys the slip, and when and if the time came, he hoped he was up for the challenge.

It might seem bizarre to ordinary citizens that a government agent like Knox would be nearly as fearful of his employer as he was his quarry. Yet Knox was only called in when things had gone to hell and people were already pointing fingers at each other and essentially building their “blame” strategies. He sometimes compared his job to that of an internal affairs officer in a police department. No matter what you did, someone was going to be pissed at you. And being pissed off and taking somebody’s life as payback did not require a great leap of thought. Sometimes, it simply needed a walk across the street, a decisive trigger pull and a good cover strategy.

And from what Knox had learned about John Carr’s military past, Hayes was definitely playing his own agenda on this one. He had clearly lied to Knox already. He’d commented on what an honor it would have been to command a killing machine like Carr. Well, the man had commanded him. In his murderous prime. And denied him the honor that was surely his. What had Carr done to tick the man off? Hayes was known to hold grudges for decades, and it seemed like that reputation was proving true here.

Knox had spent several more hours in the records room trying to find an answer to that question, but had come away with nothing more than speculation.

The dark thoughts going through his mind right now were nearly as numbing as what he’d experienced in his last nights in a Vietnam jungle before his country had called it a war and gone home. Knox’s battalion had been one of the last to be sent to Southeast Asia. He’d been there all of eleven months and it had felt like eleven years. When he’d gotten back with a piece of shrapnel in his left thigh and a truck load of recurring nightmares as reminders of his time there, he’d decided that war was not a particularly smart way to decide global issues, especially when politicians rather than the grunts on the ground were calling the shots. That’s when he’d worked his way to the Defense Intelligence Agency and from there to the civilian side and CIA.

Now his official home was a specialized piece of that agency that John Q. Public had never heard of and never would. He had two sets of creds: one for the public that showed him to be with Homeland Security and was suitably intimidating; and another set that he showed only to certain fellow federal agents. That evidenced his association with OSM, the Office of Special Matters. It was made up of personnel from five of the major intelligence agencies, though it was controlled by a handful of folks at Langley. “Office of Special Matters” sounded a little hokey, Knox thought, but what they did was far from it. Knox had been up to his ass in “special matters” for years, often handling six crises of international meltdown range at once.

In fact he’d been involved in every major op OSM had been handed over the last decade, including some paramilitary action that had gotten him back into the field with a gun and lives to take care of, and others simply to take. He’d narrowly avoided the “WMDs that never were” fiasco and then had spent six years in the Middle East doing things he would never write down and had done his best to forget about since.

He’d been thousands of miles away when his wife had died from a brain hemorrhage. He got back just in time for the funeral to say a hurried, mumbled good-bye to his life partner, the only woman he’d ever loved. To this day he felt like he had cheated her.

Twenty-four hours after burying her, he was back in Iraq trying to figure out where the next suicide blast was coming from and paying yesterday’s enemies with good American cash so they’d kill extremists instead of U.S. troops. When the money eventually ran out Knox knew he didn’t want to be within five time zones of the place. Then he’d gone back to his safe room in the Green Zone and wept for the love of his life in the privacy of his own nightmares.

It had been more than a challenge and in the last year Knox had seriously contemplated retirement after talking his way out of the Middle East where no Muslim trusted anyone with light skin who held a firm belief in the supreme holiness of the Lord Jesus Christ. He’d pulled enough time. He could go out on his terms. He was actually on a short sabbatical when Hayes had called. And now look at him. And the same old question had raised its ugly head once more:

Will the sun come up for me tomorrow?

He walked into his kitchen, tossed his keys on the counter, opened the fridge and popped a beer. He sat down in his small study and considered what he did and didn’t know, the latter unfortunately being far more voluminous than the former. He slipped the pages from his pocket. He’d taken the two-page order with Macklin Hayes’ signature on it. It was probably a felony stealing government property but Knox really didn’t care at this point. He looked at the precise signature of the man.

What were you thinking when you signed that order, General?

He now had a connection between Hayes and Carr. That changed the dynamic of his mission, Knox just wasn’t sure how. Yet it did explain one thing.

He was told he’d been ordered to track down Carr because the former Triple Six held secrets that would embarrass the U.S. government, or at the very least the CIA. Sometimes, for Knox, it was hard to tell the two apart. Hayes had said that Carter Gray had been concerned about that too. And that he’d been after Carr, but Carr had evidently gotten to him first.

That’s what hadn’t made sense. Carr had been at Gray’s house the night it was blown up. So he’d evidently already known where Carr was. And on top of that Carr hadn’t opened his mouth these last thirty years. So why would Gray or Hayes and the CIA be worried that the man was going to open it now?

Perhaps Gray had been after Carr for some reason, but not to kill the man. Ordering his grave to be dug up? Was he trying to flush him out, make him run? But why? Knox had a hunch the answer lay in the area he was prohibited from looking into. But he’d been “ordered” from doing things before. And he’d still gone ahead and done them.

And Hayes too had some strong reason for getting Carr out of the way. He must’ve thought Carr was dead all these years. Reading the man’s face, Knox could tell he’d been out of the loop when the grave was dug up. And then to have no body in the coffin? All these years Hayes had probably felt safe. Now he didn’t, and he was using Knox to take care of the problem for him.

And what exactly had happened at the Capitol Visitor Center? Had Carr really killed all those men? If so, why? Were they trying to kill him? Knox thought back to the notes he’d read about someone dispatching retired Triple Sixes. Had Stone been on that list? Had they gone after him for some reason? That was part of the puzzle that he apparently was not going to be allowed access to. Well, he would see about that.

If Carr had something on Hayes? Something personal? Now, that might be an interesting line to hunt down, if only to cover his backside when the time came. But he’d have to straddle the fence. If Hayes found out—

He’d turned the radio on in his study while he’d been thinking, and the news story caught his attention. Authorities knew who the killer was. They were closing in. All escape routes blocked.

What the hell?

He made the call. Hayes picked up on the second ring.

“I just heard the news,” Knox said. “I thought the feds were being left off this one. If I’ve got an FBI posse breathing down my neck I’d like to know it.”

“Not to worry, Knox, I had that story planted. It would be inconceivable for a man like Carr not to be listening to the news carefully. I want him to think he’s trapped. Trapped men do stupid things. Then we move in. Just making your job easier.”

Hayes clicked off.

“My ass you are

,” Knox said to the dead line.

The buzzing phone cut off his thoughts on what Hayes had just told him. He didn’t recognize the number.

“Hello?”

“Mr. Knox, this is Susan Hunter. I’d like to meet with you, about Oliver.”

Knox sat up. “Can we do it over the phone?”

“No. You never know who might be listening.”

He couldn’t argue with her about that. Someone probably was listening.

“Fair enough. When do you want to do it?”

“Right now.”

CHAPTER 27

ANNABELLE WAS STANDING on the street corner in Georgetown when Knox pulled up thirty minutes later. He popped open the passenger door and she climbed in. He drove off, heading east toward the downtown area.

Knox glanced at her. The woman’s face was flushed, her eyes red. He couldn’t know it was from a little rouge and a little eye irritant deliberately applied.

“You okay?” he finally said.

She wiped her eyes. “Not really.”