David Baldacci - Divine Justice

"Come on. You're about the same size as Danny."

She led him to Danny's room and picked out some clothes for him. When he came out of the shower they were all neatly packed in a bag except for a pair of pants, shirt, socks and skivvies.

Dressed with phone and gun in hand, Stone gave Abby a hug. "Thanks, I'll meet you at the hospital later," he said.

He watched her drive off. Then he sped off in the opposite direction to keep his appointment with Trimble. Then he would go see Tyree. He had to play this just right. Or the only future he'd have would be either six feet under or else making calendar scratches on the walls of a federal prison.

A TRUCK DROVE UP and a man got out and sprinted to Knox's front door. He answered and the man handed him a package and left.

Knox sat in his office, put the DVD into his computer, and the images spread over the screen. The artist and Leroy had finally hooked up. The digital sketches of presumably a bushy-bearded John Carr looked back at him. The artist had also, on Knox's instructions, done images where the beard and glasses were removed. Knox compared these to old photos of John Carr from his military days along with more recent pictures that he had obtained from CIA files. They looked like the same guy to him. He printed out multiple color copies and hustled out the door.

The wheels squealing on his Rover, Knox sped out of his driveway.

From down the street, Caleb started the van and followed.

"Looks like our hound might have a lead," Annabelle said as she lowered her binoculars.

Knox went to National Airport first and Annabelle followed him in. An hour or so later he got back in his truck and drove off.

Annabelle jumped back in the Chrysler.

"Looks like he got zilch at the airport, though. Let's see where he goes next."

Knox's next stop was Union Station. Normally he would've flooded the area with the images of the altered John Carr, putting them on the metro database, with all the airlines and law enforcement agencies, but he couldn't do that here. If the FBI recognized the bushy-bearded man as one they'd allowed to slip through their fingers, they would wonder about CIA's interest in him. And despite Hayes' assurances that he could keep the FBI at bay, you never knew.

Inside the station Knox hit what might have been the jackpot. A ticket clerk believed she recognized the composite drawing of Stone with the bushy beard and glasses. He'd paid in cash for a coach fare but the clerk couldn't remember what name was on his ID.

"Do you remember which train he took?"

"Yep. Don't have many people who pay in cash. He booked the Crescent. To New Orleans."

"How can I get in touch with somebody who was on that train? A conductor, maybe?"

The woman picked up a phone. Minutes later Knox relayed his request to a supervisor in his office. The man made some calls and told Knox he was in luck. One of the conductors who'd been on that train had just gotten back to town. He came in an hour later to the station after the supervisor phoned him. He was shown the picture but didn't recognize the man. Knox handed him another composite with the beard and glasses removed.

"Yeah, this could be the guy who got in the fight."

"Fight?"

"Laid out three guys a lot younger than him on the train."

"Is that right?"

The conductor went on to explain what had happened, ending with Stone and the other men getting off at the next station. He told Knox the name of the town.

"He wouldn't give me any ID. Offered to get off the train instead. Little suspicious, I thought."

"Did you get the names of the other guys?"

"Nope. They said they'd get off the train too and they did. No skin off my nose. Saved me from filing a police report. Damn punks."

"Give me descriptions of all of them."

After Knox finished writing this information down he glanced at the supervisor. "Can you pull the ticket records for that train trip?"

"Yeah, but we can't match them to faces on that train."

"I'll take a list of the names anyway. Something might turn up."

The manager printed out this information and gave it to Knox.

"So is this something big?" the conductor asked eagerly.

"So big you'll probably never hear anything about it ever again. And I'd strongly suggest that you two gents forget I was ever here."

Knox hustled out of the station with Annabelle following. His truck rumbled off from the parking lot and the van eased after it.

The Rover picked up its pace and threatened to leave Caleb and Annabelle behind. When Caleb started cutting in and out of traffic in an effort to keep up, Annabelle told him there was no need.

"But we'll lose him."

"No we won't." She pulled a small device from her bag. "When I was in his truck in Georgetown, I placed a transmitter under the seat. It has a range of about twenty miles."

"Why didn't you tell me that before?"

"I'm sorry. I've had a lot on my mind."

Caleb grumbled for a bit but then said, "That was a pretty good idea. Putting that in his truck."

"And that way we can hang back a little just in case he's checking."

"He strikes me as a man who checks and often."

"Me too."

"So Oliver took a train?"

"Appears to be."

Knox's Rover turned on to Interstate 66 heading west. After traveling out past Gainesville, the Rover exited off the highway.

"I don't believe the train goes this way," Caleb said.

"Let's just see where he's headed."

Twenty minutes later Annabelle said, "Shit! There goes my perfect record."

They watched as Knox climbed into a chopper and it rose from the ground in a whirl of power.

"Now what?" Caleb asked.

"Back to Union Station, just as fast as you can." She glanced at Caleb with a quizzical look. "Wait a minute." She grabbed her camera. "Take off your ball cap and that sweater."

"Why?"

"I need to take your photo."

She snapped his picture. "We'll stop on the way into town at a photo place. And then I'll need to grab a laminator and some other supplies."

"What are you going to do?" Caleb said as he put the van in drive.

"You're about to change careers."

THE CHOPPER DROPPED Knox off about thirty miles from the town where Stone had detrained. A truck was waiting for him there. The aircraft had come courtesy of Macklin Hayes, who had sounded heartened over the phone that Knox finally had grabbed hold of a solid lead.

His instructions to Knox had been clear. Locate Carr but do not move in.

"Phone me and I'll take it from there."

I'm sure you will, General.

When Knox pulled into the town he decided he'd better hit the first place that looked promising. His prayers were almost immediately answered. The sign of the One T restaurant loomed ahead. He parked, went in, settled himself at the counter and ordered some food. There weren't many people in the place, but still, Knox figured if Carr had come by to eat after ditching the train someone could remember seeing him. He showed his composite and asked his questions and thirty minutes later he walked out, not knowing much more than when he'd gone in.

Neither the people behind the counter nor the customers were the observant type apparently, or else didn't like to volunteer any information about anybody. All he got in response to the artist's comp were dull shakes of the head. Even the flash of Knox's creds had not helped matters. In fact, it might have hurt. Knox had to keep in mind that around here the federal government was probably only a bit more popular than Osama bin Laden.

There was a bus station, he found, though it was now closed and wouldn't reopen for a while. Apparently folks up here didn't need to travel every day.