“Maybe that’s because they’re scared of what’s in that cylinder, Carson.” “Then everybody better play by my rules,” Carson said. “Here’s the rest of it. I want an attorney. Any Shylock will do. Waiting on the courthouse steps. He will go with me into the sheriff’s office, where he will swear in writing that the FBI’s paper is legitimate.” He had to pause to get his breath. “Then I want that attorney to go with me to wherever they take me in Atlanta. To witness the fact that I was alive in federal custody when I left Graniteville, and still alive when I got to Atlanta. After that, I’ll take my chances, and I’ll tell you where the weapon is.”
“They’ll probably go along with most of that,” Stafford said. “Except for two things. Make that three things. First, I don’t think you’re going to leave here until they have that weapon in federal custody. I understand you won’t bring it with you, but they’ll want to see it as soon as you sign the paperwork.” Carson thought about that. It was hard to think; his head was really pounding now, and that greaseburger was not going to remain down for much longer. Getting the deal was important. But what else? “Okay,” he replied.
“And the second is that the attorney cannot know what this is about. You tell him, or anyone else, and your deal goes south.”
“I can live with that,” Carson said. “What’s the third?”
“I’m not going to be there. You’ll have to deal with the FBI. I’ve set the deal up, but then I’m out of it.”
Carson frowned, trying to concentrate. Then he remembered what he was going to do to Stafford once he was in custody. “Why?”
“My agency doesn’t love me anymore, so I’ve resigned,” Stafford said.
“They’ve told the FBI that, so they don’t want me involved. So you deal with them.”
“That’s not what I wanted.”
“Way I see it, it’s them or the Army.”
Carson thought about that. He really didn’t have any other options, and then he realized he could still implicate Stafford. “Okay,” he said. “We have a deal. I’ll be at the Graniteville courthouse at eight P.M. And remember, no fucking Army.”
51
It was cool, almost cold up at the top of the notch; Stafford wished now that he had followed Gwen’s advice about a jacket. With no moon yet, there was no view, only the dark mass of the mountains on either side of them, and the deeper darkness below, where the gray path dropped down into the wilderness area. After being briefed about the agreement between Stafford and Carson, the sheriff had recommended that Gwen and Jessamine should get away from the home. Gwen and John Lee Warren were talking quietly over by the drop-off. Stafford stood there with Jessamine, who was wearing a jacket and a backpack.
“Are you frightened?” he asked her.
She turned her hands up and down and shrugged.
“Have you been out there before?” he asked, pointing with his chin toward the wilderness area. A steady cool breeze spilled into the gap from that vast expanse of wilderness north of the notch. It carried the scent of pines and ancient stone.
She nodded emphatically. She pointed to Gwen, then herself, and then made some signing motions Stafford did not understand. Gwen joined them.
“She’s teljing you that we have friends out there. People who will keep us safe. I’m more worried about you than us.”
He smiled at her. Her eyes were almost invisible in the darkness. “I think we’ll be okay. Carson’s not coming here. We’ll have John Lee’s people and the FBI in town when he shows up.
Besides, he’s only one guy.”
“With a lethal cargo.”
“Yes, and no. It’s not like he can use it without killing himself. The only thing that worries me is that he didn’t sound right. I wonder if he was injured in that mess at the DRMO. Burned maybe. He sounded a bit feverish.” “Well, good,” she said. “That should make him less of a threat.”
Stafford glanced over at the sheriff, who was visible only as a small red dot from the cigarette he was smoking. The pungent smell of tobacco infiltrated the forest air. “So you really do have people back there?
People who will give you a place to stay?”
She nodded hi the darkness. He could just see her face, now that his eyes were fully night adapted. “Yes,” she said. “We realfy do.”
“What’s the connection?”
“It’s the school, you see. Most of them back out there will never leave.
But once in a great while, there’s a child …”
“How can we contact you if we have to?”
“There’s a cell phone at a ranger cabin.” She looked out behind him into the darkness. “Ah,” she said. “They’re coming.”
He went with her to the back edge of the notch and peered down into the darkness. The path was barely visible as a serpentine, gray stripe down the back side of the mountain, ending in the deeper darkness of the forest. “Look down there,” she said softly.
He looked, and saw flames. Small flames, just at the edge of the forest below them. No, not flames. Lanterns.
“That’s them?”
“Yes. We should go now. We’ll … visit out there for a day or so, and then send for word to see what has happened.” “What if—” he began, but then he stopped. He had just told her this thing was going to go all right. He plunged ahead. “What if there’s trouble? What if it’s necessary for you to stay hidden for a while?”
“If there’s trouble, we’ll hear about it.” She smiled, a flash of white against the gray oval of her face in the darkness. “Jungle drums and all that. You’d be amazed at how well they keep in touch.”
Dave nodded. There was so much he didn’t know about how things were up in these remote hills, and since he was an outsider, he would probably never know. Just like he had known nothing about Owen’s family, or how Jess had come to live at Willow Grove. There was an arcing shower of red sparks in the direction where John Lee had been standing.
“Time to go,” she said. She stepped forward suddenly and hugged him. “Be careful,” she whispered. Then she took Jessamine’s arm and together they walked off into the darkness.
The sheriff approached, his boots crunching in the gravel and shale that littered the floor of the notch. “They’ll be fine,” he said. “We’d best get back to the house. It’s slower going downhill.” As they walked down, Stafford asked the sheriff about the people waiting for Gwen and Jessamine.
“Mountain folk” was all he said.
They reached the house about forty minutes later, emerging from the willows by the pond to a pool of porch light. The upstairs lights were on hi the bedrooms. Gwen had shown him her father’s room upstairs, but he planned to wait for the children to go to bed before going up there.
He presumed the kids and Mrs. Benning were probably hi the room where the tinted white shadows of a television flickered on the part of the ceiling visible through the curtains. Stafford was almost anxious to get inside; the night air had begun to chill him in earnest halfway down the trail. They let themselves in through the kitchen door, which the sheriff then locked behind them.
“Haven’t had to do that in a long damn while,” he muttered, putting the ancient brass key on the kitchen table. They could hear the sounds of a television laugh track coming from upstairs and the occasional patter of small feet overhead. Stafford looked around for a coffee pot while the sheriff shucked his hat and coat and extracted the big revolver from his holster.
“Looking for coffee makings?” the sheriff asked. “Perk pot’s in there.
Coffee’s in the fridge.”
“You must spend some time here,” Stafford said as he went to prepare a pot of coffee. Then he thought about the question his comment implied.