Lou was a few miles from the grain silo before allowing himself to feel nervous. Throughout the ride, he tried to formulate a plan—any sort of plan as to what he might do once he arrived at William Chester’s rural lair. The highest card he had to play appeared at the end of Chester’s text message:

We need to talk.

Talking meant there might be some wiggle room. Chester’s son and only child was dead. It was a given that the man wasn’t going to allow Lou to live. But there was information he wanted that Lou might be able to use to barter for Cap’s and George’s lives—most likely the identity of those whom he had spoken to about what he knew.

In earlier, simpler days, he had hiked the Appalachian Trail through West Virginia a number of times. The lush forests and churning rivers were just what John Denver had written in the song: “almost heaven.” He had actually driven through the hamlets of Wardensville and Monroe once, although he could not remember the circumstances. The towns were somewhere around the junction of state routes 50 and 220. The GPS showed only one major east–west rail line in the area, and his smartphone one corn silo near the intersection of the two roads. It was owned by Chester Enterprises. Obstacle one, albeit a small one compared to those ahead, had been negotiated.

Jaw clenched, he located the track—a pair of parallel tracks, actually—as well as the two-lane roadway that ran alongside them. Unless he came up with something soon, he was going to show up at the rendezvous with Chester less prepared than Emily had probably been for her most recent math test, although if he recalled correctly, she had reported getting an A on it nevertheless.

Lou had considered and rejected bringing a weapon of some sort to this showdown, perhaps a kitchen knife. Given the manpower Chester was sure to have, a slingshot like the one David had used against Goliath would have done him more good. He had decided that going to the authorities was a no-go as well. Cap and George had essentially no time left. Even so, twice, on the drive to Monroe, he grabbed his cell phone to call 911, but could not get past Chester’s blood-chilling warning.

I’ll kill both of them as slowly and painfully as possible, and then, your wife, Renee and your daughter …

Lou needed only to glance at the horrifying picture of the two men, hands secured by chains, faces beaten to pulps, to convince himself that bringing help would be a death sentence.