CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Dawn was breaking over the mountains as Caldwell reached the first roadblock. He saw the stopped traffic first, the brake lights of cars glowing in the early morning light as the sparse traffic piled up. Then the strobes of the highway patrol and county sheriff’s cars.
He felt a brief rush of adrenaline. A few deep breaths brought that under control. His disguise was perfect. The brown truck he drove was practically an icon. So was his brown uniform. People saw those and instinctively relaxed. No one would suspect that they were both bogus. After all, who suspects the UPS man of carrying an illegal arsenal?
As he reached the roadblock, the young sheriff’s deputy on his side of the road started to just wave him past, then thought better of it. Caldwell came to a full stop and levered the door open. The young deputy came around to the exit side of the truck. He leaned in and put one foot on the bottom step of the truck entrance.
“Gettin’ an early start, ain’t ya?” the deputy said. Caldwell relaxed slightly. There was no explicit challenge in the voice. The man was just being friendly.
“Gonna be a long day,” Caldwell said.
“I heard ’at,” the deputy said.
“So what’s up?” Caldwell asked.
“Some guy shot it out with some FBI agents up on the Parkway,” the deputy said.
“And he got away?” Caldwell said. His voice was calm, but his mind was working furiously.
The deputy nodded. “Yep,” he said. “Kilt half a dozen of ’em. Must be one mean sumbitch.”
“Must be,” Caldwell replied. He had half-heard reports of the incident on the radio, but he had been too preoccupied with his preparations to make any connection. “I’ll, uh, I’ll keep a lookout for him.”
“Oh, hell,” the deputy said. “That ol’ boy’s long gone from here by now. But you caint tell the FBI that. Dumb sonsabitches. I ain’t complainin’, mind you. I can use the overtime.” He stepped back out of the truck. “You have a good day, now,” he said.
“You, too,” Caldwell said. He closed the door. What the hell is DeGroot getting me into, he thought as he pulled away.
***
They were seated at the table in the mess hall: Keller, Marie, Powell, and Riggio. Lisa bustled back and forth from the kitchen, bringing bowls of homemade muesli. Ben followed in her wake, ostensibly helping, but mostly getting in the way. Lisa didn’t seem to mind. She was laughing and joking with him. It made Marie smile despite the obvious tension in the room.
Harland entered the mess hall. He came to stand at the foot of the table. “You can’t stay,” he said without preamble.
Lisa stopped dead in her tracks, the laugh dying on her lips. “Sir,” she began.
Harland cut her off. “I’ve made my decision,” he said to her curtly. He turned to address the group. “You’re a threat to the security of this camp. I want you gone after you finish eating. Lisa will escort you off the premises.” He turned on his heel and walked out. Lisa slammed the bowl she was carrying down on the table and ran out after him.
They looked at each other for a moment without speaking. Ben broke the silence. “What’s going on? What’s wrong?” he said. There was an edge of panic in his voice. Marie opened her arms and he ran into them.
“Nothing’s wrong, baby,” she murmured. “We have to get ready to go, though.”
His voice was muffled against her. “I don’t want to go,” he whined. “I want us to stay here with Lisa.”
From outside they heard voices raised in argument. Keller stood up. “Where you going, Keller?” Powell said.
“To change his mind,” Keller replied tightly.
Riggio shook his head sadly. “No, man,” he said. “That won’t work.”
“And the other thing you’re thinking about,” Powell added. “That won’t work, either.” He gestured toward the door. “You try to take him on, you’ve got Lisa to deal with. She’s good, but you could probably take her. But are you ready to go that far?”
Keller had to think about that for a minute. “Yeah,” he said finally. “I am.”
“Well, we’re not,” Powell said. “There’s been enough good people hurt.”
“What are you talking about?” Ben piped up. “You’re not going to hurt Lisa, are you?” he looked at Jack. “Jack,” he said. His voice was near hysteria. “Lisa’s my friend. Don’t hurt her. Jack?”
