The two gunmen raise their machine guns. Fletcher knows their 9 MM pistols are no match for that kind of firepower. These men look perfectly capable of cutting him and his partner in half, and then doing whatever they please with the civilians. He’s been, at best, an intermittent churchgoer, but like a million intermittent churchgoers faced with sudden mortality, he sends up a quick silent prayer. Lord. Help me do your work here. Help me protect the innocent.
He notices a strange look on the face of one of the gunmen, the big one with the chin like a boulder. He’s looking past Fletcher. “What the hell is she doing?”
He doesn’t dare turn, but doesn’t need to. He hears Addison McCaskill’s voice behind him. “I’m recording this. And don’t bother trying to take the phone away. This app I’m using uploads straight to a database maintained by the ACLU.”
The gunmen look uncertain.
Gray shakes her head. “She’s bluffing. Take her phone.”
They hesitate, then move forward.
Fletcher’s finger tightens on the trigger. “I’m telling you people to stand down.” They don’t stop. They’re actually grinning. Fletcher raises his gun to firing position and prepares to die.
The tense silence is suddenly broken by the whoop of a siren. Fletcher looks up from the barrels of the guns coming for him to see a sheriff’s cruiser bouncing up the rough dirt driveway, blue lights flashing.
“Childress,” he hears Cameron breathe. Another cruiser follows the first one up the driveway. This one’s silent, without lights. “I think that’s…Monteith,” Cameron says, his voice shaking as if he’s about to laugh hysterically. A third car, this one a battered Ford Taurus station wagon, pulls in behind the other two. “Goddamn if that’s not Locklear.”
“Locklear’s off duty.” Fletcher’s voice is hoarse with strain.
“Brother,” Cameron says, “times like this, ain’t no one off duty.”
The two gunmen turn to Gray, clearly uncertain what to do. She shakes her head, lips drawn tight as a closed wound with frustration, and they lower their weapons. “You’re making a mistake, Detective Fletcher.”
He’s recovered control of his voice by now. “That may be, ma’am. That very well may be. But I’ll wait until I get confirmation from D.C.”
She nods at Keller. “This man’s been filling your head with some sort of conspiracy nonsense.”
He smiles. “All Mr. Keller’s been filling my head with is aggravation. But thanks for your concern.”
She grimaces and turns around. The three new arrivals have taken up a line behind her car: Childress, tall and blonde and impeccably turned out, pistol held in predictably perfect firing position; Monteith, a thin, bony black woman slowly scanning her 12-guage shotgun back and forth across the targets in front of her; and finally, the hulking figure of Ardis Locklear, nearly seven feet tall, copper-skinned and curly-haired, dressed in bib overalls with nothing underneath, shoeless, and pointing his personal weapon, a .357 revolver that looks as big as an artillery piece, even in one of his huge-knuckled hands. The three look back at her, as impassive as a castle’s curtain wall. She sizes up her prospects, clearly finds them wanting, and turns back to Fletcher. “May we go? Pending confirmation of our status?”
Fletcher wants nothing more in the world that to have these three locked up, but he’s still worried about what might happen if they are legit. “Yes, ma’am. We’ll be in touch.”
She studies Fletcher’s face, then turns to them. “Sure. Let’s go.”
Fletcher calls out to his officers. “Move your cars, deputies. Let these folks out.”
“You sure, Detective?” Childress calls out.
“Yeah. And stick around a minute.”
The three deputies comply, each one taking a turn moving their car to the side of the driveway while the others maintain their overwatch. When the path is clear, Gray and her gunmen leave without further discussion.
“Fletcher,” Keller says, “I’m sorry. I underestimated you.”
Fletcher gives him a stony look. “I don’t care. We just need to figure out what to do next. And by ‘we,’ I mean everyone here who’s a legitimate law enforcement officer.” He looks back at Marie Jones, who’s joined them. “Thanks, Officer Jones. I assume it was you who called in our backup while that lady and her new friends weren’t paying attention.”
