Four Blind Mice

Chapter One Hundred and Twelve

My hands were cuffed tightly behind my back. Then I was pushed outside and shoved down into the trunk of a dark sedan by the two armed men.

I lay curled up like a blanket in there. For a man my size, it was a tight squeeze.

I could feel the car back out of Hutchinson's driveway, bump over the gutter, then turn onto the street.

The sedan rode inside West Point at a reasonable speed. No more than twenty. I was sure we were leaving the grounds as the car finally sped up.

I didn't know who was up front. Whether General Hutchinson had come along with his men. It seemed likely that I was going to be killed soon. I couldn't imagine how I could get out of this one. I thought about the kids and Nana, and Jamilla, and I wondered why I'd risked my life again. Was it a sign of good character, or a serious character flaw? And did it really matter anymore?

Eventually, the car turned off the smooth highway surface onto a seriously bumpy road that was probably unpaved. I estimated we were about forty minutes from West Point. So how much longer did I have to live?

The car rolled to a stop and I heard the doors open and slam shut. Then the trunk was sprung.

The first face I saw was Hutchinson's. There was no emotion in his eyes. Nothing human looked back at me.

The two others were behind him. They had handguns pointed my way. Their stares were blank as well.

“What are you going to do?” I asked a question that I already knew the answer to.

“What we should have done the night you were with Owen Handler. Kill you,” said Colonel Walker.

“With extreme prejudice,” added the general.