Divine Justice (14 page)
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.”
A
NNABELLE 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.”
“So let’s talk about it.”
“I don’t want to get in trouble.”
“I don’t want that either.”
“Yeah, but can you guarantee it?”
“If you’ve done nothing wrong, I can. And even if you have screwed up, depending on what you tell me, you might very well get a walk.”
Annabelle started twisting her fingers. “It’s complicated.”
“Trust me, my job never involves anything remotely simple.”
“What exactly is your job?” she said bluntly.
He pulled over and parked on the street and turned off the truck. “Let’s get one thing straight. This is not an information exchange. You talk, I listen. If it’s good, I help you. If you’re screwing me over, well, just don’t.”
She drew a long breath and plunged in. “Oliver was very secretive. Nobody really knew anything concrete about his past. But we could all tell he was special, different. You probably saw the books in his cottage. He spoke different languages. He just carried himself in a different way.”
“His past I’m reasonably well-informed on. It’s his current location that I’m most interested in.”
“I don’t know that.”
“So why’d you call me?”
“Oliver had some information on Carter Gray. That was why Gray resigned when he did.”
“What kind of information?”
Annabelle shook her head. “He never said, but he visited Gray and the next day Gray resigned, so it must’ve been pretty incriminating.”
“But then Gray got his old position back.”
“That’s because he got the evidence that Oliver had back.”
“The Capitol Visitor Center?” Knox said sharply.
“I think so. It wasn’t like I was there. It’s just something Oliver said right before he vanished.”
“What else did he say?”
“That it’s better no one ever finds out the real truth. That it could hurt this country and he would never want that.”
Knox smiled. “You’d make a great witness for the defense.”
“Do you know about his military service?”
“Guy was a helluva soldier. So what about Senator Simpson? What’s the connection there?”
“Oliver said he worked for the CIA before he got into politics.”
“That’s right, he did. So Oliver knew him back then?”
“I guess. If he did work for the CIA, I mean. I have no proof that Oliver ever did.”
“Let me worry about the proof. Does the term Triple Six mean anything to you?”
“I heard Oliver mention it once, but he never explained what it was.”
“I bet he didn’t.”
“He was a good man. He helped break up a spy ring. He got a commendation letter from the FBI director.”
“Good for him. So why do you think he killed Gray and Simpson?”
“I have no reason to believe that he did.”
“Come on, Susan, or whatever your real name is, you’re obviously not stupid. You know Carr and Stone are the same person. He’s been hiding out for thirty years.”
“If that’s so, why do you think he’s been hiding out?”
“You tell me.”
“Maybe people were after him.”
“What people?”
“People looking to kill him, I think.”
“Is that what he said?”
“He told me once that with some agencies, even if you want to leave, they won’t let you. They’d rather you’d be dead than not working for them.”
This remark hit Knox like a hard slap but he didn’t show it.
That one I can believe.
“So let’s assume for the moment he was a Triple Six who wanted out. They didn’t want him to leave?”
“I know he was married and had a daughter. But he said they were both dead now.”
Knox sat back against the seat, his fingers still gripping the steering wheel. “Suggesting that whoever was after him killed them?”
“I don’t know. Maybe.”
Knox let go of the steering wheel and stared out at the traffic whipping by down Pennsylvania Avenue. His thoughts turned momentarily to his own son and daughter. Maybe his son was safer in Iraq than his daughter was in Washington.
That
was a brutally numbing thought.
“Do you have a family?” she asked.
Knox snapped back. “What else can you tell me? His last few days with you? Anything that might show where he went?”
“If he did kill Gray and Simpson they probably deserved it.”
“That’s not what I asked, and, by the way, talk like that could wind you up in jail.”
“I owe Oliver my life.”
“That’s you, not me.”
“So when you find him are you going to kill him?”
“I work for the federal government. I’m not a hired killer.”
“So you’re telling me that if you do catch him he’ll end up being tried, in a court of law?”
Knox hesitated. “That’s not my call. A lot of it depends on him.”
“Yeah, I thought that might be what you’d say.”
“We’re talking about a killer, Ms. Hunter.”
“No, we’re talking about my friend who was pushed past all human limits.”
“You know that to be a fact?”
“I know him. That’s how he’s built. Was he capable of violence, of killing? Sure. Was he a cold-blooded killer? No.”
“I have information that says otherwise.”
“Then your information is wrong.”
“What makes you so sure?”
“My gut.”
“Your gut? That’s it?”
