Sean held down his emotions as he saw Tommy escorted by a tall blond male, probably mid- to late thirties and a tree trunk of a man, shorter, but much thicker.
“I see ‘em,” Joe confirmed what Sean was thinking.
No response came from the back as they approached where the four men were now standing together in the parking lot. They looked startled as Joe slowed the truck to a stop right behind the black SUV. “Excuse me, fellas,” he said in what was definitely a deeper Southern accent than he normally used. “Ya’ll don’t happen to know where the Apple Festival is, do ya?”
Tommy stood absolutely still, recognizing the face of his old friend Joe McElroy. Where was Sean? If Joe was there, then Sean had to be close by.
The two muscular guards looked questioningly at the tall blond, who was apparently in charge of the whole operation. No one said a word. Finally, the blond man simply shook his head.
“I think we might have taken a wrong turn,” Joe went on, trying to stay cool. He reached down and pulled up a sheet of paper. “These directions are a little vague.”
All four of the men standing on the asphalt were staring at the paper in the driver’s hand when suddenly, the loud pop of a gun erupted from the direction of the truck bed. Four more shots followed almost instantly. The short, flattopped man at the front of the entourage collapsed backward, three bullet holes grouped in the center of his chest. The surprise on the faces of the other three disappeared quickly as the larger, suited man jerked his weapon from its holster and dropped the bag he’d been carrying.
Another two shots fired from around the front of the truck, one striking the big man in the arm. He seemed unaffected as a volley returned from his black firearm, drilling holes into the side of the truck.
Joe ducked down below the window just seconds before a bullet zipped over his head.
Allyson risked popping around the grill of the pickup to squeeze off a few more shots at the tall guard. The man noticed her too late as he took a round in the chest and stumbled backward into the open passenger door of the big SUV.
The blond man had grabbed Tommy as soon as the bullets started flying and was holding him around the neck as a human shield, gun extended toward the attackers.
Upon seeing his subordinates taken down, he fired off three quick shots at the driver of the pickup truck. The bullets thudded into the door as the man behind the wheel stayed down to avoid the barrage.
Instantly, the blond man turned toward the truck bed where the initial shots had been fired and launched a brutal retaliation, sending more rounds pinging into the metal. As he backed up toward the front of the SUV, he sent two bullets at the woman who jerked back behind the cover of the pickup’s engine.
Sean knew he’d taken down one of the three men but wasn’t sure if Allyson had been able to take down another. Shots were hammering into side of the truck, and there was no way he could risk a glance over the edge. He looked in the direction of the rear window of the truck and saw that his friend was out of sight. For a split second, he worried that Mac had been shot. Then the truck lurched forward and turned into a position where the rear was facing the back of the Hummer, now about twenty-five feet away.
Sean raised his head slightly over the tailgate and caught a glimpse of the blond man shoving Tommy into the backseat of the SUV. Amazingly, the shorter henchman was slowly getting up, and crawling into the opposite door.
After pushing Tommy into the vehicle, Ulrich slammed the door and, leaning around the back quarter panel, squeezed off four more rounds. Three of the bullets thumped harmlessly against the tailgate, but one found its way into the back left tire of the truck. Instantly, the rubber gushed white air from the wound.
Sean felt the truck sag and knew exactly what had happened. He heard the Humvee rev to life and squeal its tires. He risked another look over the edge of the truck bed and watched as the four men in the SUV tore past the pickup. He fired off his remaining few bullets at the tires of the escaping truck, but the shots missed.
Allyson also emptied her remaining clip at the accelerating vehicle, but it disappeared over the hill as the clicking sound of her gun signaled it was on empty.
Lowering his head in disappointment, Sean realized he might have just missed his one chance at getting his friend back.
Chapter 37
Cartersville, Georgia
Trent and Will sat quietly, eating the breakfast they’d ordered. After leaving the McElroy place, they had driven into the nearby town and stopped at a diner. Both of them had left Atlanta in a hurry earlier that morning so by the time they were seated, they wanted one of everything on the entire menu.
The restaurant was nice enough for a cliché 1950s-type place. It had the traditional jukebox in the corner, checkerboard tile floors, and pictures of celebrity icons from the golden age of Hollywood. Cushiony booths were upholstered in the traditional glossy vinyl with black and white stripes down the center. Even the waitresses dressed the part with the cute little skirts and red-and-white striped shirts. Their particular server’s blouse was unbuttoned at the top and sported a nametag that read, Wanda.
Neither cop had said much to the other since arriving at the eatery. After they’d nearly devoured their meals, Will finally spoke up. “I’m sorry I lost it back there, man. I didn’t mean...”
“Don’t worry about it.” Morris cut him off. “You’re all right.”
“It’s just that...people with disregard for the law...it gets me angry, that’s all.”
“Believe me, bud. I understand completely. Why do you think so many police brutality cases come up? It’s not that cops have problems with rage or anger issues, necessarily. The way that people disrespect us and the law can get anyone pissed off.”
“Well, I’m sorry. I appreciate you handling the situation back there so I could settle down.” The younger officer looked up from the now-empty plate. His eyes squinted as he smiled with gratitude.