Keller gritted his teeth. His head felt like it was about to explode. It took an enormous effort of will for him to keep his voice low and steady. “Okay, buddy,” he said. “Don’t worry. I’m not going to hurt anyone. Not here.”
“Promise?” Ben said.
Keller looked at Ben. Ben drew closer to his mother. He’s afraid of me, Keller realized. Afraid of what I’ll do. And he’s right. The revelation broke his heart. “I promise,” he said. He had trouble getting the words out. Something seemed to be caught in his throat.
Lisa came back in, slamming the door behind her. Her face was a mask of barely contained fury. Her shotgun was slung over her shoulder again. “I’m to escort you back to the parking area,” she said, her voice expressionless.
“You’ve got ten minutes to get your things together. Meet me on the parade ground.” She turned and walked out.
“Hey,” Ben said weakly. She didn’t appear to hear him. “Is Lisa mad at us?” Ben asked his mother plaintively.
“No, honey,” Marie said. “She’s just sad because we have to leave.”
Ten minutes later, they were assembled on the parade ground. Lisa stalked up. She had lost the look of fury. It had been replaced with a blank look, as if she was an automaton. Keller’s gun was slung across her shoulder. She held her own shotgun loose in her hands. It wasn’t pointed at anyone, but the threat was there. “Mike, you know the way,” she said curtly. “You lead. I’ll be behind.”
“Lise,” Riggio said. “We don’t blame you…”
She cut him off. “Good. Get moving.”
They walked out of the camp, back up the trail to the old mine entrance. At the edge of the trestle, they paused. Lisa unslung Keller’s gun and handed it back to him. “Here,” she said. “Good luck.” She turned as if to go.
“Lisa,” Ben said. “Aren’t you coming with us?”
She stopped, still facing away from them. Her shoulders slumped. After a long moment, she turned around. She looked at Ben and smiled. “You know what, kiddo?” she said brightly. “I think I am.”
“Are you sure about this, Lise?” Riggio said.
“Yeah, Mike,” Lisa said. “I am.” She shook her head. “Twenty years, I idolized my father. He was like God to me. I’ve never seen him do anything cowardly. Until today.”
“He’s just trying to keep you safe,” Marie said softly.
“That’s not cowardly.”
“When he throws innocent people to the wolves, it is,” Lisa said.
“Wolves?” Ben said. “What wolves?”
Lisa grinned. She reached out and tweaked Ben on the nose. “Figure of speech, kiddo,” she said. She looked up at Marie. “Dad told me your story. Told me about what you did for that little girl. I admire that.” She turned to the others. “Let’s go.”
***
Phillips was tired and irritable. The screeners at the airport had given him more than the usual amount of red tape and aggravation over checking the rifle through, even though it was locked up and the ammo stored in compliance with all federal regulations and the rules of the airline, rules which he had apparently researched more carefully than the people charged with enforcing them. He had tried to sleep on the plane, but the man in the seat next to him had been a nervous flyer, jacked up on adrenaline and bad airport coffee. He had jabbered incessantly throughout the flight, seemingly oblivious to the fact that he had received only monosyllables in reply. The Charlotte airport had been nearly deserted when he arrived in the early morning hours, yet it seemed to take an eternity to get his checked luggage back. And when he had, the hard-sided flig
ht case in which his rifle and ammo were locked had been badly scuffed on one side and corner, as if an angry baggage handler had taken out his frustration by flinging the case repeatedly against the concrete. Phillips sighed. The case was supposedly shockproof and the rifle inside was designed for field use, but he’d have to check the weapon carefully to feel confident that none of the optics in the scope had been damaged. As a final indignity, the car-rental agency had botched his reservation. The unobtrusive midsize car he had reserved under his bogus identity was unavailable. He ended up with a monstrosity of an SUV. The rental agent was nonplussed that Phillips didn’t seem more grateful for the upgrade. “Usually, you know,” the woman said, “these are fifty dollars more a day. We’re going to give you the upgrade for free. And look,” she said, “it even has GPS.”
