The Light at the End of the Tunnel by James W. Nelson

each other’s histories, both sometimes talking at the
same time, really enjoying their conversation.
    Finally the chaplain laid his hands on the
table, doubled his fists, then clasped his hands, “While searching
for you, Nicole, I’ve been studying Soldier of Fortune, and other
survivalist magazines.”
    “’ Survivalist?’ ” Her face got more
sober than he had yet seen her, “Goodness.” Then she waited.
    “I know that sounds a bit dramatic. The thing
is Les Paul is still a baby. From your story we know he’s
already…performing, but he’s not likely to do anything to put
anyone in serious jeopardy for at least two or three or four more
years.”
    “Agreed.” She brought her hands to the table
too, and clasped them. Her eyes said she was ready to hear whatever
he had in mind.
    “Anyway, I’ve found a few names in these
magazines, of people who can teach us some skills.”
    “’ Survivor’ skills?”
    “To a point, yes, but not as if we’ll be
living in the wilderness.” He smiled.
    “Okay…Go ahead, please.” She smiled back, a
sober, interested, smile.
    “Self-defense skills, camping and some wilderness survival, maybe some martial arts, handguns and rifles
and shotguns too, just for the knowledge, but I do think we should
each have our own handgun. After all, we’ll be living—basically—on
the road.”
    “I’d love to learn to shoot, and I want the
one that Sean Connery used in the James Bond movies. Would we
actually carry them?”
    “I would want a shoulder holster at least
available…I guess carrying would depend on the circumstances, and
state laws. I think mainly we’d keep them locked up. No use banging
heads with local law enforcement.”
    Their breakfast of French toast, sausage
links, and plenty of maple syrup arrived. They both thanked the
server, but Nicole didn’t know the young girl, so she left
immediately.
    “So go on, Radford.” That sober smile
continued, “Tell me more.”
    “Okay. I haven’t called anybody yet, and
there aren’t a lot of names, but I wanted to know how you would
feel, and, our final goal is to become licensed private
detectives.”
    Her eyes popped, “Oh my God! I’d love that!”
    Then the chaplain smiled too, “Great. We’ll
make some calls when we leave here, we’ll find some place to sell
my car, and…,” he opened his hands.
    Nicole, her smile reaching that bursting
effect, reached across the table and clasped both his hands, “We’ll
kick butt , partner!”
     
     
    Chapter 13 Meet Riley Stokes

    The dusty Arizona road had barely been
noticeable from the highway. If the chaplain had not received
specific directions he would not have seen it, and a normal
motorist traveling sixty to seventy mph definitely would not
have.
    The tracks led away from the inside of the
curve, another fact that made the road barely noticeable. He turned
onto it.
    “Not very well-traveled,” Nicole commented,
“Probably doesn’t even get mail out here.”
    “Or if he did he likely would lose the
service with the new round of closures.”
    “Probably.” Nicole hung onto the dash as they
went down a grade into a washout. There the tracks got a little
plainer. About a half-mile in they drove onto higher ground and
into a small grove of trees. Among the trees and quite out of
sight, three vehicles of different brands, and all
four-wheel-drives. “Radford, I bet if these guys ever go anywhere
they take only one vehicle. Are you sure you trust this guy?”
    “He made a point of telling me, Nicole, that
he’s just inside the law. In fact he suggested I check in with the
county sheriff if I felt uncomfortable.”
    “Why didn’t we?”
    “Because we need to trust him, Nicole. Had we
went to the law he would have heard about it, and that, to me,
would have raised a red flag for him.”
    “Red flag?”
    “Right. That we’re absolute amateurs.”
    “Well, we are, aren’t we?”
    “Yes. And I told him that. He said ‘Fine,
I’ve worked with the