“Like I said, it’s done. Let it go. I did.”
Will looked up from the table with questioning eyes. “So, do you believe the lady?”
Trent looked out the window at an old pickup truck driving by, his thoughts somewhere else. “I don’t know.” He turned his attention back to his partner. “I think so. If I was McElroy and I was helping a fugitive from the law, I wouldn’t want my wife to know either.”
He let out a few short laughs, which made Will smile. Morris continued, “Yeah, I suppose I do believe her. My guess is that she really was at her mother’s last night, and by the time she got home this morning, her husband and Wyatt were long gone.”
A look of determination came onto Morris’s face. He’d been a police officer for a long time. Sometimes, it seemed like too long. One of the biggest things he hated about detective work was that sometimes answers were hard to come by.
“What we gotta worry about now is where to go next.” He dropped the fork he was holding onto the plate and wadded up the napkin next to it. “Looks like the trail has gone cold.”
“Maybe we’re missing something.” Will stirred his coffee, his eyes staring into the brown liquid while he considered the problem.
“Every crime scene has been searched thoroughly. Every possible witness has been questioned. We went to Wyatt’s house, Schultz’s house. And we got nothing. I just can’t think of where else we could turn.”
Five minutes passed as the detectives sat in quiet frustration, drinking their coffee and turning over every proverbial rock in their minds.
The only thing in the diner that wasn’t circa 1950s was the flatscreen television that hung over the kitchen area. Two older gentleman who looked like stereotypical truck drivers with trucker hats and jacket vests sat at the counter watching a news report on CNN.
Trent looked up at the screen to see what they were watching. An aerial shot from a helicopter displayed a deep ravine in a mountain range somewhere. The headline on the bottom of the television read, Tragic accident in Blue Ridge Mountains.
Res
cue crews could be seen at the top of the drop-off, working vigorously to get to what looked like the remains of a car resting upside down at the bottom of the mountain. Trent stared at the scene. He could make out that the wreckage was a late model Mercedes-Benz. The news anchor was busily describing the rescue team’s efforts but continued emphasizing that officials believed there were no survivors. No identification had been made on the vehicle or its passengers, and the authorities were expecting the worst.
Will had stopped gazing out the window at the passersby and joined his partner in watching the news story. Curious, he grabbed the waitress’s attention as she was walking by. “Excuse me. Do you know where that is?” He pointed at the screen.
Her head twisted around, and she noticed what everyone in the diner seemed to be gazing at. “Oh, yeah. That’s up near Brasstown, ‘bout forty minutes from here. Looks like somebody went through the guardrail up there. They been sayin’ fer years they was gonna put a stronger railin’ on that road. I imagine they’ll do it now. Too bad that someone’s gotta die before things get changed in this country. I suppose that’s how the government works though.” Her deep Southern accent was typical for the region. She stared at the television. “Such a shame.”
“You say that place is forty minutes from here?” Will seemed curiously interested in the accident.
“Yeah,” she answered, turning her attention back to the table. “If you get on the highway out there past the light, it will take you straight there. Don’t believe I’d want to go up there right about now though. You can see from the pictures that they’s turnin' people around.”
“Is there anything of interest up in that area? Historical sites, campgrounds...?” His voice trailed off. Trent wasn’t sure what his partner was up to.
“No...well, I mean, yeah.” Her face displayed consternation. “There’s a ton of campin’ up there, but nothing super interestin’. It’s pretty and all. I like driving through there this time of year just to look at the leaves changin’ colors.”
A gruff voice interrupted from behind the counter with the clearing of a throat. The cook had, apparently, been listening to the conversation. “There is one interesting place up near that area.”
Will and Trent both tilted their heads toward the man. “And what would that be?” the younger cop urged.
The older man, probably in his late fifties, was busily scraping the grill clean. His brow eked out a little sweat underneath his paper hat. The belly that stretched out his white T-shirt seemed to suggest he’d not only been working, but also eating, in the diner for a long time. “Up about twenty minutes past that area right there is a spot called Track Rock. It’s down below Brasstown Bald.” Even though the cook had started talking, he didn’t let that get in the way of his work as he tossed a couple of sausages and hash browns onto the hot surface. His hands busily scattered and mashed the potato strips and flipped the patties.
“Track Rock?” Trent was interested.
“Yeah,” the cook continued, glad to have someone new to talk to. “It’s fairly well known around these parts. There are four large boulders there at the trailhead leading to the top of the mountain. The big rocks have some kind of ancient writing on them that nobody’s ever been able to figure out.”
“You mean, no one has been able to translate it?”
“Exactly. I reckon about a half-dozen or so history experts and scientists come up here throughout the year to try their luck at interpreting the drawings, but no one’s ever been able to do it.”
“What kinds of drawings are on these boulders?” Will questioned.
The cook stopped shuffling the sizzling food for a minute and angled his head as if trying to visualize something he’d seen a long time ago. “It’s been a while since I been there. But I can tell you this, ain’t nothing like it anywhere I ever been. All kinds of weird lines and symbols and animal tracks painted all over four big soapstone rocks.”
