“Major, I honestly thought that was it for us,” the driver admitted.
“Not tonight,” Warren said. “Not while we’re here. Nobody’s laying a hand on you. Go ahead and start her up.”
The tired diesel engine rumbled back to life. The wipers resumed their steady sweep across the windshield. Outside, the operators quickly secured the prisoners with zip ties and tape over their mouths.
The captives were unceremoniously loaded into the side luggage bay. One of the operators got behind the wheel of the gang’s SUV and fell in behind the bus. The old coach eased back onto the road and slowly picked up speed.
Inside, the silence returned—but now it felt different. It was the quiet that comes after a job done right. On that lonely stretch of road, the balance had been restored.
Boar lay in darkness in the cramped luggage compartment, feeling every bump in the road. Each jolt from the old suspension sent pain through his bruised ribs. Beside him, his bound accomplices made muffled, miserable sounds through the tape.
He had no idea where these men were taking them. He didn’t know what charges were waiting or how much trouble was about to land on his head. But he knew one thing for certain: the life he’d been living had ended the moment he stepped onto that bus.
Up in the cabin, Stone finally pulled off his balaclava and wiped the sweat from his forehead. His broad, plain face carried the tired humor of a man who’d just gotten an unexpected workout. “Well, boys,” he called back, “that ought to wake you up.”
“Sleep’s off the schedule now,” somebody from the rear answered. “Adrenaline’s going to carry us till sunrise.” Major Warren stared out the rain-streaked window at the black woods sliding by.
He was thinking that this hadn’t really been random. It was a reminder. Trouble didn’t just live in combat zones or on briefing maps. It lived out here too—on dark roads, in ordinary towns, in places where criminals spoke the same language as the people they preyed on and called themselves the ones in charge.
But tonight, those self-appointed bosses had traded places with the people they thought were helpless. Twenty miles later, Warren noticed the rain beginning to let up. The moon broke through the clouds, washing the road in pale light.
He picked up the radio and called the operator driving the captured SUV behind them. “Smitty, this is Lead. How’s our support vehicle doing?”
“Lead, this is Smitty,” came the reply. “We’re good. This thing runs like a dream. Shame the owners are trash.”
“Major,” the operator added, “the phone we pulled from the glove box keeps ringing. Caller ID says ‘Boss.’ What do you want me to do?” Warren frowned, thinking fast.
That one word told him these robbers weren’t freelancing. Somebody higher up was waiting for a cut, probably sitting warm somewhere comfortable. “Don’t answer,” Warren said. “Let him worry. We’ll meet him soon enough.”
The thought gave the tired major a second wind. The four men tied up in the luggage bay were just foot soldiers in a larger operation. And his team had never been in the habit of stopping at the foot soldiers when the king was still on the board.
The old bus kept rolling through the night, no longer a victim but something closer to a Trojan horse. Inside it rode a force capable of shutting down any gang foolish enough to stand in its way. And somewhere ahead, in a sleeping town, a crime boss was beginning to wonder why nobody was picking up…
