An hour later he pulled his truck to a stop, got out, walked up to the steps and rang the doorbell. A few moments later it opened and he was staring across at a tall young man whose gaze burned back into his.

“Harry Finn?”

Finn didn’t answer. His gaze instinctively checked behind Knox.

“I’m alone. Well, as alone as is probably possible on something like this.”

“Something like what?”

“Can I come in?”

“Who in the hell are you?”

Knox flipped open his creds. “I’m here to talk about Oliver Stone. Or you might know him as John Carr.”

“I’ve got nothing to say.”

“I’m not sure why you were looking up the guy’s military record, or whether you’re his friend or not. But he’s on the run and somebody’s going to get to him at some point. And when they do.” Knox simply shrugged.

Finn was about to say something when Knox’s cell phone rang. He’d been half expecting it actually, even as he glanced over his shoulder and saw the black sedan parked down the road. His expert gaze, however, did not pick up the nondescript white van parked farther down. It was Macklin Hayes on the phone, and as usual he got right to the point.

“What the hell are you doing there, Knox?”

“Where?”

“Harry Finn is off-limits.”

Knox backed down the steps and turned away from Finn. “Nobody told me that.”

“I’m telling you now. How did you get on to him? Anything to do with your visit to the military records center?”

“And why do you find need to follow me, sir?” Knox turned and waved to the men in the black sedan.

“What did you find?”

“Not much. He fought in Vietnam. He was a good soldier. Then he just disappeared. Probably when he was recruited for”—Knox glanced at Finn and smiled—“for that thing that doesn’t exist.”

“You are to leave that house now and never go back.”

The phone went dead. Knox put it back in his pocket and turned to Finn.