Trent and Will gave each other an understanding glance. Will spoke. “It’s worth a shot. We got nothing else.”
Considering the option for a minute, Trent finally nodded in agreement. “What have we got to lose? If this guy is looking for something, where else around here would he have gone? It’s at least worth us checking out the wreckage. Maybe he got in a hurry and went off the cliff.”
Will snorted. “I doubt we’d be that lucky.”
They both dropped a few dollar bills on the table next to their empty plates and stood to leave. “We appreciate the information,” Trent offered to both of the diner workers, who simply nodded their acknowledgment as the two detectives hurried out.
Chapter 38
Blue Ridge Mountains
Allyson stood quietly nearby with hands in her jacket pockets, watching the two men. Sean and Joe had been working on changing the flat tire. The work was slow, though, due to the flimsy jack that they were using to lift the heavy vehicle off the ground. Unfortunately, it was all they had.
Swapping out the old tire for the skinny doughnut had taken longer than it should have. Now, Mac was lowering the back end of the truck down, nearly finished with the chore.
His assistance unneeded at this point, Sean had walked back over to the parking area where the shootout had occurred earlier.
“Where are you going?” Allyson asked. Her tone was direct, emphasized by her hands on her hips.
“The only way that we are going to get another chance at saving Tommy is to press on and figure this whole thing out.” His jaw clenched mirroring the resolve in his voice. “Maybe we can figure out the symbols on these rocks and catch up to him.”
“Do you think Tommy solved it?” Her eyes narrowed with concern.
“He must have.” Sean forced a grin. “That rascal shows up here this morning and unravels a mystery that has been unsolvable for hundreds of years.” He shook his head, “No, they wouldn’t have been leaving if Tommy hadn’t put it all together. How he did it, though, is a whole other matter.”
She had joined him, and the two of them were walking in the direction of the caged boulders when his eyes caught sight of something lying near the curb next to the concrete parking barrier. The spot was where the Hummer had been parked during the shootout. Curious, he stepped over to take a look.
“What is it?” she asked, following him closely.
“Looks like a camera bag.” He reached down and picked up the small black case, confirming his suspicions. “Yep. It had likely been dropped during all the chaos.” Flipping the case over, Sean examined it more closely then opened the zipper and removed the digital device. “Tommy must have taken pictures of the stones.”
“Why would he do that?”
Joe had finished up with the tire and was loading up the meager tools in the large metal box in the front of the truck bed. “You guys find something?” he yelled across the lot.
“Yeah,” Sean answered his buddy’s question first.
He returned to her question, “I’m not sure why they would need pictures.” His mind was racing, wondering what his friend was up to.
Cautiously, he pressed the power button on the camera and turned the selector so they could view the pictures. Sean’s eyes scanned the images. All of them were of the four rocks from different views and positions. None of it made any sense. Every one of the scenes appeared to be nothing more than random shapes and lines.
Joe had caught up to them and was curiously looking over their shoulders at the pictures on the little LCD screen.
“Doesn’t make much sense to me,” he commented. “I’ve been to this place several times and can’t make heads or tails of it.”
Sean nodded, looking at the last photo. “Whatever it all means, Tommy figured it out, and he must have done it quickly.”
Several minutes passed while the three stood there, bewildered. The morning sun peeked over the mountain treetops to the east, bathing their little group in beams of soothing warmth. A crow cawed loudly from a nearby branch while other birds carried on their conve
rsations under the cover of the colorful leaves.
The three flipped back through the pictures again, trying to understand what it could have been that Schultz had noticed that would have given him something, anything, that pointed the way.
Allyson snapped out of her trance by saying, “I wonder if he used a computer.”
“You mean, like, a laptop?” Sean tried to follow her train of thought.
“Yeah.”
“Maybe the problem all along has been that everyone who has tried to figure out what the glyphs mean has just been looking at them as they are. If he had a laptop, Tommy could have transferred the pictures onto it and shuffled them around all on one screen.” He pondered the idea. “Mac, where could we find a computer?”
“There’s a town about twenty minutes from here. I’m sure the library has a computer we could use.”
“Let’s do it,” Sean said, turning to head back to the truck.
Upon arriving back at the hobbled vehicle, he opened the front door for her. “Good thinking, Agent Webster,” he said with a smile.
“Thanks.” Her eyes were playful.
“I think you’re beginning to get the hang of this,” he quipped and closed the door after her.
As Sean climbed into the backseat, Joe turned the ignition. “I just hope we can put this together as quickly as Tommy did.”
Chapter 39
Blue Ridge Mountains
Ulrich had stopped at a gas station near a small mountain town that seemed to have been forgotten by time. Having to fill up was something too frequent with the giant SUVs his employer had provided. They could go anywhere in the world as long as anywhere was within close range of a fuel pump.
The guards took turns relieving themselves in the outdoor restroom while the other watched the prisoner. Ulrich was careful to make sure the convenience store manager didn’t take much notice of the peculiar situation.
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