Page 69 of The 9th Man

He nodded. “East, in the Smokies.”

“Pretty country.”

“I have a proposition, if you’re inclined.”

“I’m listening,” Elijah said.

“I’m guessing either you or your mama called Ray Simmons while we waited at the counter. If he wasn’t curious about us, you would’ve sent us packing.”

“Maybe we just decided it’d be easier if you were cinder-blocked to the bottom of this lake.”

“If that was the case, we wouldn’t be talking now. Would we?”

Elijah shrugged, then raised the shotgun a couple of inches so Luke was staring straight down the muzzle. “You said you have a proposition. Get to it.”

“Call Ray and let us make our case.”

Elijah thought for a moment and then, careful to keep the shotgun steady, removed a satellite phone and dialed a number.

“Yeah, I got ’em here. Okay, hang on. What’s your granddaddy’s name?”

“Benjamin Stein.”

Elijah repeated the name into the phone, listened, then extended the unit toward Jillian. “Say everything you know about your granddaddy’s time in the army.”

She spent the next two minutes talking about Benji’s career, from postings he’d held, to stories he’d shared, to commendations he’d received, to friends he’d made and lost along the way. “That’s all I can remember right now. Until he was diagnosed with cancer, we didn’t spend much time with each other in recent years.”

She handed the phone back to Elijah, who listened a bit then asked Jillian, “You said he was murdered.”

“He had terminal cancer, but people came and shot him dead.”

Elijah listened again to the phone, then disconnected. “He’ll see you. Same rule applies, mind you. Get frisky and you’re gator bait.”

An hour passed before the airboat’s engine throttled down.

With the scraping of aluminum on sand, the boat lurched to a stop. Luke checked his watch. 6:20P.M.Twilight in the bayou had arrived. The bow rested on a spit of land surrounded by hardwoods bearded with moss. Before them a narrow game trail snaked into the foliage.

“Follow the trail until you hear otherwise,” Elijah said, tossing Jillian a palm-sized portable radio. “Don’t ask questions, just do what you’re told.”

He hopped off the bow. Jillian followed.

“Do we need to worry about gators?” he asked.

“Not if you stay on the trail. And don’t step on a nest.”

“I’m gonna want our guns back.”

“Later,” Elijah said. “Maybe.”

“I’d prefer now.”

In response, Elijah lifted the shotgun from his lap and cradled it in his elbow. “Start walkin’.”

No choice.

Off they went.

Ten feet down the trail they lost sight of Elijah and the boat. The width of the path varied little, which told him it was a game trail. Save for the hum of insects and the occasional splash of water all was silent. Occasionally the flutter of wings overhead could be heard, but the canopy was so thick he could make out only shadows. They’d covered half a mile when a voice suddenly said, “Hold there.”

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