interesting.”
“Might surprise you.”
“Might,” Quarry agreed.
“That was real nice what you did. Leaving this place to Ma.”
“And to you , Gabriel. And to you.”
“Thank you.”
“You go on and read now. Chapter five.”
Gabriel turned to this task and Quarry listened for a while and then he walked downstairs, his boots clunking hard on the floorboards. He sat on the front porch for a bit admiring a night that had a crispness too rare down south.
A minute later he was driving his old truck. He bounced and heaved over uneven dirt roads. Finally he got there, pulled to a stop, and climbed out. His stride ate up the distance, but he halted before he got to the little house he’d built. He squatted on his haunches about ten yards from it.
Two hundred and twenty-five square feet of perfection, stuck out here in the middle of nowhere. His legs weary, he finally sat on his butt in the dirt and continued to stare at the house. He flicked a smoke out of his pack, slipped it between his lips, but did not light it. It just dangled there like a piece of straw. Somewhere along the treeline an owl hooted. In the sky he could see the wink of an airplane as it skated by. No one up there could see him here in Alabama. The plane would never land here, probably heading on to Florida or maybe Atlanta. Never stop here. Not much here worth stopping for, he knew. Still, he lifted his hand up and did a slow wave to the passengers even though he doubted any of them were looking out their windows.
He got up and strode over to the spot where Carlos would be. He looked back at the house, did a rough eye trajectory, probably for the thousandth time. It hadn’t changed, not once. Not a millimeter. The camera was up there, the live feed to Carlos. The remote that would trigger it all. The SAT phone to Quarry at the mine. The dynamite. Willa. Her real mother. Daryl. Kurt already lying dead in a shaft in the south end. His Patriot buried in ignominy.
Ruth Ann.
Gabriel.
And finally Tippi.
See, that was the hardest part of all. Tippi.
He left the knoll and walked with a purpose in the direction of the house. This time he kept going, though, and walked up to the porch. He didn’t unlock the door. He just sat on the planked porch, his back against a support post; his gaze dead on the door.
That was the hardest part.
He breathed in a bit of chilly air and then spit it out. It was as though his lungs didn’t like the crispness of it, the purity. He coughed. He was getting the hack like Fred.
For a few seconds Quarry did the unimaginable, at least for him. He actually thought about stopping. The letter was already gone, but he didn’t have to follow it up. He could fly up to the mine tomorrow, get Wohl and Willa, and leave them somewhere safe, where they would be found. He could just stay here with Tippi.
He got back in his truck and drove hard to Atlee. He hustled to his library, locked the door, ignored the Beam, and took a drink of Old Grand Dad. He sat at his desk, stared at the empty fireplace, felt the swollen skin on his forearm. He abruptly lashed out and swept everything off his desk; it all crashed down on the floor.
“What the hell am I doing!” he cried out. He stood there, bent over, breathing fast; his nerves had no elasticity left. He rushed out, plunged down the stairs, pulling the set of keys from his pocket. He hit the basement, ran down the passageway, unlocked the door, and went in the room. He flicked on the light and stared at the walls. His walls. His life. His road map to justice. He stared at all the old names, places, events, the intersecting lines of string that represented years of sweat, of tenacity, of an overpowering drive to figure it all out.
His breathing grew regular and his nerves reclaimed their rigidity. He lit a cigarette, released the smoke out slowly. His gaze settled on a photo of Tippi over at the far end of the walls, the place where it had all began.
The walls had won out. He was in this until the end. He clicked off the light, banishing the walls to darkness, but they had already fulfilled their purpose. He locked the door and headed upstairs.
Gabriel had finished reading to Tippi and gone to bed. Quarry checked on him as he passed by his bedroom. He opened the door a crack and listened to the soft breaths of the boy, saw the rise and fall of the blanket covering him.
A good boy. Probably grow into a fine man. And lead a life that would take him far away from this place. Good thing. He didn’t belong here. Gabriel didn’t belong here to the same degree that Sam Quarry did.
Everyone had to choose his road. Gabriel still had his decision to make. Quarry had already picked his route. There was no exit off his highway. He was heading a million miles an hour straight down it.
