The Secret of the Stones (23 page)

Chapter
36

Blue
Ridge Mountains

Joe
guided the pickup truck back up the street toward where the hummer was
parked.
 
As they slowly rounded the
curve, he could see that the three men who had been over by the caged boulders
before were nearly back to their vehicle.
 
Walking casually toward it, they were completely unaware of any possible
threat.
 

Sean
held down his emotions as he saw Tommy escorted by a tall blonde male, probably
mid to upper thirties and a tree-trunk of a man, shorter, but much thicker.

“I
see ‘em,” Joe confirmed what Sean was thinking.

No
response came from the back as they approached where the four men were now
standing together in the parking lot.
 
They looked startled as Joe slowed the truck to a stop right behind the
black SUV.
 
“Excuse me fellas,” he
said in what was definitely a deeper southern accent than he normally
used.
 
“Ya’ll don’t happen to know
where the Apple Festival is, do ya?”

Tommy
stood absolutely still, recognizing the face of his old friend Joe
McElroy.
 
Where was Sean?
 
If Joe was there, then Sean had to be
close by.

The
two muscular guards looked questioningly at the tall blonde, who was apparently
in charge of the whole operation.
 
No one said a word.
 
Finally, the blonde man simply shook his head.

“I
think we might have taken a wrong turn,” Joe went on, trying to stay cool.
 
He reached down and pulled up a sheet
of paper.
 
“These directions are a
little vague.”

All
four of the men standing on the asphalt were staring at the paper in the
driver’s hand when suddenly, the loud pop of a gun erupted from the direction
of the truck bed.
 
Four more shots
followed almost instantly.
 
The
short, flat-topped man at the front of the entourage collapsed backwards, three
bullet holes grouped in the center of his chest.
 
The surprise on the faces of the other three disappeared
quickly as the larger, suited man jerked his weapon from its holster and
dropped the bag he’d been carrying.
 

Another
two shots fired from around the front of the truck, one striking the big man in
the arm.
 
He seemed unaffected as a
volley returned from his black firearm, drilling holes into the side of the
truck.

Joe
ducked down below the window just seconds before a bullet zipped over his
head.
 

Allyson
risked popping around the grill of the pickup to squeeze off a few more shots
at the tall guard.
 
The man noticed
her too late as he took a round in the chest and stumbled backward into the
open passenger door of the big SUV.
 

The
blonde man had grabbed Tommy as soon as the bullets started flying and was
holding him around the neck as a human shield, gun extended towards the
attackers.
 

Upon
seeing his subordinates taken down, he fired off three quick shots at the
driver of the pickup truck.
 
The
bullets thudded into the door as the man behind the wheel stayed down to avoid
the barrage.
 

Instantly,
the blonde man turned toward the truck bed where the initial shots had been
fired and launched a retaliation, sending more rounds pinging into the
metal.
 
As he backed up toward the
front of the SUV, he sent two bullets at the woman who jerked back behind the
cover of the pickup’s engine.

Sean
knew he’d taken down one of the three men, but was not sure if Allyson had been
able to take down one of the others.
 
Shots were hammering into side of the truck, and there was no way he
could risk a glance over the edge.
 
He looked in the direction of the rear window of the truck and saw that
his friend was out of sight.
 
For a
split second, he worried that Mac had been shot.
 
Then, the truck lurched forward and turned into a position
where the rear was facing the back of the Hummer, now about twenty-five feet
away.
 

Sean
raised his head slightly over the tailgate and caught a glimpse of the blonde
man shoving Tommy into the backseat of the SUV.
 
Amazingly, the shorter henchman was slowly getting up, and
crawling into the opposite door.
 

After
pushing Tommy into the vehicle, Ulrich slammed the door and, leaning around the
back quarter panel, squeezed off four more rounds.
 
Three of the bullets thumped harmlessly against the tailgate
but one found its way into the back left tire of the truck.
 
Instantly, the rubber gushed white air
from the wound.

Sean
felt the truck sag and knew exactly what had happened.
 
He heard the Humvee rev to life and
squeal its tires.
 
He risked
another look over the edge of the truck bed and watched as the four men in the
SUV tore past the pickup.
 
He fired
off his remaining few bullets at the tires of the escaping truck, but the shots
missed.
 