“Yeah, the same gut that’s telling me you really don’t want any part of this job. I’m betting you have a family and a dream of being retired. But you got called into this shit and now you don’t know which side is playing you for a fool.”
It was a testament to Knox’s iron-hard nerves that he didn’t even blink in the face of this spot-on observation.
“Unless you have anything to add, I’ll drop you back off.”
“So am I in trouble?”
“You’ll be the first to know.”
Back in Georgetown she climbed out of the Rover. Before she closed the door he said, “With something like this, Ms. Hunter, everybody needs to watch his back.”
He drove off.
Annabelle pulled her coat tighter around her and watched, stone-faced, as Reuben’s truck edged past her and took up the tail on Joe Knox.
The fox had now become the hunted.
A minute later an ancient Chevy with a stuttering tailpipe stopped at the curb, Caleb at the wheel. Annabelle climbed in and they drove off in the opposite direction.
Annabelle glanced at Caleb and he looked at her.
“We’re being followed too, you know,” Annabelle said.
“Story of my life,” Caleb replied without a trace of a whine.
S
TONE HUSTLED DOWN
a clay-packed path, really no more than two truck tire tracks wide, as he followed the cries. From out of the darkness loomed a long shape. The double-wide trailer was no longer “mobile” since it had a cinderblock undercarriage. The hulks of old cars and trucks, like the skeletons from faded battlefields, flew past as Stone hurried to the trailer. It had long strips of vinyl siding dangling off and the front steps were blackened railroad ties nailed together. Stone went from the bottom to the top step in one leap as the screams picked up.
The door was locked. He pounded on it.
“Hello, what’s going on? Do you need help?” He suddenly wondered if the frantic calls were coming from a TV set turned up far too loud.
A moment later the door was thrown open and an old man stood there, his body trembling as though he was in the throes of a Parkinson’s meltdown.
“What’s going on?” Stone exclaimed.
The next moment Stone was knocked aside as a young man burst past his trailer mate and sprang into the air, landing hard on the ground. Stone recovered his balance and stared after him.
Aside from the fellow’s obvious agitation, he was remarkable for having no clothes on. He stopped next to one old wreck in the yard, moaned and fell to the ground, writhing in the dirt like he was being Tasered.
The old man grabbed Stone’s arm.
“Help him, please!”
“What’s wrong with him?”
“He’s got the DTs. Coming off the pills or something. Went crazy. Ripped off his clothes. Tearing up the place.”
Stone raced to the fallen man’s side. His breathing was shallow, his eyes unfocused. His skin was cold and clammy.
Stone yelled over his shoulder, “Call the ambulance.”
“Ain’t none up here.”
“Where’s the hospital?”
“Hour drive.”
“Is there a doctor around?” Stone was holding on to the stricken man, trying to calm him.
“Doc Warner’s place is on the other side of town.”
“You have a car?”
“Truck right there.” The old man pointed to a battered old Dodge. “Is he going to be okay?”
“I don’t know. Who are you?”
“His grandpa. Come to check on him. Then this happened.”
“Can you help me get him in the truck?”
Together they lifted the young man into the cab and Stone covered him with a blanket. The old man was still shaking so badly he couldn’t drive. Stone took the wheel and followed his directions to the doctor’s place.
“What’s your grandson’s name?”
“Willie Coombs. I’m Bob Coombs.”
“Where are his parents?”
“My son—his daddy—is dead. His momma ain’t much good.”
Stone glanced at Willie. He’d stopped thrashing and screaming and was now lying quite still. Stone again checked his pulse, slammed on the brakes and grabbed a flashlight off the dash to look at his pupils. They were pinpoints.
“Shit!”
“What is it?”
“He’s not in withdrawal. He overdosed. And his heart’s stopped.”
Stone pulled Willie out of the cab, set him on the ground and started doing CPR. He checked his pulse and then looked desperately around while he continued to push down on the man’s chest. There was nothing but woods here, not even the wink of a house light in the distance.
“Come on, Willie. Come on! Don’t die on me. Breathe.”
Stone checked his pulse.
Bob Coombs looked at him. “Is he okay?”
“No, he’s not. He’s technically dead. And we’ve got maybe sixty seconds before there’s brain damage.”
Stone ran to the truck and threw open the hood. The battery didn’t throw off the juice he would need, but something else in the engine did. He ran to the cargo bed and started tossing items around there. His hands seized around a set of battery cables, masking tape and a nail.
