Perfect Justice

22.

FINDING THE ASP ENCAMPMENT deep in the Ouachita Mountains was not easy for Ben, but then, Ben was not great with directions. Geographically challenged, Christina called him. Being male, of course he didn’t ask for help. Not that there was anyone to ask on this particular occasion.

The map he had obtained from District Attorney Swain got him to the end of the dirt road, but from there he had to walk an additional half mile on foot. Honda Accords were not generally considered all-terrain vehicles. The journey was an exhausting series of ascents and descents. Ben felt winded after the first fifteen minutes. There was no point in kidding himself; he wasn’t in shape for this sort of exertion.

Finally Ben topped the final hill and saw the ASP camp in the valley below. The encampment was surrounded by a barbed-wire fence. To his relief, he didn’t see anyone on duty at the sentry posts. He had a hunch visitors weren’t greeted with open arms.

Attempting to look casual, Ben pushed open the heavy metal gate bearing a friendly sign that said TRESPASSERS WILL BE SHOT. In a clearing, perhaps a hundred yards away, he saw about fifty men running through field maneuvers. They were dressed in camouflage-green fatigues, heavy boots, web gear, and matching caps. They were all carrying weapons; from where Ben stood, they looked like assault rifles.

A brief glance was sufficient to tell Ben that these men took what they were doing very seriously. Their expressions were determined and they rarely missed a step. Two men stood apart from the rest, barking out commands. Drill sergeants, apparently. He heard one of them shouting about kill zones.

This explained why no one was guarding the front door, Ben thought. They were all out in the field high-stepping through tires and crawling under wires on their elbows. He was relieved, although he realized this could make it difficult for him to interview anyone. On the other hand, it could give him an unexpected opportunity to survey the grounds unrestricted.

Four barrackslike buildings were positioned in the center of the encampment. They were cheap, portable, prefab constructions that kept the rain off your head and not much else. Two were considerably larger than the others. One of them was blackened on the north side, as if it had been subjected to a mild fire.

Ben stretched up on his tiptoes and peered through the window of the building closest to him, one of the large ones. The main interior room was filled with cots lined so close together they almost touched. These two buildings must be where the men slept, Ben realized. At least, those who didn’t have a place in town like Vick.

Ben assumed that one of the other two buildings performed an administrative function. And that meant, with any luck, he might find files. Records. Maybe the answers to a few of his hundred or so questions about Donald Vick.

Ben was just rounding the building and heading toward the door when he heard a loud voice directly behind him.

“Intruder!”

Before Ben had a chance to react, someone knocked his feet out from under him. He slammed into the side of the building, then thudded down on the ground.

He shook his head, trying to regain his bearings. He rolled over onto his back, just in time to get the business end of an M-16 poked directly into his face.