“The Criminal Investigations Bureau. That trooper I shot mentioned that he worked for the CIB sometimes. Remember?” Walt shook his head. “That doesn’t make sense, though. I know the head of the whole damned outfit—Colonel Griffith Mackiever. Griff spent fifteen years in the Texas Rangers before he took a job with the LSP. No way would he have a dirty cop that high in his organization.”

Tom shrugged. “It sure would explain some things, though.”

Walt was silent for a few seconds. “I guess it could. Damn. I should have made that connection before.”

“Nathan Bedford Forrest was the founder of the original Ku Klux Klan,” Tom thought aloud. “Up in Tennessee. That sure sounds like Frank Knox, naming his son that way.”

“I’ve been in Texas too long,” Walt muttered. “That, or I’m getting Alzheimer’s.”

“Do you know this Mackiever well enough to call him?”

“And say what, genius? Hey, Griff, I just shot one of your troopers, and I’m trying to find out whether he was straight or bent?”

Tom didn’t respond. Instead, he fiddled with the satellite radio dial until he got it tuned to the 1940s station: Lena Horne was singing “Stormy Weather.”

“We’ve got to get this van under cover,” Walt said. “Not to mention getting your shoulder squared away.”

“That trooper couldn’t have reported our license plate, could he?”

“No, but he could have called in the make and model. And this van’s pretty rare in these parts. Once they find his corpse, they’ll do everything but call out the National Guard to find us.”

“How are we supposed to get this elephant under cover? What is it, ten feet tall?”

“Right at ten. And the LSP’s got six choppers in their Air Support Unit. We need some damned thick woods or a warehouse. Boat garage, maybe. You know of anything like that around here?”

Tom shook his head out of reflex, but a moment later a possible answer came to him. “You know, we might be able to kill two birds with one stone. But I need a safe telephone.”

“If a call can get us off the road and under cover, I say we go ahead and use my last burn phone.” Walt dug a black mobile phone out of his pocket and jabbed it at Tom. “Get on the horn. If we’re not under cover by the time the APB goes out, we’re going out like Butch and Sundance in Bolivia.”

The old Ranger hadn’t a trace of humor in his voice.

CHAPTER 54