She nods. “Don’t mention it.”
“You may want to mention it. It may help with the problem you’re gonna have when someone finds out your son stole your service weapon.” He sighs, hating what he has to say next. “I have to call that in, Jones.”
She nods. “I understand. But please. Let me try to call him before you do.”
Fletcher just nods. Marie pulls out her phone and walks off.
“Keller,” Fletcher says. “Remember what I said. Finding those kids is our job.”
“Yes, sir.” Keller’s face is bland. “But it seems like you guys have a lot on your plate.”
“We can handle it,” Fletcher snaps, the adrenaline from his earlier fear fueling his irritation.
“Hey, Fletch,” Ardis Locklear calls out. “If we’re done here, I’m gonna go on. I got a fence to put up, and I was on my way to the store for more wire.”
Fletcher waves to him. “Yeah. We’re done. Thanks. Childress, Monteith, meet me back at the station.” As the three get in their cars and begin to leave, Fletcher turns back to Keller. “I mean it.”
“I know you do,” Keller says. Fletcher’s about to say something else when Marie walks back to them, her face bleak. “Call went straight to voicemail.”
Fletcher sighs “Okay. Well, we’ll do what we have to do.”
“What if neither of us wants to file a report?” Keller asks. He looks at Marie. “I’m willing to not ask for a warrant on the truck.”
“That’s fine,” Fletcher says, “but there’s a firearm involved. Can’t let that go.”
“I don’t want him hurt, Detective.”
“Neither do we, Officer. But my people are going to defend themselves.” He turns to Cameron. “Come on. Let’s go.”
NINETY-NINE
As the detectives pull away, Keller turns back to the task of fixing the tire on Marie’s car. He’s not sure if she’ll let him borrow the vehicle to go after her son. Not in her current state of mind. But he needs wheels of some kind. He doesn’t pay any attention to what McCaskill is doing until he hears the clank of metal on metal and a soft feminine grunt of effort. He stands up to see McCaskill kneeling in the dirt driveway next to her vehicle, working the handle on the already positioned jack to raise the car up.
“I can do that,” he says, “soon as I get done with this one.”
She waves him off without looking back. “I can do it.”
“You sure?”
She looks back at him and grins. “Dad taught me.” The smile fades as she looks down. “This skirt’s going to be a total loss, though.”
“Seriously. I can get it.”
“Seriously. So can I.”
“Okay.” He turns back to his task. He’s got the car jacked up and is working on the lug nuts to get the ruined tire off when he hears Marie walking up behind him. He stands up and turns around. She’s standing there, hands on her hips, glaring at him. “I should have this done…”
She interrupts. “Are you really going to go look for them? Despite what Fletcher said?”
He nods. “Yeah.”
She looks from Keller to the jacked-up vehicle and back, and sighs. “Well, you’re not doing it in that. Not with that tire. Come on.” She turns and strides away, not looking back. Keller glances as McCaskill, who got her own vehicle raised up and is focused on using the jack handle to pry off the hubcap. He shrugs and follows Marie.
Behind the house, the ground falls away down a long grassy slope, ending at a stand of pines being overtaken by kudzu and wisteria. Directly in front of the tree line is an old wooden tobacco barn
with a rusting tin roof, the kind that once dotted the Carolina landscape. Keller catches up with her as she slides the wooden barn door open. “Marie,” he says, then stops as he sees what’s inside. Marie steps into the cobwebbed dimness, onto the close-packed dirt floor, and pulls a thick blue tarp off the vehicle sitting in the center of the barn.
“Well, I’ll be damned,” Keller says.
She laughs ruefully. “2000 Crown Victoria. Police Interceptor model. Look familiar?”
“Yeah. It does.” It’s a near perfect copy of the vehicle he used to drive in his days as a bounty hunter, when he worked chasing bail jumpers down. “Your dad’s?”
She nods. “Same thing he drove when he was an officer. He loved it. Swore he’d never drive anything else.” She wipes her eyes with the back of her hand. “I nearly peed myself when he pulled up in this damn thing.” She runs her hand over the quarter panel.