Allyson
also sent her remaining clip at the accelerating vehicle, but it disappeared
over the hill as the clicking sound of her gun signaled it was on empty.

Lowering
his head in disappointment, Sean realized he might have just missed his one
chance at getting his friend back.

Chapter
37

Cartersville,
Georgia

Trent
and Will sat quietly, eating the breakfast they’d ordered.
 
After leaving the McElroy place, they
had driven into the nearby town and stopped at a diner to get some food.
 
Both of them had left Atlanta in a
hurry earlier that morning so by the time they were seated, the entire menu
looked appetizing.
 

The
restaurant was nice enough for a cliché 1950s place.
 
It had the traditional jukebox in the corner, checkerboard
tile floors, and pictures of celebrity icons from the time period.
 
Cushiony booths were upholstered in the
traditional glossy vinyl with black and white stripes down the center.
 
Even the waitresses dressed the part
with the cute little skirt and red and white striped shirt.
 
Their particular server’s blouse was
unbuttoned at the top and sported a nametag that read, “Wanda.”

Neither
cop had said much to the other since arriving at the eatery.
 
After the meal was almost gone from
both plates, Will finally spoke up.
 
“I’m sorry I lost it back there, man.
 
I didn’t mean…”

“Don’t
worry about it.”
 
Morris cut him
off.
 
“You’re alright.”
 

“It’s
just that…people with disregard for the law…it gets me angry, that’s all.”

“Believe
me, bud.
 
I understand
completely.
 
Why do you think so
many police brutality cases come up?
 
It’s not that cops have problems with rage or anger issues,
necessarily.
 
The way that people
disrespect us and the law can get anyone pissed off.”

“Well,
I’m sorry.
 
I appreciate you
handling the situation back there so I could settle down.”
 
The younger officer looked up from the
now empty plate with an appreciative expression.

“Like
I said, it’s done.
 
Let it go.
 
I did.”

Will
looked up from the table with questioning eyes.
 
“So, do you believe the lady?”

Trent
looked out the window at an old pickup truck driving by, his thoughts somewhere
else.
 
“I don’t know,” he answered,
turning his attention back to his partner.
 
“I think so.
 
If
I was McElroy and I was helping a fugitive from the law, I wouldn’t want my
wife to know either.”
 

He
let out a few short laughs at which Will smiled.
 
Then Morris continued, “Yeah, I suppose I do believe
her.
 
My guess is that she really
was at her mother’s last night and by the time she got home this morning, her
husband and Wyatt were long gone.”
 

A
look of bewildered determination came onto Morris’s face.
 
He’d been a police officer for a long
time.
 
Sometimes it seemed like too
long.
 
One of the biggest things he
hated about detective work was that sometimes solutions were hard to come
by.
 

“What
we gotta worry about now is where to go next.”
 
He dropped the fork he was holding onto the glass platter
and wadded up the napkin next to it.
 
“Looks like the trail has gone cold.”

“Maybe
we’re missing something.”
 
Will
stirred his coffee, his eyes staring into the brown liquid while he considered
the problem.

“Every
crime scene has been searched, thoroughly.
 
Every possible witness has been questioned.
 
We went to Wyatt’s house, Schultz’s
house.
 
And we got nothing.
 
I just can’t think of where else we
could turn.”
 

Five
minutes passed as the detectives sat in quiet frustration, drinking their
coffee and turning over every rock in their minds.
 

The
only thing in the diner that wasn’t circa 1950s was the flat screen television
that hung over the kitchen area.
 
Two older gentleman who looked like stereotypical truck drivers with
trucker hats and jacket vests sat at the bar watching a news report on CNN.
 

Trent
looked up at the screen to see what they were watching.
 
An aerial shot from a helicopter
displayed a deep ravine in a mountain range somewhere.
 
The headline on the bottom of the
television read, “Tragic accident in Blue Ridge Mountains.”
 

Rescue
crews could be seen at the top of the
 
drop-off working vigorously to get to what looked like the remains of a
car resting upside down at the bottom of the mountain.
 
Trent stared at the scene.
 
He could make out that the wreckage was
a late model Mercedes-Benz.
 
The
news anchor was busily describing the process of the rescue team’s efforts, but
continued emphasizing that it was believed there were no survivors.
 
