CHAPTER 59
STONE CROUCHED LOW with his pistol out. He didn’t like doing this alone, but with Tyree now implicated in whatever was going on here, he didn’t have many options for assistance. The trucks were already lining up. The methadone pop brigade. Rusty trucks and rustier miners looking for their joy juice. Only they wouldn’t find it here. The men came out of the old barn at the rear of Abby Riker’s property carrying large boxes. They were loaded in the back of each truck with a tarp over them. After that, the drivers pulled off.
Stone mentally kicked him
self for not realizing the truth sooner. The very first night he’d arrived in town and seen this caravan of miners heading to the methadone clinic, Danny had told him that they got up this early because they had to get back in time to start the seven a.m. shift at the mines. Yet it was only a two-hour round trip from the clinic back here. Stone had made the trip himself to the hospital several times. He’d actually seen the men roll into the methadone clinic at nearly five in the morning.
At the courthouse he’d seen the manifest for the delivery of legal documents. It had listed eighty boxes, but there had only been sixty there. Six high, ten across. That had meant nothing to him until he’d thought of the discrepancy in time with the miners going to and from the clinic. At least three extra hours, missing boxes and one more thing.
He glanced at the grass in front of the barn. He’d seen it while he was here working, yet had really thought nothing of it. The carpet of grass was worn down and blackened, blackened by the filthy tires of the coal miners’ trucks as they came here to pick up their cargo. Just like the road in front of the snake-filled mine from which he’d barely escaped. Black dirt, black grass; he should have seen it sooner.
So the big question was, what was in the boxes?
After connecting all the dots Stone thought he knew the answer to this too. But would he get the chance to find out for sure?
There was one truck left. The boxes were put in the cargo bed. Right before he tied the tarp over them, the driver opened one of the boxes and pulled out what looked to be a small black bag. Stone had seen each of the other drivers do the same thing. He closed the box and was about to secure the tarp when one of the other men who’d been helping load the boxes called to him. They went into the barn together.
Stone slid his pistol in his waistband and crept out of the woods, keeping as low to the ground as he could. There was a bright full moon that had made the night far less dark than usual. He reached the truck, glancing at the barn as he did so. He moved the tarp away and slowly slid a box toward him. Fortunately it wasn’t taped shut, just closed up. He opened it and peered in.
He’d been right. Clear baggies filled with what looked to be prescription drugs. Probably in the oxycodone family. Two hundred bucks a pill on the street, Willie had said. Based on that he was looking at millions of dollars in this box alone.
And the black baggies the druggie miners had taken were probably their payment for driving the boxes to what was probably the next step in the pipeline, with the final destination being some major urban area on the East Coast. It was pretty powerful leverage when all your employees were addicts. They’d do whatever you told them to get the pain meds they couldn’t otherwise afford. It was also pretty damn heartless—not surprising with drug dealers.
With the sixth sense that he possessed, Stone reacted to the presence he suddenly felt behind him. Yet it was still a fraction of a second too late.
The gun muzzle was next to his head and Stone heard the man say, “You move, you die.”
Stone could feel the man’s other hand expertly pat him. His gun was yanked out of his pants, dropped to the dirt and kicked under the truck.
Stone didn’t move. He just stood there with a baggie of pills clutched in one hand.
The man said, “What the hell is that?”
“Illegal prescription drugs,” Stone said, confused. “Why, who the hell are you?”
“Joe Knox. Central Intelligence. And you’re John Carr.”
Stone didn’t know whether to feel a bit of relief that it was the CIA who’d caught up to him and not the drug runners. However, the end result might not be all that different. “Well, Mr. Knox, you just walked into a drug transport going down.”
“What?”
“I suggest we carry on this conversation somewhere else.” Stone pointed to the men coming out of the barn.
“Hey!” one of them screamed when they saw the pair next to the truck. Shotguns and pistols appeared in the men’s hands even as other men rushed out of the barn to join them.
“Run, Knox!”
Using the truck as a shield, Knox and Stone sprinted off, hurtling into the woods. The men raced after them, taking aim with their weapons.
Running next to Stone, Knox snapped, “What the hell is going on?”
“Your timing was as bad as my selection of towns to hide out in.” Stone glanced behind them. “Look out.” He grabbed Knox by the sleeve and pulled him off the path they were on. A moment later a shotgun blast ripped the limb off a tree that Knox had been next to.
Knox pointed his pistol over his head and fired four shots in a wide swath to buy them some time. The only thing it bought was a barrage of bullets, one of which burned a crease in Knox’s right arm but didn’t go in.
“Damn it!” He clutched his wounded limb but kept running.
In a flash Stone grabbed the pistol from his hand, whirled around and emptied the clip at the men coming for them. He hit one of them and placed his shots so well that the other pursuers were forced to take cover.
Stone said, “This way, quick!”
They cut across a gulley, hit the asphalt road, crossed it in three leaps and plunged into the woods on the other side.
“How’s the arm?”
“I’ve had worse.”
“Got another clip?” Stone asked.
Knox dug in his pocket and flipped it to him. “Damn sorry I took your gun now.”
“Me too.” Stone slapped the ammo clip in and held the gun ready.
“We can’t outrun them,” Knox said, panting, even as he nervously eyed the gun in Stone’s hand.
“No, we can’t. They look a lot younger than we are.”
“You’re a damn good shot.”
“I don’t think it’ll matter this time.”
“You are John Carr, aren’t you?”
“He’s dead.”
“I’ll take that as a yes.”
Another bullet blast came at them, forcing them to turn east. They raced up a slope, both men’s breaths coming in gasps now even as they slowed. Stone slipped on some mud and fell down. Knox stooped and helped him up.
They were nearly at the top of the hill.
Stone said, “Get behind that tree, Knox. We’ve got some high ground here and I don’t want to waste it.”
Knox took cover and watched as Stone nimbly scaled an oak, shimmied out onto a thick branch, took aim and when the first man appeared out of the brush he opened fire. The man yelled out and went down. Two other men appeared behind him. When they raised their weapons, Stone shot one of them in the leg. A moment later a barrage of gunfire erupted from the woods. Stone returned it, spraying shots all across the front of the tree line. He jumped to the ground, rejoined Knox and handed him back the gun.
Knox looked surprised. “You do understand that I’m here to arrest you for the murders of Carter Gray and Senator Simpson?”
“Yeah, I do.”
“So why are you giving me back my gun?”
“Because it’s empty.”
They ran hard, or as hard as two middle-aged men could manage over hilly terrain.
Knox said, “Shit!”
Up ahead they heard the men coming.
“They outflanked us,” Stone gasped.
They stopped running as four men with shotguns broke through the brush and took aim. Behind them four more men stood, panting, guns fixed on them.
Knox held his pistol up in a surrender position. “Would it make a difference if I told you I’m a federal agent with a shitload of backup heading your way?”
One of the men placed a shot that came within an inch of taking off Knox’s right ear.
“That answer your question?” the shooter said. “Now put your gun down real slow.”
For a number of reasons Stone had half expected to see Tyree standing there, but he didn’t recognize this guy.
“I’m just here to take this man into custody,” Knox said, indicating Stone. “I don’t give a damn what else is going on.”
“Right, and then we just go about our business and trust you and your friend to keep quiet. Drop the gun, I ain’t asking again.”
Knox bent down and placed his pistol on the ground. One of the men stepped forward and pocketed it along with his wallet and cell phone. They did the same with Stone.
The man who’d fired the shot flipped open the wallet and checked the