As he walked upstairs to bed he checked his watch. Carlos would be dropping the letter off in a couple more hours. Figure a day or two to reach its destination, three tops. He’d allowed for that in his instructions.
Then it would happen. Then he could have his say. And they would listen. He was sure of that. He would make it clear. And then the decision would be up to them. He had a pretty good idea of what that decision would be. But people were strange. Sometimes you could just never figure them out. As he reached his bedroom at the top of the house, he realized that he was a testament to not being able to figure folks out.
He didn’t turn on the light. He just chucked his boots and socks, undid his belt, unzipped his pants and let them drop to the floor. He moved over to the couch and started to pick up his bottle of liquid painkiller. Then he glanced over at the bed.
What the hell? He lay down on it, put aside the bottle, and started to dream of better days.
Yet that’s just what it would remain for him. Only a dream.
CHAPTER 65
MICHELLE AND SEAN watched as Frank Maxwell laid the cluster of flowers on his wife’s fresh grave, bowed his head, and mumbled a few words. Then he just stood there, looking off, at what neither of them knew.
Sean whispered to her, “Do you think he’s going to be okay?”
“I don’t know. I don’t even know if I’m going to be okay.”
“How’re your leg and arm?”
“Fine. And that’s not the part of me I’m talking about.”
“I know,” he said quietly.
She turned to him. “Do you have these kinds of family problems?”
“Every family has issues. Why?”
“Just wondering.”
They fell silent as Frank walked toward them.
Michelle put a hand on his arm. “You okay?”
He shrugged but then nodded. As they walked back to Michelle’s SUV he said, “I probably shouldn’t have left Sally to go and investigate. I probably should have stayed with her.”
“If you had, we might not have caught Rothwell and Reagan,” Sean pointed out.
When they got back to the house, Michelle made some coffee while Sean prepared sandwiches for lunch. They both looked up when the voice on the small countertop TV in the kitchen came on.
A moment later they were both looking at Willa’s image on the screen. The news story was not enlightening. It said all the usual things. FBI still investigating. The First Couple anxious. The country wondering where the little girl was. They knew all that. But the mere sight of the little girl seemed to mesmerize them both, lifting them to a more heightened sense of urgency.
Sean stepped outside to make some phone calls. When he returned Michelle looked at him questioningly.
“Checking in with the First Lady and Chuck Waters.”
“Anything new?”
“Nothing. I left another message for my two-star buddy.”
“How’s Waters coming on tracking down the Koasati angle?”
“They’ve had people all over that town in Louisiana. Nothing so far. Everybody checks out.”
They fell silent. It was clear that now that the mystery of Sally Maxwell’s death had been solved, the priority was finding Willa. Alive. But they needed a break. Just one break.
 
; Later, as they sat eating in the kitchen, Frank wiped his mouth with his napkin and cleared his throat.
“I was surprised you went back there,” he said.
“Back where?” she countered.
“You know.”
“I was pretty stunned to see you there too.”
“We were never happy there, you know. Me and your mom.”
“Apparently not.”
“Do you remember much of it?” he asked cautiously. “You were so little. Not much more than a toddler.”
“Dad, I wasn’t a toddler. I was six. But, no, I don’t remember much about it.”
“But you remembered how to get there?”
Michelle lied and said, “That’s what we call GPS.”
Sean fiddled with a potato chip on his plate while he tried to look everywhere except at father and daughter. “I’ll be right back,” he said and got up and left before either of them could say anything.
“He’s a good man,” Frank said.
Michelle nodded. “Probably better than I deserve.”
“So you two are like a couple?” He gazed over at his daughter.
She fiddled with the handle of her coffee cup. “More business partners,” she said.
Frank glanced out the window. “I worked a lot back then. Left your mother alone too much. It was hard. I see that now. My career as a cop was my life. Your brothers have balanced things a lot better than I ever did.”
“I never felt ignored, Dad. And none of the boys did either as far as I can tell. They worshipped you and Mom.”
“But did you?”
The look in his eyes was so pleading, she felt the breath harden in her throat. “Did I what?” But she already knew.
“Worship us? Me and your mom?”
“I love you both very much. I always have.”