No identification had been made on the
vehicle or its passengers, and the authorities were expecting the worst.
 

Will
had stopped gazing out the window at the passersby and joined his partner in
watching the news story.
 
Curious,
he grabbed the waitress’s attention as she was walking by and politely said,
“Excuse me.
 
Do you know where that
is?”
 
He pointed at the screen.

Her
head twisted around and she noticed what everyone in the diner seemed to be
gazing at.
 
“Oh, yeah.
 
That’s up near Brasstown, ‘bout forty
minutes from here.
 
Looks like somebody
went through the guardrail up there.
 
They been sayin’ fer years they was gonna put a stronger railin’ on that
road.
 
I imagine they’ll do it
now.
 
Unfortunate that someone’s
gotta die before things get changed in this country.
 
I suppose that’s how the government works, though.”
 
Her deep Southern accent was typical
for the region.
 
She looked
thoughtfully at the television.
 
“Such
a shame.”

“You
say that place is forty minutes from here?”
 
Will seemed curiously interested in the accident.

“Yeah,”
she answered, turning her attention back to the table.
 
“If you get on the highway out there
past the light, it will take you straight there.
 
Don’t believe I’d want to go up there right about now
though.
 
You can see from the
pictures that they’s turnin people around.”

“Is
there anything of interest up in that area?
 
Historical sites, campgrounds…?”
 
His voice trailed off.
 
Trent wasn’t sure what his partner was up to.

“No…well,
I mean, yeah.”
 
Her face displayed
consternation.
 
“There’s a ton of
campin’ up there, but nothing super interestin’.
 
It’s pretty and all.
 
I like driving through there this time of year just to look at the leaves
changin’ colors.”

A
gruff voice interrupted from behind the bar with the clearing of a throat.
 
The cook had, apparently, been
listening to the conversation.
 
“There is one interesting place up near that area.”

Will
and Trent both tilted their heads towards the man who’d spoken.
 
“And what would that be?”
 
The younger cop urged.

The
older man, probably in his upper fifties was busily scraping the grill
clean.
 
His brow produced a little
sweat underneath his paper hat.
 
The belly that stretched out his white t-shirt seemed to suggest he’d
not only been working, but also eating, in the diner for a long time.
 
“Up about twenty minutes past that area
right there is a spot called Track Rock.
 
It’s down below Brasstown Bald.”
 
Even though the cook had started talking, he didn’t let that get in the
way of his work as he tossed a couple of sausages and hash browns onto the hot
surface. His hands busily scattered and mashed the potato strips and flipped
the patties.

“Track
Rock?”
 
Trent was interested.

“Yeah,”
the cook continued, glad to have someone new to talk to.
 
“It’s fairly well known around these
parts.
 
There are four large
boulders there at the trailhead leading to the top of the mountain.
 
The big rocks have some kind of ancient
writing on them that nobody’s ever been able to figure out.”

“You
mean, no one has been able to translate it?”

“Exactly.
 
I reckon about a half dozen or so
history experts and scientists come up here throughout the year to try their luck
at interpreting the drawings, but no one’s ever been able to do it.”

“What
kinds of drawings are on these boulders?”
 
Will questioned.

The
cook stopped shuffling the sizzling food for a minute and angled his head as if
trying to visualize something he’d seen a long time ago.
 
“It’s been a while since I been
there.
 
But I can tell you this,
ain’t nothing like it anywhere I ever been.
 
All kinds of weird lines and symbols and animal tracks
painted all over four big soapstone rocks.”

Trent
and Will gave each other an understanding glance.
 
Will spoke, “It’s worth a shot.
 
We got nothing else.”

Considering
the option for a minute, Trent finally nodded in agreement.
 
“What have we got to lose?
 
If this guy is looking for something,
where else around here would he have gone?
 
It’s at least worth us checking out the wreckage.
 
Maybe he got in a hurry and went off
the cliff.”

Will
snorted and said, “I doubt we’d be that lucky.”

They
both dropped a few dollar bills on the table next to their empty plates and
stood to leave.
 
“We appreciate the
information,” Trent offered to both of the diner workers who simply nodded
their acknowledgment as the two detectives quickly exited the building.