The road evened out after a few minutes, and DJ tapped the doctor’s contact information to dial his number.

“Yes?” The voice was deep and musical.

“I’d like to speak to Dr. Ralph Arnold,” DJ said.

“Speaking. Is this Mr. Belmont?”

“It is. Can you help my father?”

“I won’t know until I see him. But I will see him, as Mr. Kowalski has vouched for you. Head toward the Sacramento airport. When I get your payment, I’ll text you the address.”

DJ rolled his eyes at the cloak-and-dagger approach. “What is the payment?”

“One hundred thousand.”

What the fuck? A hundred thousand dollars? DJ opened his mouth, but no words came out.

“Mr. Belmont? Are you still there?”

“Yes.” DJ cleared his throat because the word had come out hoarse. “I am.”

“Can you afford my services?”

Uppity sonofabitch. “Yes. Of course.” Pastor had fifty million bucks. A hundred thou was nothing. He hoped. “If you can text me the transfer instructions, I’ll get that underway. It might be a little while. We’re still in the mountains and unlikely to have a cell signal.”

A short pause. “But you are talking to me.”

“This sat phone is my business line. My father will be arranging the payment himself on his cell phone. He is . . . unaware of my business relationship with Mr. Kowalski.”

“Oh. I see. Well, that’s fine. We won’t be revealing any information to him. We’ll be focused on fixing what’s broken.”

“Thank you, Doctor. I’ll be wiring the payment as soon as I can.”

It was another hour before DJ could safely pull off the road into a gas station. He stuffed the sat phone into his pocket and zipped the pocket closed. He did not want Pastor or Coleen to see it. Looking both ways to ensure that they were alone, he opened one of the back doors.

The old man lay on the floor, eyes closed, his head in Coleen’s lap. The healer looked up, her skin even paler than it had been in Eden. She looked a little green. “Are we there?”

“No,” DJ replied. “But the curvy parts are over.”

“Thank God,” she breathed. “Pastor didn’t do well. He’s thrown up a few times, which is going to dehydrate him. When will we arrive?”

“Not for another three hours, if there’s no traffic on the freeway.”

She gasped. “Three hours? DJ, he’s in pain now.”

“And I’m sorry,” DJ said. Even though he really wasn’t. “But we can’t just take him to a regular hospital. They’ll ask for his insurance card and ID. Things are much different now than they were when you entered Eden. It’s much harder to fake your identity. Especially when insurance is involved. We don’t have insurance cards and they might not treat him without one.”

That was probably not true, but DJ wasn’t taking any chances. Pastor needed good care, because if he died, the codes died with him.

“I know,” Coleen fretted. “I just hate seeing him in pain.”