Phillips almost told her what a ridiculous waste is was to have one person driving such an enormous vehicle, but he held his tongue. He tried to leave few memories of himself behind as he moved toward an assignment. He took the keys and thanked the rental agent. As she walked him out to the vehicle, she gestured at the rifle case. “Doing some hunting?” she said.
“Thought I might, yes,” he said.
Her brow wrinkled. “But wait a sec. Deer season doesn’t start till September. That’s a month off.”
“Oh dear,” he said, “I must have been misinformed.”
***
When they reached the parking area, Lisa brushed the pine needles and leaves off the window of the old pickup. She fished a set of keys out from beneath the front seat. “Hey, buddy,” she said to Ben, tossing the keys in the air and catching them deftly. “You want to ride with me?”
Ben looked at Marie. “Can I, Mom?”
She looked reluctant for a minute, the glanced at Keller. “Yeah,” she said. “Sure.”
They headed back out on the old logging road. Keller drove the Crown Vic, with Lisa and Ben following behind. They were silent most of the way. Marie looked out the window, chewing at her lip.
As they approached the area of the cabin, Riggio called them to a halt. “We’d better go check it out,” he said. “Make sure we don’t have any unwanted company.”
Keller nodded. Powell and Riggio fetched their weapons from the trunk and slipped off into the woods. Keller got out and sat on the hood. He lit a cigarette. Marie came up and sat beside him. “Jack,” she began, then stopped.
He looked at her. “What?”
“I’m scared.”
“Yeah,” Keller said. He slipped an arm around her shoulders. “So am I.”
“When we get to the cabin,” she said, “are you still going after him? After DeGroot?”
“Yeah.”
She reached up and took his chin in her hand. Slowly she turned his face toward her until she was looking into his eyes.
“Jack,” she said, her voice shaking a little, “I want you to find him. And I want you to do anything you have to do to stop him. Anything.”
Keller looked back at her steadily. Her eyes were fierce and unyielding. “You know what that could mean,” he said.
“Yeah, Jack,” she said. “I do. I wouldn’t ask you to do it for me. But that bastard tried to kill my son.”
“I know,” Keller said. “Don’t worry. I’ll find him.”
She kissed him. “I know,” she said.
Riggio was back. “All clear,” he said. “Come on ahead.”
CHAPTER THIRTY
Keller pulled out of the long gravel driveway onto the hardtop road. The shotgun rode upright in its rack beside him. He snapped on the radio and began seeking through stations, looking for a news-talk station.
He finally found one, even though the reception was shaky and faded in and out. Next he flipped on the police scanner slung beneath the dashboard. He adjusted the volume of each of the radios until they were roughly equal and just below the threshold of his immediate conscious attention. If something relevant came over the air-waves, he knew from experience, his subconscious would pick it up and alert him. He drove as if on autopilot, paying barely enough attention to keep the car from plunging into the chasms on one side or scraping the rock faces that loomed above. Most of his mind was concentrated on the hunt.
Most men on the run seek safety in the familiar—old haunts, old girlfriends, old acquaintances. That made them easy to find. DeGroot offered none of these. He was a stranger in a strange land. But that gave Keller another angle to work. DeGroot would stand out. His accent would mark him. So would the fact that he was traveling alone in an area where most strangers traveled in groups of families or friends. The only difficult question would be where to start.
Something on the radio caught the edge of his hearing. He turned the news station up. Authorities were seeking the arrest of a man who had escaped after attacking and killing several FBI agents in a gun battle at a Blue Ridge Parkway overlook.
Gun battle, Keller thought. There was no mention of explosives. Interesting.
The announcer went on to state that the FBI was seeking the arrest of a South African national for involvement in the murders. However, the announcer stressed, the FBI was not considering this an act of terrorism.
Trying to keep the panic down, Keller thought. Or maybe, he thought more cynically, they just won’t call it terrorism if white guys do it. He turned the radio back down and returned to his thoughts. A man on the run needed things. Gasoline. Food. Rest.