“Right, okay.” He went back to his lunch, methodically chewing his sandwich and drinking his coffee, the veins in his strong hands pronounced. But he never looked at her again. And Michelle could not bring herself to amend what she’d already said.
As she and Sean were cleaning up after the meal someone knocked at the front door. She went to answer it and came back a minute later holding a large cardboard box.
Sean put the last cup in the dishwasher, closed it, and turned to her. “What’s that? For your dad?”
“No, for you.”
“Me!”
She set it down on the table and read the return address. “General Tom Holloway? Department of Defense?”
“My two-star buddy. Looks like he came through with the AWOL records.”
“But how did they get here?”
“I e-mailed him on the drive down to Tennessee and left this address just in case he had something and we were still down here. Open it up, quick.”
Michelle used a pair of scissors to slit open the box. Inside were separate plastic binders, about three dozen of them. She pulled a few out. They were copies of official Army investigation reports.
“I know he’s your friend and all, but why would the Army provide a civilian with this stuff? And do so with such speed?”
Sean took one of the binders and started sifting through it.
“Sean? I asked you a question.”
He glanced up. “Well, aside from the football tickets I might’ve let slip that the White House was behind our investigation and that any cooperation they could lend would be personally pleasing to both the president and the First Lady. Knowing the Army, I’m sure they checked that out and found it was true. First rule in the military, never do anything to piss off the commander in chief.”
“I’m impressed.”
“That’s apparently what I live for.”
“So we go through these?”
“Page by page. Line by line. And hope to God it’s the break we need.”
A door slammed. Michelle rose and looked out the window in time to see her father climb in his car and drive off.
“Where do you think he’s going?” asked Sean.
Michelle sat back down. “How should I know? I’m not the man’s keeper.”
“The man saved your life.”
“And I thanked him for that, didn’t I?”
“Before I go any further, am I getting close to the point where you usually tell me to go to hell?”
“Perilously close.”
“I thought so.” He turned back to the binder.
“I do love my father. And I loved my mother.”
“I’m sure. And I know these things get complicated.”
“I think my family wrote the book on complicated.”
“Your brothers seem pretty normal.”
“I guess I got all the issues.”
“Why did you want to go back to the farmhouse?”
“I told you, I don’t know.”
“I’ve never known you to take an idle trip.”
“First time for everything.”
“Is that how you want to leave it with your dad?”
She gave him a look. “Exactly how am I leaving it?”
“Up in the air.”
“Sean, my mother was murdered after apparently cheating on my dad. The woman who killed her almost killed me. My father saved my life, but there are issues there too, okay? In fact, for a while there I thought he’d been the one who killed her. So excuse me for being a little conflicted right now.”
“I’m sorry, Michelle, you’re right.”
She laid down the binder she was holding and put her face in her hands. “No, maybe you’re right. But I don’t know how to deal with this, I really don’t.”
“Maybe you start with just talking to the guy. One-on-one, nobody else around.”
“That sounds absolutely terrifying.”
“I know it does. And you don’t have to do it.”
“But I probably do have to do it if I ever want to get past this.” She stood. “Can you take over going through these? I’m going to try and find my dad.”
“Any idea where he might’ve gone?”
“I think so.”
CHAPTER 66
JANE COX RODE in the limo coming back from Mail Boxes Etc. Unbeknownst to her, the FBI had run a trace on the post office box she’d been visiting every day. They had come up empty. Phony name, paid in cash for six months, and no paper trail. They’d given the store manager hell for not following the rules.
“This is how 9/11s start, you clueless moron,” Agent Chuck Waters had snapped at the middle-aged man behind the counter. “You let a terrorist cell get a mailbox here with no background info, you’re helping the enemies of this country attack us. Is that what the hell you want to be remembered for? Aiding and abetting Osama bin Laden?”
The man had been so distressed by this tongue-lashing that his eyes had actually started to tear up. But Waters had never seen this. He was already gone.
Jane reached the White House and climbed slowly out of the car. She had not been seen much in public as of late, which was a good thing, actually, because she looked older and haggard. The HD cameras deployed now would not have been too flattering. Even the president had noticed it.
“You okay, hon?” he’d asked during a brief stopover on the campaign trail where he would give an address to a group of veterans followed by a belated visit from the women’s college basketball national championship