The Camp (26 page)

Without a plan, he put the van in drive and followed the first one, staying just out of sight. With a mile to go before the turn off to the Interstate, the driver of the limo brought the sleek vehicle to a stop.

“Lower the divider.” Alto looked past the driver out the windshield. “What is it?”

“There appears to be a an old VW bus in the middle of the road. I’ll handle it.”

With the tinted divider down, Alto had a clear view as his driver approached the bus.
 

Alto pulled out his gun and set it on his thigh.

The limo driver took several steps and when the figure leaning into the rear of the bus didn’t stand up, he unbuttoned his coat for easy access to his pistol. “Hello, bus.” He was relieved when the man stepped back.

“Could you give me a hand? I’ll put it in neutral and we can push it out of the way.” The limo driver looked back at his boss who’d been watching and waved him back.
 

When he reached the stretch, the passenger side door opened and his boss stood up. “Tell the others to stay with the girls, then help push the bus out of the road. Be alert.”

The driver looked back at bus, but the man had stuck his head back in the engine compartment.

He conveyed his boss’ message to the bodyguards and jogged up toward the Volkswagen. “C’mon, lets move this piece of shit.”

The man stepped back and closed the lid of the engine compartment. “Thanks, I’ll put it in neutral and steer, you come back here and push.”

The driver had his hands on his hips, slightly opening his coat. Rye couldn’t help but notice the butt of a gun. He only hoped that Link, who was waiting with a tire iron on the other side of the bus, wouldn’t be too surprised.

Paul was keeping his speed down to accommodate the cracks and potholes in the asphalt and to avoid becoming visible to the first van, but when he reached the apex of yet another curve, there it was stopped in the middle of the road.
 

He shut off the engine and waited. Apparently, the driver of the girls’ van hadn’t seen him. Stepping back through the van, he exited through the rear double doors and into the cover of the trees, then slowly advanced.

“What the…”

Directly in front of the girls’ van was a stretch limo and in front of that, was his bus.

He watched mystified, as a man with some kind of cap and wearing a blue suit, must be the driver of the limo, walked around to the rear of his bus and was clubbed to the ground by some guy with a tire iron. Then, to his utter shock and surprise, Rye stepped out and fired six shots into the windshield of the limo.
 

Almost on cue, both doors of the girls’ van flew open. Two suited men, guns drawn, slipped out. Paul took out the one nearest the wooded edge of the road that had come out of the passenger side. The man’s partner moved around to the front of the vehicle, staying low, using it as a shield, and opened fire into the trees. But Paul had anticipated the move and hunkered down behind a big Douglas fir.
 

Suddenly, the man stopped shooting and slid to the ground.
 

Rye walked forward, gun aimed at the crumpled figure at the front of the van.
 

He lowered his gun when Paul stepped from the trees.

“What the hell are you doing with my bus? It’s a classic, you know.” Then exhausted from an adrenaline rush, he stumbled and Rye had to rocket forward to keep him from doing a face plant.
 

“Hey, I’m fine. Just tuckered.”
 

Then Link was looking down at him. Paul extended a hand and stood with the help of his friend. “Claire’s been shot.” Before Rye could respond, a shot rang out and Link pitched forward. Then another shot and as both men whirled around and crouched, scrambling for cover, Devon Alto’s face exploded. He spun in a slow circle to the ground.

Epilogue

Rye moved with purposeful slowness, a protective arm around Claire. They were followed by Paul and his daughter, Amy, who was still limping. They walked around the ambulance. Comments flowed about the new location for Rogue Rescue and how Valley View Road was a perfect location. They laughed as they spoke of the move and lifting boxes until their backs ached.
 

Rye opened the big rear double doors of the ambulance, and they all climbed in. He gave them a verbal tour of the 70,000 dollars in electronics, and positively glowed as he explained how it would allow them to be that much more efficient. Then he rocked back in the chair at the head of the gurney and turned serious.

“Frank died from a blow to the head, Cindy from a single gunshot at close range. Both were connected with human trafficking. Devon Alto’s bodyguard killed Josh, and we all know what happened to Ed.”

Amy spoke in a jagged tone. “What happened to Jane Johnson?”

Claire answered. “I have no memory after she shot me until they put me in the ambulance. I noticed a shrouded body and asked the EMT. He said a woman had bled out from a gunshot wound.”

Paul leaned forward. “I found my way to the wood burner on an animal trail and by following the smoke. The first thing I saw were the two girls strapped to the conveyor.” He looked over at Claire. “I saw you go down and the woman who shot you run for the trees. I got off one shot, I must have winged her.”

They solemnly stepped down out of the ambulance and waited for Rye to close and latch the doors. Taking Claire’s hand, he led the way through the breezeway that went from the barn—which was also home to the ambulance—to the house, now void of all moving boxes. With little fanfare, they all sat around the kitchen table except Rye.

The room was silent as he brought out four frosted clear glass mugs. No one moved until he returned from the fridge with a large pitcher of beer and filled each mug, then took his place.

Claire made the first toast, lifting her mug. “Here’s to Sheriff Elmore Tinsley. Whatever his involvement, he arrived in time to take out Devon Alto, which saved my husband. To Elmore.”
 

Then Rye raised his mug. “Here’s to Ellen Stulov, who kept pressure on a wound and saved my wife. To Ellen.”
 

Paul went next, wrapping an arm around his daughter’s shoulders and giving her a squeeze first. “Here’s to a daughter brave, true, and older than her years.”
 

Then, with tears in her eyes, Amy raised her mug. “Here’s to Ron, a really nice guy I’ll never get to know.” They all clinked mugs.
 

Rye spoke again. “And to the survivors, girls every one. May they grow up in peace.” They all bowed their heads then touched mugs again.

Moments passed before anyone spoke. Paul broke the silence. “What about Walter Link?”

Rye laughed. “Alto fired a typical small caliber pistol. At long range like that, by the time the bullet reached Walter its velocity was down. Not to mention that it tagged him in the shoulder. Long story short, he survived the gunshot wound, thanks to Sheriff Tinsley, who transported him. I heard that while in the hospital, he had a triple bypass. Toms said he’d lost fifty pounds and had retired from the Bureau.” Imagining the agent losing his stomach, they all laughed.
 

Claire touched a hand to the side of her head. “What about Ellen?”
 

Rye shook his head. “Haven’t heard.”

Amy spoke in an emotion-filled voice. “Word around school is she’s back living with her mother and training to be a youth counselor for troubled teens.”

Rye raised his mug and shook his head. “It never ends. According to the news, Leslie Toms and her task force stopped a private jet bound for Brazil carrying 22 girls.”