Keller decided to head back to the Parkway exit near where he had last encountered DeGroot. If the man had decided to wait until he reached one of the bigger towns like the college town of Boone, he knew the trail would probably turn cold. But if DeGroot’s need had been sufficient to risk the smaller towns, there might be some hope. He’d check along the highways and in some of the smaller communities. The fear in him was gone. The uncertainly and worry was gone. All Keller felt was the eerie combination of adrenaline and mental calm that accompanied the hunt.
***
“This,” DeGroot said as he laid a silver cylinder on the table, “is what we’re looking for.”
They were crowded into the tiny hotel room. DeGroot was seated at the table, with Caldwell seated at the only other chair. Holley was reclined on the bed, his legs crossed at the ankles. Patrick and Phillips leaned against the walls.
“What the hell is it?” Patrick asked.
Caldwell answered for him. “USB flash drive,” he said. “You stick it in a computer. Holds a lot of data.”
“So where’s the money?” Holley said.
“In a bank in Indonesia,” DeGroot said. “At least that’s what my source told me.”
“And this source was reliable, I trust,” Phillips said in his quiet, precise voice.
DeGroot nodded. “He wasn’t going to lie to me. Not then.”
“Wait a minute,” Patrick spoke up. “No one said anything about going to fucking Indonesia.”
DeGroot sighed. He reminded himself that Patrick had been selected for his capacity for violence, not his intelligence. Before he could explain, Holley spoke up.
“We don’t need to go to Indonesia,” he said. “At least not in person. All we need’s a computer and a Net connection. And that little gizmo right there.” He looked at DeGroot. “Unless I’m mistaken, that there is the key to the vault, right?”
“One of them,” DeGroot confirmed. “My former associates have the other one.”
Patrick clearly still didn’t understand, and it was making him angry. His jaw clenched and he began opening and closing his fists. Holley grinned at him.
“That money’s everywhere, dude,” he drawled, “and nowhere. All at once.”
“Stop baiting him, Holley,” DeGroot snapped. He turned to Patrick. “With both keys,” he explained patiently, “we can go online. With the crypto…with the codes on these keys, we can get into the computers of the bank where the money is.”
“And get them to send the money anywhere in the world,” Caldwell said.
Holley nodded. “Slick.�
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Comprehension dawned on Patrick’s face. “So where are these guys?” Patrick asked.
“First,” said Caldwell, “I want to know who they are.”
DeGroot had considered not telling them, but had finally decided they needed to know the truth. “A pair of Special Forces soldiers. Deltas.”
Holley sat up. “Whoa. Whoa. We’re going up against those guys?”
“So fucking what?” Patrick sneered. “Those cocksuckers aren’t as tough as they think they are. They got their asses kicked in Somalia. By a bunch of fucking savages.”
“Took a few thousand fucking savages to do it,” Caldwell said glumly.
“There are only two, yes?” Phillips said.
“They may have another pair with them,” DeGroot said. “A man and a woman. But they’re amateurs.” He glanced at Caldwell and decided not to mention the child. Caldwell was a family man, DeGroot knew, and he already looked dubious. “I don’t believe they have any heavy weapons,” he said. “Which is where Mr. Caldwell comes in. You brought the items I requested?”
Caldwell nodded.
“Awright,” Holley said. “I get to blow shit up!”
“Thought you’d like that, bru,” DeGroot said.
“So where’s this party at?” Patrick asked.
DeGroot unrolled a map on the table. “There’s a cabin on the edge of the national park boundary,” he began.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
“Naw,” the old man behind the counter said. “Ain’t seen nobody like ’at.”
The roadside store was tiny, with a pair of rusting gas pumps out front. Fishing lures and other small items hung from a pegboard behind the battered sales counter. A drinks cooler with a cracked front glass rattled and wheezed at Keller’s elbow.
“Thanks anyway,” Keller said. He took out one of his business cards and laid it on the counter. “If he turns up,”
Keller said, “I’d appreciate it if you’d call and let me know. My cell phone number’s on there.”
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