Gone(69)

Peter looked at the GPS monitor. He stretched so he could point close to the screen. “Indian Lake is right there.”

Stokes looked ahead at the empty road. The feds had accelerated out of sight. “Maybe that’s where they’re going. And — I think they’ve made our tail.”

“Okay,” Althea said. Peter could sense she was very uncomfortable. She sat back and waved her hands in the air. “This is out of control. We’re actually considering that this has something to do with — what?”

Stokes kept up the speed, hurtling past the trees. “I watched Citizen Farmer,” Stokes said. “Twice. Beyond the claims that the meat industry is responsible for vast amount of pollution and global warming is the idea that we’re surrounded by these deadly animal-borne pathogens all the time, and it’s this unseen wall of antibiotics keeping it at bay. Only we’re running out of antibiotics that are effective.”

“I’m not a conspiracy theorist,” Althea said.

“Neither am I. But I’ll tell you what. Dismissing all conspiracy theories as crazy is just as intellectually lazy as accepting every wild allegation at face value. So, just ask yourself — what if the government is testing a new drug to combat some new illness? A really bad one? If untreatable, we’re talking bubonic plague. You noticed how many people are sick lately?”

“Oh my God,” Althea said, rolling her eyes. She turned to Peter, incredulous. “Pete . . .”

“I know,” he said. “I know . . .”

She looked at the river. She sighed. “So we’re — what? Making leaps that the FBI are covering up this impending crisis, and people are being experimented on in some underground lab?”

“Maybe not underground at all. Indian Lake might be a base of operations, or it could be a big red herring for conspiracy types while the real testing is happening in the field.”

“That’s crazy.”

“It goes on in Third World countries; it goes on all the time. Clinical trials right out in the open with human guinea pigs.”

“That’s different! Those people are aware of the risk. They’re desperate. They have no choice.”

Stokes brought the Subaru to a stop at the T-junction. There were no other cars around. He put an arm up on the back of his seat and faced the deputies. “Could be hospitals, could be flu shots. Hell, the drugs could be distributed using this trucking system, but the feds have seized all of that, closed it down on us so we can’t find anything. Look, all I’m saying is we have an obligation here . . .”

“We’re cops,” Althea said, getting in Stokes’ face. Peter pulled at her shoulders, but she shrugged him off. “We’re not journalists, and we’re not DCI, Eric.” She meant the Department of Criminal Investigation, which looked into crimes relating to misconduct in office.

“He’s one of ours,” Stokes said.

Althea shook her head violently. “Maybe. But this isn’t right. I’m getting out.”

Peter reached for her and tried to stop her. She batted his hand away and glared at him. “You? What do you think? You think we just risked our lives to take Spillane down when — what? He’s a patsy?” She grabbed the door handle. The jeep idled at the stop sign.

They heard the approach of another vehicle. The fed’s SUV was coming back, roaring down the crossroad toward them.

The SUV screeched to a halt, blocking the intersection. A single red light was flashing behind the windshield. The front doors opened and two male agents in black suits stepped out.

Peter watched them approach, then held his hands up in full view. Althea remained next to the door, but let go of the handle. The agents separated, coming up on the sides of the Subaru.

One of the agents knocked on the glass by Stokes. He rolled down the window, keeping his other hand up. Peter looked at the SUV, but the windows were tinted. He couldn’t see if anyone else was inside. His fingers brushed the grip of his sidearm.

“Hello,” Stokes said. “How we doing?”

“You need to turn around,” the agent said.

“Turn around?” Stokes nodded toward the SUV. “Who you got in the vehicle?”

Peter could see Stokes was shaking. He turned his attention back to the dark vehicle — the rear doors opened, and two more agents hopped out. With that many agents in the car, he doubted Rondeau was even aboard. This was a decoy vehicle; since the parking lot, they’d been chasing the wrong car.

“Step out of the vehicle,” said the agent beside Stokes.

“Let me see your credentials,” Stokes said.

“Get out,” the agent barked, and pulled the door open.

Shit, Peter thought. Shit shit shit shit. Stokes did as he was told, and left the Jeep. The other agents reached the car and opened the rear doors, going after Peter and Althea.

They were done.





WEDNESDAY





CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR / A Place to Put the Pain


“Unbelievable,” said Sheriff Oesch. He looked like a pissed-off parent. He strode back and forth in front of the three of them in his office at the Public Safety building. “Un-frigging-believable.” Oesch was a firm Christian, and didn’t curse. Instead he used phrases like frigging and darn it all. He hardly ever lost his temper. Some people thought he was a pushover and that he lacked the confidence of the former sheriff. But not today. Today, Oesch looked ready to spit fire.