Page 34 of Silent Target

“They found us.”

“They found the truck.”

“Is there a difference?”

“There will be.”

Caleb turns sharply onto a narrow county road winding between dense trees.

The SUVs follow.

He checks the mirror once, then reaches beneath the dashboard.

“What are you doing?”

“Preparing to change vehicles.”

I stare at him. “While we’re driving?”

He points toward an old red barn standing alone in the middle of an orchard.

A faded sign leans against the fence.

MILLER FAMILY ORCHARDS.

The barn doors are already open.

An older man wearing overalls and a battered camouflage cap steps into view. He gives Caleb one nod.

No surprise.

No questions.

Just a nod.

“You know him?”

“Retired Army Ranger.”

“What does he do now?”

“Raises apples.”

“And hides getaway vehicles?”

“When necessary.”

Despite everything, I smile. “How many people owe you favors?”

Caleb’s expression grows serious.

“I don’t ask for favors.”

“What do you ask for?”

“Help.”

The answer tells me more about Caleb McDougal than his entire classified file.