Four beams later, and after he missed one cage and almost fell, he stopped and listened, dangling there, his knees still bent to his chest. The rattles had stopped. But he didn't want to drop to the ground just yet. He kept swinging until his lead hand went out and touched nothing but rock wall.

Shit!

Had he actually gone the wrong way? Or had the snakes perhaps moved past him while he'd lain unconscious? Or had whoever put him here outthought Stone and placed the snakes on the side opposite the exit? Or was this actually a nightmare and he would wake up any moment now?

His arms growing heavy, Stone cautiously lowered his legs and stood on firm ground. He put out his arms again, trying to gauge the width of the shaft here. He touched what he believed was the dead-end wall, but nothing was on the other side. He kept moving to that side, but nothing was there. Puzzled for a moment, the truth finally struck him.

Idiot.

This was a turn or bend in the mineshaft. He got his bearings, walked his fingers along the wall and moved forward, listening carefully for more rattles. Ten minutes later he ran smack into wood.

The mine entrance must've been boarded up, because he could see a thin line of light at the bottom edge of the wood. He considered his options. That was relatively easy, because he had none. He took a few steps back and ran full tilt at the wall. All that did was land him on his butt with a bruised shoulder. He started to rise and then froze. His fingers had grazed against something metallic half-buried in the dirt. It was long and slender. As his hand closed around it, Stone could tell it was a pole with a flat end, like the shaft of a screwdriver.

He worked the bottom edge of the pole into one side of the wooden wall and started to lever. He felt the nails in the frame start to give a bit. He probed at another spot and pushed his weight against the pole, his feet slipping and sliding with the effort. Twenty minutes and much sweat later, the top right edge of the wooden wall gave way and a big shaft of light lit the mine. Encouraged by this breakthrough, Stone really put his shoulder to the effort and only another twenty minutes passed before he was able to force the board enough away from the frame to squeeze out and fall on his back in the dirt.

Free.

He let out a deep, relieved breath. Then, blinking rapidly, he looked around to see if he recognized where he might be. He didn't. There was a dirt road here that was actually colored black. It took him a moment to realize why. Years of coal trucks carrying the stuff away. Their tires had ground the black dust and bits of rock into the red clay and the black had won out. He looked down at his clothes. The black had won out on him too. He brushed himself off and walked down the road, keeping alert in case whoever had sucker-punched him was still watching to see if he escaped the snake party.

A mile later he cleared the trees and turned onto a gravel street. As soon as the stuff crunched under his feet something occurred to him and he put his hand in his jacket pocket. The empty bottle of Tylenol was gone. Great. His skull felt like it was cracked, and now he'd lost the only real clue he'd found in pounding the increasingly dangerous streets of Divine.

He hitched a ride on a truck to Rita's and went in through the back but found out that Abby wasn't there. Then he called her house from the restaurant but there was no answer. He ran to Willie's trailer, grabbed his truck, drove pell-mell to Midsummer's Farm and caught her as she was walking out to her car.

When she saw him she said, "What the hell happened to you?"

When he told her, she simply stared at him. "Oh my God, Ben," she finally managed to stammer. "What is going on?"

"Have you talked to Danny?"

"Just a bit ago. I was just now going to see him."

"I tried calling you from Rita's."

"I thought I heard the phone ringing, but I was drying my hair. What are you going to do?"

Stone thought about that. What was he going to do? "I'm going to see Trimble. And then I'm going to hook up with Tyree to see what he found out." He took her by the arm. "Abby, I want you to be careful. I know you have the shotgun. How about a pistol?"

"Sam had a couple. They're upstairs in the closet."

"You know how to fire one?"

"You're asking a girl from the mountains if she knows how to fire a gun?"

"Okay, I'll take that as a yes. You said you had a couple of guns. Mind if I borrow one?"

"I can't think of anybody right now who needs it more."

They went in the house and Stone got the pistols. He loaded them both and handed one to Abby.

"I'd like to keep in close contact with you, but I don't have a cell phone."

"You can use Danny's. I brought it home from the hospital." She looked at his filthy clothes. "You can't go see Charlie like that. You can shower here and change your clothes."

Stone looked toward the truck. He hadn't thought to check. He looked in the cargo bed. His duffel was gone.

"I, uh, I don't have any clothes to change into."

"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."