Divine Justice

'It's not that simple, Annabelle.'

She said fiercely, 'Sure it is, Reuben. The question hasn't changed. So your answer must have.' She looked between him and Caleb. 'So what now? You two want to give up? Go back to town? Fine, go! Get the hell out of here. It's not like I need you.'

Reuben and Caleb glanced guiltily at each other.

'Pull over the van, Caleb,' she said. 'I want out of here.'

'Annabelle, just calm down,' Reuben said in a slightly raised voice.

'No, I won't. I can't believe that you two and Alex are such wimps that-'

Reuben roared, 'Shut the hell up!'

Annabelle looked as though he'd popped her in the mouth.

Reuben stared at her, his eyes those of a man barely in control of his anger. 'I fought in wars for my country. I got my ass shot up for my country. I've almost died about twelve times following Oliver on his little adventures. I love him like a brother and he was there for me when I didn't have anybody else. I walked into a death chamber called Murder Mountain with him and we almost didn't walk back out alive. And you know who was right there beside us? Alex Ford. He put his career right on the line when he could've just walked. And he also got his ass shot up, stood up to a team of freaking Korean ninjas looking to slit our throats, took a round for the president of the United States and pretty much single-handedly got us out of that hellhole.' He glanced over at Caleb. 'And this guy's been kidnapped, knocked out, almost asphyxiated, nearly blown up and saved me and Oliver's ass on several different occasions. And we both had to deal with one of our closest friends in the world getting blown away. And all we did was hold up our heads and try to keep going. And now we're out here in the middle of frigging nowhere trying to keep Oliver alive while an asshole that would make Charlie Manson look like a soccer mom is breathing down our backs. So if that's your definition of a wimp, then we're wimps with a capital W, lady.'

For the next minute all that could be heard in the confines of the van was the heavy breathing of Reuben Rhodes.

Annabelle stared at him, a series of emotions competing on her features until one finally won out.

'I'm an idiot, Reuben. I'm sorry. I'm really sorry.'

'Yeah, well. Hell.' Red-faced, he looked down at the floorboard and punched the seat with one of his massive fists.

Before Annabelle could say anything, Caleb spoke up.

'Maybe we should keep going.'

A red-eyed Reuben looked over at him and smiled grimly. 'Won't be the first time. Or hopefully the last.'

Annabelle reached out and took each man's hand in one of hers. 'I just realized something,' she said.

'What's that?' Caleb asked.

'That I should probably keep my big fat mouth shut. I've been acting like I'm the leader here, but I'm not even a full member of the Camel Club yet. I haven't earned it.'

'You're getting there,' said Reuben, giving her a quick smile.

She squeezed their hands and gave him a smile back.

Reuben said, 'So what's the next town on the list?'

Caleb looked at the sheet. 'Divine.'

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 himself 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!'