Divine Justice (Camel Club 4)

ID. He looked up at Knox and slowly shook his head in disbelief. He spoke into a walkie-talkie.

“We got a big problem down here.”

After a minute or so of conversation the man put the walkie-talkie away on a holder on his belt.

“Do we kill ’em here?” one man asked.

“No, we don’t kill ’em here,” he snapped. “We got to get this figured out.” He motioned to his men. “Tie ’em up.”

They shot forward and expertly bound Knox and Stone together. They carried the pair back to the road, where they were laid facedown in the cargo bed of a pickup truck. It drove off while the other men piled into other vehicles that had pulled up behind the truck.

Five minutes later the truck raced off the road and into a clearing, where it spun to a stop in a swirl of dirt and ripped-up grass.

Stone heard it before Knox did.

“Chopper.”

It landed next to the truck, its prop wash so strong that, roped together as they were, Stone and Knox had a hard time keeping their balance as they were pulled out of the truck and loaded into the aircraft. Two armed men climbed in with them and the chopper lifted off.

“Where are we going?” Knox said.

When the men didn’t answer he looked over at Stone. “Any ideas?”

Stone glanced around the interior of the chopper. He’d only seen one other chopper up here before. “I think we’re going to Dead Rock.”

“What the hell is Dead Rock?”

Stone looked out the window. “That.”

Knox crowded next to him and gazed down at the lights of the prison.

“Supermax prison,” Stone volunteered.

“Why the hell are drug runners taking us to a super—” Knox broke off, his face ashen. “We’re screwed.”

“Yes, we are.”

CHAPTER 60

AS THE VAN DRIFTED down the street early the next morning, Annabelle, Caleb and Reuben eyed the people walking by on the sidewalks; several of them stared back with suspicion.

“Not a very welcoming lot, are they?” said Caleb.

“Why should they be?” growled Reuben. “They don’t know who we are or what we want. All they know is that we’re not from here.”

Annabelle nodded thoughtfully. “We’ll have to tread carefully.”

“We may not have time to tread carefully,” Reuben pointed out. “Knox had a big head start. He might have already gotten to Oliver for all we know.”

“There’s an obvious starting place,” Caleb pointed out.

The three of them stared at the sheriff’s office and jail next to the courthouse.

“Stop the van, Caleb,” said Annabelle. “I’ll go in.”

“You want some backup?” Reuben wanted to know.

“Not now. We need to keep something in reserve in case things go to hell.”

“How are you going to play it?” Caleb asked. “FBI or wronged woman?”

“Neither. New angle.”

She checked her face and hair in the rearview mirror, slid open the door and climbed out.

“If I’m not back in ten minutes, pull off and I’ll meet you at that end of the street.”

“What if you don’t come out at all?” asked Reuben.

“Then assume I blew it, just start driving and don’t stop.”

She slid the door closed and walked into the building.

“Hello?” she called out. “Hello?”

A door opened and Lincoln Tyree stepped into the small waiting area.

“Can I help you, ma’am?”

Annabelle stared up at the tall lawman resplendent in his crisply starched uniform and highly polished boots with a leading man’s jaw and brooding eyes.

“I sure hope so. I’m looking for someone.” She drew a photo out of her pocket and showed it to him. “Have you seen him?”

Tyree studied the photo of Oliver Stone but made no immediate reaction. “Why don’t you step on in here?” He held open his office door.

Annabelle hesitated. “I just need to know if you’ve seen him.”

“And I need to know why you’re looking for him.”

“So you have seen him?”

He indicated the open door.

Annabelle shrugged and walked past him and into the office. There was another man seated there. He was in a seersucker suit with a red bow tie.

“This here is Charlie Trimble, runs the local paper.”

Trimble shook Annabelle’s hand.

Tyree closed the door and motioned for her to sit. He plopped behind his meticulous desk, still clutching the picture.

“Now why don’t you tell me what this is all about,” said Tyree.

“This is sort of confidential,” she said, looking at Trimble. “No offense, but I’d like to speak to the sheriff in private.”

Trimble got up. “We can talk more later, Sheriff.” He glanced over at the photo. From this angle he could see it was the man he knew as Ben. “Maybe you and I can talk later too, ma’am.”

Once he’d left Annabelle said, “My name is Susan Hunter. Here’s my ID.” She handed him across a professionally done and totally fake driver’s license. “The man in the photo is my father. He might go by Oliver or John, or maybe another name.”

“Why so many names?” asked Tyree as he studied the license before handing it back.

“My father worked for the government many years ago. He left under somewhat unusual circumstances. Ever since then he’s sort of been on the run.”

“Unusual circumstances? Is he a criminal?”

“No, these unusual circumstances are that enemies of this country are looking to kill him because of what he did to them.”

“Enemies? Like who?”

“Like governments, the names of which you would recognize. I don’t claim to know the whole story, only that between the ages of six and when I started college, we moved fourteen times. Different names, histories, jobs were lined up for my parents, we had handlers.”

“Then y’all were sorta like in witness protection?”

“Sort of, yes. My dad was a real American hero who did incredibly dangerous work for his country. That work came with a price, though. We’ve been paying that price for a long time.”

Tyree rubbed his chin. “That might explain a lot.”

Annabelle leaned forward eagerly. “So he has been here?”

He leaned back in his chair. “He was, yes. Called himself Ben, Ben Thomas. How’d you track him up here?”

“Something he managed to send me, a coded message. But it hasn’t been easy. I’ve been to just about every small town in the general vicinity. I was running out of hope.”

“Well, like I said, he was here, but he’s not here now.”

“Where did he go?”

“He was in the hospital the last time I saw him.”

“Hospital? Was he hurt?”

“Got himself nearly blown up. He was okay, though. I went by the hospital early this morning to see him but he was gone.”

“Gone voluntarily?”

“I don’t know the answer to that.”

“You said he was nearly blown up?”