Keller notices there’s almost no dust collected on the vehicle. “You still drive it?”
She shakes her head. “I keep it clean. And I come out once a month and turn the engine over, to keep the battery from dying. Sometimes I’ll sit in it for a while. Just to remember my dad.”
He walks over and puts a hand on her shoulder. “He was a good guy. He loved you a lot.”
“Yeah.” She looks at him, her eyes brimming with tears. “He was. And he did. And he was crazy about Ben and Francis…Frank.”
“Yeah.”
“Jack,” she says, “I know he said you never brought me anything but trouble and pain.”
“Well, he wasn’t wrong.”
She grips him by the shoulders and looks into his eyes. He’s struck over again by the savage loveliness of her eyes. “No,” she whispers. “He was.” She laughs through the tears, now spilling over. “Oh, don’t get me wrong. You brought me plenty of trouble and pain. But it wasn’t something you planned. It wasn’t something you intended. And it sure as hell wasn’t the only thing you ever gave me.” She kisses him, hard, so hard it nearly takes his breath away. It’s been a long time and a number of changes, but it feels like coming home again. The kiss turns into an intense hug, as if they’re clutching each other to keep from drowning. She breaks away first, still gripping him by the shoulders and looking into his eyes. “Bring me my son back,” she whispers fiercely. “Bring him back to me.”
“I’ll do it,” he whispers in return.
She breaks the hug and steps back, shaking her head like a woman shaking off a vision. “Okay. Just so you know, I’m about to aid and abet a felony here.” She laughs bitterly. “But it’s not like I have any future in law enforcement. Again. I hear Wal-Mart’s hiring.” She takes a set of keys out of her pocket and pops the trunk lid. Keller steps around to stand beside her as she removes a long object wrapped in cloth from the trunk. “Remington 870 shotgun,” she says. “Police model. Extended magazine, twenty-inch barrel.” She hands it to him.
He takes the shotgun and looks it over. It’s clearly been as well-maintained as the car. “Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.”
“But what about you? What if those people come back?”
She opens the passenger door and takes a seat, popping open the glove compartment and removing a silver .357 revolver. “Dad’s original pistol. Before they went to the 9MM. He always trusted a revolver more. Don’t worry about me.” She flicks the cylinder open and starts loading rounds into it. “But, Jack, this isn’t necessarily a situation you’re going to be able to shoot your way out of.”
He nods. “I get it. Shells?”
She sighs. “In the trunk. And you’re not listening.”
“Yeah, I am,” he replies. “What, you think I’m going to shoot Ben?”
“Would you? If he was pointing a gun at you, would you do it? Would you pull the trigger on my son?”
The question makes him feel as if his head is being put in a vise. “That’s not going to happen.”
“You know it could. Answer the question.”
He pauses for a moment to think it over. “No. No. I’m not going to shoot your son.”
“Swear it.”
“I swear.” Keller laughs. “He probably can’t hit anything anyway. And if he does, what the hell, he’s probably doing me a favor.”
“Don’t talk like that,” she says, and kisses him, more gently this time. “Now go,” she whispers. “Help those kids. And bring my son home.”
He takes the box of shells and the keys from the trunk, closes it, and slides behind the wheel. The motor starts up with the first turn of the key, the engine quickly settling into its familiar rumbling purr. Keller nods at Marie. “You’ve taken good care of it.” She just nods back, biting her lip, eyes wide with apprehension. “Come on,” he says, “get in.”
He carefully guides the car out the barn door and up the grassy slope, then stops and lets Marie off at the back door of the farmhouse. Before she gets out, he asks, “So. This Meadow girl. You got an address?”
“You think they might have gone to her house?”
He shrugs. “Got to start somewhere.”
She nods and gives him the address. Then she leans over, gives him one last kiss, and walks inside without looking back.
