David Baldacci - Divine Justice

"One more thing. Before Simpson left the building he called out something to Stone."

"What was that?"

"He told him that he'd been the one to order the hit on Stone and his family when Stone was with Triple Six and Simpson was with CIA. His wife was killed and his daughter just disappeared during the hit. Stone got away and he's been on the run ever since. They took everything he had, Knox. Everything."

"Why would they want to torpedo one of their own?"

"He wanted out. He'd had enough. Only they didn't want him to leave," Finn said simply.

Knox settled down in a chair and peered out the window into his small front yard as he digested this. "Why are you telling me all this?"

"Two reasons. Owing to something that happened a long time ago involving Gray and Simpson, my family and I are bulletproof so far as the U.S. government is concerned. They're not coming after us no matter what I say or don't say."

"Yeah, I got that impression. And the second reason?"

"I've still got contacts on the inside and I checked you out. I peg you as a good guy in a tough spot. You may need a lifeline more than anybody before this is all over."

"I hope you're wrong but I appreciate the assist."

"Here's another one. If you are trying to find Oliver Stone, I'm not going to wish you luck."

"I can understand that."

"It's not just for the reason you think."

"Come again?"

"That night at the Capitol Visitor Center he had a thirty-year-old sniper rifle and a shitty scope. There was a seasoned CIA paramilitary force on the other side loaded for bear with a six-to-one advantage over us. We walked out, they didn't. I've never seen anything like it, Knox, and I was a SEAL who pulled time in just about every flame point there is in the world. Oliver Stone is the most stand-up guy you'll ever meet. He'll never let you down. He's a man of his word and he'll lay down his life for his friends without hesitation. But with a gun or knife in his hand the guy's no longer human. He knows ways to kill people I've never even heard of. So if you do run into him the chances are pretty high that you won't be the one walking away. Just thought you ought to know."

Finn clicked off and Knox sat there looking out his window, his pen now making nonsensical doodles on the paper.

This intelligence from Finn, while compelling and interesting, should not have made a difference to Knox insofar as his mission was concerned.

But it did.

It had come as no shock to Knox that his agency had less than clean hands. That was just the nature of the business. But though Knox was a veteran of the intelligence world, there was something in his gut-perhaps as deep as his soul-that had recoiled in anger with every fact that Finn had revealed about John Carr and how his country had repeatedly ripped the man's life apart.

There was right and wrong, although those lines got blurred all the time. Justice and injustice too were often all over the place, he knew. There were no easy answers and whatever road you took, be it the high, low or more likely somewhere in between, half the people would hate the result and half would applaud. And the hell of the thing was in a way they'd both be right.

However, as Knox dwelled on all this, it seemed to him that John Carr, no matter what he might have done on that rainy, gray morning a few days ago, deserved to live out his life as a free man, but that was not Knox's decision to make. His investigator mind told him to verify what he'd been told. Then he would just have to see.

VISITING HOURS at the hospital were long over, but Stone found a sympathetic nurse who let him into the ward after he explained his connection.

"That's right," the nurse said. "Doc Warner mentioned that. Who would've thought to use a car engine to start somebody's heart?"

Somebody who's been in a war .

Willie was propped up in the bed and hooked up to an IV drip. Other cables connected to his body ran to a monitor where lines and numbers darted across.

When Stone walked in Willie opened his eyes and said, "Who the hell are you?"

"Ben. I helped your grandfather get you here."

Willie put out a hand. "Gramps told me about that. I guess I owe you my life."

"You look like you're doing better."

"Don't feel all that much better."

"Did they tell you how long you'll be in here?"

"No. I still don't know what the hell happened."

"You overdosed."

"I know I did. I just don't know how I did it."

"So what'd they find in your bloodstream?"

"Docs said oxycodone along with some other stuff."

"That would do it."

"But I didn't have any. That shit is expensive unless you got a prescription. You're talking a couple hundred bucks a pill on the street."

Stone pulled up a chair and sat next to the bed. Willie Coombs had longish brown hair and a good-looking face though tiny lines were already massing around his eyes and lips. He looked like Danny Riker, only more worn. "All right, what did you have and what did you take?"

"Hey, you some kind of undercover cop?"

"Well, if I were it'd be a pretty clear case of entrapment."

Willie let out a long sigh. "I'm too tired to give a shit. What I usually do is get me some fentanyl patches, shuck 'em in two, squeeze out the juice, cook it up and inject it in my feet. Gives you a nice pop, like heroin."

"Fentanyl? China white, right?" Stone said.

"You sound like you know your drugs."

"You said that's what you usually do?"

"Prescription ran out. So I just got me some run-of-the-mill street crack. Never had no trouble like this."

"Bob told me it was crack."

Willie looked surprised. "Well, if he told you, why the hell ask me?"

"I always like to confirm things with a corroborating source."

"You sure you ain't a cop?"

"Not even close. But crack is a stimulant. Your pupils would have been seven or eight millimeters, not pinpoints."

"I don't know what to tell you."

"How can you take crack and then go to work in the mines?"

"Had a couple days off. Sick leave," Willie added hastily.

"You sure you didn't take any oxycodone that night?"

"I wouldn't have taken any even if I had it."

"Why not?"

"Doc Warner put me on it when I busted up my arm in the mines couple years ago. Got some kind of reaction to it so I don't use the damn stuff."

"Did you take anything else? Anything you can remember? Eating or drinking?"

"Had a couple beers. Picked up some takeout at Rita's."

Stone perked up. "What sort of takeout?"

"Burger and fries and a platter of grilled nachos."

"So you ate, drank and then did the crack?"

"Yep. Started acting jumpy and shit and rambling on, but I was by myself, so that was okay. Before I was going to bed I took some Tylenol. I always take Tylenol anyway, every night. Just turned twenty-three, but I feel like I'm sixty some days."

"Tylenol?"

"Then I remember Gramps showing up. Then things really started getting weird."

"Who knew you took Tylenol every night?"

"Ain't like I kept it a secret. Lot of folks take pills up here."

"Yeah, I'm starting to see that," Stone said dryly. "So anybody really could've known?"

"What the hell are you getting at, mister?"

"If somebody replaced your Tylenol with oxycodone pills, that could explain how it got in your system. How many did you take?"

"A couple, least I think."

"Were there any left in the bottle?"

"A few."

"Do you remember if they looked like Tylenol pills?"

Willie sat up, pulling the IV lines and cables taut. "You saying somebody's trying to kill me? Who the hell would wanta do that?"

"You'd know that better than me, Willie."

"I doubt somebody's coming after me for my double-wide, guns and hunting bows. Other than that, I ain't got much."