When he comes around the house and into the driveway, Addie McCaskill is putting her jack and lug wrench back in the trunk. He waves at her as he drives by. All she can do is stare at him, wide-eyed. His tires squeal as he hits the hard road and he can’t help but smile at the sound.
ONE HUNDRED
From down the road, pulled back from the hard surface and half concealed behind a stand of trees, Iris Gray watches the end of Marie’s driveway through a pair of compact binoculars, waiting. Waller sits beside her in the passenger seat, with Tench in the back. She’s puzzled when she sees a silver sedan pull out and head up the road, going away.
“Was that Keller?” Waller asks.
“I think so. Hard to be sure.” She puts the glasses down as a Nissan compact leaves, moving slowly on an emergency spare. As the car passes, she can make out the blond hair of the woman who’d recorded them on her phone.
“Who the hell’s she?” Tench asks.
Waller runs a hand through his hair nervously. “More important, you think she really sent video of us to the ACLU?”
“It’s possible,” Gray murmurs. This whole thing is drawing far more attention than she’s comfortable with. This needs to be wrapped up, and soon.
“Do we go back and search the house?” Tench says. There’s something in his voice, an eagerness, that makes her uneasy.
She shakes her head. “If the Khourys and the money are there, Keller would still be.” Something occurs to her. “And why is he driving another vehicle instead of his truck?” She turns to Waller and Tench. “Did you see a big black truck anywhere around?”
They look puzzled, then shake their heads no.
“Of course,” she mutters. “Of course.”
“What?” Tench asks.
“The marks at the Khoury house showed that someone had driven a large vehicle into the back yard. Someone who was a bad driver.”
Waller nods. She’s decided he’s the more intelligent one. “Like a teenager driving a big truck.”
“So…” Tench’s face is screwed up in concentration. “The Khourys took the money in Keller’s truck?”
“It’s a working hypothesis,” she says, “and if true, it’s a break for us.”
Waller looks puzzled. “How?”
“Tench. Reach into the pocket behind the passenger seat and hand me the tablet that’s in there.” When he hands the device to her, she opens the black leather cover and turns it on. “When I first contacted Mr. Keller, I tried to get him to back off and let me deal with the protection of the Khourys.”
Waller nods. “While you waited for Khoury—sorry, Al-Masri to reveal where the money was.”
“Correct.” She places her finger on the pad of the tablet and it come
s to life. “But Keller wasn’t what you’d call cooperative. So, I thought it prudent to keep track of his movements.”
Tench laughs. “You put a tracker on his truck.”
A map appears on the screen. In a moment, a small green dot begins pulsing on a point on the map. “I did. And it seems to be working as advertised.” She smiles. “They’re not far away, as it turns out. And they’re not moving.” She starts the car. “Lock and load, gentlemen. It’s time we put an end to this.”
ONE HUNDRED-
ONE
Alia looks puzzled. “What are the Uwharries?”
“They’re mountains,” Meadow replies. “Sort of.”
Alia’s frown deepens. “How is something ‘sort of’ a mountain?”
“They’re not very big,” Ben says. “It’s because they’re really, really old.”
“And we’re going to hide in these mountains?” Alia shakes her head, clearly dubious.
“Camping out.” Bassim sighs. “Great.”
“It won’t be camping. Not exactly.” Meadow takes a deep breath. “I’m going to see if we can stay with my dad.”
Ben glances over. “I get the feeling you’re not thrilled about this.”
“I’m not. He’s…kind of different.”
“You’re not really selling this, Med,” Bassim says.
“Tell us,” Alia says. “Please. We don’t have time for guessing games.”
“Okay.” Meadow says. “Dad calls himself a ‘sovereign citizen.’ He doesn’t believe the US government is legit.”
“You know what?” Bassim says. “I’m starting to agree with him.”
“Be quiet, Bassim.” Alia turns back to Meadow. “And?”
“And he’s got a place up in the Uwharries, way back in the woods. Bordering the national forest. He doesn’t let anyone up there. No cops, no government people, nobody. Except me.”
Alia nods. “Your mother lets you visit him?”
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